Maitresse Madeline and the boy

She stands over him, all blonde hair and sharp edges, watching the boy kneel at her feet. He’s wiry, built tight, his cock already thick and heavy between his legs. She yanks his hair, forces his eyes up. The slap lands loud on his face. He takes it, breathing hard. She laughs, low and cruel, then shoves him onto his back and climbs on. Her boots plant beside his hips. She works her cunt onto his dick in one slow, mean drop, taking every inch while he gasps. Her nails rake his chest, leaving red lines that burn. He tries to thrust up, so she pins his wrists and rides him harder, grinding until his breath breaks. Sweat rolls down her spine. She leans in, spits in his mouth, then tells him not to come until she says. The room smells like leather and sex. He’s shaking under her, desperate, wrecked, and she isn’t close to finished.