Princess Kali and Ian Frost

Ian’s fucked up somehow, landing him alone in Kali’s classroom. The boots come first. He drops, tongue out, kissing leather until she’s satisfied. Then she strips him bare, ties his hands behind his back, and goes to work. Pale skin blooms red under her hand. She doesn’t let up—back, chest, thighs—each strike landing harder than the last. But when she reaches his ass, her face changes. A smile, quick and sharp. Virgin skin. Tight. She lingers there, delivering smack after smack, drawing out every cry, every flinch, every shade of red she can pull from him.