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Welcome back Gia DiMarco, this was out first scene of her day of shooting with us, this was the meet and greet. This is where we find out if the model is tough or if we need to tell her to pack up and get out. We all now the final outcome, now lets watch the journey.

Wrists bound and spread Gia is just wondering and waiting. She doesn't wait too long before we come in and start fucking with her. Her clothes go first, and we unleash her big nipples. We pinch and clamp them hard, add heavy weights and watch her suffer. We slap the bitch up a bit and make the whore cum.

She responds well to our hand around her neck so we add a 20lb weight to it. This brings her to her tip toes and now she finds it hard to breathe, this also excites her more and her pussy gets wetter. So we decide to torture her wet sloppy cunt. A rope is pulled though her soft wet pussy and another bowling ball is hung off her crotch rope. Now she is being pulled in two directions.

How much can she endure before the lights begin to fade, until the room spins, and the darkness descends?

“I will have you crawling before me by the time I’m done, you vain little slut,” he said in an almost normal tone of voice.

He picked up the flog, the same one, and swung hard. The laces bit into her lower back, then her bottom, then her upper back, as she jerked and strained against the chains, gasping and moaning now into the gag. The gag freed her, to some extent. She had too much pride to cry out, but the gag freed her. And she wanted to cry, to scream, as the pain tore her from the languorous afterglow of her come.

He moved around in front of her, and his arm swung aside. The laces cut across her right breast. The sting was greater, of course, and she gave voice to it, crying out into the gag, thrown back against the restraints. But the pleasure, the wicked, volcanic heat was far, far higher. For to have her breasts whipped was incredibly arousing. Again and again the flog cut across her breasts, first one, then the other, with stinging force that made her twist and writhe and arch her back in a strange, boiling cauldron of pleasure and pain.

“Bitch slut,” he growled, swinging again, then again.

He was swinging faster now, the laces biting again and again into the soft, pale surface of her breasts and the taut flesh of her belly. Soon her front was pink from shoulders to groin, with a vivid network of thin darker lines criss-crossing her body.

Her nipples ached fiercely as her body jerked, her breasts jiggled, and the weight bounced up and down, pulling on them. They were partly exposed to the laces, as well, and several times caught directly blow that made her cry out much more loudly.

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Trina Michaels looks comfortable at first, as she is driving out to the farm with PD, but as he gets to talking she begins to get more and more nervous. The idea that they will be isolated in the mountains, miles from any assistance, where no one can hear her scream for help finally starts to set in and it is both terrifying and incredibly hot.

Trina wants to get hurt. She needs to feel helpless and vulnerable to feel sexy and alive. A firm hand can guide her even better when it holds a whip or a cane. The knowledge that she has no control is what gives her the strength to endure the torments that await her. Whatever happens to her, she will suffer through it and ask for more because she has to. For him.

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He moved forward suddenly, grasping her hair once more, yanking her head back, biting and sucking at the nape of her neck, licking and chewing at her throat.

His free hand shoved against the base of the vibrator, grinding the nose against the deepest part of her pussy so that she shuddered and moaned in pain.

He moved back, whipping her again and again, moving around behind her to whip her back and buttocks, letting the laces curl around her ribs to slice into the soft flesh there and beneath her arms.

He pressed the thick, leather handle up against her chin, raising her eyes up and glaring down at her, then, showing her the handle, he ran it down between her breasts, around behind her, and then thrust it up into her ass. Hard. It hurt, for though her anus was well-lubricated with his leavings, though the muscles had been well-used by his cock, it had only taken a few minutes of whipping for them to close almost completely.

Now as he stood behind her and thrust up with the handle of the whip, thrust up like it was a knife, a spear, a weapon, Caitlin cried out, back arching as her insides burned in pain and raw aching. He laughed, thrusting, twisting it around inside her so that she screamed into the gag at the cramps which ripped through her belly.

“Filthy little cunt,” he said. “You need something tougher on your pretty skin.”

Her skin felt - hot, all over, as if sunburned, raw and tender. But now he put down the flog and picked up the heavier thirty inch Cat. The first blow against her back made her scream into the gag, though in large part simply because she was startled. But the pain was much greater, the force of the blow quite a bit more, and she writhed in the grip of the chains, feeling a sense of panic, as she always did at this time.

Another blow, and she screamed into the gag, her body flung forward violently against the chains, a tenseness and breathlessness taking her as the pain tore through her. It was at this moment she wanted, for frantic moments, to stop, to call it off, to avoid the pain she knew was coming. But she could not speak, of course, and the cat clawed at her back so that she screamed loudly and thrashed in her bonds.



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