Breathing is for Quitters

Rebel Rhyder’s already grinning when Victor Ray walks in. She’s the kind of girl who laughs when she knows something’s going to hurt. He pins her down, legs spread, wrists and ankles cinched tight. Her dress rides up easy. One hand dives under the hem, finds bare skin, and lands a heavy spank that makes her jolt. Victor’s free hand grabs a fistful of tit, squeezes, twists, then he shoves his cock straight down her throat—fast, sloppy, until spit’s running down her chin and she can’t catch air. Every time she gags, her hips lift like she’s chasing more. He slices the dress clean off. Now there’s nothing left to hide behind. He clamps a hand over her nose and mouth, testing how long she’ll ride that edge before she comes untouched. Rhyder’s eyes roll back. Her thighs shake. He hauls her up into a rope swing. Legs dangle, spine bent. Victor locks her neck in the crook of his arm, presses a vibrator to her clit and keeps it there while he slams into her. The swing creaks. Her breath turns ragged. She starts to beg, so he swaps straight to her ass, no warning, just the wet slide of his dick stretching her open. Back and forth—pussy, ass, pussy—until she’s drooling and pleading for permission. He denies her twice. The third time he gives it to her and she comes hard, squirting down his balls. Then he drops her onto the bench, ties her face-down, and goes back to work. Every thrust of his cock in her cunt is followed by a slap to her ass that leaves a red handprint. When he pulls out to shove his dick down her throat again, she chokes until her arms strain against the ropes. Victor jerks free at the last second, paints her face, and leaves thick ropes of cum hanging off her eyelashes, stinging her eyes shut.