Starr Treatment

Cole drops to the floor like he belongs there, nose to Mistress Bobbi’s shiny red pantyhose. She keeps her weight on him while the single-tail cracks across his back, each lash biting deep enough to make his spine jerk. The cane follows next, wicked and exact, leaving welts that throb under every new strike. When the zipper of clothespins comes off his cock and balls, his scream is raw; she slaps the sting quiet and crushes his balls under her heel. Cole stays hard through it all. Bobbi rolls him onto his back, peels the crotch out of her pantyhose, and rides his face until his tongue works inside her pussy and then her ass, wet and eager. Once she’s satisfied, she straps on thick and sinks into him—balls-deep, relentless—pounding until his hole is wrecked and his cock leaks untouched. She pins him under her boots again, steps on his chest until he can’t breathe, and finally lets him come across the torn red nylon stretched tight over her thigh. He shoots, she laughs, and the last zipper waits right where his load just landed.