Mark Davis' Birthday

Mark Davis walked in and they handed him the keys like he owned the place for one night only. Cherry Torn knelt in the center of the room, wrists already cuffed behind her back, tits pushed forward and waiting. The rope cut tight across her chest, forcing those big breasts to sit up and beg. She didn't look away when he circled her. She kept her chin high even when the first cane cracked across her ass and left a stripe that burned red to the touch. He wanted her ass, so they bent her over the bench, ankles spread and locked down. She grunted when the plug went in, then again when the flogger landed between her shoulder blades, each swing pushing her forward onto the toy stretching her open. Mark took his time. He watched her skin flush, watched her fight the urge to beg until he finally slid inside her, slow and deep, holding her hips so she felt every inch. Every thrust rocked the bench. Every slap of his hand left fresh marks on already bruised flesh. She came shaking, breath ragged, eyes glassy, still tied down and dripping. He didn't untie her after. He left her there for the others to use until the candles burned out.