Buckwilding

Buck spots her on the road and pulls over like he owns the night. London River steps out all pressed suit and lipstick, but the second she sees his face the game is up—she remembers who broke her first. He doesn’t ask. He drags her by the hair into the back of the truck, rips the jacket off her shoulders and the blouse down to her waist, tits bouncing free under the passing headlights. You watch, already hard, already waiting. Buck pins her wrists and snaps the first clothespin on a nipple, then another, a neat cruel line from tit to belly. She curses. He canes the line clean, quick red welts rising while she twists and the pins tug harder. Every time her hips buck he shocks her inner thigh with the wand, a sharp bright sting that makes her cunt clench and drip. He edges her with nothing but the crop and the current, never letting her finish, never letting her breathe. She begs to come; he answers by laying the cane across the backs of her thighs until she howls. When he finally shoves her onto your lap, London’s shaking, striped, dripping. You take her hips and sink her onto your cock in one brutal push. She rides like she’s been punished for it—back arched, cane marks burning, pins still biting while you fuck up into her. Buck keeps the wand ready, zapping every time she slows, every time she forgets who owns the ride.