A Strap On With A New Lover

She pins Lora Cross down. Tiny. Ripped. Mouthy. The straps bite into those biceps and Lora strains anyway, every muscle popping like it wants to prove a point. The point dies when the domme sinks the strap-on in one slow, cruel push. Lora gasps, bites her lip, but the fight stays in her eyes until the next thrust knocks it loose. The toy is too thick for that tight little cunt and snaps with a wet, filthy pop. No hesitation. The domme rips it free, shoves two fingers in up to the knuckles, then three, driving them hard while Lora’s wrists jerk against the cuffs. Every stroke makes her twitch, every twist makes her whimper, and the domme just keeps working her open like she owns every inch. Across the room, the camera girl’s leotard is stretched thin, nipples stabbing the fabric, one hand already inside, rubbing fast because she can’t help it. Lora’s blonde hair sticks to her sweat-slick cheek; she’s panting, shaking, soaked, and nowhere left to go.