The Forbidden Cherry

She’s the forbidden cherry. Cherry Kiss fills the frame in her tight red latex dress, skin already gleaming, nipples stiff against the stretch. She drops to her knees the second she sees you and begs for use. You bind her arms behind her back, wrists snug in rope, elbows drawn close so her chest juts. She shudders when you clamp the first clothespin on her left nipple, clamps her right, then strings a line between them and gives a firm tug. Her mouth falls open, a low moan, and she leaks around the dildo you slide in without warning. She takes it to the hilt, hips rocking, cunt gripping the toy while you warm the cane across her ass. The strikes land sharp, thin lines of fire, and every time she jolts the clothespins bite harder. She chokes out her thanks, voice hoarse, eyes glassy, drool slipping down her chin. You pull the dildo free, slick, and press it to her lips; she licks it clean, hungry for anything you’ll give. The cane rises again, her ass striped and trembling, and she thanks you for every stripe, every pinch, every inch of pain you allow her to earn.