Do As I Say

Mistress Syren’s eyes cut through the dark. She stands over you in nothing but a thin black slip. You stay on your knees like she ordered, hands behind your back. The room smells like her perfume and sweat. She walks around you slow. A long cane taps her palm. One sharp slap against your ass and your breath catches. Two more and your skin stings hot. She waits, listening to the sound you make. “Still hard?” she asks. You nod. She smiles, but it isn’t kind. She wants you aching. She bends forward, spreads her legs, and presses your face between her thighs. You lick until your tongue hurts, until she grinds down and comes once, twice, three times, soaking your chin. She straightens, breathing heavy, then moves behind you again. The cane lands lower this time, right at the crease where thigh meets ass. Each strike lands exactly where she wants. You flinch, but you don’t move away. Good boys don’t move. When she’s satisfied with the welts, she pushes you onto your back on the cold floor. She climbs over you, grabs your cock, and sinks down without warning. Tight. Wet. She takes every inch, then holds still, letting you feel her pulse around you. You fight the urge to thrust. She told you not to. She rises and drops again, slow, deliberate, using you to chase another orgasm. Every time you get close she stops, squeezes, waits until the edge fades, then starts over. Sweat runs down her chest. She leans in so her tits brush your face but doesn’t let you suck. “You’re just a toy,” she whispers. Her hips roll faster, clit grinding against you until she shudders and clamps down hard. You feel her come, feel her flood around your cock, but she doesn’t let you finish. She stays seated, breathing through the aftershocks, keeping you trapped inside while she decides if you’ve earned more.