Entertainment for a Mistress

Mistress Kendra stands there in skintight latex, cigarette between her lips, grin sharp enough to draw blood. She takes one look and barks the first order: get that sorry cock out where she can see it. He’s already bound so tight his shoulders scream, yet he struggles anyway, fingers fumbling at his fly while her crop cracks across his thighs for every wasted second. She recites the rules in a low, mocking cadence and makes him parrot them back. He stumbles on the second line, then the third. Her smile widens. With every mistake the crop lands again—light taps at first, then solid, stinging strokes that leave welts blooming under the latex marks. Sweat runs down his chest by the time she’s finished. She steps behind him, slicks the thick strap-on with spit, and drives it straight up his ass without warning. The shock rips a gasp from his throat; she laughs, tells him to keep stroking anyway. He obeys, cock limp and leaking, every pump punctuated by another lash of the crop across his shoulders. When he finally spills, she yanks his wrist up to his mouth. “Lick it,” she orders. He does—shaking, humiliated—tongue dragging across his own fingers while she watches with cold satisfaction.