Your Rag Doll

Arson Leigh kneels on the floor, arms and neck lashed to the bed frame, her bra yanked down so her tits sit out. The crop snaps across bare skin while a hand squeezes whatever it can reach. Every sting pulls another pulse of wet between her legs. You step in front of her. Her mouth opens without a word. You cane the curve of her ass, flog the backs of her thighs, each strike timed to the rhythm of her sucking. She begs for your cock inside her. You shove her face-down on the mattress and drive in hard, hips snapping until she floods the sheet beneath her. She came without asking. Bastinado follows—sharp strokes across her soles until she yelps. Then you drag her head back to your cock so she can lick her own taste off it. You sit on the edge of the bed, pull her onto your lap, and she rides. Deep. While she works, you clip a line of clothespins across both breasts. The second her cunt starts to flutter again you yank the whole chain free; the sudden bite knocks the air out of her. You finish by pushing her mouth back down and emptying down her throat, leaving the rag doll exactly where you want her—used and dripping.