Rob Armory and Harmony

Harmony Rose prowls the set in shining black latex. Her slave waits already bound, already hard. She lashes his cock to a winch and cranks it high, the skin stretched tight, his breath hitching with every turn. She circles him slow, running her gloved hands over her own curves, daring him to look. When she lowers her pussy onto his face she grinds until her juices shine on his lips, then spins and spreads her ass, ordering his tongue deeper while his bound cock twitches uselessly above him. Once she has her fill she wraps him tight in clear plastic, mummifying him from shoulders to ankles, every muscle locked, every inch of him pressed uselessly against the barrier. Only his face and that stretched cock remain free. She mounts him anyway, rubbing her soaked cunt along the plastic, letting him feel heat and wetness with nothing to push into. His lungs work harder under the wrap. She covers his mouth and nose with one gloved palm and counts, watching his eyes roll while the winch keeps pulling. When she lets him gasp she laughs, low and mean, then seals his airways again, riding the frantic rise of his chest like it’s her own personal rhythm.