High in the rafters she is not alone. Mud-wasps, bats, and flies buzz and swop about her. But she labors also, the sweat forming maddening, tickling, rivulets that drip off the trembling labia. She must hold her legs spread — the apparatus that clutches her (gibbit) is engineered so as the legs grow weaker she impales herself on a cone shaped spike stretching her vulva. To overcome this splitting fatigue she discovers that a rhythmical spreading of her legs is less tiring. Diabolically, the machine that torments her also is her rapture.
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