Keep Your Distance: Helena Locke and Dillon Diaz

Dillon Diaz lives inside a metal cage and a steel cock lock. He can’t recall skin on skin or the heat of a wet mouth anymore. He only feels the cold bite of the bars and the tight squeeze that keeps his dick useless. One message, one plea, and Helena Locke answers. She has places to be and no patience for a drooling sub trailing after her, so she sets the price in strokes and pain. Slap until your face glows, flog your shoulders till the skin splits, choke on a rubber cock, and whip your own trapped prick with a wire hanger. Do that and she might, just might, let him blow once. Red latex clings to every curve of her body. She bends forward, lets the round swell of her ass peek out, lets the pink split of her pussy flash, then straightens and laughs when the sight makes him forget the next slap. His palm cracks across his cheek again and again while she counts and mocks. He already started the day with a buzzing plug shoved deep, thinking initiative might win favor. Instead Helena orders the plug left in and adds fresh torment: a thick dildo bolted to the floor, nipple clamps biting hard, the chain between them stretched under his aching cock. Every downward thrust of his hips drags the chain and lights the clamps. Pain and pleasure twist together until he is grinding and yelping at once. She tells him the rules again: no thinking, no mercy, if he spills he eats it, then the lock snaps shut and the cage door slams. Helena watches him ride, eyes cold, lips curved, enjoying every wet slap of flesh and every broken sound that escapes him.