subgriff and Kym Wilde

David walks in aching to kneel. Kym Wilde sees a willing body, but his soft cock and thin spine turn her cold. She straps him fast—legs spread, wrists pinned, everything open for the taking. Metal bites into his balls and pulls them low, stretching the flesh until every twitch hurts. She watches his face twist, then strikes the exposed shaft again. He gasps, leaks, hardens. She laughs once, grabs the hardening meat, twists until he yelps. Each rope bites deeper when she pushes a thick plug between his cheeks, driving it home with one thrust of her palm. He shudders. She pulls back, slaps the stretched sac, makes him count. Sweat rolls down his chest. She works his cock harder, harder still, until pain and pleasure blur into a single ragged sound. David moans like the cheap slut he begged to become. The bondage holds every quiver, every flinch, every drop of need. She keeps at it until he learns the lesson his body already knew.