0315 Leather Lashed Lass
17:28 video
September 26th, 2025
Naked, barefoot & pole-tied, a triptych split-screen shows every wiggle, whip-stripe, and tear-streaked paingasm as Ben’s belt and whip turn my back, ass and pussy crimson, leaving me dripping against the pole…
You’ve got the perfect view of this leather lashed lass… Split screen showing every angle of my bare, tattooed body on display just for you. Back, side, and up-close on my face so you don’t miss a single flinch, whimper, or helpless wiggle as I dangle from the pole, wrists bound tight before me, feet bare and toes curling against the wooden floorboards.
The butt shelf holds my ass up high and exposed — pink, vulnerable, ready. Ben’s standing behind me with that thick suede leather katana from WhipSinLeather.com, the one that thuds so good with a sublime supple slap that leaves a lingering sting… and he’s not holding back. Each crack echoes through the room, my skin stinging, my breath hitching — you’ll see the exact moment the pain melts into pleasure, when my lips part and I moan your name.
Close-up, you’ll watch my eyes roll, my lips tremble… side view, you’ll see my hips jerk with every lash. And from behind? Oh, you’ll love watching my ass redden under his expert hand — stripes building, flesh glowing, my toes clawing the floor as I beg… then beg for more. This isn’t just punishment… It is impact worship. And you’re getting everything — every gasp, every squirm, every raw reaction in a crystal-clear triple camera view.
Ben unties the butt shelf rope… but I don’t get released — not even for a second. Ben spreads me wide against the pole. The first crack of the belt across my bare pussy makes me scream — sharp, hot, so deep. Each strike lands with perfect, brutal precision, the leather singing through the air and biting into my swollen lips, my clit throbbing even as I beg, tears streaking my face.
And then… I’m drenched. My orgasm isn’t clean — it’s messy, shuddering, helpless — juices dripping down my inner thighs, soaking into the floor, coating his belt as it keeps coming. When he finally stops, I’m a sobbing, trembling mess, my body still twitching with aftershocks. He lifts the glistening leather, slow and cruel, and wraps it around my neck like a collar. I gasp against it, my nostrils inhaling the wet stain of my own arousal, my chest heaving as he steps back.
No words. Just the sound of my whimpering, the creak of the ropes, and the warm, slick heat between my legs as I melt against the pole… completely undone. Did I earn my release, or should he come back and do it all again?