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It was worse than a rape, in a way. After the throttle, she had to lick the exhaust tubes, and impale her pussy on a foot peg. The men yelled and launched obscene catcalls while she had to take every possible cylindrical object of the Harleys in her cunt or mouth, leaving a trail of pussy oil on each one; a very exciting view was the blonde beauty’s naked pussy, now framed again in her customary black garters and fishnets, being clutched on one tire’s rubber thread, then she going on all four and being fucked from behind by a special exhaust pipe. Brake levers went up her ass; she had to lick and blow an exhaust manifold.
Working under the sun for a photographer, under the big black eye of a telephoto lens, wasn’t new for Claudia; her first money came from modelling, and she had been proud of her work. Her swimsuit shots had been all-time favourites on the pages of several magazines. But this was completely different, it was a savage exploitation of her body, another way to rape and defile her. Roy, who was leading the operation, was turning from the almost shy semi-intellectual mind of the gang she’d thought he was, to a perverted sadist, with an unquenchable thirst for more humiliation of her beauty.