Service Sessions: Shevon learns to cook

Shevon keeps the stove on too long. Peter watches her fuck up and his face goes dark. Mogul turns away, tight-lipped. Shevon straightens up, ready for whatever comes next. They clear the bowls with one sweep. Her body hits the wood face-down. Rope bites her wrists, her ankles. They work fast, tight knots, no slack. Peter spreads her cheeks. She knows the first push is coming and she braces for it. Mogul’s belt whistles across her shoulders—sharp, then sharper. Every strike lifts her hips higher. Peter sinks in, fills her ass, starts a steady rhythm that jars the table legs. Her moans crack open the quiet. He drives deeper, harder, and she takes it without asking for mercy. Mogul lands another stripe across the small of her back. Shevon pushes back, meets the thrusts, accepts the sting. Sweat beads on her spine. The table creaks under the weight. Each slap of skin, each crack of leather keeps her pinned right there, learning the lesson they chose to teach. The scene ends when they leave her like that—used, marked, still tied in place.