Gravity Pulls

Gravity's nothing. The Pope hangs Victoria Voxxx from the ceiling like a slab of meat, ankles and wrists stretched tight in a side suspension that leaves her tits and ass exposed. Every shift of her weight drives the ropes deeper into skin already rubbed raw. He walks a slow circle, testing the rig with his fingers, then brings the cane down across her ass in two quick stripes that make her jerk and spin. The cane finds the backs of her thighs next, then the soft undersides of her breasts, each strike timed so the sting peaks when she tries to twist away. She moans through the gag, drool slick on her chin, and the swing of her body only pulls the cane marks tighter. He swaps the rod for a thick, veined dildo slick with lube, presses the head against her cunt without preamble, and pushes until the shaft disappears inside her. Victoria's toes curl, her calves quiver, but the suspension keeps her hips angled just right for every thrust. He fucks her slow and deep, pulling the toy out each time she starts to clench, never letting her ride the edge she so clearly wants. Her breath hitches; a thin line of wetness trails down her thigh with every deliberate withdrawal. “You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?” The words hit like another stripe of the cane. He drops the dildo to the floor, picks the rod back up, and lays another ladder of welts across her ass while the toy still buzzes faintly between her feet. Her body swings, tits bouncing with every impact, cunt empty and aching, and the ropes hold her exactly where he wants her—open, hurting, and dripping for the next round.