Adrianna Nicole and Torque

Torque works Seven’s ribs with quick fingers until she jerks and gasps around the ball gag. The blindfold keeps her guessing where the next poke will land. Sweat beads under the strip of black silk and her laughter slips wet around the gag. When the teasing stops, Torque frees her wrists and shoulders, only to strap them tighter to the bike’s cold bars. Leather cinches her thighs wide against the seat. She can’t shift an inch, arms stretched back, legs spread, every twitch met by the hard frame. He leaves her there, breathing hard through her nose, the leather creaking every time her body strains.