August Bound

August waits. Black latex clings like a second skin, cut high so her round ass sits bare and ready. Ben English doesn’t wait long. His palm cracks across each cheek until they glow hot and red, her skin twitching under every slap. He leaves her breathing hard, then clamps her neck in the wooden stock and fixes her head low. Her mouth opens when he steps close, and he pushes in slow—thick, heavy—until her throat gives. She takes it all. When he lets her come up for air she’s dripping, and he rewards her with fingers and tongue working her from behind until her knees buckle and she breaks open with a long, shaking orgasm. He drags her over to the bench, lays her face-down, wrists and ankles cinched tight. There’s no slack. He spreads her again, spits once, then sinks in deep—inch by thick inch—until his hips meet her sore ass and her breath snags on every thrust. The bench creaks under them while he fucks her harder, deeper, pulling out only to drive back in and take whatever’s left.