My Fucking Ragdoll

Arson Leigh has Sage Roux strung up in full suspension, balls tethered down so every twitch pulls his own ropes tighter. She leans into his face, breath hot. "You are so fucking fucked." Her cane finds the soft spots first. He jerks, breath catching, while she circles him in black latex and razor heels, carving pink lines into pale skin. His moans slip out louder with every strike. She wants to hear the fear, to taste it. She drops him to his back and shoves the strap-on past his lips, working it deep until spit coats the shaft. A clear bag seals over his mouth next, fogging with every frantic breath she allows. Then she flips him, pins him, and drives the thick cock straight into his ass while drool runs down his chin onto the floor. He’s nothing but dead weight now, limbs loose, entirely hers. She settles on his face, grinding until his tongue works without thought, then sinks onto his rigid cock. Every time he bucks from the zapper she clamps down harder, slick and greedy. Reverse cowgirl, hips snapping, she rides until she shudders and comes on him. When his breathing hitches she wraps her fist around his shaft, strokes hard, keeps him right there until he begs. Permission granted. He paints his own stomach in thick ropes. Arson scoops it up, feeds every drop back between his lips, and tells him that’s all he’s good for.