Tracey Hilton

Tracey’s back. Tonight the walls bite. She’s stripped, cuffed at the wrists and ankles, stretched between chains that rattle every time her heart jumps. A thick ball gag jams her mouth open, turning every breath into a wet choke. Metal cage bars press against her skin, cold and unyielding, forcing her to kneel on all fours while the lock clicks shut behind her. Sweat glistens on her bare tits as she tests the restraints; the cage won’t give an inch. Her blonde hair sticks to her forehead, lips stretched around the gag, drool already sliding down her chin. The dim light catches the silver links biting into her thighs, every twitch sending the chains clinking like a dare. She’s exactly where she wants to be—locked, gagged, exposed—and the dungeon has all night to remind her.