Parole My Hole

Most ankle bracelets scream don't leave the house. Dana's just rings up Penny Barber. House arrest isn't a punishment for Dana—it's foreplay. She steps past the invisible line, the monitor squawks, and suddenly her parole officer is at the door with a duffel bag full of bad intentions. Penny tosses her down, drops onto that pretty face and rides until Dana's gasping for air between thighs. Then she buckles the strap-on and fucks her like the law owes her interest—deep, relentless, Dana's wrists pinned under one strong hand while she takes every inch. The official paperwork says rehabilitation. The rug stains say otherwise.