Trophy Catch

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Out she goes. Zoey Laine most likely shouldn't just pick up and take whatever pills strange men give her. She's too sizzling to not know better. Men have been paying attention to her since she began getting taller those perky tiny tits of hers. Her sexy gams and tight booty 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 fuckin' her she would most likely hate it less. O.T. has never been all that interested in getting his fuckpole wet, no matter how sizzling of a lump of booty he just reeled in. Instead he has a fresh head cell he'd like her to attempt out for him. Barbed cable and cold iron sheath her, she can see 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 appalled with them so close to her pretty face. She doesn't dare flail too much as her captor canes her booty and uses a fake penis to boink her pussy. She's too worried about what this 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 lump of steel, content to just hold her in place and not have any fun. He wants to hear her bellow and when the singletail whip doesn't do the trick well enough he has bunch other ways to get her yelling.