Tory Lane and Phantom

Tory Lane drags her date into the private dungeon at the Men in Pain masquerade. He’s already broken the only rule that matters: make her cum first. She strings him up by the wrists so his toes barely scrape the floor, then lets the crop sing against his chest, his thighs, his useless cock. Each strike lands sharp and quick. She calls him a selfish fuck, tells him he’s not worth the floor she stands on. He hangs there and takes it. She frees one wrist just long enough to shove his face between her legs. He licks like a man who finally understands the order of things. When she’s slick and throbbing she climbs onto the table, pulls him down by the hair, and sinks onto that thick cock she’s been teasing. She rides him hard, nails digging into his chest, until she shakes and moans and squeezes every last tremor out of her own orgasm. Only then does she let him spill inside her. The scene fades on the sound of his ragged breathing and the slow drip of cum down her thigh.