Vendetta

Vendetta came in thinking she’d signed up for Ultimate Surrender. One look at the rope, and her real reasons showed. The girl has a little submissive streak buried under all that fight, and bondage is the switch that flips it. She asked for it, begged for it the way she’d kept it hidden. So we bound her tight, legs spread and arms drawn back until her muscles burned. She still kicked, still twisted, but the wet between her thighs gave her away. A fat red ball gag shoved between her teeth muffled every curse and every moan she tried to hide. Blonde hair tangled across her face as she shook her head, trying to look like she hated every second. Clothespins lined her nipples and the soft inner lips of her cunt, pinching until the sting mixed with the throb and turned the pain into heat. She fought harder when she felt the rope cinch tighter, her body jerking every time we added another. Each time we touched her she bucked, but the second we started rubbing her she melted, hips rocking against our hands despite herself. She came hard, fighting the whole way, eyes hot and wet, drool sliding down her chin around the gag. The more she resisted, the wetter she got, and she knew we could tell. She came again when we told her she had to. And again when we told her she wasn’t allowed. We kept her right on that edge until she was sobbing through the gag, legs trembling, and she was ours.