Mistress Isis strolls onto the pool deck like a storm cloud in a black bikini. She spots the cabana boy and smiles like a cat that just found the canary cage open. He tries to hand her a towel, but she grabs his wrist, yanks him forward, and shoves a bright red ball between his teeth. The strap snaps tight at the back of his head. His eyes widen. Good. She wants him loud and she wants him quiet at the same time. She bends him over the lounge chair and loops thick leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles. Every buckle cinches another inch tighter. He’s spread open, muscles twitching, already sweating under the sun. She picks up the flogger and starts at his shoulders. Each swing lands with a thick, wet slap. His back arches; he can’t cry out, so the sound stays trapped behind the gag, turning into a low, desperate moan. She steps in front of him, pulls the tiny triangle of her suit aside, and sits on his face. He licks without being told. She rocks her hips, grinding until she’s slick and shaking. When she stands, she’s dripping down his chin. She laughs once, sharp and short, then climbs onto the chair behind him. Her strap-on slides into him without mercy. She fucks him in hard, steady strokes that make the whole lounger creak. Every thrust drives the flogger marks deeper into his skin. His cock swings untouched beneath him, dripping onto the concrete. She reaches under, grabs it, and squeezes just hard enough to make his thighs shake. When she’s finished, she pulls out, wipes the toy on his back, and tosses a folded bill onto the floor between his knees. He stays bent and bound, breathing hard through his nose, while she walks away in search of the next cabana boy who doesn’t know what’s coming.
Mistress Isis strolls onto the pool deck like a storm cloud in a black bikini. She spots the cabana boy and smiles like a cat that just found the canary cage open. He tries to hand her a towel, but she grabs his wrist, yanks him forward, and shoves a bright red ball between his teeth. The strap snaps tight at the back of his head. His eyes widen. Good. She wants him loud and she wants him quiet at the same time. She bends him over the lounge chair and loops thick leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles. Every buckle cinches another inch tighter. He’s spread open, muscles twitching, already sweating under the sun. She picks up the flogger and starts at his shoulders. Each swing lands with a thick, wet slap. His back arches; he can’t cry out, so the sound stays trapped behind the gag, turning into a low, desperate moan. She steps in front of him, pulls the tiny triangle of her suit aside, and sits on his face. He licks without being told. She rocks her hips, grinding until she’s slick and shaking. When she stands, she’s dripping down his chin. She laughs once, sharp and short, then climbs onto the chair behind him. Her strap-on slides into him without mercy. She fucks him in hard, steady strokes that make the whole lounger creak. Every thrust drives the flogger marks deeper into his skin. His cock swings untouched beneath him, dripping onto the concrete. She reaches under, grabs it, and squeezes just hard enough to make his thighs shake. When she’s finished, she pulls out, wipes the toy on his back, and tosses a folded bill onto the floor between his knees. He stays bent and bound, breathing hard through his nose, while she walks away in search of the next cabana boy who doesn’t know what’s coming.
