Mya Mason and DragonLily

Mya Mason is tiny. Never felt a woman’s hand on her before. Never been tied, never been hurt for pleasure. DragonLily’s palm cracks across her skin and the whole slender frame jerks like live wire. Each slap lands hot, leaves red. Then the strap-on drives in—Mya already folded, wrists and ankles lashed so tight the position bites. Her ass opens around the thick shaft anyway, greedy. Every thrust knocks a fresh cry out of her throat and she leans into it, hungry for more. The rope creaks. Her breath comes ragged. Pain and want twist together until they’re the same thing.