India Summers

India Summer is tied by the wrists, stretched and stripped. Mark Davis has her. He fingers her until she’s dripping, then the flogger cracks across her back. She jumps, then pushes back for more. The blindfold goes on. Clamps bite down on her nipples and the tender skin between her thighs. He makes her crawl, knees raw on concrete, and she finds his cock like she’s starving. She swallows him whole, spit running down her chin. Her head is locked in a steel stock set into the floor, ass pushed high. Davis lays the crop across her cheeks until they glow. He takes her ass without mercy. The infrared cam tracks every twitch and tear, the image flashing on the monitor while he pounds deeper. Finally she’s strapped open, legs wide. Bastinado stripes the soles of her feet. Hot wax hits her belly, her tits, trickles lower. Davis fucks her again, hard enough to shake the frame. He pulls out and paints her face white, thick ropes that run into her blindfold.