The Party Hole

Charlotte Vale walks back into the Armory like she’s offering her body on a silver tray. Donna’s guests waste no time. They rip her clothes off, tilt hot wax over her tits and ass until she’s streaked and twitching. The flogger lands next—hard, rhythmic, leaving red stripes that glow under the lights. Every time the strands kiss her skin she jerks forward, ass pushed out like she’s begging for more. Fingers slide between her cheeks, slick with spit, working her open while the crowd watches. A thick ball gag gets shoved between her teeth; drool runs down her chin and drips onto the floor. When the vibe hits her clit she bucks, but the ropes hold her tight. The moment she starts to come, someone presses the cattle prod to her thigh. One sharp jolt rips through her and the orgasm crashes harder, messy and loud. Then the real fucking begins. One guest after another lines up, shoves cock straight into her stretched hole, pounding deep while hands slap and pinch whatever they can reach. She takes it all—every thrust, every order—until the first load floods her mouth, then another, thick and salty, sliding down her throat while the crowd cheers.