Stacy Ray

Stacy Ray came in young, limber, and ready to cross lines she hadn't even named. Never tied. Never gagged. Never forced past the edge. She laughed at the question—would she even be able to finish if she couldn't move? We bound her wrists first, then her ankles, the rope biting into that smooth black skin until her body arched like it belonged to someone else. The chain pulled tight when she struggled, metal singing against metal. Every thrust hit deeper than the last. She came hard, fast, and loud—eyes wide, surprised by the heat that tore through her. Rope, a gag, and a little water to keep her on the brink; that's all it took to turn a curious girl into a girl who wants the ropes waiting when she gets home.