Hard Pounding Makes Her Scream

Dark room. Black straps cutting into my skin. He's hovering above me like a shadow given weight. I can smell his sweat before he even touches me. When he finally pushes inside, it's without ceremony, without words. Just meat and heat and the wet sound of entry. I arch because I have to, my spine demanding it, legs wrapping around his waist like I'm trying to drown him in my hips.<br><br>The straps dig deeper when he pins my wrists. Leather or synthetic, doesn't matter. What matters is the pressure, the constriction, the way my tits push up against the harness with every thrust. He's watching them bounce, I can feel his eyes even in the dark. Hungry. Always hungry.<br><br>I flip us. Now I'm riding, grinding down, my hair falling forward to curtain our faces. He grabs my hips, fingers pressing into bone, guiding my rhythm. Faster. Slower. Fast again. I'm whimpering, can't stop it, the angle hitting something deep and electric inside me. The straps are loose now, hanging off my shoulders,

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