When you are a coke head, bondage phone sex is one of the many things you do for a fix. He told me he would trade coke for bondage pictures. It didn’t sound like a bad choice. I told myself it was art. I was simply posing for some photos and saving the guy money. I work for coke. Anyone who knows me, knows that. I arrived on the set ready to be tied up. Nothing could have prepared me for this bondage shoot. I was tied up tightly and suspended in the air. I was not suspended with rope, however. He inserted a meat hook in my ass and hoisted me up 20 feet off the ground. My ass was holding me up. If I farted, I could have dislodged the hook and fell twenty feet headfirst on a concrete floor. My ass was being stretched. It was tearing and bleeding. I was in so much pain with likely medical grade injuries. I screamed to be let down. I was even saying fuck the coke. I was choosing my life over coke. Wow. That had never happened before. It didn’t matter, the photographer only cared about getting some hot pictures and ruining my asshole. I looked underneath me and could see the pool of blood collecting. It was my blood dripping out of my ass like a BDSM ass rape porn star. He spun me around like I was spinning on a cock not a meat hook. When he got all the pictures he wanted, he tossed me some coke and told me to get lost. One and done. He didn’t fuck me. Other than binding me up, he never touched me. He said I was just another dumb junkie willing to do anything for a fix. I guess he was right.
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