Fist Fucking The Lawyer

Angell Summers walks into the holding cell, briefcase in hand. Maitresse Madeline sits on the steel bench, orange jumpsuit unzipped to her waist. The therapist’s stare pins the lawyer before a single word leaves her mouth. “You came back.” Madeline stands, cuffs still locked, and circles behind the younger woman. She yanks Angell’s skirt up without asking. Her tongue finds tight, nervous pussy first, lapping until Angell’s legs buckle. Then the cuffs come off and everything changes. Madeline slams the lawyer face-down over the bench. Spit-slick fingers work past the ring of muscle, one knuckle, then four, until the whole fist disappears. Angell’s asshole opens wide, shiny and red. Madeline punches in again, slow, deliberate, the gape winking after every pull. Between thrusts she reaches for the heavy flogger. Leather tails crack across pale cheeks, leaving instant welts. Every strike drives the fist deeper. Angell moans into her own forearm, mascara streaking. Madeline keeps the rhythm cruel: flog, fist, repeat, until the lawyer’s thighs shake and a slick puddle spreads on the concrete floor. A thick glass plug waits on the bench; Madeline works it in to the widest point and leaves it there, stretching the ruined hole while she licks Angell’s dripping cunt to a shuddering finish. The cellblock lights flicker. No one interrupts.