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    She's a secretary for a firm filled with bullish men in blue suits and blue ties, who keep themselves trim, their hair short and off the neck. "Where did you learn about Insex?" "My boss's computer. At work." Did she melt when she was watching? Did her nipples go taut, erect? Could each and every one of those virile men sniff her out across the room as she dripped and drooled into her silky white panties? And as they found themselves irresistibly drawn, as they crowded about her desk each vying for position, did they guess she was imagining herself bound to a chair and leaning forward so that her drooping breasts could be bound until they popped? How could they know she was thinking of cloth, soaked with the juice of her cunt, then stuffed into her mouth and taped in place? The men in the office are peacocks strutting about on plush carpet in fine Italian shoes, each feeling that itch in the crotch, the tension that spreads like flame from the cock all the way to the fingers and the tongue, setting the brain on fire. All they want is to fuck, like animals that crawl upon a bitch in heat and thrust. She wants her waist cinched, her hands in mits, a thick leather collar gripping her by the throat. She wants to squirm, to crawl, lathered in oil, helpless, fucked with a pole. She wants her body rendered like meat, cleaved in two, chopped, and bled as though she's been butchered and dangled from a hook. She wants to wallow in perversion, in everything these sculpted hunks of shallow masculinity that crowd about her desk can never imagine or design. And as they wander off, one by one, still under the spell of her dark musk, she's thinking of her body strapped at ankles, knees, thighs, waist, and chest. In her ass and cunt are inflatable devices that wrench her wider with each pump. She is standing upright on a wheeled cart. She is shrink-wrapped in place. She feels her own wetness running between her thighs. The tube in her mouth that allows her access to breath is the only indication of how she is yet a living thing. Not woman. Not girl. A thing. A device by which her master deigns to take his pleasure.
    Gallery Categories:

    Bondage / S&M
    9,8 (147 votes)
    Detailed View  /  One page

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