by Hand-Holder » Wed May 31, 2023 6:29 pm
As Damien observed his mother, soaked and vulnerable in his giant hands, he decided that she needed to be properly dried. With a calculated yet sadistic intent, he grabbed Morgana once again and secured her against a flat piece of wood. Her back faced upward, and her limbs were stretched out, awaiting their restraint.
A mix of fear and resignation washed over Morgana as she felt the cold surface of the wood against her soaked clothes and body. She shivered, partly from the dampness that clung to her skin and partly from the anticipation of what was to come. The knowledge that she was now at the mercy of her son's wildest desires and the fact she could not face and watch whatever would develop and come next, intensified her feelings of complete helplessness.
With careful precision, Damien bound Morgana to the wooden surface using four giant nails. Each nail acted as an anchor, securing her wrists and ankles, immobilizing her. The metallic touch against her delicate skin sent shivers down her spine, a stark reminder of her cruel captive state.
Morgana's mind raced as her body remained fixed in place. Anxiety coursed through her veins, knowing that she was completely at Damien's mercy. The feeling of being restrained, unable to move or escape, intensified her vulnerability and a deep sense of dread settled all over her, from head to toe.
As Damien meticulously completed the procedure, Morgana's emotions fluctuated between a desperate longing for freedom and a grim acceptance of her circumstances. She fought against the restraints, her futile struggles only serving to highlight her powerlessness. Her heart pounded in her chest as she feared the torturous fate that awaited her.
As Morgana remained bound to the wooden plank, her heart skipped a beat as Damien returned with the giant pencil, its sharp carbon tip gleaming with malice. With a wicked smirk, he raised the pencil high, threatening to strike the her tiny figure with its dangerous point.
Fear gripped Morgana as a dagger, as she anticipated the lethal blow, but instead she heard a dry impact in the plank right next to her, yet not on her. The sound of the sharp tip hitting the wood reverberated through her being, sending a shiver down her spine. Each strike was a reminder of her vulnerability and the ever-present danger that Damien posed.
To Morgana's surprise, however, Damien's intentions were very different from what she most feared. Instead of using the pencil as a weapon, he began to roll it against the wood, applying pressure to the tip. The once-sharp point transformed, becoming rounder and less menacing. As the pencil tip became smoothly round, Morgana's fears shifted, her mind racing to comprehend what her son's intentions could be.
A mixture of relief and uncertainty flooded Morgana's thoughts. The pencil, now transformed into an instrument that was thin, pointy, and accurate but no longer lethal, left her wondering what Damien had planned next. The change in its shape instilled a sense of trepidation within her, as she knew her son's sadistic imagination knew no bounds.
With each passing moment, Morgana's fears deepened. The unknown purpose of this modified instrument gnawed at her, leaving her to speculate on the forms of torment her son had yet to unleash upon her. The prospect of enduring further pain, both physical and psychological, filled her with a sense of dread.
As Morgana's heart raced with anticipation and fear, Damien wielded the modified pencil with an eerie sense of purpose. With a swift motion, he carefully lifted the edge of Morgana's soaked gown, exposing her sexy soaked panty and also her legs and thighs damp skin to the open air.
With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Damien leaned closer, his breath powerful and relentless. He held the rounded tip of the pencil firmly holding the stretched fabrics, prolonging the exposure of Morgana's vulnerable form and unleashed a forceful gust of wind, blowing endlessly all over her. The rush of air assaulted her, causing her damp skin to tingle and her gown to billow around her shrunken frame.
Morgana's body was at the mercy of the powerful wind, her tiny and tight soaked panties clinging to her as the force of the blowing pencil worked to dry her from the remnants of the previous cocktail and the lingering moisture from being in Damien's mouth. The relentless gusts whipped against her, tousling her hair and creating a mixed and weird sensation of both relief and discomfort.
