DragonLily The Hardest Predicament Of All

Dragon's body knows the fight. She walks into this shit already in championship shape, a wrestler who can grind out twenty-four minutes and still have air in her lungs. Go ahead and sprint to your mailbox and see if your heart doesn't slam your ribs. Thought so. We trap her anyway. Knees bent deep, thighs shaking, spine forced into a cruel squat she can't escape. Her head yanked back hard by an ass hook driven deep, the metal curve inside her holding her neck like a vice. A waist chain dangles the tempting promise of relief, but dropping lower is against the rules. The position is locked. She stays exactly like that. No rising, no bending, no shifting the weight to a fresh set of muscles. Her quads light on fire first, then the back of her neck, then the whole length of her spine. Sweat runs. Breath hisses between clenched teeth. Then the screams come, raw, and the begging follows right after. She means every word. And while her legs tremble and her voice cracks we shove a cock at her and tell her to make it come. Her wrist works even as the rest of her burns. Every stroke is pain she can't show on her face because the only thing we want to see is her breaking slower than she wants.