A small, dirty man's undershirt was all she wore - Tales of the WSN by Arcas
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Tales of the WSN:
Its deep u-neck barely covered her chest and its hem barely covered her soiled beaver.
Drool, mucous, tears, and sweat dripped down her face and splattered her cleavage.
The gag had been replaced with her own blouse, knotted, shoved deep in her aching maw, and tied so tightly around her head it felt like a mis-aimed noose.