Wolf Lotus and Cole Conners

Cole watches him walk in like he owns the place. Tall. Black hair. Polished suit. Talks like he has the answers. But his voice cracks when he says the dreams have to stop. The ones where he begs on his knees. She doesn’t smile. She just stands, locks the door, and tells him to strip. He hesitates. She moves faster. Hands on his throat, her palm pressing him against the wall. “You want the dreams to stop?” she says. “Then you’re gonna live them.” Rope bites his wrists before he can think. She ties him bent over the desk, legs spread, cock hanging heavy and useless. His face burns. She runs her fingers down his spine, slow. Then the first strike lands—sharp, deliberate. He jerks. She laughs low, cruel. Each slap of the crop leaves red lines, and he can’t hide how his cock twitches. She drags it out. Makes him count. Makes him thank her. When he stops fighting the words, she knows she has him. Cole steps behind him, strap-on already slick. She doesn’t ask. She presses in slow, inch by inch, until he’s gasping and swearing and taking every thick inch. She fucks him steady, deep, hands gripping his hips like she owns them. His moans turn into begging. She grinds harder. The wet slap of skin fills the room. Cole’s breathing gets ragged. She reaches between her legs, fingers working her clit while she pounds into him. The moment he breaks—voice cracking, body shaking—she cums hard, biting her lip, hips jerking against him. She stays inside until the shakes stop. Then she unties him. Leaves him on the floor, dripping and wrecked. “Same time next week,” she says.