Sex and Cruelty

Mistress Gia Dimarco walks into the dungeon like a loaded gun. Jason Miller is already waiting, arms stretched wide, ankles spread and locked to a rig that keeps him hovering half a foot off the ground. She doesn’t warm up. One second she’s smiling; the next she’s splashing ice-cold water across his chest, slapping his face, then jamming a steel chastity cage around his cock so fast the metal clicks like a trap. He swings a little, breath gone. She circles him, canes the backs of his thighs until red welts rise, then jams two fingers in his mouth to make him suck. When he’s gasping, she climbs the rig, lowers herself over his face, and rides his tongue until her thighs shake. Only after she comes does she unclip his hips and swing them forward, feeding her thick strap-on straight into his ass while he dangles. Each thrust knocks him forward, then yanks him back onto the silicone cock, over and over, until sweat drips from his chin and the chains creak. She pulls out, slaps his caged dick once, hard, and walks away. He stays there, dripping, empty, used.