[kassyS]

my mother red. Her blouse. A thick metal collar holds her neck motionless. The leather hood so conforms to her face that this babe looks to be a stylized being, not quite real u might think. Not quite.

Her body is locked onto a chair of welded iron. Hands and head are held in a subrigid plane perpendicular to the metal grid that separates her body from her head. And this babe waits.

Then that babe is inside a big water reservoir, widen eagled by shackles and chains. He plays with her tits, her slit. When this guy tightens the chain that holds her collar, this babe struggles to rise higher. Her feet shift in miniature increments, rattling the chains. Through round portals, light pours upon her body, illuminating her from the sides.

Water from a high-pressure spray hits her like bullets. Her cherry red blouse clings to her teats. It outlines her wobblers. Water mauls her face, nose, lips, and tits. He pulls her meatballs out of her brassiere and places the gun of the nozzle there, animal training her nipps. He aims animalism her twat.

Then that babe is exposed. Rivulets of water course her skin. The slice of the spray goes on. The gun is positioned animal play the entry to her wet crack. It discharges inside. It cleans her dark hole. Water spouts outward betwixt her hips.

Next, that babe is suspended in the reservoir, a spider gag in her face hole. Leather thongs grapple every of her outstretched limbs, widening her as though that babe is in a sling. Water discharges into her face hole. She tries to turn away, but the water follows. The pink of her tongue and lips are reminiscent of cherry. Her cherry pink clitoris is battered bright by the water. Her screams reverberate, cascading like water, pounding all that metal. Her body rocks with her efforts to protect her muff, her teats. Until suddenly, the water stops. The lights go out. He goes away.

She’s crying. Her head is held erect by a thick metal U-bolt f0rced into her throat. A copper sextoy permeates her. She is fastened into the metal chair, her arms pulled tightly behind, legs held open wide. Copper wires wrap her melons. Her teats are ideal, pointed, willing. Her lipstick matches the color painted on her toenails. You guessed it. Cherry. The color of torment.

An electric box with numerous switches can be seen in the foreground. He sprays her down, wetting her body. Then this guy attaches scissor connectors onto the wires, as though jumping his car. He throws the 1st switch-hitter. Her shriek tells anything. The eroscillator hums. She melts onto it. He shocks her and vibrates her simultaneously. She desires it. She wishes it. And this guy gives it to her. But then this chab stops. He leaves. Maybe this babe desires him back. Maybe. In the empty darkness, rain pounds the roof.

She’s erect anew, hanging by the neck and hands in metal stocks. Chains hold the ankle stocks. A vibrator is belted inside of her. The gag that that guy shoves into her face hole is the color of cherries. More spray. More water. Slicing into face hole, nose, eyes. She swings, suspended, illuminated by light that pours throughout opposing portholes. Water leaks. The creak of the chains. The lights go dim.


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