Connor Halstead is one hot piece of ass, solid muscle from head to toe. We don’t just lust after Connor – we own him. He is in our dungeon, expertly roped to an inclined X-cross, wearing a sleeveless muscle-shirt and mesh undies. The ropes binding his throat, ankles and wrists are tight and unforgiving. He’s terrified. He knows he is helpless and about to be hurt — and fucked. The muscular young man standing in front of him has lust in his eyes – and a whip. He rips open Connor’s shirt and pinches his nipple painfully, then flogs his smooth, perfect skin, stopping only to ring his bulging pecs with clothespins.
