Max Mikita

She sits there with dark eyes and a crooked smile that says she already gave up. Young and Asian, Max came into the game knowing exactly what she wanted. A memory from back home, wrists lashed to her own bedposts, the door swinging open. The maid’s shock only sharpened the itch. She learned her place early: tied and waiting. Now she waits for Mark Davis. Rope bites her wrists, her elbows drawn tight behind her back. He starts on her cunt, thrusting deep and rough until her hips jerk. When he pulls out and slides into her ass she grits her teeth, but the moan escapes anyway. The moment he grabs her hair and shoves back into her mouth she opens wide, letting him fuck her throat until spit streaks her chin. He isn’t finished. A flogger swings hard across her shoulders; red lines rise quick. Next comes the cane—thin, wicked—striking the backs of her thighs until her knees buckle. Chopsticks trap her tongue so she can’t swallow the drool pooling behind them. Nipple clamps snap on first, then smaller, crueller ones pinch her swollen pussy lips. She sways, dripping, every tug setting the metal singing. Hot wax follows. It hits her nipples, her clit, the tender inner folds. She gasps, thighs trembling. Another stripe lands across her scalp; the wax runs into her hair, cooling into a sticky mask. He keeps pouring until her crown shines white. Finally he steps in close, cock glistening. She leans forward without being told, takes him to the root. He cums in thick pulses straight down her throat, and she swallows every drop like she was born for it.