Lonely Traveler: Goldie

Late night, Goldie steps into Matt's bar. Her tits strain against a thin top, miles from home and dying for a drink. Matt doesn't rush. He chats. Smiles. Then he moves. Ropes bite into her wrists, her ankles, every curve. A ball gag stretches her mouth wide. She can't speak, can't stop him. Machines take over where his hands leave off, pistons and vibrations working her soaked cunt until she shakes, comes, and comes harder. The night stretches on. Goldie stays bound, dripping, used, and loving every filthy second.