Bratgirl VS Escapologist

You say you want this session, fine. You’re getting it. All of it. Who folds first, the spoiled blonde brat bouncing on her toes or the calm, older man who knows every knot? She’s light on her feet, he’s even lighter on mercy. A glance at his cock tells you he’s cut clean, thick already. Her eyes drop, then snap back up, all teeth and challenge. The rope hisses through her hands. She loops his wrists first, cinches until the veins pop, then drops lower, lashes his thighs wide, pins his cock upright with a final cruel twist of hemp. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to hide the pulse that jumps when the vibe clicks on. She presses the humming head right under the crown and holds it there, counting down like she’s handing out candy. Ten. Nine. He bucks, teeth grinding. She laughs, resets the timer, and starts again. Edging him until pre-cum beads and spills, until his breath catches on every number. She leans close, breath warm, voice sugar-sweet. “Help,” she whispers. “That’s what I’m here for.”