The park still smells of her piss and the men’s cum. Seven stays on her hands and knees, the leash slack at her throat, her cunt a soaked, twitching mess between muddy thighs. The bell gives a weak tink when she swallows.
He lets the crowd linger. The boy with the phone, the heavy man, the jogger, the two old men. Eight whines low, nose twitching at the air.











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