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The guy in the sleepsack is totally dependent on the supply for each breath. The combination of the hard-hat and his bondage provides him with an extremely intense and helpless experience. He peers through the helmet’s visor as his buddies look on. This guy is really in deep.
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By Arealltallboy
Somehow it dawns on me. I’m awake. There isn’t much else making sense right now, but I know that I’m awake, conscious. This isn’t a dream. The next thing that dawns on me is my head, and particularly, me headache. It’s throbbing, like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Every beat of my heart feels like a mallet pounding away at the front of my skull. It’s almost enough to drown out the noise around me, which leads to the third realization–noise, of which there is very little. Calming down, working through the pounding sensation in my head, I listen, and aside from a dull hum, I hear nothing. Moving my eyes around, another realization–I’m blindfolded. The surprise leads me to jerk my head forward, only to be met by the sensation of a strong strap holding it down. I’m lying down. There’s no doubt about that. Not only is there a strap holding my head down to this stiffly-padded table, but other straps are holding down my chest, belly, biceps, forearms, wrists, thighs, above and below the knees, and my ankles. I can struggle, but there isn’t much play, nor am I able to extricate myself from this position. There’s something strapped over my nose and mouth. I’d know if it was a gas mask, but this isn’t one. Definitely a blindfold over my eyes, and some sort of breathing mask tightly enveloping my mouth and nose. Meanwhile, this headache.
Marshall is drenched in sweat, his body slowly pulled apart by its own weight, the agony of the cross complete.
Marshall is reliving his worse nightmare – crucifixion. But what he is suffering now is even worse than his time on the cross three years ago. After five hours on the wood, he is drenched in sweat, every muscle in his body screaming for relief. No matter how he shifts and squirms on the cross, he can’t relieve the unending strain; he can merely shift its intensity from his torso to his legs. Plus, if that weren’t bad enough, his cock and balls are covered with nasty clothespins, a biting, throbbing pain that somehow cuts through the constant ache of crucifixion. After a couple more hours he drifts into a state of shock.
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