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Dungeon Slave Sierra Dirt in a Hole! The smell grows fouler by the day; my toilet is my bed. In the beginning he would come and stand over me; staring, pissing, playing with himself. Today, when he brought me the slop, he was wearing a gas mask.
The everyday chores of the grounds are much more interesting as I allow my mind to wander to that creature entombed in my barn. It is less distracting of late because of the stink, and I now must face the task of cleaning it. I have prepared a platform based on the designs I have seen at the county fair; A grooming table that holds her wrist and ankles so she is on all fours.
I hear the muffled sound of the grate scraping on the concrete. He yanks me out of the hole by my neck. The concrete scraps my skin as I struggle to gain my footing. This is the worst — he pushes me forward by that pole. It is a stifling fright — I cannot see where I am stepping. He seems to delight in letting me trip or briskly walking me into obstacles.
I’m now on all fours locked at the wrist and ankles. It must be a table or platform of some kind. He pulls the hood off my head — the purpose of this position is suddenly clear. A bucket of soapy water and a hose are lying on the floor. Im sure he will make what is to come as horrible as possible. I can’t help but sigh with great relief as this vile stench is about to be washed from me.