Humiliated bitch boy

Sandra Romain leans close, voice low and rough in her own tongue, every word a dare. The boy can’t answer, can’t even nod, mouth stuffed and head covered, wrists and ankles cinched tight. He tastes rubber, breathes through his nose, and waits for whatever comes next. The strap-on slaps his lips. He opens. She shoves it deep, fucks his throat until spit strings down his chest, then pulls free and slams it up his ass without warning. He grunts, tries to twist, but the ropes don’t give. She grinds in hard, pulls out slow, drives in again, pace brutal and steady. Later, she frees one ankle only to bend him over a bench, wrists still locked behind him. Sandra climbs on, settles her slick cunt on his mouth, then her ass, then her tits. She rides the air right out of him, thighs flexing, hips rolling until she shudders and comes hard, leaving him slick and gasping. She stands, wipes herself on his face once more, and walks out. The door clicks. He stays where she left him, bound, aching, waiting for whoever comes to mop up the mess.