Bunnie

Bunnie walked into this thinking curiosity would carry her through. She lasted five minutes before the ropes made her twitch and the blindfold made her second-guess everything. Sandra doesn’t coddle. She strips Bunnie bare, loops thick cords around her wrists and ankles, then lashes her face-down across a leather horse. Blonde hair sticks to sweaty skin while brunette fingers trace every exposed curve—tits, ass, the tight little hole between clenched cheeks. A leather strap cracks across Bunnie’s backside. She yelps, hips jerking, but the bonds keep her spread. Another strike, lower, catches the tender crease where thigh meets ass. Bunnie’s breathing turns ragged; her cunt glistens anyway. Sandra smiles, wedges two lubed fingers past the tight ring of muscle and works them deeper, stretching Bunnie open while the strap keeps falling—steady, mean, deliberate. Every flinch drives those fingers farther in. Every moan gets answered with another stripe of leather. Bunnie stops fighting the ropes and starts riding them, pushing back, begging without words for the next hit, the next thrust, the next cruel inch deeper. Sandra obliges. She fucks that ass with gloved fingers until Bunnie’s thighs shake and the first real orgasm rips through her—raw, loud, impossible to fake.