Casting Call Gone Anal

Ariel X steps through the door already knowing the game is rigged. The casting director’s smile is all teeth. Script pages hit the floor; the old lines mean nothing now. Cheyenne gives her one last chance to impress, then shuts that door with a single finger. Ariel freezes, lines slip, and suddenly Cheyenne’s palm clamps over her mouth. The gag turns fingers into steel. Ariel tastes skin and panic while the director’s other hand pins her head to the couch. Cheyenne straddles her face, panties shoved aside, cunt grinding down until Ariel’s nose is buried in wet heat. Every breath comes filtered through slick folds. When Ariel bucks, Cheyenne’s palm snaps across her cheek—once, twice—leaving red prints. Then she pulls Ariel upright by the hair and shoves her onto her knees. The strap-on waits on the arm of the sofa: thick, veined, obscene. Cheyenne feeds it between Ariel’s lips, hips rocking slow at first, then harder, deeper, until spit strings from chin to shaft. Ariel gags, eyes watering. Cheyenne laughs low, slaps her again, then drags her over the armrest. Rope appears from somewhere—tight coils around Ariel’s wrists behind her back, another loop pinning her ankles. Bent open, she can’t close her legs when Cheyenne notches that fat head against her asshole and pushes. The stretch burns. Inch by inch the toy sinks in, Cheyenne gripping Ariel’s hips like handles, driving until her thighs slap flesh. Each thrust knocks the air out of her; each withdrawal drags a broken sound from Ariel’s throat. Cheyenne keeps the pace brutal, one hand reaching around to slap Ariel’s clit, the other fisting her hair to keep her face down. The big, strong girl is on her elbows, drooling onto leather, body jolting every time the director buries that cock to the hilt. By the time Cheyenne pulls out, Ariel’s hole stays open, twitching, red and used. She stays tied, breathing hard, while the director wipes the strap across her ass like it’s nothing special—just another audition she didn’t pass.