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The models gives a little squeek as the male talent sticks his thumb up her ass as he’s fucking her. It kinda cheers me up for a moment. But then he pulls it out and whipes shit onto me.
The Devil puts his strong arm around my shoulder and, motioning with the other, tells me that all this stretched out before me can be mine. I just have to say the word. But my eyes are not what they used to be. I cannot see clearly. Anyway, to please him, I say “Yes”. He smiles and claps me on the back. But when I climb down from the mountain, I see that he offered me a life of shit and degration. Andthere atarted my problems with God.
Iam running. Down a hall. At the end is a toilet. I’m in a huge hurry. I need to take a shit. Too late. The overpowering smell of shit fills me from the inside out, along with a heavy wetness. Staggering into the cubicle, I look down into the toilet bowl. I flush and watch the water and my head starts spinning. Falling to my knees, I reach up and flush again. And again and again, that I could flush myself away.
There is a lot of rocking and I am beginning to feel motion sickness. As I open my eyes, I spy a cock shafting a shaven cunt. We are in a bathroom. Gradually I am sliding down her leg, thankfully moving away from the action. But not enough. He pulls out and creams over her arse, and it then dribbles down onto me.
Oh great, the model has bought her little dog along for the shoot. And while she shoots her scenes, the assistant plays with it. At some point the dog needs a piss. So they use a diaper. Me. And the hot canine pee reminds me, yet again, of my place in the order of things.
Something is stroking me outside. Then, pulled to one side, I can see the pretty face of my attacker. I watch her fingers slide in and out of the others glistening creamy cunt, before she descends with her tongue. Afterwards she spits into me, tears me off and throws me into the rubbish. As I fade away, I think of all these memories that will forever be lost. And I thank God for that.
Mother, do you think they’ll drop the bomb?
Mother, do you think they’ll like this song?
Mother, do you think they’ll try to break my balls?
Mother, should I build the wall?
Mother, should I run for President?
Mother, should I trust the government?
Mother, will they put me in the firing line?
Is it just a waste of time?
Pink Floyd
To feel, I must surely have a heart? And yet….when I lay my hand on my body, I feel the warm softness of the diaper, but no beating organs. Oh dear.
Whilst working today, I happened to catch a glimpse of the models face.And apart from the obvious smeared make up and semen, the most striking and shocking feature was her dead eyes. And then I realized that I’d seen this on almost all the models I’d ever worked with. Eyes that have seen the unspeakable and so are unable to speak. Of pain, worthlessness and degredation. Though outwardly smiling, those inner turmoils come shining through. I am at one with them. Our journey down the same road, proves we belong together. Their very sadness lightnens my soul.
The model hugs me to her small yet surprisingly hot breasts. She then kisses me, undoes me, and puts me on. She smells nice. And then all is ruined when a big hairy hand is inserted and starts fingering her wet cunt. Some things are just best left alone.
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