Processed Erika Kole
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Gravity plus mass plus steel equals a perverse torment. As everyone at Devilish Restraints prepares for the shoot, PD prepares Erika, locking her in iron and leaving her to languish. Her neck is pinched inwards a neck corset held away from the wall by a iron arm. Her wrists, pulled up in a tense strappado behind her, keep her on her toes. It is her own weight that applies the stress against her throat. PD overlooks her except to hoist her up several more inches, enlargening the drag downward. It's nothing really, a simple matter of mathematics. A pair of scissors snips at her tuft of twat hair. PD shreds Erika's T-shirt. Snip, snip heads her bra. The peak of a single-tail rips at her belly and chest, and at that tiny tuft of twat hair. Then she's turned so that she faces the wall. The crop targets her arse and back. And as she fusses, trying to pull away from the peak of the whip, her back arches. Her figure is beautiful in profile as she strains against the iron and gravity. Erika's wrists are chained behind and roped to a thick, scratchy wire that's dragged thru her groin (a mischievous tiny agony) and roped upward. Nipple clamps pull her udders up also. Gravity takes its toll, a sublime moment of truth, the pain of inhabiting a body. A fresh device makes its debut. Erika stands on a wooden crossbeam with her head and wrists locked in stocks. His frigs examine her holes. Then a flog slaps her ass, thighs, and feet. Erika keeps up a durable load of cries, like some secretive animal that squeals all night. A board glides inbetween her thighs. Then the beam underneath her soles is removed. Now her weight rests there upon her cunt. Gravity wins. Stringing up in a highly smallish cage, a dental gag holds Erika's gullet open. Spit runs from her lips to her fuckbox where white twat cream wets her hole. The pummeling machine stands at the ready. She's placed and penetrated, as tho' it is her fuckbox that complies the machine. It penetrates away inwards of her. And Erika's cries create such a clamor. He's done with her now. The machine is silent. The cell glides along a ride until it drapes over an awaiting box. Erika's dropped inside, cell and all. The lid slams shut, latched, and a breathing trunk ravaged in place. Erika's stable load of noise heads on, more distant now. Far away. A world apart.
Gravity plus mass plus steel equals a perverse torment. As everyone at Devilish Restraints prepares for the shoot, PD prepares Erika, locking her in iron and leaving her to languish. Her neck is pinched inwards a neck corset held away from the wall by a iron arm. Her wrists, pulled up in a tense strappado behind her, keep her on her toes. It is her own weight that applies the stress against her throat. PD overlooks her except to hoist her up several more inches, enlargening the drag downward. It's nothing really, a simple matter of mathematics. A pair of scissors snips at her tuft of twat hair. PD shreds Erika's T-shirt. Snip, snip heads her bra. The peak of a single-tail rips at her belly and chest, and at that tiny tuft of twat hair. Then she's turned so that she faces the wall. The crop targets her arse and back. And as she fusses, trying to pull away from the peak of the whip, her back arches. Her figure is beautiful in profile as she strains against the iron and gravity. Erika's wrists are chained behind and roped to a thick, scratchy wire that's dragged thru her groin (a mischievous tiny agony) and roped upward. Nipple clamps pull her udders up also. Gravity takes its toll, a sublime moment of truth, the pain of inhabiting a body. A fresh device makes its debut. Erika stands on a wooden crossbeam with her head and wrists locked in stocks. His frigs examine her holes. Then a flog slaps her ass, thighs, and feet. Erika keeps up a durable load of cries, like some secretive animal that squeals all night. A board glides inbetween her thighs. Then the beam underneath her soles is removed. Now her weight rests there upon her cunt. Gravity wins. Stringing up in a highly smallish cage, a dental gag holds Erika's gullet open. Spit runs from her lips to her fuckbox where white twat cream wets her hole. The pummeling machine stands at the ready. She's placed and penetrated, as tho' it is her fuckbox that complies the machine. It penetrates away inwards of her. And Erika's cries create such a clamor. He's done with her now. The machine is silent. The cell glides along a ride until it drapes over an awaiting box. Erika's dropped inside, cell and all. The lid slams shut, latched, and a breathing trunk ravaged in place. Erika's stable load of noise heads on, more distant now. Far away. A world apart.
Added: 2016-05-22 • Views: 65 • Duration: 34:53
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