Anal Bar Cruising

Ella's car dies outside the bar. Lights still on. Door open. Inside, Savannah Fox leans against the counter like she owns every crack in the room. Ella steps in wearing heels and a pencil skirt, clutch held tight. She wants a phone. She gets a smirk instead. Savannah locks the door behind her and walks a slow circle. The air's thick. She pushes Ella back onto a stool, peels off her own boots, and shoves those bare, dirty feet straight at Ella's mouth. "Suck," she says. Ella does. Then Savannah drops lower, ties Ella's wrists with the skirt itself, spreads her thighs, and presses her toes into the tight ring of Ella's ass. She works them in, slow and mean, stretching the hole around her dirty toes until Ella's breathing comes in short gasps. Ella's pink pucker glistens, clinging. Savannah moans low, drags her tongue across the stretched skin, then grabs the long black slink from under the bar. She works it in inch by inch until the whole length disappears and Ella's stomach flutters. When she pulls it free the hole stays open, twitching. Savannah grabs the speculum, snaps it open, and holds Ella wide. She leans in, sniffs the wrecked pink inside, spits right down the center, and watches the spit slide deeper while Ella whimpers, bound and dripping.