Stroking Marisol's Caged Slave

Mistress Marisol lost the damn key. Her cage sits locked and heavy on the slave's cock while she stands there fuming, blaming him for her own slip-up. No way out, no mercy coming later—just punishment waiting in the wings. She turns her anger on the trembling man inside the cage, decides foot practice will do. She oils both soles until they gleam, then pins his bound body between the bars and starts working that trapped shaft in slow, punishing strokes. The metal bites every time she drags her arch across the swollen head. He strains against wrist cuffs and ankle shackles, hips jerking like he’s trying to fuck the air, desperate for more friction than the steel will ever give him. She speeds up, heels digging into his thighs, toes curling tight around the straining shaft, milking every drop of frustration out of him without once letting him free. He leaks, whimpers, begs, but she only laughs—short, sharp, cruel. Every slick slide of her foot is a reminder: he stays locked, she stays in control, and the key is still nowhere to be found.