I know what you’re thinking: she’s not that type of girl. The type of girl that meets a strange man in a seedy bar. The type that gets wasted and shows up on his doorstep. The type that is used and abused for his pleasure and wakes up the next day in his filthy tub covered in muck, reeking, wretched. I am not that type of girl!…
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Silent, seductive 831 submits to bondage, pain, humiliation, and a long suffocation scene that leads to orgasm. There is something heady, something perilous in the way her body wrings itself in desire. It is a spell that 831 weaves, to be so ultimately and passively willing.
She sits quietly, her wrists handcuffed behind her back and her ankles shackled. The top ring of her hood is attached above. Ordered to undress, 831 squirms as she complies. A cane encourages her to move faster. A spreader bar is tied between her knees and her mouth-watering nipples are clamped, stretched, and secured. She sits in silence……
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She has five years of bondage modeling experience and a lifetime of fantasies. Yet molly matthews is still searching for something. Can PD give her the torture, humiliation, and sexual release that she craves? He’ll give her that and so much more. Seated in the interview chair, she answers PD’s questions, revealing the strange sexual urges she’s had since an early age…..
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Master is always full of surprises. Like tonight, when he comes home with a large, ripe pumpkin in hand. “Trick or treat?” he whispers devilishly, pulling harshly at my long ponytail. Gagged already, I shrug my shoulders, as if I have any choice in the matter. As if I ever have a choice when he’s in this kind of mood.
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You have to admit she looks better dressed in ropes, a hard ball gag forcing her jaw wide. Take a gander at that wholesome freckled face, that sweet country-girl look. And breath deep, get yourself a lung full of the salty scent rising from her open crotch. Take your time with her, because she’s not going anywhere now that you’ve got a noose at her neck and you’ve trussed her like a calf…..
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In the coldness of his rooms and the silence of his mind, he imagines her to be a gem. She is a fairy, captured at his whim, to be designed, but fashioned in his mind, sculpted, tempered by his forge and his fire. She’s delivered to him in a crate and wrapped in plastic, merchandise to be consumed. Oh how he trembles, unraveling the ropes in his hands which will initiate his terrible ecstasy, the advent of his type of love. Without her, he is dead. Without a succession of fairies into his palace, he is made of wood. And so he buys another girl. He readies her, his new acquisition. And he molds her and causes her to suffer.
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The journey is beginning. I’m told to sit down on the floor as Master begins attaching me to a large, heavy steel triangle. My ankles are squeezed painfully into the metal cuffs. I guess people really can be big-boned, because my feet are going numb by the time he’s secured the metal collar around my neck and the cuffs on my wrists. He asks me to pull my legs out in front of me as far as I can. The pressure on my ankles causes me to wince, and I try to adjust my neck inside the collar it’s so tight…..
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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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Long flowing dark hair. Tight, lithe body. Her cunt drips at the touch of the ropes. Filled with a mixture of nervousness and excitement, she is introduced to the members. In her Debut Feed from June 10, 2000, yx accepts the bondage, the torture, the pain; she is immersed in it all….
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The memories stagger in upon me chaotically, as in a dream. Insects stinging, drawing blood. My hands, my breasts, trapped in unyielding metal. My movements secured with hooks buried deep inside my body: I am filled, I am owned. I walk like a marionette, with every step the hooks pull with cruelty inside my ass and my pussy. When I am released it is only to be stretched over a log and staked out in the grass; again I am left vulnerable, unable to protect myself from insects, biting my open body. My head secured in place with stakes and a gag. Shrieking as a worm is dangled over my face, crawling into my nose, squirming its slippery flesh over my tongue and my lips. And yet one memory towers above the rest of my torment; he called it the mala mansio…..
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Dairy available here.
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