The Story So Far

She kneels on the hardwood at the Upper Floor. Hands locked behind her back, thighs spread wide, the steel collar biting into her neck. The clock reads late September and already the place feels heavy with heat. He walks a slow circle around her, boots echoing off stone, leather pants creaking with every step. Her tits rise and fall, big and slick with sweat. He stops in front of her, pulls his cock free, thick and already hard, and she opens without being told. She swallows him down to the root in one practiced slide, throat working, spit sliding down her chin onto her chest. He grips her hair and uses her mouth like a hole that belongs to him. When he pulls out she gasps once, then he spins her, pushes her chest to the floor. One hand spreads her ass and the plug glints between her cheeks. He works it out slow, watches her hole pulse, then lines his cock up and pushes straight in. Her back arches, a long moan escapes. He fucks her ass in steady, brutal strokes, hips slapping against her until the muscles in his stomach stand out. She comes without touching her clit, cunt clenching around nothing. He pulls free, jerks once, and paints her lower back white. By October the same scene repeats, only the marks on her skin are darker. Bruises from rope, welts from the crop, bite marks across her shoulder. Every night the same routine: mouth, then ass, always ass. He trains her deeper each time, holding her down until her legs shake. She stays open for him, greedy and obedient. The room smells like leather and come. She waits on her knees again, eyes glassy, waiting for the next command.