Aly and Kym Wilde

Aly stumbles in, mouth running, hips swinging, drunk on her own noise. Kym stands behind the bar, rag in one hand, cool eyes on Aly like a blade already out. Last call empties the room. Aly laughs too loud, keeps talking. Kym locks the door without a word and drops the towel. Her voice is low and flat. Aly mouths off once more and Kym grabs her wrist, twists, pins her face-down across the bar. Leather cuffs snap around Aly’s wrists before the protest leaves her throat. Kym yanks Aly’s skirt up, panties aside, and works two fingers straight into her ass. Aly’s breath catches sharp, but her hips push back. Rope comes next—tight loops around her thighs, holding her open, knees spread against the wood. Kym takes her time with the strap, slicking the head, then sliding it deep. Aly strains, swears, comes hard with her cheek pressed to the bar top. Kym doesn’t stop. She fucks her slower, deeper, until Aly’s legs shake and the only sound left is the wet slap of leather on skin and Aly’s broken moans.