As the wind kept enveloping her, Morgana couldn't help but feel a mixture of conflicting emotions. The relief of being dried from the dampness was invaded by a sense of vulnerability and exposure. Each gust felt like a reminder of her smallness and her powerlessness in the face of her son's cruelty.
Damien's eyes lingered on the exposed expanse of Morgana's backs, tracing visually along the curve of her spine with an unhinged fascination. He reveled in the vulnerability of her position, captivated by the way her bound form accentuated her tense curves and also her pure helplessness. The stretched gown exposing the subtle contours of all her small but very perfectly proportional figure, drawing his gaze to the delicate slope of her shoulder blades, her mature and perfectly designed very erotic legs and the all the smoothness of her pale skin. He took perverse pleasure in the sight of the generous round but perky buttocks barely covered by the thin stretched panties, an ass that she kept pinning upwards as she squirmed in vain against the four pinning anchors of her faith. He exhilarated with the spectacle of all her restrained and exposed diminished state, savoring every moment as he drank in the visual feast before him, reveling in his unquestionable full power over her.
She desperately clung to her resolve, vowing to herself that she would find a way to break free from this torment. She yearned for an opportunity to regain her power, to escape from Damien's clutches, and to put an end to his sadistic games.
But as time passed and Damien played her with his evil intent, also clearly mixed with his young sexual drive, that light at the end of the tunnel seamed further and further away in space and time
With a sinister gleam in his eyes, Damien now grabbed the edge of Morgana's gown with two fingertips from his free hand, so he could keep it well raised, with all of his living doll lower body perfectly exposed and at the mercy of his next torments, continuing to wield the modified pencil, out of her sight, since she was facing down. Morgana's heart pounded with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation as she wondered what her devious son had in store for her next.
Keeping a malevolent grin on his face, Damien approached Morgana, the pencil held firmly in his giant hand. He moved with deliberate and calculated motions, reveling in the power he held over his shrunken sexy witchy mother. As she heard him draw closer, Morgana's senses sharpened, through the corner of her eyes she fixated on the seemingly harmless but looming instrument that had been transformed into a tool of potential torment.
Without warning, Damien pressed the smooth tip of the pencil against Morgana's exposed leg skin, right in the small bend behind her knee. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine as she braced herself for the unknown. She couldn't help but feel a wave of fear wash again all over her, unsure of what Damien had planned with this seemingly harmless instrument.
To her surprise, instead of inflicting pain, Damien used the precise tip of the pencil to trace intricate patterns along Morgana's miniature legs, travelling along her thighs and hip, than downwards again up to the tiny shapes of her calves, always with enough pressure, more than needed, just to assert his indecent intentions. The lascivious long strokes elicited a mixture of confusion within her. The smoothness of the pencil against her skin provided a stark contrast to the prior torments she had endured, leaving her momentarily perplexed.
But as Damien continued to maneuver the pencil with indecent skill and precision, Morgana's emotions remained in flux. She felt again an intensified sense of vulnerability and unease, knowing that she was entirely at the mercy of her son's whims.
The smooth but powerful pointy tip was now clearly leaving the landscapes of her porcelain legs and stroking indecently all along the curvature of her thighs and hips, than squeezing slowly all the way along the perfect roundness of her buttocks, pressing above her panty fabrics but feeling just as if it was rubbing directly on her bare skin.
The anticipation of what he would do next fueled her anxiety, as she couldn't predict how he would utilize the instrument's newfound rounded and smooth shape.
Finally the tip stopped in a not so obvious part of Morgana's delicate little body, still pressing with dominance, but completely motionless, right on the lowest part of her backs, where the shape of her buttocks begin to form.
Coincidentally or not, it was also exactly there where the upper edge of Morgana's sexy panty start enclosing over the roundness of her beautiful behind.
In the midst of the confusion and uncertainty of this ominous pause, suddenly only one word can describe the single sensation that took hold of all her world, invading the back of her neck, her stomach, her belly, her throat and her mind.
