Joanna Angel

Joanna keeps Ryan on a short leash because she likes him hungry. When he stops trying, she stops caring, and the air in their house turns sour fast. So they made a rule: every few weeks, someone bigger and harder fucks the hole Ryan is only allowed to dream about. Tonight that someone is Jax, and he doesn’t waste a minute. He bends her over the bed, spits once on her tight ring, and drives straight in. Joanna howls, claws the sheets, comes with her tiny body shaking. Ryan watches from the corner, naked except for the pink plastic cage locked on his thumb-sized dick, the key hanging from his neck like a loser’s medal. Every time Jax slams home, Ryan flinches like the thrusts are landing on him. He stays quiet until Jax yanks his cock out, shoves it between Joanna’s lips, and paints her face. She licks the mess from her lips, smiles at the camera, then points at the cage. Ryan crawls over, kisses the floor beside her knee, and turns into the footstool she told him she needed last month. His back stays flat while she props her feet on him and lets Jax’s load drip down her cheeks onto his skin. The whole time she keeps that same calm, almost bored tone she uses when she tells Ryan to do the dishes. It works every time.