Cole Conners and Gavin

Cole Conners calls Gavin into the room after hours. Complaints about his conduct sit on her desk, but the meeting's already over in her head. She wants him bound, silent, hurting in the places she decides. He stands there while she moves in. Leather cuffs snap around his wrists, tight and final. She forces a black ball gag between his teeth and buckles it hard. Drool hits his chin almost at once. Her clothes come off slow, deliberate. Blond hair spills over bare shoulders, full tits and tight waist on display like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Gavin’s eyes follow every inch. She grins, pulls his pants down, and leaves him exposed—cock half-hard, balls hanging heavy. She walks behind him. A single finger traces down his spine, then presses between his cheeks. When she pushes inside his ass he jerks, muffled grunt lost behind the gag. She works deeper, twisting, stretching, making him take it. Each thrust of her hand turns crueler. Her free hand cups his balls, squeezes, rolls them, then lets go and slaps the underside of his cock—sharp, stinging, again and again. He strains against the cuffs, hips twitching, caught between pain and the throb she’s forcing on him. Cole never stops. Every slap, every cruel finger in his ass, every deliberate stroke over his cock says the same thing: she owns this lesson, and she’s nowhere near finished teaching it.