Daphne

She strides in like she owns the air. Black hair slicked back, tits straining against leather that barely counts as a top. The guy’s already on his knees, cock hard, eyes hungry. She doesn’t speak. Just circles him, heels sharp against the floor, crop tapping her thigh. One flick of her wrist and his arms are cuffed behind his back. She shoves him forward. Face to the mat. Ass up. Her heel digs into his spine while she works his shorts down. His cock slaps against his stomach, thick and leaking. She laughs once, low. Then she takes him in hand, strokes him slow, cruel, thumb rolling over the head till he jerks. She mounts him from behind, her weight pinning him, thighs strong from years of this game. Leather creaks. Skin slaps. Every thrust she gives is punishment and reward rolled into one. He gasps, she grins. Sweat runs down her chest, between those heavy tits. She leans in, teeth at his ear. “You take what I give.” He nods, broken already. She rides him harder. The sound of flesh meeting flesh fills the room. She doesn’t stop till his legs shake and his cock throbs useless against the floor. Only then does she ease off, crop dragging down his back like a promise. He stays down. She stands over him, breathing steady, body gleaming. The game’s still hers.