Mark Davis and Venus

A latex hood clings tight over Venus's face. Every breath comes hard, thick, pulled through a narrow slit. Vision gone. The world shrinks to touch, to smell, to the weight of what’s coming next. Mark Davis moves around her like he owns the air. Rope bites into her wrists and ankles, pulls her open, leaves nothing hidden. She waits. Exposed. Ready to be used. He starts with his fingers. Two slide straight into her ass, working her open. She jerks against the ropes, hips rolling, but there’s nowhere to go. He keeps her there, spread, while his knuckles press deeper, knuckles twisting, knuckles slick. When he’s done teasing, he replaces his hand with his cock. Thick. Slow at first, then deeper, until he’s buried. Venus gasps behind the hood, a raw sound swallowed by latex. He fucks her in steady, punishing strokes, each one shoving her forward against the ropes. She comes once. Hard. Then again, sudden and wet. Squirting sprays across the floor, dripping down her thighs while he keeps moving inside her. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let her close up. Just holds her open and keeps taking what he wants. By the time he’s finished, Venus hangs loose in the ropes, dripping, spent, marked by every inch he gave her.