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She pulled them out thenand to my intense embarrassment, added more goo andthen slowly worked them into my asshole as two otherwomen held my legs up and back. After straining against their hold for a minute it wasobvious I wasn’t going to break free so I relaxed, andlet them do whatever they were going to. They weren’thurting me, after all. He gave me some more water, only it wasn’t water thistime. I felt like some kind of very harsh wine, morelike vinegar, really. It made my mouth buzz and burnedmy throat, then made my belly all fluttery. They finished with me only when I was coated, insideand out, with the oily substance. Then they left methere on the bench and went out of the tent. I lookedaround for something to cover myself with but theresimply wasn’t anything. I tried to sit up, but thenrealized that I was still weak and kind of dizzy. A few minutes passed, then several of the womenreturned, bearing a blanket or robe or something. Theywrapped me in it,. The pain of the shock had quickly receded, leaving a gentle vibration which felt quite nice, but already I could feel it slowly beginning to intensify. It’s hard to guess, but I’d say it was a cycle of about twenty or thirty minutes, peaking and driving me into spasms of dry orgasms, then letting me recover. It was exhausting, but I quickly learned that, if my hands left the window and put any weight at all on the cords binding my wrists, the blinding pain of the prostate shock would return.By the time I heard voices in the hall and the door open, I must have cycled through six or seven of these cycles and was dizzy and disoriented with exhaustion, knowing only that I must not move my hands and arms. The men had obviously been drinking, and from what I could hear they were not alone: it sounded as if two women were also in the room, and before long I could make out the sounds of delirious drunken passion, with grunts and moans, the creaking of the coach and the bed, laughter. I.
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