The Submission of Sinn Sage

Sinn Sage crawls like she was born to do it. She tongues Drake Man O’War’s boots until they shine, spit and leather mixed. One smack lands on her ass, then the paddle follows, painting it red and hot. When he shoves his cock down her throat she takes it all, gagging loud, eyes watering. He yanks her arms overhead, rope biting skin. The flogger whistles, each strike jolts her forward; his hands are rough, twisting, controlling. She begs. He straps a collar around her neck, clips a leash, drops her to her knees again. Hitachi pressed hard to her cunt while his tongue works her open, she shakes, dripping. Then he fucks her—hard, fast, the kind that leaves marks. Rope creaks, boots thud, every slap of skin loud in the room. Sinn takes it all and asks for more.