The Legend & The Groupie

Backstage, Small Hands strums his guitar. Kendra Spade bursts in, perky tits out, begging for signatures and pussy play. He brushes her off—another clueless groupie. Then she flashes the nipple clamps. His eyes darken. He grabs the cuffs. One click and she’s his. Nipples clamped, wrists locked, she kneels and opens wide. Small Hands keeps playing, each riff timed to the sloppy rhythm of her throat. Spit drips down her chin. He yanks her up, flips her, ropes bite into her skin. The flogger snaps across her ass; she gasps. Then he slams in—deep, rough, relentless. Her moans crack into screams when she cums. He spins her, knots her tighter, and spreads her ass. She begs. He drives straight into her tight hole, every thrust harder than the last. Back and forth—pussy, ass, pussy—until she’s shaking. She jerks him with her soles; he paints her face in thick ropes, then grabs his guitar and leaves her still tied, still dripping.