Trophy Catch

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Out she goes. Zoey Laine very likely shouldn't just pick up and take whatever pills unusual fellows give her. She's too torrid to not know better. Boys have been paying attention to her since she began growing those perky tiny globes of hers. Her wondrous gams and tight arse 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 probed every inch of her splendid body. If he was just porking her she would very likely hate it less. O.T. has never been all that interested in getting his dick wet, no matter how torrid of a chunk of arse he just reeled in. Instead he has a fresh head cell he'd like her to attempt out for him. Barbed string and cold iron sheath her, she can witness 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 terrified with them so close to her pretty face. She doesn't dare flail too much as her captor lashes her arse and uses a fake penis to boink her pussy. She's too worried about what this restrain bondage helmet will do to her if she unbalances it. Zoey should be more worried 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 groan and when the bullwhip doesn't do the trick well enough he has pile other ways to get her yelling.