Going for the Gold

Elise Graves shows up early, heels sharp, voice sharper. Tony Orlando sits behind his desk, zipper down, fist working. She watches two beats, then steps in and locks the door behind her. He scrambles to cover himself. She smiles like a cat that’s found the cream. She peels his shirt off, shoves him onto the chair, and ropes his wrists to the armrests. Her boot heel pins his bare cock flat to the seat. He gasps. She grinds once, slow, just enough to make him twitch. Then she stands, unzips, and lets a hot stream spray across his chest and stomach. He tries to twist away. She slaps the stream straight into his open mouth. Now he’s dripping. She stuffs a thick gag between his teeth and buckles it tight. She drops the boot back onto his balls, pressing until the skin goes white around the leather. He jerks, but the ropes hold. Elise steps up onto the seat, plants both boots on either side of his hips, and sinks her ass onto his face. She reaches back, spreads her cheeks, and rides his tongue while the gag forces his jaw wide. When she’s good and wet, she peels off the gag and yanks his head forward by the hair. He licks where she tells him. Then she sinks back down, smothering him again, longer this time, until his chest heaves. She stands, snaps a leather strap around the base of his cock, and threads a steel rod into his slit. The metal slides in inch by inch until the head swells around the intrusion. Tony’s eyes roll. Elise twists the rod a half turn and leaves it there. She checks the knots, wipes her boot on his cheek, and walks out. The door clicks shut. He sits alone, cock stretched, balls crushed, face still wet, breathing through his nose like he’s got the rest of his life to wait.