Cassandra Cain Tightly Bound & Gagged Hopping Around her House in Pantyhose in: Home Invasion!

Cassandra walks through the door after work like always. She heads straight for the kitchen, thirsty. Before she can reach the faucet a man slams into her from behind. His hand seals her mouth shut. He pins her arms behind her, breathes in her ear, tells her he read about the cash and jewelry in the paper. All he wants is the safe and the combination. She shakes her head, insists there is no safe, no jewels, no money. He doesn’t buy it. He orders her to strip off her top and skirt right there in the kitchen. Then he ties her—lots of rope, tight around her arms, chest, wrists. He plants her on a chair. From the hamper he pulls a pair of her worn cotton panties, thick and yellowed from yesterday. He lets her smell them first, holding them to her nose while his palm clamps her lips. Then he shoves them deep into her mouth, pinches her nostrils shut, packs them hard. A strip of shirt cloth cleaves between her teeth, locking the gag in. Clear packing tape follows, layer after layer, crushing the cloth flat against her cheeks, silencing every sound. He yanks her upright, threads rope between her legs, buries it into the crotch of her pantyhose and pulls until the knot digs in. The rope rides every movement. He keeps her standing, hand over the taped mouth, fingers digging into the fat of her tits, smacking her ass hard enough to leave red prints. She twists, grunts, fights. He ties her ankles, her knees, checks the gag one last time. She refuses to talk, stomps her feet, growls through layers of cloth and tape. He gropes her again, then leaves the kitchen to hunt the bedroom. Cassandra fights to stand in her heels, teetering, then hops—slow, deliberate hops—toward the drawer of kitchen knives. She gets one in her bound hands, but the angle is impossible. The utensil slips and clatters away. She turns, starts the long hop into the living room. Every bounce shifts the crotch rope. She grunts, sweats, fights for balance. Her phone waits on the coffee table. She gets it in her fingers, tries to work the lock. The man bursts back up the stairs, catches her. He snatches the phone, slaps her ass, squeezes her tits in punishment, snaps photos of her bound and gagged. Then he makes her hop back, filming the whole humiliating walk. Back in the kitchen he tells her he’s staying longer, needs to make sure she stays put—tighter this time. Cassandra screams into the tape, the sound barely a breath, eyes blazing with rage.