Topless Tapas 2

The Upper Floor turns dinner into a dare. She’s bound to the table, wrists cuffed wide, tits bare and glistening under the low light. A blonde in nothing but heels kneels between the silverware, mouth open whenever a guest decides she’s the next course. Leather bites into her hips when they lift them, then the first thrust slams home—raw, steady, no mercy. The table rocks, wineglasses tremble, yet no one stops eating. Every slap echoes like an order. She takes it in the ass and swallows what they feed her, breath shaking, eyes locked on whoever’s watching. Dessert comes last, and she’s still spread and dripping.