Her cum mixed with the sweat, oil, and water on the float. It pooled under her ass as she thrashed, overfilled, overstimulated, still strapped down and buzzing.
But they weren’t done.
From the shadows of the poolside, two more figures emerged—matching wetsuits, mirrored masks, silent and aroused. One held a transparent jellyfish float; the other carried a thick strap-on glistening with lube. Float handlers. The pool’s divine assistants.
The domme slid off and nodded.
“She’s ready.”
They flipped her—slowly—onto her stomach. Her arms still restrained, her bikini top half-off, cheeks slick with cum and sweat. The vibrator was pulled away, leaving her shaking. Her ass was soaked, upturned, and trembling.
The masked handler climbed atop her, straddling her hips. She felt the slick, rubbery head of the strap-on push against her asshole—slow, relentless. She moaned into the float, helpless, wriggling as the toy slid in inch by inch, her hips straining, body gasping for release.
She was a pool toy now—designed to be filled.
The other figure secured the jellyfish float over her back like a second layer—its clear plastic sucked her down tighter, squashing her between two layers of squeaky, cum-warmed vinyl. She was pinned in place, gagged by the regulator, fucked from behind, sweat dripping down her neck.
They moved in rhythm.
The strap-on pounded into her while warm oil was poured across her spine, trickling into the crack of her ass, down to her slit, making everything slicker. The jellyfish float trapped the heat, the smell, the squelch of her own need. She couldn’t move. Just take it. Just ride it.