Trophy Catch

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Out she goes. Zoey Laine most likely shouldn't just pick up and take whatever pills unusual folks give her. She's too red-hot to not know better. Dudes have been paying attention to her since she began growing those perky little titties of hers. Her wondrous gams and taut culo 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 inspected every inch of her fantastic body. If he was just fucking her she would most likely hate it less. O.T. has never been all that interested in getting his pipe wet, no matter how red-hot of a lump of culo he just reeled in. Instead he has a fresh head cage he'd like her to attempt out for him. Barbed cord and cold iron sheath her, she can observe them right in front of her eyes. She knows that the rusted spikes won't just jump out and get her, but she can't help but be appalled with them so close to her pretty face. She doesn't dare flail too much as her captor crops her culo and uses a faux-cock to fuck her pussy. She's too concerned about what this restrain 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 lump of steel, content to just hold her in place and not have any fun. He wants to hear her yell and when the cat o' nine tails doesn't do the trick well enough he has bunch other ways to get her yelling.