Secluded Rachel Adams is Captive in Bondage Ropes and Handcuffs

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Corded to a chair, in a form-fitting ebony bodysuit, glistening ebony tights and high heel leather boots, Rachel Adams is apparently going nowhere. She sits in the corner of a bright milky room, a defenseless glamour captive. The bit with a ball-gag inbetween her lips leaves her capable of only moaning and panting, and with her arms stiffly tied behind her and her wrists cuffed, she can only squirm in the most vulnerable of restrain bondage predicaments. We hear the squeaking of the chair as she opens and closes her hips in worthless movements; we catch the clink of the put handcuffs on buckles as she wriggles against the mastery that run away is unlikely and her expect for freedom is futile; and the closeups of her face, as she nibbles down on the gag with an expression of bewilderment, tell us that she has accepted a compete here that it would take a Houdini to elude–and maybe even the sir escapologist would have had his abilities sorely tested!