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the whore of the cargo |
I hardly remember the voyage by truck on the
bad tracks of Iraq. I believe that the terrible heat which reigned in
the case, the stinking smell of my body and its dejections, the infernal
suffering caused by the objects which smashed my anus, my vagina and my
mouth with each bump, thirst also, had plunged me in an almost total unconsciousness. I gathered memories when light draught, slipping through the boards, the murmurs of a harbor, gulls, siren of boat, a vague gleam and a perfume of salt finally woke up me. I tried to scream, to call for help but the rubber member which dilated my lips muzzled my attempts. The case moved, turned on itself, oscillated. Noises of a machine. A shock which made me groan. A large deaf slapping as a trap door is closed again. Then darkness. Sea, a boat... I supposed it Slow rolling, odours of fuel oil, the humming and permanent vibrations of the machinery gave me nausea. But I had already thrown up all that my dislocated body could return. |
on Agnes-Bdsm.com
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