Highly Orgasmic: Ashley

Ashley drops onto the mattress in nothing but a ball gag and rope. The strap cuts across her cheeks and forces every moan into a wet, broken sound. Her wrists and ankles are locked behind her, elbows kissing, thighs parted, body arched on its stomach so her ass rides high and her tits press the sheet. She jerks once, twice, testing the knots, and the tension sends a long tremor down her spine. Sweat beads at the small of her back, slides between the cheeks she cannot close. She is already wet; the rope there tells the story before the first strike lands. The cane slices in hard and fast. Red lines bloom across pale skin. Each stripe makes her hips buck, makes the wet sounds louder, slicker. Her shoulders roll, trying to find air around the gag, but there is no room and she does not need it. Pleasure slams through her anyway. She comes once with a full-body twitch that shakes the bed frame, comes again when the next strike lands across the first marks. Her thighs quiver, inner muscles clenching nothing and still flooding. By the third orgasm her eyes roll, lashes wet, drool bright at the corner of her mouth. She keeps coming, shaking, soaking the sheet beneath her, every nerve wired straight to the sting and the pull of rope. Blonde hair sticks to her face; the gag shines. She is raw, open, and the room smells like sweat, leather, and cunt.