Chains rattle against the ceiling fan. She’s already panting when he steps between her thighs, no words needed—just the greedy way his fingers dig into her hips as he yanks her onto him. No teasing. No buildup. Just raw hunger: ass up first, face pressed into the mattress while those heavy balls slap against her tits with every brutal thrust. The swing creaks under each violent snap of their bodies, leather straps biting into wrists as she tries to fight it—but there’s nowhere left to run. Then the switch: back arched off the chains now, legs hooked over his shoulders like she’s been waiting for this all damn night.
