When Ruin Feels Better Than Release
In the grimy, dim light of a shabby living room, he kneels naked, cock throbbing in a black leather jockstrap, wrists cuffed and chained overhead. Her heels click sharply on the linoleum as she circles him, a platinum blonde in latex, whip in hand. She pauses behind him, leans down to whisper filthy commands in his ear, spitting out every sick word like a curse. She steps back, arm poised, then the whip cracks through the air, a brutal line of fire across his ass.
She moves in front of him, her latex clad thigh brushing his face as she leans down to grip his chin. “You’re a filthy little slave, aren’t you?” she growls, fingers digging into his flesh. He nods, breath ragged, eyes locked on her cunt, glistening through the thin latex. She smirks, pulling away, then shoves his head down, forcing his mouth onto her soaked pussy. She grinds against his face, bucking her hips, fucking his mouth hard, her latex gloved fingers twisting in his hair as he gags on her cunt. She pulls away suddenly, leaving him gasping, spit dripping from his chin, his cock straining painfully in the tight leather. She laughs, a cruel, harsh sound, and raises the whip again, ready to mark his flesh once more.
