The red door seals behind me for the sixth night, my legs already shaking from the memory of last night’s swing.
Tonight the room is stripped bare except for a low, padded crucifix-shaped bench in the center, five men only, no women, five masked gods, c***s oiled and rock-hard, waiting like predators.
I don’t even make it two steps before they descend.
Two of them grab my arms, two my hips, and the fifth fists my hair. They lift me onto the crucifix on all fours, wrists and ankles locked into soft leather cuffs so I’m spread wide, back arched, ass high, t**s hanging heavy beneath me, already bouncing from the rough handling.
The first man tall, inked, thick as my forearm steps behind me.
He slaps my ass once, twice, the crack echoing, then lines up and slams into my p***y so hard my w
