Lilly Bell Suffers For You

Lilly Bell’s waited years to face The Pope again. Now she’s strapped into a steel rig, body locked upright, wrists and ankles cinched by thick ratchet straps. The first lash of his flogger cracks across pale skin and paints it scarlet. She strains, breath hitching, but he keeps the rhythm until she’s right on the edge—then he swaps pain for the vibrator and pushes climax after climax out of her trembling cunt. Next she’s flat on her back, legs pried wide, arms wrenched into a brutal strappado. The crop snaps over nipples, thighs, the tender soles of her feet. Every strike pushes her closer to the scream she’s holding back. When her body starts to shake too hard, he drops the crop and buries the vibrator against her clit while he fucks her deep and steady, milking wave after wave until her vision blurs. Finally he bends her into doggy, arms bound tight under her chest so every twist grinds the ache deeper. The cat-o-nine tails whistles down, striping her ass and thighs in fresh fire. She writhes, unable to find slack. More bastinado, then the thick cock slams back into her soaked pussy, pounding until she’s hoarse and every last orgasm is ripped out of her shaking frame.