Tied Up Spread Eagle: Talia Monet

Talia's back and strapped to the rack by Marty. Arms above her head. Legs spread wide. She can't move an inch. The ball gag fills her mouth, turning every sound into a muffled groan. Rope bites into her wrists and ankles. Leather straps cross her thighs. She strains against the ties, muscles tight, breath quick and shallow. Marty stands over her, crop in hand. The first strike lands across her breasts, sharp and hot. She jerks, hips twisting. Another smack to her inner thigh. Red blooms on pale skin. Sweat beads at her collarbone and runs between her breasts. The gag keeps her quiet, but her eyes scream. Each hit lands, precise, deliberate. She takes it, body shaking, the ropes creaking under every pull. Her skin glistens. Her breathing stutters. Marty works her over, no mercy, just heat and sting and the steady rhythm of leather on flesh. She arches as much as the ties allow. The tension never breaks.