Flying Framework Panic

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The repetitive peep of metal against metal. She swings, bound onto a steel grate that's dangling mid-air, parallel to the floor. Her neck and pecs are bound tight. Her lower gams and arms have been pulled thru the grate, folded backwards, and immobilized in place. Mr. Pogo slips into her cunt, plowing her. Then in her mouth. The grate, brilliantly balanced, pivots easily. Her head angles downward, her jaws at trunk height. A cat o' nine tails bashes her breasts, providing them a blush. The cane that spanks her poon colors her vag rosy. He sits in front of her face. Manipulating first one hole, then the other. It doesn't take long. She comes quickly, happy. Wooden stocks weigh on her neck and wrists. She sits on a bed of spikes. He gets rock hard when he sees tears run down her cheeks. thru all the torture she laughs. But after she comes, when she can't do what he wants, she tears up. Soaked in excess, her balance centers upon one point only. Smallish effort sets her in motion, back and forth, swinging.