Kym Wilde and Willie

Willie and Kym go way back, but she never laid eyes on him bare until today. She orders him to strip. Piece by piece the clothes hit the floor. When he’s naked, she paints lipstick across his mouth and scrawls dirty words on his chest in thick marker. The ink still wet, she loops rope around his wrists, pulls his arms overhead. One sharp tug and his balance is gone. She works the lash down his back, across his thighs, then zeroes in on his cock. Each stroke lands lower, tighter, until every swing makes him flinch and swell at the same time. When she’s done marking him, she pushes him onto the bench, spreads his legs, and fucks him deep while the ropes keep him pinned and the fresh bruises throb.