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The repetitive peep of iron against metal. She swings, tied onto a steel grate thats dangling mid-air, parallel to the floor. Her neck and torso are tied tight. Her lower gams and hands have been pulled thru the grate, folded backwards, and stationary in place. Mr. Pogo glides into her cunt, fuckin' her. Then in her mouth. The grate, ideally balanced, pivots easily. Her head angles downward, her throat at cock height. A single-tail strikes her breasts, giving them a blush. The whip that smacks her twat colors her vulva rosy. He sits in front of her face. Manipulating first-ever one hole, then the other. It doesnt take long. She comes quickly, happy. Wooden stocks weigh on her neck and wrists. She sits on a sofa of spikes. He gets rigid when he sees tears run down her cheeks. Thru all the torture she laughs. But after she comes, when she cant do what he wants, she tears up. Sopping in excess, her balance centers upon one point only. Smallish effort sets her in motion, back and forth, swinging.