Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow

First weekend of December, The Upper Floor throws its holiday party, the kind where the slaves wear little more than collars and boots. The fire crackles while they kneel in rows, tits bare, skin already red from the first round of floggings. One blonde is bent over the banquet table, wrists cuffed behind her, face pressed into a platter of fruit while her master works her ass open with gloved fingers. The lube is cold at first, then slick and warm, and the guests lean in to watch every slow push. Rope bites her thighs, spreading them, and when the first thick plug slides in she groans like she’s begging for more. Someone strings fairy lights through the ropes, turning the bondage into twisted tinsel. By midnight the room smells like pine, sweat, and sex. The blonde’s still there, hole stretched and glistening, cum trickling down her thigh while the party laughs and pours another round.