CABO DAY OF THE DEAD part 3 A fantasy.

The morning sun burns hot across their bare skin as they stretch out by the water, laughing, soaking it up, sure last night was just another blur from too much tequila. Daylight keeps them easy. Night is what they don’t see coming. Once the dark rolls back in, the dead return—ropes in hand, bodies ready. The girls’ minds slip under again, pulled out like helpless dolls while the riggers play with every curve they want. Ball gags cut off their cries. Their tits bounce, slick with sweat and the ghost hands that never stop moving. Blonde hair tangles with black as bodies twist and strain, caught between pleasure and the kind of fear that tastes sweet when it’s this forbidden. Every knot pulls tighter. Every breath comes harder. They’re no longer dreaming. They’re property until dawn decides otherwise.