The Good Mistress

He asked if he could take it. A steel plug shoved deep, wires humming. She cranked it up. Nomad bucked. Miss Adams watched. A fat dildo strapped between her hips, black and mean. She greased it once, then drove it in with the same calm she might use to park a car. Every stroke took his voice away. He hung from the ropes, arms stretched, legs pinned wide. The frame creaked. She pulled the slack tighter, hips still working. Sweat dripped off his jaw. She didn't smile. She just twisted the dial another notch and listened to the wet, electric sound coming from inside him. He held on. Barely.