Abandoned and Alone

Dahlia's wrists bite against rope in the gutted warehouse. She's stripped bare, legs split wide and anchored to rusted beams, back arched so her ass is the first thing any shadow sees when the door slams. No light, no sound except her breathing and the distant drip of water. Then he steps in. Boots. Belt already open. He doesn't speak. Just spits on her hole and drives straight in, thick and sudden, no warm-up, no mercy. Every thrust slams her forward until the ropes creak and her tits bounce against nothing. He grabs her hair, yanks her head back, pounds deeper until the slap of skin echoes off concrete. She screams when the first orgasm rips through her, voice cracking, and he doesn't slow. He just laughs once, low, and slams harder, using the ropes like handles so he can bury every inch. Her body jerks, drools, shudders again, but the ropes hold and he keeps going, relentless, until the only thing left in the dark is the wet sound of him owning her and the broken moans she can't stop making.