Britney Stevens

Britney Stevens hates taking orders. Every time she talks back, Aiden Starr tightens the ball gag and locks another cuff around her wrist. The black-haired domme works her over in short, sharp bursts—spanks, clamps, a fistful of hair yanked back until Britney’s eyes water. Each refusal earns another stripe across her ass, another order barked inches from her ear. She fights it until the need between her legs overrides her pride. Once she drops to her knees and stays quiet, Aiden finally gives her what she wants: the thick strap-on shoved deep into her ass, every thrust measured and merciless until Britney shakes and begs for more.