Shackled and Tamed

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Dixon Mason sums up the allure of tool bondage perfectly. With cord there is shake room, there is a opportunity to wriggle and escape, but with metal there is no hope. It is cold and unyielding, the flawless counter point to the sensuality of rope. She commences off bound with tape. It isn't the way she thought this was going to start, but swiftly it embarks to turn into something else. A metal band around her neck affixes her by a chain to the ceiling. It keeps her in place in a way she did not expect. She can't relieve her gams or even hunch sans the metal pulling against her throat. Worse, she can't budge far from where she is. PD knows it and takes total advantage, flogging her ass mercilessly. When the metal is around her wrists and ankles she moves down to the floor. The bar that keeps her gams apart reveals her cootchie to a fierce caning. Her knockers are strapped off to make them more mild for their own abuse. She chatted about it earlier, the effect bondage and discipline has on her body. The bruises haven't even commenced to form but her cootchie is dribbling wet. She isn't fairly able to jism from the anguish but the Vibrator on her clit will get her the rest of the way there. Dixon's a bit tired after her orgasms, but PD's friend Jerk Strike is here and he hasn't had his turn with her yet. Now the metal rafters and shackles have her on her back with her gams stretched up into the air. The metal cell on her head blocks out all of the light but amplifies every sound around her. The sounds of sole steps, the whip coming down on her legs, even her own moans are made louder as they echo in the little prison. She is going to jism again, firmer this time, and as the wags of ejaculations take her figure she will get the exact experiencing she wants, bucking against the relentless bondage.