Insex - Water Torment (Donna)

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Virgin red. Her blouse. A big iron collar holds her neck motionless. The leather bondage mask so serves to her face that she looks to be a stylized being, not quite real you might think. Not quite. Her bod is locked onto a tabouret of welded steel. Mitts and head are confined in a firm vapid perpendicular to the iron grid that separates her bod from her head. And she waits. Then she is inwards a yam-sized water tank, opened up eagled by fetters and chains. He plays with her breasts, her pussy. When he tightens the chain that holds her collar, she fights to rise higher. Her feet shift in puny increments, rattling the chains. Thru lush portals, light pours upon her body, illuminating her from the sides. Water from a high-pressure spray bashes her like bullets. Her virgin crimson half-top clings to her nipples. It outlines her breasts. Water mauls her face, nose, lips, and breasts. He pulls her bumpers out of her brassiere and places the gun of the nozzle there, at her nipples. He aims at her cunt. Then she is naked. Rivulets of water course her skin. The slice of the spray heads on. The gun is placed at the entry to her vagina. It shoots inside. It cleans her asshole. Water spouts external inbetween her thighs. Next, she is strung up in the tank, a spider gag in her mouth. Leather ropes wrestle each of her outstretched limbs, stretching her as tho she is in a sling. Water shoots into her mouth. She attempts to turn away, but the water follows. The pink of her tongue and lips are reminiscent of cherry. Her virgin pink bean is broken bright by the water. Her screams reverberate, running in rivulets like water, drilling all that metal. Her bod rocks with her efforts to protect her cunt, her nipples. Until suddenly, the water stops. The lights go out. He heads away. She’s crying. A copper dildo plumbs her. She is tied into the iron chair, her forearms pulled firmly behind, gams confined open wide. Copper wires wrap her breasts. Her puffies are perfect, pointed, ready. Her lip liner matches the color painted on her toenails. You guessed it. Cherry. The color of pain. An electric cell with multiple changes can be seen in the foreground. He sprays her down, soaking her body. Then he affixes scissor connectors onto the wires, as tho leaping his car. He tosses the first switch. Her screech tells everything. The eroscillator hums. She dissolves onto it. He shocks her and stimulates her simultaneously. She wants it. She craves it. And he gives it to her. But then he stops. He leaves. Maybe she wants him back. Maybe. In the empty darkness, rain plumbs the roof. She’s upright again, hanging by the neck and palms in iron stocks. Chains hold the ankle stocks. A dildo is tied inwards of her. The gag that he pushes into her throat is the color of cherries. More spray. More water. Slicing into mouth, nose, eyes. She swings, suspended, illuminated by light that pours thru opposing portholes. Water drips. The creak of the chains. The lights go dim. She is alone.