Psycho Bitch

Bobbi Starr stands over Rico like she owns every inch of him. Sweat glistens on her skin. Her black hair sticks to her shoulders. She stretches his arms above his head and cinches the rope tight. He strains. She smiles. The leather cuffs bite into his wrists while she works the knots with practiced hands. Her body is hard and lean from years of discipline. Every flex of muscle shows when she moves. She plants one knee on his chest and leans close. Her breath is hot. "You think you can handle me?" she asks. Rico grunts but stays silent. Bobbi pulls the rope again. The tension shifts. His arms go higher. The bed frame creaks. She drops lower, runs her hand down his torso, traces the lines between muscle and bone. Then she climbs on top. Slow. Deliberate. Her thighs grip his sides. She rocks forward, testing his limits, daring him to break first. He doesn't. She likes that. She pushes harder. The rope holds. She leans in again, her face inches from his. Her voice drops to a growl. "Good boy."