Poolside Hostage

Lora Cross bakes in the sun when Ryan Rose slides in, clamps a hand over her mouth and yanks her off the lounge. Rich girl, big payout—that’s the plan. Lora slips free and bolts, but Ryan’s faster. She slams Lora to the tiles, wrists cinched behind her back, ankles bound tight, a strip of cloth shoved between her teeth. Ryan’s fingers dance over Lora’s ribs, ribs that twist and jerk until she’s gasping around the gag. Problem: Lora’s dirty. Ryan drags her into the pool, dunking her under, scrubbing away sweat and dust while the ropes stay cinched. Water streams off Lora’s black hair, her blonde captor’s breath hot against her ear. Ryan’s pupils flare; she crushes their mouths together. Lora fights for half a second, then melts, tongues sliding, hungry. When they break apart, Ryan ties Lora spread-eagle to the deck chairs, peels her shorts down and buries two fingers deep. Lora arches, cums hard, thighs shaking. Ryan unties one wrist. Lora’s free hand dives under Ryan’s panties, finds wet heat, works it fast until Ryan’s hips stutter and she groans through clenched teeth. A branch snaps. Ryan’s boss steps out of the shadows, rope in hand. Now both women lie side by side, wrists and ankles locked together, gags swapped out for fresh cloth, hips grinding against nothing while they strain to break loose.