FULL PANIC !!!
As Damien observed his mother, soaked and vulnerable in his giant hands, he decided that she needed to be properly dried. With a calculated yet sadistic intent, he grabbed Morgana once again and secured her against a flat piece of wood. Her back faced upward, and her limbs were stretched out, awaiting their restraint.
A mix of fear and resignation washed over Morgana as she felt the cold surface of the wood against her soaked clothes and body. She shivered, partly from the dampness that clung to her skin and partly from the anticipation of what was to come. The knowledge that she was now at the mercy of her son's wildest desires and the fact she could not face and watch whatever would develop and come next, intensified her feelings of complete helplessness.
With careful precision, Damien bound Morgana to the wooden surface using four giant nails. Each nail acted as an anchor, securing her wrists and ankles, immobilizing her. The metallic touch against her delicate skin sent shivers down her spine, a stark reminder of her cruel captive state.
Morgana's mind raced as her body remained fixed in place. Anxiety coursed through her veins, knowing that she was completely at Damien's mercy. The feeling of being restrained, unable to move or escape, intensified her vulnerability and a deep sense of dread settled all over her, from head to toe.
As Damien meticulously completed the procedure, Morgana's emotions fluctuated between a desperate longing for freedom and a grim acceptance of her circumstances. She fought against the restraints, her futile struggles only serving to highlight her powerlessness. Her heart pounded in her chest as she feared the torturous fate that awaited her.
As Morgana remained bound to the wooden plank, her heart skipped a beat as Damien returned with the giant pencil, its sharp carbon tip gleaming with malice. With a wicked smirk, he raised the pencil high, threatening to strike the her tiny figure with its dangerous point.
Fear gripped Morgana as a dagger, as she anticipated the lethal blow, but instead she heard a dry impact in the plank right next to her, yet not on her. The sound of the sharp tip hitting the wood reverberated through her being, sending a shiver down her spine. Each strike was a reminder of her vulnerability and the ever-present danger that Damien posed.
To Morgana's surprise, however, Damien's intentions were very different from what she most feared. Instead of using the pencil as a weapon, he began to roll it against the wood, applying pressure to the tip. The once-sharp point transformed, becoming rounder and less menacing. As the pencil tip became smoothly round, Morgana's fears shifted, her mind racing to comprehend what her son's intentions could be.
A mixture of relief and uncertainty flooded Morgana's thoughts. The pencil, now transformed into an instrument that was thin, pointy, and accurate but no longer lethal, left her wondering what Damien had planned next. The change in its shape instilled a sense of trepidation within her, as she knew her son's sadistic imagination knew no bounds.
With each passing moment, Morgana's fears deepened. The unknown purpose of this modified instrument gnawed at her, leaving her to speculate on the forms of torment her son had yet to unleash upon her. The prospect of enduring further pain, both physical and psychological, filled her with a sense of dread.
As Morgana's heart raced with anticipation and fear, Damien wielded the modified pencil with an eerie sense of purpose. With a swift motion, he carefully lifted the edge of Morgana's soaked gown, exposing her sexy soaked panty and also her legs and thighs damp skin to the open air.
With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Damien leaned closer, his breath powerful and relentless. He held the rounded tip of the pencil firmly holding the stretched fabrics, prolonging the exposure of Morgana's vulnerable form and unleashed a forceful gust of wind, blowing endlessly all over her. The rush of air assaulted her, causing her damp skin to tingle and her gown to billow around her shrunken frame.
Morgana's body was at the mercy of the powerful wind, her tiny and tight soaked panties clinging to her as the force of the blowing pencil worked to dry her from the remnants of the previous cocktail and the lingering moisture from being in Damien's mouth. The relentless gusts whipped against her, tousling her hair and creating a mixed and weird sensation of both relief and discomfort.
