A Cruel Protocol

Anal Slave Casey Calvert is bound face-down in the leather straps that mark her rank, ass up and cheeks forced apart by coarse rope so her hole sits open and waiting. Michael Vegas slams into her without pause, thick cock driving deep while she fights to keep the huge ball gag from silencing her completely. Every thrust shakes the lesson out of her. “House Rule One,” she gasps around the gag, voice raw, and Cadence Lux listens on her knees, cunt sealed to the relentless hum of a Sybian. Lux’s arms stretch straight out, palms bearing the stacked trays of the slave leathers she craves. The vibrator pins her to the floor; every jolt of pleasure twists into torment as she strains not to drop her charge. Drool spills past the oversized ball wedged in her mouth, slicking her chin, her tits, the leather beneath her. “House Rule Two,” Casey pants between brutal strokes, and Lux repeats each broken syllable back in muffled sobs. Vegas pulls free, slick and hard, and orders them both to the edge. They beg in tandem, voices cracking around thick rubber. Permission denied. Cadence whines, Casey swears, but the rule is iron: slaves come together or not at all. He drives back in. Casey chokes on the gag and tries again. “House Rule Three.” Lux echoes through spit and tears. Only when both girls recite the three rules without error are they allowed release—bodies locking, screams muffled, hips jerking as permission finally crashes through them. Afterward the lounge opens. Bound guests writhe on velvet while the two trainees crawl the floor, trays steady, holes wet and used, every motion a reminder that discipline and desire serve the same house.