The Stranded Submissive

India Summer has been waiting on this one. Lights dim, ropes already coiled on the table. James Deen walks in like he owns the room and every inch of her. She’s stripped, wrists bound tight above her head, the rope biting skin, ankles spread by a steel bar. He takes his time. Fingers trace the curve of her spine, then smack hard across her ass until she gasps. India’s breathing gets ragged. She pulls at the rope and gets nothing back. Deen steps in close, unzips, and his thick cock hangs heavy in front of her lips. She opens for him, mouth stretched, spit running down her chin while he pushes deeper, holding her head steady. When he’s slick and she’s choking on it, he moves behind her. Two fingers test her ass, then three, working her open. He spits, lines up, and drives in slow until her body gives. Full strokes now. The bar keeps her spread. The ropes keep her steady. Every thrust hits deep and sharp. Sweat beads on her back. She moans through clenched teeth, begging without words. He grabs her hips, slams harder, and doesn’t stop till he’s finished inside her. Rope marks still fresh, ass used, India’s exactly where she wanted to be.