shot into my mouth in eager invitation, showing me what she wanted my finger to do to her below, fluttering in my mouth, thrusting, teasing, and she hummed with pleasure.
I leaned against her, kissing her, playing with her pussy, and in a matter of moments, the smooth muscles of her belly were clenching, rolling with hungry and barely controlled urgency as she tried not to fuck back at me. She wanted to get off—
her body wanted it—but she resisted, she fought. I felt the lady fighting with the whore inside, and it drove me wild. I knew which one I wanted right then. She knew it too.
She groaned when I slid my finger against her pussy, pushing it up into her. I felt that hot, tender tightness spread before my crude invasion and Emma kissed me, then dug her sharp white teeth into my lower lip and hung on as I fingered her. She was trying not to hurt me but I could feel the pain and humiliation as I fingered her like a cheap little sex toy, reaching high into her secret heat. Her tits shook as she trembled in the cuffs but there was nothing she could do. It hurt her but it felt good too, I knew it did.
I knew just how it felt.
"Who owns you, Emma? Huh? Who owns you, baby? Whose bitch are you?"
I shoved my finger up deep inside her so my knuckles crushed against her labia and Emma let go of my lip and grimaced, pulling herself up against the door. She didn't answer. Her eyes were closed.
She made me crazy like this because I knew she loved it. I knew she loved the pain, the feeling of being used, of being tied up and violated. She loved it as much as I loved doing it to her, and it made me crazy. She was so fucking beautiful like this.
"Come here when I'm talking to you," I said, and I used the finger inside her to pull her towards me. I drew her towards me with my finger inside her pussy, but with her wrists tied to the door she couldn't really move, could only take a shaky step, her hips thrust forward—a cheap, sleazy gesture that filled me with an obscene sense of power.
"I asked you who owned you, Emma. Who owns this pussy?"
"Oh," she breathed.
I pulled my hand to the side and she followed, drew her back and she followed again. I squeezed her, one finger inside her and my thumb on her shaved pubic mound and I turned her sideways. I spanked her on the ass and she pushed herself onto my fingers trying to escape the blow. She hid behind her raised arms.
Slapp!
"Now who owns you?!"
"You do!" she cried. "You do. You own me."
I pulled her back so she was standing in front of me, her breasts rising and falling, her face hidden in her fall of hair, and I began to finger her, rubbing her clit as I did. Emma was on fire and there was no hiding it. She trembled and made little mewling
sounds as I touched her, and then gasped and shook and I heard her swallow what sounded like a scream. It might have been a little climax.
I had to get control of myself. My cock was hard and throbbing and already aching for release and we hadn't been at it for more than ten minutes. I had to calm down.
I stepped back and went to my equipment, leaving Emma hanging from the rope, panting and covered in a sheen of perspiration. I picked up some ankle cuffs and a spreader bar and came over. I knelt and buckled the leather cuffs around her ankles, making a conscious effort to ignore the proximity of her pussy, then clipped the bar to the cuffs so her feet were held apart at about shoulder width.
By now I had no doubts Emma loved what I was doing to her. She loved the rope, the submission, the possession, the passion and the roughness. But now we were getting into something new, something that went beyond just spanking and hot sex.
There was something humiliating about the spreader bar, the way it held her ankles apart, exposing her and keeping her that way. There was no way she could close her knees or hide herself. This was a little piece of equipment designed specifically to make her into something entirely sexual, and I could tell
I leaned against her, kissing her, playing with her pussy, and in a matter of moments, the smooth muscles of her belly were clenching, rolling with hungry and barely controlled urgency as she tried not to fuck back at me. She wanted to get off—
her body wanted it—but she resisted, she fought. I felt the lady fighting with the whore inside, and it drove me wild. I knew which one I wanted right then. She knew it too.
She groaned when I slid my finger against her pussy, pushing it up into her. I felt that hot, tender tightness spread before my crude invasion and Emma kissed me, then dug her sharp white teeth into my lower lip and hung on as I fingered her. She was trying not to hurt me but I could feel the pain and humiliation as I fingered her like a cheap little sex toy, reaching high into her secret heat. Her tits shook as she trembled in the cuffs but there was nothing she could do. It hurt her but it felt good too, I knew it did.
I knew just how it felt.
"Who owns you, Emma? Huh? Who owns you, baby? Whose bitch are you?"
I shoved my finger up deep inside her so my knuckles crushed against her labia and Emma let go of my lip and grimaced, pulling herself up against the door. She didn't answer. Her eyes were closed.
She made me crazy like this because I knew she loved it. I knew she loved the pain, the feeling of being used, of being tied up and violated. She loved it as much as I loved doing it to her, and it made me crazy. She was so fucking beautiful like this.
"Come here when I'm talking to you," I said, and I used the finger inside her to pull her towards me. I drew her towards me with my finger inside her pussy, but with her wrists tied to the door she couldn't really move, could only take a shaky step, her hips thrust forward—a cheap, sleazy gesture that filled me with an obscene sense of power.
"I asked you who owned you, Emma. Who owns this pussy?"
"Oh," she breathed.
I pulled my hand to the side and she followed, drew her back and she followed again. I squeezed her, one finger inside her and my thumb on her shaved pubic mound and I turned her sideways. I spanked her on the ass and she pushed herself onto my fingers trying to escape the blow. She hid behind her raised arms.
Slapp!
"Now who owns you?!"
"You do!" she cried. "You do. You own me."
I pulled her back so she was standing in front of me, her breasts rising and falling, her face hidden in her fall of hair, and I began to finger her, rubbing her clit as I did. Emma was on fire and there was no hiding it. She trembled and made little mewling
sounds as I touched her, and then gasped and shook and I heard her swallow what sounded like a scream. It might have been a little climax.
I had to get control of myself. My cock was hard and throbbing and already aching for release and we hadn't been at it for more than ten minutes. I had to calm down.
I stepped back and went to my equipment, leaving Emma hanging from the rope, panting and covered in a sheen of perspiration. I picked up some ankle cuffs and a spreader bar and came over. I knelt and buckled the leather cuffs around her ankles, making a conscious effort to ignore the proximity of her pussy, then clipped the bar to the cuffs so her feet were held apart at about shoulder width.
By now I had no doubts Emma loved what I was doing to her. She loved the rope, the submission, the possession, the passion and the roughness. But now we were getting into something new, something that went beyond just spanking and hot sex.
There was something humiliating about the spreader bar, the way it held her ankles apart, exposing her and keeping her that way. There was no way she could close her knees or hide herself. This was a little piece of equipment designed specifically to make her into something entirely sexual, and I could tell
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