In Distress

She’s the kind of woman you want to hurt just to hear her moan. Andy San Dimas. 2011. Brunette hair, pale skin, tied tight. The rope bites her wrists, pulls her shoulders back, stretches the arch in her back until her tits jut forward and every breath shakes. She struggles. The knots don’t give. Her lips part, half plea, half dare. You can smell her fear and her need mixed together, hot and sharp. Every time she twists, the leather creaks and her nipples tighten against the cool air. She knows she’s owned. She knows you’ll keep pushing until she breaks. And she knows she’ll beg for more. Mean hands. Hard voice. No mercy, no escape. She’s the perfect damsel in distress, and every inch of her cries out to be used harder.