Ivy and Jarod

Jarod steps through the door and drops straight to his knees. Ivy snaps a collar around his neck, clips a leash, and yanks him toward the mat. She tests him first—posture, silence, pain threshold. Every flinch earns a slap. She strips him, spreads his legs, and strings his balls to the floor ring with a short rope. The tension keeps him hunched. She adds clothespins in neat rows up his shaft, twisting the last ones until he whimpers. When he hardens anyway, Ivy smiles, slaps the pins flat, and tells him to stay quiet. She frees one ankle, steps on his chest in her boots, then shifts her full weight onto his trapped balls. The rope snaps tight. She grinds until the cries leak out, then removes the clothespins one at a time, slow and stinging. Jarod’s breath shakes. Ivy plants her wet cunt over his mouth and rides until she comes, thighs locked, using his tongue the way she wants it. When she’s finished she stands, looks down at the trembling man, and steps on his chest once more before walking out.