The French Maid

Lou Charmelle knocks once. James Deen opens the door and looks her over like something he already owns. She tries the apron line, but he backs her against the wall. His hand slides under the short black skirt, finds she forgot the panties. He spins her, wrists behind her back, rope tight. The knot bites. She breathes through it, legs shaking. He tips her face up and fills her mouth with his cock—thick, hot, no warning. She takes it deeper because the rope makes her stay. Spit runs down her chin. He yanks her hair, pulls out, bends her over the table. One knee on the wood, the other on the floor. He works two fingers into her ass, stretches her slow, then lines up. The first thrust is deep. Lou gasps. He holds her there, ass spread, hole full. Each stroke slams home, heavy balls slapping skin. She comes with her cheek pressed to polished wood, mascara streaked, drool stringing. He keeps pounding until he floods her ass, pulls out, watches it leak down her thighs. She stays tied, breathing hard, used and still wanting more.