Love The Way She Smells

Just imagine yourself at her place

Her old perverted neighbor and his friends thought it would be a great time to visit.

I bet those feet and shoes smell good.

©GT6 Photography

FUWP 101lf48h1

Always teasing the men at her work when she comes in on her off days in her yoga shorts. This time they got tired of the teasing. 

If you’re a girl who gets wet about being like the helpless girl on the right, perhaps you should tease me a little more 😏

let’s see how she reacts to the brush.

He left but then waited until the day was over. The older man was able to sneak up on her, snatching her up and bringing her back to the warehouse to teach her some manners.

Melissa thought it was just gonna be another average wedding appointment, she would get in the hotel, meet the bride and do some hair. She had no idea an older very wealthy gentlemen who was her landlord had orchestrated the whole thing. Mr. Richardson was obsessed with her and devised a plan to get his hands on her. So when Melissa goto the hotel by her surprise she was ambushed by some hired men, they bound up and gagged her mouth shut. Delivering her to their boss for him to enjoy for the weekend.

Hours later, she awoke on a stark white bed, her body encased in a tight black latex suit, restraints buckling her wrists and ankles, a matching hood obscuring her face. The best man’s shadow lingered in the room, the faint hum of morning traffic seeping through the window as the van ride’s memory faded into this new confinement. Her coffee and tools were distant echoes, replaced by the slick, unyielding material that bound her, her movements restricted by the leather straps. Fear pulsed through her. The men were slowly showing up for some pre-wedding fun.

She woke up on a old bed in a cold room that smelled of rust and oil. Thick rope bit into her wrists, looped over an iron hook that creaked each time she swayed. A heavy latex hood clung to her head, sealing away sight and most sound, leaving only the wet drum of her own pulse and the low murmur of male voices negotiating just beyond the door. The floral skirt and knotted white shirt she’d worn to feel pretty now felt obscene, twisted and half-torn, the boots she loved scuffed and dangling inches above a grated drain. Footsteps approached (measured, expensive shoes on concrete), and someone ran a manicured thumb across the sole of her bare foot like he was testing fruit. One of the voices, older, amused, said her name the way collectors say the name of a new acquisition. Melissa realized then that the women from accounting had never been her friends; they were scouts, and tonight she was the bonus that sealed whatever deal had just been made upstairs.

She awoke to find her arms restrained behind her, and her ankles bound with leather straps. Her dirty socks stuffed her mouth, sealed by duct tape. The untouched second bed mocked her; the deadbolt was thrown from the inside, her cracked phone on the dresser displaying his final message: *Consider this your performance review.* as the masked man opened the door letting a few owners of the company into the room.

Always showing off that tongue

One fateful night, after the gym had emptied and Samantha lingered for a late solo session, Alex made his move. The live feed cameras hummed quietly in the background, broadcasting to his private server as he approached her from behind, a chloroform-soaked cloth muffling her surprised gasp. She struggled briefly, her strong limbs no match for the surprise attack, before slumping into his arms. Dragging her to the dimly lit back room, he secured her with leather restraints, her eyes fluttering open to meet his manic gaze. "I've waited too long," he whispered, the camera capturing every moment as he explored her bound form, the thrill of possession finally his, with the world unknowingly just a click away from witnessing it all.