Paris Kennedy Part 6

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To manage the breath is to manage the whole person. Every thought, movement, and emotion everything becomes concentrated on one thing only. Air. In his mind, she's indeed not even a she. It's an object, black, zipped into spandex with a bubblehead. Only her lips can be seen. This is how you know it's human. By the lips. He raises up this ebony body-like object by the ankles. An inflatable gag speculums that single opening, the one thru which we witness her lips. Her breath wheezes in and out thru a smallish tube. Humidity condenses. Slobber leisurely obstructs her one fasten with the external world. A vibrator's zipped into the spandex bag, buzzing against her pussy. She comes. Alone. She's bare now. We can witness she's a she, her ankles opened up wide. He whips her back and ass, wrapping the apex of the lash in the direction of her puss and cunt. Then he turns her over and whips her other side. She comes very rapidly when she's humped with Mr. Pogo. He intensifies the stance and jams his arm in her cunt. The fuckbox gargles at him, attempting to pull him in. She comes again. Now seated, U-bolts lock down her thighs. A metal cangue taut around her mid-body matches the Garrote at her throat, keeping her plastered to the post. Mr. Pogo smashes her mouth, then her ass. As the magic wand coos in her pussy, she pleads to come. Afterward, her pussy's open and loose, unfurled. Vacuum tubes inhale her breasts, distending her nipples. Her vacuumed puss grows huge and bright red. After encountering a sadomasochistic and crooked PD, Erica's glad and playful, flapping her tongue at world.