As the wind kept enveloping her, Morgana couldn't help but feel a mixture of conflicting emotions. The relief of being dried from the dampness was invaded by a sense of vulnerability and exposure. Each gust felt like a reminder of her smallness and her powerlessness in the face of her son's cruelty.
Damien's eyes lingered on the exposed expanse of Morgana's backs, tracing visually along the curve of her spine with an unhinged fascination. He reveled in the vulnerability of her position, captivated by the way her bound form accentuated her tense curves and also her pure helplessness. The stretched gown exposing the subtle contours of all her small but very perfectly proportional figure, drawing his gaze to the delicate slope of her shoulder blades, her mature and perfectly designed very erotic legs and the all the smoothness of her pale skin. He took perverse pleasure in the sight of the generous round but perky buttocks barely covered by the thin stretched panties, an ass that she kept pinning upwards as she squirmed in vain against the four pinning anchors of her faith. He exhilarated with the spectacle of all her restrained and exposed diminished state, savoring every moment as he drank in the visual feast before him, reveling in his unquestionable full power over her.
She desperately clung to her resolve, vowing to herself that she would find a way to break free from this torment. She yearned for an opportunity to regain her power, to escape from Damien's clutches, and to put an end to his sadistic games.
But as time passed and Damien played her with his evil intent, also clearly mixed with his young sexual drive, that light at the end of the tunnel seamed further and further away in space and time
With a sinister gleam in his eyes, Damien now grabbed the edge of Morgana's gown with two fingertips from his free hand, so he could keep it well raised, with all of his living doll lower body perfectly exposed and at the mercy of his next torments, continuing to wield the modified pencil, out of her sight, since she was facing down. Morgana's heart pounded with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation as she wondered what her devious son had in store for her next.
Keeping a malevolent grin on his face, Damien approached Morgana, the pencil held firmly in his giant hand. He moved with deliberate and calculated motions, reveling in the power he held over his shrunken sexy witchy mother. As she heard him draw closer, Morgana's senses sharpened, through the corner of her eyes she fixated on the seemingly harmless but looming instrument that had been transformed into a tool of potential torment.
Without warning, Damien pressed the smooth tip of the pencil against Morgana's exposed leg skin, right in the small bend behind her knee. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine as she braced herself for the unknown. She couldn't help but feel a wave of fear wash again all over her, unsure of what Damien had planned with this seemingly harmless instrument.
To her surprise, instead of inflicting pain, Damien used the precise tip of the pencil to trace intricate patterns along Morgana's miniature legs, travelling along her thighs and hip, than downwards again up to the tiny shapes of her calves, always with enough pressure, more than needed, just to assert his indecent intentions. The lascivious long strokes elicited a mixture of confusion within her. The smoothness of the pencil against her skin provided a stark contrast to the prior torments she had endured, leaving her momentarily perplexed.
But as Damien continued to maneuver the pencil with indecent skill and precision, Morgana's emotions remained in flux. She felt again an intensified sense of vulnerability and unease, knowing that she was entirely at the mercy of her son's whims.
The smooth but powerful pointy tip was now clearly leaving the landscapes of her porcelain legs and stroking indecently all along the curvature of her thighs and hips, than squeezing slowly all the way along the perfect roundness of her buttocks, pressing above her panty fabrics but feeling just as if it was rubbing directly on her bare skin.
The anticipation of what he would do next fueled her anxiety, as she couldn't predict how he would utilize the instrument's newfound rounded and smooth shape.
Finally the tip stopped in a not so obvious part of Morgana's delicate little body, still pressing with dominance, but completely motionless, right on the lowest part of her backs, where the shape of her buttocks begin to form.
Coincidentally or not, it was also exactly there where the upper edge of Morgana's sexy panty start enclosing over the roundness of her beautiful behind.
In the midst of the confusion and uncertainty of this ominous pause, suddenly only one word can describe the single sensation that took hold of all her world, invading the back of her neck, her stomach, her belly, her throat and her mind.
FULL PANIC !!!