Tierra

Tierra hangs in flight. Rope cuts deep across her chest and pins her arms behind her. Her big tits swing free, the nipples already dark and stiff. She twists, but the knots hold. Every lift throws her off balance and the gag bulges her jaw wide, turning every curse into spit and breath. The pipes come next. Cold steel crosses her thighs and shoulders, locking her open. Then the goat milkers. The cups latch on, suction starts, and her flesh stretches and pulses with each rhythmic pull. She shakes harder with every cycle, body slick, breath hissing through the ball. The rig creaks above her. The motor drones below. Nothing else moves but Tierra and the machine.