Midnight Mimosa

Midnight Mimosa Your eyes hit the ad first—"House slave needed. Will be paid with pain." You laughed. Then clicked. Anything beats the office grind. Now you kneel in her living room, cock caged, wrists locked behind your back. Mimosa towers over you, thick, heavy, wearing nothing but a smirk and a dozen clothespins clipped in a cruel ladder from her tits to her soft, rolling belly. Each pin twists with every breath she takes, silver catching the low light. She turns, spreads her cheeks, and drops that massive ass onto your face. You disappear. Air is gone, replaced by heat, scent, and the weight of her. Your tongue works blind, tasting where she wants, licking until your jaw burns. She rocks harder, smothering you, laughing low when your trapped cock jerks useless against the cage. When she lifts off you’re gasping, drool shining on your chin. She tugs a pin free, pinches your nipple instead, twists until white sparks flash behind your eyes. "Good little bitch," she purrs. Another pin bites down right beside the first. Behind her, in the armchair, your old roommate watches—eyes wide, cock straining but untouched. She ordered him here to watch what he’ll never have. Mimosa sees the look, chuckles, then swings a leather strap down across your bare thighs. The crack fills the room. Your hips buck; the cage rattles. She plants her foot on your chest, pushes you flat, and rides your face again while the strap licks fire across every exposed inch. Sweat runs. Breath is scarce. Pain keeps you hard. Her weight keeps you down. And the cuck in the chair is learning exactly how worthless he is compared to a properly broken house slave.