Brooke Bound and Chanta-Rose

Brooke blew the match. That loss hands Chanta free rein. Out on the court, Brooke gets bent over the net, skirt shoved up, and a tennis ball stuffed between her teeth like a gag. Chanta’s palm cracks across bare skin, the smack ringing in the open air while Brooke squirms and drools around the fuzzy ball. On the hard court, Brooke ends up on her back, knees hauled apart. Chanta grabs Brooke’s own racket, presses the leather-wrapped handle to her cunt and pushes until it sinks in. Brooke’s eyes widen, humiliation burning hotter than the sun overhead. Inside the house, Chanta strips a shoe and sock from one foot and shoves her toes past Brooke’s lips. The taste shoots straight to Chanta’s pulse. She straps on, hauls Brooke onto all fours, and drives in hard, taking everything the match just won her.