Cyd scores big with Tamed, creating a “hard-hitting,” awe-inspiring Insex classic. Butting heads with enfant terrible 822, cyd attempts to whip her into shape, braising 822’s tight body. But 822’s smart mouth won’t let up. So she’s locked into the bifurcation wall and treated to a heady mix of needles, electricity, and a cane. 822 weeps. She begs. She falls to pieces.
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He thinks of the Insex set as an autopsy room, where bodies are laid out, sliced, and cracked open. He thinks of the show as vivisection, as a method of discovery, every ounce of female flesh – a book. And her hair falling down about her throat, her painted lips and eyes, the endless fabric of young skin, her limbs, fingers, hair, cunt – a library. He studies her. He tests her endurance during the first hour with metal, the next hour with wrap after wrap of rope, and for the third hour, rubber. He weighs her down, ties her body into knots, encases her, then relents. After he is finished with the first torments, he begins.
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He spied her, hot and young and rash, And trussed her, goose-like, hands and feet. He taped her mouth and ripped her dress To probe and carve her like a meat. Driven like half-maddened beasts, The bulk of men act out of haste. But slowly binding her, he thinks That Girl is an acquired taste.
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My dreams curdle the night, the heavy, wet November night. Outside, the rustle of corn in the fields, silage of dreams, of a man’s want. And inside, my boner poking up against the sheet. Lightening far off, breaking out the night. The whispering of the house, conversations of ghosts. And the howls. That pack of dogs is come sniffing around the barn again. They always know when I got me another girl. I got me two of them a couple days ago, their pussies ripe and glittery-wet like jewels, nipples as tight and hard as nuggets, cold enough to ripple the skin. November’s got a chill around these parts. When a girl shivers it bones me up fat and hard, strong enough to squirt…
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An evaluation, he said during the phone interview. An evaluation. He sits her in a chair. “You’ve done this before?” The chair is hard. Wood. She shifts. “A little. You know. With friends.” She doesn’t understand the difference. She’s thinking of rope that remains loose, rope that forgives. And him fumbling with knots. She doesn’t know what she’s thinking.
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These city girls, they’re somethin’ else. Least that’s what they think, I suspect. I find em in the bars, all dolled up, makin’ eyes at every pretty boy who comes their way. Buy a couple drinks, get em nice and buzzed. And before you know it they’re in the back of my truck, flopping around like a couple hogs ready for the kill. I’ll take em home for some fresh country air, show em how nice us simple folk can be. I suck on their hard little nipples, reach between their legs to play with their shaved cunts. They make some noise and try to get away. But you know they like it, calms em down for a spell…
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He patiently tests and trains each one. Teaches them to submit, to process their pain, to accept their fate. In 822’s shoot, the blonde bombshell takes her lessons seriously and succeeds in mastering all that she is taught…..
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Exclusive live feed footage of the high-strung 822 in full attitude. Whatever PD wants, she resists, fighting him to the end. Sulky and hot, she whimpers and whines but takes it all because, what can she do while wrapped in all that rope?
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It’s Tyler and 822 versus Time. Five predicament tortures allotted twenty minutes each, steadily increase in pain to see who breaks. Tyler takes clothespins, a torturous hogtie suspension from ankles and wrists, and a barbecue in which she’s the meat. Enfant terrible 822, fights and fusses her way through a predicament that involves nipple clamps, a hair tie, and a bucket of water.
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Dairy available here.
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