Trophy Catch

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Out she goes. Zoey Laine probably shouldn't just pick up and take whatever pills unusual studs give her. She's too super-fucking-hot to not know better. Guys have been paying attention to her since she started growing those pointy tiny tits of hers. Her marvelous gams and cock-squeezing ass 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 explored every inch of her sumptuous body. If he was just plowing her she would probably hate it less. O.T. has never been all that interested in getting his cock wet, no matter how super-fucking-hot of a lump of ass he just reeled in. Instead he has a fresh head box he'd like her to attempt out for him. Barbed cable and cold iron shell her, she can watch them right in front of her eyes. She knows that the rusted spikes won't just hop 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 lashes her ass and uses a faux-cock to shag 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 squeal and when the cat o' nine tails doesn't do the trick well enough he has pile other ways to get her yelling.