Bunny Waitress Hogtied on Table & Spanked
Duration: 0min 21sec
Views: 4 449
Submitted: 4 months ago
Submitted by:
Description:
From a shadowed banquette a writer watches. The Bunny Club’s low crimson light licks lacquered leather and latex alike, pooling over polished performance and *** perfection, where Miss Zonah Bellum glides into view. Her rabbit costume bodysuit - a liquid-red second skin of shiny spandex - is zipped so tight every curve cups, crests, then curves again. Fishnet thighs flex like feline muscle beneath; bunny tail a pert pom-pom perched above the promise of plump posterior punishment. She brings a crystal glass filled with amber liquid reflecting flickers of burlesque neon. Ben, broad-shouldered and bespoke in midnight suit, lounges like a lounging lion awaiting his lioness.
Zonah lowers herself slowly, silk-sheathed knees parting across his lap. The writer can’t catch the whisper that follows, only the way her glossed lips graze Ben’s earlobe, the way both mouths mirror a mischievous moonlit grin. A secret swapped, a pact inked in breath.
With a soft scrape of stilettos, she slides from his thighs to a nearby low mahogany coffee table. The polished surface shows her silhouette doubled: crimson curves copied in reflection. She folds forward, deliberate as origami, wrists meeting ankles behind her back - the perfect prone hogtie pose. Ben uncoils rope, each length looping languidly through practiced knuckles. First: ankles lashed to wrists, cinch-pull-snug until spandex squeaks against itself. Next: elbow cinch, crushing her arms into helplessness. Finally, a balled white cloth bulges between bunny-bright teeth; black vet-wrap winds round and round, sealing every syllable of squeal into soft, muffled mmphing music.
The writer’s pulse picks up pace as Ben’s palm rises. Smack. The sound is crisp, a champagne-cork crack echoing off velvet drapes. Rosy rings rise beneath fishnet of cosplay, criss-crossing pale skin, a bloom blossoming brighter with every brisk beat. Smack, smack, smack — metronome of mastery, each impact bouncing her tail, vibrating the table legs, jiggling the jeweled bunny ears - akin to a sexy Halloween outfit - still perked upon her platinum waves.
Zonah’s eyes glaze beneath fluttering lashes, pupils pooling into subspace puddles. A soft mmph vibrates through vet-wrap as Ben’s hand halts, hovers, then drifts casually to his neglected glass. He sips, satisfied, surveying his living centerpiece: a hogtied honey glazed in glossy spandex, ass aglow like ripened fruit ready for the taking.
She sinks, ***, surrendered.
The writer swallows, senses the scene sizzle, and silently scripts every second for his memory’s molten archive.
Channel:
Sandra Silvers
