Interrogation

She moves like a hunter. No questions first—just her grip closing around his cock. He’s tied to the chair, wrists already burning against the rope, chest flexing as he pulls and gets nowhere. She smiles, small and sharp, then brings the flogger down across his thighs in a clean crack that leaves heat and color blooming. Each strike lands heavier, testing, until his breath catches and his dick jerks despite the pain. She laughs, low in her throat, and reaches for the clamp. Metal bites into tender skin. Weights swing with every shift of his hips. He tries to stay still. She doesn’t let him. When she circles behind him, slick lube dripping from her fingers, the first push inside makes him choke on a moan. She works the plug in slow, then harder, stretching him until his legs shake in the straps. Every time he breathes too loud she smacks the base, driving it deeper, owning the clench of muscle around it. His cock stays rigid, flushed, useless except for the way it betrays him. She climbs into his lap without warning. Her weight settles, her cunt hot and slick as she sinks down onto him in one smooth drop. Leather creaks. The chair groans. She rides him rough, using the length she just tortured, nails digging into his shoulders for leverage. Sweat rolls between her breasts; his stomach tightens every time she grinds down and takes what she wants. When she feels him start to lose it she wraps her hand around the base and strokes hard, aiming the spill across the tops of her boots. Thick ropes paint the black leather. She lifts one boot to his mouth. He licks without being told, tongue flat, cleaning every streak while she watches, breathing steady, already thinking about what she’ll do next.