Strangers in a Bar: Vanessa (2 of 2)

Vanessa rolls up to the Starbucks drive-thru with a crooked grin. Five minutes later Mike’s in her passenger seat, already bragging about what he’d do if she gave him five minutes alone. She smiles, invites him back to her place, and by the time the door clicks shut his wrists are bound to the bedpost, ankles spread and cuffed. Vanessa strips him, lashes a spreader bar between his knees, and studies his cock like it’s nothing but leverage. She starts light, just a few taps with the crop across his ass. Then the cane joins in—short, sharp strokes that stripe his thighs and sit-flesh red. Every time he yelps she leans in, eyes glassy, voice syrupy: “We’re going to be so happy together, baby. You and me, forever. Our friends will understand.” When his ass glows, she unzips a small case and pulls out a thick silicone cock. “Open up,” she says, sliding it between his lips. He gags. She laughs and works it deeper, drool running down his chin. “That’s it—show me how you’ll treat your wife.” She steps into a harness, the strap-on jutting black and heavy. “Time to make love,” she whispers. Mike tries to twist away, but the cuffs hold; the spreader bar keeps him wide. She lines up, presses in, hips rolling with slow force until her thighs slap his burning cheeks. She rides him in long, grinding strokes, then short, cruel snaps, every angle covered. Sweat rolls off both of them. She snaps pictures between thrusts—his face, the red welts, the strap buried to the hilt—and talks about sending them to everyone he knows. His eyes dart toward the door. Vanessa smiles wider, driving harder. “Not yet, sweetheart. We still have vows to exchange.”