Arabelle and Victoria take Miles apart like two cats circling fresh meat. He's strung up, wrists and ankles cuffed to the rafters and the floor, body stretched so tight every breath shows the ribs. No escape. No slack. They start easy. A slap across his ass, a bare foot grinding down on his toes. Victoria grabs a fistful of chest hair and yanks until the skin burns red. Arabelle grins and swings a leather hammer across his thigh. Each hit lands with a wet smack that echoes. They trade tools like jokes: paddle, zapper, clothespins pinching skin into angry peaks. Miles jerks, but the cuffs hold. His eyes stay wide, that deer-in-headlights stare they love. Then the straps come out. Thick silicone cocks jut from both hips, shiny with lube. Arabelle taps hers against his cheek, smearing wet. Victoria lines up behind him. They taunt him in low voices, call him Bambi, tell him to open up or they'll make it worse. One cock slides past his lips, the other pushes between his cheeks. They fuck him in rhythm, spit-roasting the helpless toy until drool runs down his chin and his hole shines. When they’re slick and panting, they shove him aside. Arabelle and Victoria climb onto the mat, press their cunts together around a thick vibrator. Hips roll, thighs slap. Miles has to watch, stroking his own cock because they ordered it. They come loud, grind harder, soak the toy. After, they drag him back. Arabelle cups her palm under his dick. "Stroke it, Bambi," she says. "Fill it." He jerks, shoots, fills her hand with thick streaks. Victoria forces his head down, makes him lap every drop from Arabelle’s fingers while they laugh.
Arabelle and Victoria take Miles apart like two cats circling fresh meat. He's strung up, wrists and ankles cuffed to the rafters and the floor, body stretched so tight every breath shows the ribs. No escape. No slack. They start easy. A slap across his ass, a bare foot grinding down on his toes. Victoria grabs a fistful of chest hair and yanks until the skin burns red. Arabelle grins and swings a leather hammer across his thigh. Each hit lands with a wet smack that echoes. They trade tools like jokes: paddle, zapper, clothespins pinching skin into angry peaks. Miles jerks, but the cuffs hold. His eyes stay wide, that deer-in-headlights stare they love. Then the straps come out. Thick silicone cocks jut from both hips, shiny with lube. Arabelle taps hers against his cheek, smearing wet. Victoria lines up behind him. They taunt him in low voices, call him Bambi, tell him to open up or they'll make it worse. One cock slides past his lips, the other pushes between his cheeks. They fuck him in rhythm, spit-roasting the helpless toy until drool runs down his chin and his hole shines. When they’re slick and panting, they shove him aside. Arabelle and Victoria climb onto the mat, press their cunts together around a thick vibrator. Hips roll, thighs slap. Miles has to watch, stroking his own cock because they ordered it. They come loud, grind harder, soak the toy. After, they drag him back. Arabelle cups her palm under his dick. "Stroke it, Bambi," she says. "Fill it." He jerks, shoots, fills her hand with thick streaks. Victoria forces his head down, makes him lap every drop from Arabelle’s fingers while they laugh.
