Fresh Meat: Lacy Lennon is Tied, Tormented and Made to Cum

Lacy stands with her arms locked over her head, already learning how The Pope runs things. He pushes the red ball between her teeth and cinches it tight. Her eyes flash. She drops right into that place where she belongs, like she was born to be under his hand. He circles her, cracks his palm across her ass, follows it with the flogger, then clamps her nipples with wooden pins. Every strike lands. Every pinch bites. She trembles, but the heat between her legs tells the truth. Soon her cunt is pulsing and the first orgasm rips through her. It is loud, messy, and impossible to hide. She is no longer the girl who walked in curious. She is the girl who leaks for pain. The next position hangs her in a tight hogtie, ankles and wrists drawn together above the floor. The Pope steps close, fingers sliding over her swollen pussy to steady her before he begins again. The crop paints red lines across her thighs, her ass, the backs of her calves. When he steps around to her face, his palm seals her mouth and nose. Her stare never leaves him. Every second without air is a silent promise to obey. He trades the crop for a thick dildo, drives it between her lips, then buries it inside her. The thrusts are relentless, and every orgasm crashes into the next until her body hangs limp and twitching. For the last round he stretches her on her back, limbs pulled in four directions until her joints scream. He tells her this is where the real hurt lives, and he proves it. The cane finds every tender inch while the vibrator stays glued to her clit. She comes until the pleasure turns sharp, until the sharp turns to ache, until the ache becomes something she can’t name. She tries to close her legs. He ignores her. When she has nothing left to give, he loosens one wrist, just enough to remind her she still chose to trust him, then keeps using her until the last shudder leaves her soaked and empty on the floor.