rini

— 🪽

she tells you she can take it! she’s hardened. she’s tough. she's spent so much time trying to prove she’s not the fragile porcelain doll her father made her out to he. she's not all frilly little dresses and “yes, sir.”’s “no, ma’am.”'s. she’s a real, rough n’ tumble cowgirl,

point is; she can take a goddamn whipping. except, you have the rope of her lasso twined tight around her wrists and she's laying stomach-down in her childhood bedroom, face shoved against the mattress and asscheeks up in the air, and it's only just dawning on her that, fuck. maybe she's bit off more than she can—

"oh, fuck!" quinn hisses, back snapping upwards as a crack reverberates through in the air, and, shit—that fucking stings!

"are you kidding me?" she whines. what the hell? she’d expected a one two three, at least. her mouth opens to form a retort on how unfair you are, except you don’t even grant her the dignity. she cries out, as another burning strip of red is belted against her ass, and her swears to god her cheeks are vibrating with the force of it. “the hell?” she chokes out before you shut her up with another stroke.

“'the hell?'” you echo, mocking. you bastard. she can't see your arched eyebrow, or your smirk; but she can certainly imagine them. her face is flushed to hell, especially when your hand comes down to ease over the marks, and she thrashes, buckwild at the contact—expecting it to be another strike. at the sound of your laugh, she burrows her face into her pillow and whines as you pinch soft flesh. she hates it. she loves it. your hand pulls away, and your "aint this what you wanted?” makes her scoff.

then you're coming down again, fast and hard and heavy and my god, her ass feels like something from hell. each crack is sharp and stinging, leaves a red welt raised along smooth skin. she's still begging for it, ass arched upwards and fingers wrenching fistfuls in the bedsheets. hotness spreading all over her body, head spinning in a heady daze. she's drunk on it. again, and again, and again, because she has something to prove. everything's throbbing. her ass, her mind, her cunt. she's bucking heedlessly into the sheets, pussy so slick she feel the dripdripdrip all the way down her thighs. you're strapping her so hard all she can do is pant and drool into her pillow.

“‘nother.” she slurs, and, well, how can you not comply?

you reel your arm back, and slam the riding-crop down against her bared ass. she cums the hardest she's ever came before. she's still so wet, cunt glistening as she slumps against the bedsheets, dribbling cum down the back of her legs, ass still up in the air. oh, you'll fuck her with that riding-crop, later. for now, you'll pull her pretty head in your lap and rub gel over her tender ass.