Roll The Bones

Marisol and Allie stretch Brat out between the posts, arms and legs tight, skin already goosebumped from the cold air. One yank and the last of her clothes hits the floor. Big tits bouncing, black hair falling across her face, the contrast sharp as Allie’s blonde hair stays pulled back, eyes locked on the prize. Marisol rattles a pair of dice, lets them clack on the table. "One through six," she says. "Low means light and short. High means you scream." Brat strains, wrists red. Allie drags a single nail up the inside of a helpless thigh. Marisol gives the dice a final shake, lets them fly. They hit, roll, stop. The number lands. Marisol smiles. "Looks like we go all night."