The Training of Holly Stevens Day Three

Holly Stevens works a basement beat. She’s fast-mouthed and always testing the line, but this time the line pushed back. Two trainers run her straight—ass locked open, arms bound, every inch of skin laid bare under the single bulb. She gets pulled in on her toes, wrists clipped overhead. Their cocks drive in hard, one after the other, stretching her ass until her knees shake. She fights the gag, spits curses, but every thrust knocks the breath out of her. Sweat streaks the black hair plastered to her face. She’s athletic, toned, made to take weight, and they use every pound of her. They grip her hips, slap her tits, work her tight hole until her moans turn raw. No pause. Just the slap of skin and the wet sound of her stretched ass taking everything they feed it. When they’re done, she hangs slack, ass gaping, mouth slack, eyes still flashing like she might mouth off again—just to see what they’ll do next.