Ms. Hercrack Hollie Stevens

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The Grand Inquisitor sits at his desk. The self-abuser is carried into the apartment locked in dual shackles, a bag roped over her head. The iron neck corset holds her in place where all the chicks are limited for interrogation directly in front of the Inquisitor. And as she's measured her neck, breast, the depth of her cunt, the width and depth of her face fuck-hole she is permanently under the manage of metal. The Grand Inquisitor permits no resistance. Her instructing begins, the teaching of her guiltless cunt. She must jack for him. She must learn to take agony with her face frozen, blank, the howl of agony stuck inside, in the seclude of some unfathomable never-ending space. He designs for her a construct of irritation and pleasure, using the contraptions of his trade. A primitive tabouret a square post for her ass with wrists and ankles locked away from her. The repeated sound of a crop bashing flesh. It's nothing, a little discomfort, then a little more. A iron bit locked into her facehole holds her head in firm stillness as she comes for him. The beams of the narrow standing cell compress her flesh. Her neck is locked and still. He pokes and prods. He horrifies her with and a lighter. He lights a fire underneath her feet. He stabs her cock-squeezing guiltless cunt from behind. In every moment, the fact of her vulnerability is made ordinary the iron about her neck, the cage, and the vibrator buried in the skin of her enfolded pussy. Bilbos locked at her elbows and knees arch her joints into one position only. Pulling her chain, he hauls her facehole to his crotch. She learns to fellate cock, how to use her lips and tongue. He leaves her then, locked this way, with her not-so-innocent cunt speared as she lies helpless on the floor.