Kendra James and Richie Rennt

Richie Rennt turns heads. Strong jaw, dark hair, the kind of smile women remember. He smiles it at someone who is not his girlfriend. Kendra James finds out. She doesn't yell. She locks him down instead. Leather cuffs bite his wrists to the frame. A leather hood cuts off his sight and most of his breath. The first stroke lands across his shoulders. Then another. Then a steady rain until the skin burns red. He flinches, but the cuffs hold. She moves lower. Hard slaps land on each cheek until they glow. A strip of clothespins runs down his chest, one tug and the pinch explodes across every nerve. Richie groans, tries to twist away, earns another lash for the effort. When the strap-on slides in, there is no warning, only pressure and stretch and the steady rhythm of her hips. Every thrust pushes another confession out of him. He says he is sorry. He says he learned. Kendra keeps the pace until the words sound real.