The Wife Trader

Tommy Pistol storms in with his uptight wife, eyes locked on the prize. Nadia Styles, all leather and cold steel, watches. Rope bites into skin. Roxy Rox steps forward, blond hair gleaming, ready to wreck every boundary. The wife freezes but Roxy’s hands move fast—unbuttoning, teasing, then locking her wrists above her head. Tension crackles. Tommy circles, unzipping, cock already hard. Roxy drops to her knees, tongue sliding over the wife’s thighs, then deeper, coaxing moans from lips that swore this would never happen. A thick plug presses between the wife’s ass cheeks. She gasps, thighs shaking. Roxy guides Tommy’s cock to the wife’s stretched hole. He pushes in slow, then harder, fucking her ass while Roxy tongues her clit. The wife thrashes against rope, lost in the rhythm. Sweat, spit, the slap of skin. Nadia watches from the shadows, silent and satisfied. Tommy grips the wife’s hair, pounding deep until she cries out, the sound raw and filthy. They wanted a taste; now they owe the house.