Plaything: Master is not amused by your immature behavior

Mia Little catches you mid-stroke, porn flickering on the screen. Her face darkens. You’re hers to use, not some desperate little boy sneaking fantasy clips. You owe that hand, that hole, that twitchy little cock to her and her alone. She laughs once, short and sharp, then orders you into the headset. The room vanishes. All that remains is her voice, low and cruel, telling you exactly how many fingers, how deep, how slow. You obey because she leaves you no other choice. A clothespin snaps onto the tender skin beneath your balls and the sting shoots up your spine. Another follows, then another, each placed with the calm precision of someone who enjoys the details. Your breath catches, and Mia purrs approval. She makes you count them out loud until your voice cracks. When she finally lets a lubed finger circle your hole, your whole body jerks forward, grateful, desperate. She laughs again. The stretch starts slow, deliberate, a steady push that never quite gives you enough. She pulls back each time you try to rock into it, keeps you on the edge until the need feels like a wire pulled tight inside your gut. A sharp slap lands across your ass. Another. The sting blooms hot and instant, and still the finger inside you never hurries. Your rim flutters around her, needy, but Mia is content to watch you shake. She tells you a story about the man she might bring home later, how he’ll fuck her properly while you watch from the corner, still locked and aching. The image tightens something in your chest and your cock at the same time. She adds a second finger, twists, presses against that spot that makes your thighs tremble. Every time you get close she stops, slaps you again, reminds you whose toy you are. Your virgin hole clenches around nothing when she pulls free, then tightens again when she pushes back in, deeper now, relentless. She keeps you there for what feels like hours: hurting, teased, dripping, and completely under her control. When she finally lets you come it’s only because she wants to see the mess, only so she can laugh at how fast you fold. Then she turns everything off, leaves you panting in the dark with her taste still in your mouth and the memory of her voice telling you you’ll do it all again tomorrow.