Cybill Canes Marcelo

Marcelo hangs from the cross, wrists strapped, ass bare. He waits. Cybill Troy steps in, cane slicing the air. She lays the first stroke across his cheeks. He jerks, bites the pain, stays put. No way out. She lines him up again, wrist snapping, wood cracking skin. Red welts bloom in straight rows. She keeps hitting until his ass is striped raw. Then she drops the order: down. Marcelo drops flat to the floor. He presses his mouth to her stiletto heel, tongue working the leather while the cane still lands on his marked ass. She steps over him, cane flashing down from above. He lies beneath her, pinned by the rhythm. She has him crawl on hands and knees until his face meets her boots again. He licks the pointed toe. She kicks him to his back, strikes twice more. When he’s spent, she feeds him the heel. He sucks it deep, then runs his tongue over every inch of her tall black leather boots.