The woman before you has a light tan to her features, those that can be seen anyway. Every inch of her head, save for the lower portion of her face, is concealed beneath a close-fitting black leather mask. The smooth leather covers her scalp entirely, hiding her hair and ears, leaving only a single opening that exposes her lips and nostrils while another fitted opening sits around the base of her neck. The rest of her face remains an unreadable mystery.

Her lips are painted with a layer of lipgloss that emphasises the natural colour of the flesh there while giving it a faintly shiny look, her slim philtrum leading up to the length of her slender, straight nose before it vanishes beneath the hood. She cannot speak, as there's a ring-gag forced between her lips, strapped to her face, under the hood's enveloping embrace. Her hands and arms are hidden within long black leather gloves that keep every finger bound together into a mitten-like shape, denying her any real dexterity while lending her movements a strangely elegant awkwardness. It would also be quite easy to notice the black steel piercing through her tongue, about an inch behind the tip, studded with a garnet at each end, the stones shimmering dully as she pants, forced open-mouthed.

Around her neck she wears nothing more than a simple black leather collar. It bears no initials, crest, ornamentation or identifying marks whatsoever, its deliberately plain appearance offering no clues as to its owner or purpose.

On her left arm, about midway down her bicep in a diagonal direction, she has a vivid, rough-edged scar, the flesh white though fading into the colour of her tanned skin now, half covered by the long glove she wears. Her left hand has upon her ring finger a bump where she has a ring, the object obscured.

Her ribs and belly are cinched tightly within a black corset. Whatever markings may lie beneath across her ribs remain entirely hidden by the fitted leather, the garment sculpting her figure into a tight wasp-waist . Above its upper edge rest a pair of larger-than-average, torpedo-like tits. The wine-cork thick nipples are left unpierced, though the holes for such are present in the flesh.

The scent of jasmine and sandalwood from her perfume are faint and sometimes a cardamom spicy, salty tang undercuts the other scents somewhat, but the main thing she smells of is fresh sweat... female arousal... and more than often not, sperm.

Below her breasts she has a slender waist and a flat toned belly that leads to a pair of hips that flare out, presenting the world with a well-rounded ass, the flesh toned and taut once again, the woman obviously in the habit of maintaining an exercise regimen.

Her sex is plainly visible. Broadly gaped, it reveals long, pink, crinkled labia that leave little doubt as to her anatomy, standing in stark contrast to the otherwise deliberate concealment of her identity, the shimmering pinkness of the flexing, open flesh revealing a gushing wetness that drools and drips like a limestone cave.

On her right buttock is a brand mark. The brand appears to be of two J's, one small, one large and an L as well, all of them sharing a common stem, the letters overlapping. The intertwined letters stand alone as the sole brand upon her flesh.

Beneath her crotch, bracketing the gaping crevasse of her well-used twat,  are two statuesque pillars of thighs, the flesh properly toned as it descends to her slender knees, firm calves and a pair of petite feet, the latter two encased in a pair of high heeled black leather boots. With the heels she must be at least five nine.