India Summer's Principles of Servitude, Day Two

India Summer looks like a million bucks in that kitchen—tight body, dark hair falling across her shoulders—but she won’t stay pretty for long. Ropes bite into her arms first, yanking them high behind her back until her shoulders scream. Her ankles are pulled apart on the cold tile, feet spread wide enough that balance becomes a joke. Every shift of weight pulls the knots tighter. When the flogger lands it’s loud, wet, sudden; red lines rise fast across her ass and thighs. She grits her teeth, then groans when the metal plug replaces the sting—cold, unrelenting, sliding deep. Her hips twitch. That’s when they step in front of her, cock already hard, and push between her lips without a word. No warm-up, just throat. She gags, spit running down her chin, but the next thrust is deeper. By the time they move behind her, she’s dripping. They yank the plug free and replace it with cock, shoving straight into her ass in one long drive. Her whole body jolts forward; the ropes hold. They fuck her like that—hard, fast, no mercy—while the wand buzzes against her clit. Every orgasm rips through her faster than the last, leaving her shaking. They don’t stop. They keep using her mouth, her cunt, her stretched ass until she’s hoarse from begging and the floor beneath her is slick.