Alissa Ashley

Alissa Ashley wants eyes on her. That’s clear. So I rope her tight and march her down the street, naked and exposed. The gag in her mouth turns every moan into a muffled plea. I zap her cunt with the prod—sharp, quick jolts that make her knees buckle—then press the vibe hard against her clit. She jerks, tries to hide, but the ropes won’t let her. Cars slow. Windows slide open. She comes hard right there on the pavement, shaking, drooling past the gag, while strangers watch every wet spasm. The night air stings her skin and still she keeps dripping.