Poor Jeanette! Taped up tightly in three different positions, all of which leave her unable to do anything more than struggle, whimper and grunt into her various gags! We made sure to place her into a very short shirt so she cannot possible help but provide plenty of up-skirt peeks at the crotch of her pantyhose, whether she likes it or not! From tape gags to hogties to knotted cleave gags to chair ties, even an unusual crossed legged tape box tie that keeps the crotch panel on her pantyhose on full display, this little beauty only exists for your pleasure! If she only knew how much you enjoyed her struggling!

Standing in a brutal stapaddo is painful enough for Elise Graves. We have her feet secured to the floor in solid metal boots so she is not going anywhere. When her legs get tired she is going to want to sit down and the only seat available just happens to be a bed of spikes. She wants to cum from the vibration on her clit but there are so many things hurting her at the same time it is nearly impossible. The suction cups on her nipples are like a non-stop, tugging pinch. The spikes under her ass are digging in hard enough to leave dents. The collar around her neck is barely allowing Elise to breathe. How is a young slut supposed to orgasms through all of that? The marks each of these treatments leave are amazing. Her nipples are distorted, her ass is on fire and she cannot hold back the screams or the tears. At one point she had subtly done makeup. Now the mascara is smeared around her eyes. A few stickers tell Elise that she's been doing a good job in the most humiliating way possible. The savage caning that Elise takes next is enough to leave her weak in the knees. Again, she is left sobbing. We want her staring into the camera for every stroke and that level of concentration means she has no way to block out the pain. Even if Matt has a hard time hitting her around the frame she is secured to, each time he lands a blow it gets a response.

Honour May is sleeping fitfuly, disturbed by the sound of the falling rain on her window, getting heavier and heavier. The wind rises, starts to howl and whistle and whip around the bones of the old house. The rain comes harder, more insistently, making the satin-clad damsel stir in her sleep. Barefoot, she sleeps in her long night-dress, it's satin fabric draping seductively over her recumbant form. A flash- a roll of thunder. The storm is gathering around her, and the nightmare in the storm is peering in through the window. Something icy cold grasps her ankle. She screams as she finds herself locked in a fever dream of cold steel and chains and captivity, pulled out towards the raging thunder by the beast that dwells within the eye of the storm. A gag muffles her cry- not one of the other guests is aware of the drama unfolding in the Master bedroom! She fights to escape but the magical chains have that strange quality of nightmares, that she can never quite evade or escape or break free no matter how hard she tries..

The coyotes will have a feast; her valiva runs thick and copiously. I am beside myself with this whore. She cringes at my attentions yet her body pulses, reaching out for more. This is the ultimate state and the final betrayal. Her mind and sense of self have hopelessly failed.