HT - Tyler Scot, 411 - Tyler File 3 (INSEX - Remastered) (08.22.22)
The sky is pitch black when I shoot up in bed. My body is covered in sweat but I am shivering and cold. The nightmare was so vivid, almost real. It comes back to me in flashes. Like in a storm, how the lightening reveals everything for a brief moment. And then all is dark again.
I see a house in a small town I don't recognize. A man in black grinning evilly as he throws me to the floor, tapes me up, and yanks my underwear off. My friend TYLER is in the bathtub moaning and convulsing with mouth taped and shirt over her head. There is nothing I can do to help her. I can't even help myself.
I see myself alone, belted down to a card table, trembling in fear. He stands above. Smoking. Watching. Deciding what to do now, what the next torture will be. The heat of his cigarette warms me when he nears. My skin is hungry to feel its burn. He touches it down to my breasts. Softly at first, then harder, so that red dotted rings appear around my nipples. Then he drags it slowly down across my stomach and presses it firmly into my clit. I moan and scream in ecstasy.
I am staked out with arms and legs spread wide and back arched over a thick, round log. Eyes closed, body motionless and drenched with oil. Exhausted and unable to struggle, I am nothing but a lifeless, slimy mass of flesh, an ornament for his lawn.
Then there's a cabin surrounded by woods and that same man with that same grin. He strips us down and leads us into the wilderness like two dogs on a single leather leash. Our legs are held open with branches and he looks back to smirk at our silly waddling walk. The hard, splintery dildo shoved deep into my pussy pokes and prods with each step, searching for a tender spot. He tethers us to a tree and leaves us there, naked, vulnerable, and restrained. Only able to communicate with desperate eyes and muffled groans. Simultaneously, we strain to free ourselves.
I remember trees. Two of them, facing each other. And we are bound to them, forced to share our suffering. Mouths stuffed with wooden gags, our cries mingle to create a single, anguished tune. I watch TYLER writhe under the ropes, rubbing her delicate skin against the tough, scratchy bark. I see the despair in her eyes. She is trapped. And so am I. He strikes her with a thin tree branch till tits and thighs are covered with red lashes. I cringe at the sound of each stroke and glance down at my own sensitive breasts, made purple and bulbous by the leather around them. My time will come soon enough.
The last thing I recall: he is grumbling and tossing me into a hole. ÒGotta bury the evidence, I think he said. He covers me in dirt packed tightly up to my neck. He brings TYLER out, buries her head, and secures her feet with wooden stakes. After placing a ring gag in my mouth, he unzips his pants and relieves himself, spraying pee all over both of us. Then he walks away, abandoning us.
I am left with that picture in my mind. A disembodied head and a decapitated body baptized with the piss of our captor. Just the thought sends chills crawling down my spine. But I am safe at home. And there is no man in black. Because it was all just a dream. Right?
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