Crissy Sparks

Marty knots the ropes tight around Chrissy Sparks. She arches, mouth forced wide by the ball gag, spit already dripping down her chin. He pulls the cords across her tits, cinches them until the flesh swells red. Her wrists lock behind her back. She can’t move. Can’t talk. Can’t do anything but take what’s coming. He bends her forward, ties her ankles to her thighs, leaves her balanced on her knees. The wood of the bench presses hard against her skin. Every breath drags the gag deeper between her teeth. He steps back and watches the way her body strains against the knots. Then he brings the cane down across her ass in one clean stroke. Her whole frame jerks. The ropes creak. Another stripe lands, sharp and loud. She shakes, but the ties hold. He works slow, planting each mark exactly where he wants it, watching the skin bloom from pink to dark red. Sweat runs down her spine. The ball gag keeps every sound trapped inside her throat. Each new hit lands harder. Chrissy Sparks stays on her knees, pinned and trembling, until the last blow echoes through the room.