I’m bound here before, ropes cutting my orange latex skin, fused to every inch but my face, humming with unwanted heat. The rusted bedframe creaks, digging into my back. Someone says Rhea, voice smug, and my warped mouth clenches, a throbbing face-slit moving on its own, gripping him as he thrusts, his cum hot, coating my drooling fuck-hole. I didn’t want it, my body betrayed me, rocking like a machine. Rage burns, despair crushes me, my latex skin feeling every thrust against my will. I hate my name, Rhea, it triggers this violation, makes me a thing, used, no control in this dank, grim room.
I’m trapped now in this dank, dark cement shithole, ropes biting my wrists, my ankles, pinning me to the rusted bedframe. My orange latex skin, too sensitive, pulses with arousal I don’t want, betraying me. A barcode tattoo sears my stomach, branding me for sale. I’m furious, despair choking me, knowing I’m meat. My mouth, warped by this room’s magic, twitches, wet, alive, against my will. I can’t scream, my voice gone, rage boiling as my twitching lip-cunt quivers. My name, Rhea, is a curse, triggering this shit, and I dread anyone saying it.
The ropes pull, my orange latex skin rippling, sending jolts of heat I can’t stop. My thighs gleam, latex amplifying every tug, every pulse, against my will. The barcode burns, marking me a fuckable thing. I’m pissed, despair drowning me, my body a traitor. The room’s oppressive magic owns me, turning me into a toy. I fight, but the ropes jerk, my latex skin catching every move, making me feel too raw, a gleaming object in this dark shithole. My warped mouth pulses, a constant reminder of my lost control.
My orange latex skin stretches, every inch alive with unwanted arousal, betraying me in this grim shithole. The rusted bedframe bites my back, the dank air choking me. My legs are yanked open, ropes exposing me, my latex thighs gleaming, pulsing with heat I can’t fight. My soaked face-gape twitches, wet, ready against my will. I’m screaming inside, rage and despair colliding, dreading my name’s power. The room’s magic hums, ropes tightening, my barcode searing me. I hate being this bound, gleaming thing, my warped mouth a betrayal waiting to be triggered.
The rusted door creaks open, a voice says Rhea. The room’s magic yanks the ropes, forcing me spread-eagle on the bedframe, my orange latex skin gleaming, alive with heat I don’t want. My soaked face-gape pulses, wet, alive, triggered by my hated name. Here we go again.
