Trophy Catch

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Out she goes. Zoey Laine very likely shouldn't just pick up and take whatever pills unusual dudes give her. She's too sizzling to not know better. Men have been paying attention to her since she began increasing in size those puffy tiny udders of hers. Her wonderful legs and taut backside didn't go unnoticed in those yoga pants, either. Seconds after she downs what she thinks is ibuprofen she is on the floor. By the time she has come to O.T. has already investigated every inch of her handsome body. If he was just fuckin' her she would very likely hate it less. O.T. has never been all that interested in getting his man-meat wet, no matter how sizzling of a chunk of backside he just reeled in. Instead he has a fresh head box he'd like her to attempt out for him. Barbed string and cold iron sheath her, she can watch them right in front of her eyes. She knows that the rusted spikes won't just leap out and get her, but she can't help but be horrified with them so close to her pretty face. She doesn't dare flail too much as her captor crops her backside and uses a drill stick to drill her pussy. She's too concerned about what this bondage helmet will do to her if she unbalances it. Zoey should be more concerned about what O.T. is going to do to her. He isn't some cold chunk of steel, content to just hold her in place and not have any fun. He wants to hear her squeal and when the cat o' nine tails doesn't do the trick well enough he has slew of other ways to get her yelling.