Dusty

They are real, and they are perfect. Dusty's got the best tits we've shot in months. She's bound in the back offices now, lashed to the table the printer squats on, to the accountant's chair, to my own chair, and whatever else we could reach. The rope bites deep. She looks up through strands of blonde, a thick gag filling her mouth. She jerks when the cane lands, a bright stripe blooming across her ass. Each strike makes the cords creak. Each hit pushes her tits tighter against the wood. The office smells like ink and heat. Every blow echoes off the metal cabinets. She doesn't look away. She takes it all.