Kira arrives at the neon rave painted in fake clothes—thin neon straps over bare tits, illusory thong framing her dripping cunt. Ecstasy hits, paint fails, strangers grope, security fingers, gloryholes choke her throat, crowds surf her leaking holes, tents double-penetrate and golden-shower her branded body. By dawn she's a cum-flooded, piss-soaked, sharpie-slurred festival fuckpig, holes gaping, still begging for more ruin.
A married couple await the arrival of the mysterious general. Who is he? And why has he been invited? Apparently, the young wife requires a lesson in discipline.