Pool Boy's Revenge

Kenzie Anne keeps her rich-girl lifestyle tight as a fist. Sun-kissed skin, big tits, money in the bank, she’s used to snapping her fingers and watching men crawl. Johnny scrubs her pool every week in quiet, and she’s been chasing that silence like a thirst. Today she decides to drown him in it. She lays out topless, blond hair spread, nipples hard in the sun, daring him to look. Johnny keeps his eyes on the skimmer. She hurls curses; he walks. Later she’s under hot water, legs spread, two fingers working her clit raw, replaying how she’d like him to shove her down and shut her up. The bathroom door opens. Johnny’s beard is wet, his hands already on her throat. He drags her onto her knees, slams his cock past her painted lips, fucks her throat until spit and mascara paint her chin. He spins her, bends her, drives in from behind, wet slaps echoing off tile. Then the rope: wrists cinched to a deck chair, then stretched to the iron railing, tits pushed forward, ass presented. He pounds her cunt, uses her mouth, uses her ass, every thrust a reminder who owns the hour. She comes loud, ruined, owned, and still begging for more.