Quality Control

Octavia Red had a mouth on her. She tore into Christian Wilde for every missed deadline, every half-assed job. Her voice got sharper, louder, until he snapped. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out back to the supply yard, boots scraping over gravel and sawdust. He pushed her down on a stack of plywood and forced his cock between her lips. She clawed at his thighs, but he held her head and fucked her mouth until the only sounds she made were wet gags. He didn’t stop until she quit fighting and just took it. He bent her over the boards and yanked her top down. Those big tits spilled out; he grabbed them, squeezed, used them like handles while he drove his dick into her cunt. She moaned through clenched teeth, tried to twist away, but he had her pinned. Next he lashed her to the sawhorse, thick leather belt looped around her neck. Her ass was already turning red under his hand, each slap loud in the open air. He fucked her from behind, steady, punishing, until her thighs shook and her pussy was slick down to the knees. He pulled out and shoved the wet cock back into her mouth. She licked it clean, breathing hard through her nose, eyes glassy. Then he laid her on her back across the same boards, wrists and ankles tied wide. Her legs couldn’t close. He sucked on her tits while he fucked her again, slower this time, deeper. She begged him to stop. He ignored every word. She begged him to come. He kept going until her voice cracked and her body went tight around him. When he finally pulled out he painted her stomach and tits with thick ropes. She lay there breathing hard, tits shiny, mouth quiet at last.