Infernalrestraints - Flying Framework Panic

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The repetitive peep of iron against metal. She swings, bound onto a steel grate that's stringing up mid-air, parallel to the floor. Her neck and chest are bound tight. Her lower gams and arms have been pulled thru the grate, folded backwards, and immobilized in place. Mr. Pogo slides into her cunt, plowing her. Then in her mouth. The grate, perfectly balanced, pivots easily. Her head angles downward, her throat at schlong height. A cat o' nine tails strikes her breasts, providing them a blush. The crop that smacks her cooter colors her poon rosy. He sits in front of her face. Manipulating very 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 couch of spikes. He gets hard when he observes tears run down her cheeks. thru all the torment she laughs. But after she comes, when she can't do what he wants, she tears up. Sopping in excess, her balance centers upon one point only. Puny effort sets her in motion, back and forth, swinging.