Gizelle Blanco Tormented and Machine Fucked

She steps into the frame and gives herself over. Restraints close around her body until every inch of movement belongs to someone else. The steel frame presses her down inch by inch, her back arching, her breath shortening. A ball gag silences the first real sounds she makes. Nipple clamps bite, then tug, then twist. When the vibrator hits she comes fast, body bucking against metal that won’t give. Next she’s locked on hands and knees, wrists chained between her thighs, face pressed flat to cold wood. Floggers land in steady rhythm until her skin burns pink. Then the metal claws scrape slow lines across her back and ass, and every nerve lights up at once. The moment the toy touches her again she shakes, mouth open around the gag, orgasms ripping through her in waves that leave her gasping. Finally she’s spread wide, wrists and ankles fixed so nothing is hidden. The Pope doesn’t waste time. He works her until she’s slick and trembling, then he brings out the fucking machine. It drives into her without mercy, the speed and force controlled only by his hand. She comes again, and again, legs twitching, mind blank. When the machine finally stops, all that’s left is sweat, drool, and a woman too far gone to move.