After slipping on his blue heels and crotchless tights, he makes his way to you with a heavy flogger. You're blindfolded and wiggling against your restraints. His flogger coming down between your wide spread legs, making your pussy start to throb.

“Please, Sir,” I beg, not knowing what I’m begging for.

The flogger strikes again, leather tails kissing your swollen lips with stinging precision. You cry out, hips jerking against the bonds that hold your thighs apart. The sharp crack echoes through the room, followed by your ragged breathing.

"Please, what?" he purrs, trailing the flogger's handle along your inner thigh. "Use your words, darlin'."

Another strike lands directly on your clit, and you arch off the bed with a strangled moan. The pain blooms into heat, radiating through your core until you can't tell where the hurt ends and the pleasure begins.

"Please touch me," you gasp, voice breaking. "I need—"

The flogger cuts off your words with a sharp snap across your sensitive flesh. He tsks softly, the sound somehow more menacing than any threat.

"You need what I give you," he snarls. “You owe me, remember?”

He presses the cool leather handle against your entrance, rotating it slowly as your wetness coats the polished surface. Your breath hitches as he pushes it just inside, then withdraws it with agonizing slowness.

"And I intend to collect," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

The blindfold makes every sensation sharper, every sound more intense. You can hear the soft rustle of his dress as he moves around the bed, the click of his heels on the hardwood floor. Then silence—the anticipation nearly unbearable.

Without warning, his mouth is on you, tongue flat against your throbbing clit. You buck wildly, a hoarse cry tearing from your throat. His hands grip your hips, forcing you still as he devours you with calculated precision. The stubble on his chin scratches deliciously against your tender flesh as he works, alternating between gentle laps and deep, hungry strokes. His tongue traces every fold, every crevice, as if he's memorizing your most intimate geography.

"Sir," you pant, the word barely audible through your labored breathing. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, straining against the restraints. He pulls away suddenly, leaving you bereft. The cool air hits your slick flesh, making you whimper.

"Not yet," he commands, voice thick with desire. "I'm not done with you."

The bed dips as he moves. You hear the snap of a cap, then the slick sound of lube being warmed between his fingers. His touch returns, this time circling your other entrance with slippery determination.

"Breathe for me," he instructs, pressing one finger slowly inside. The intrusion burns slightly, then melts into a full sensation that has you gasping. He works you open methodically, adding a second finger when your body yields to the first.

"That's it," he praises, scissoring his fingers gently. "Such a good girl for me."

The vibrator returns without warning, pressed firmly against your clit as his fingers continue their relentless preparation. Your mind splinters, caught between the dual sensations—the stretch and fullness behind, the electric pulses in front.

"Please," you sob, not even sure what you're asking for anymore. Your body is no longer yours; it belongs to the sensations he's orchestrating, to the pleasure building like a storm.

"Shhh," he soothes, removing his fingers. The emptiness is momentary. Something firmer, cooler presses against you—a plug, you realize, as he eases it past the tight ring of muscle. Your back arches as it settles into place, a constant pressure that makes every other sensation intensify.

"Beautiful," he breathes, his voice rough with want. The vibrator's intensity increases, and you feel yourself climbing toward that precipice again. But just as you near the edge, he pulls it away, leaving you gasping and desperate.

"Not until I say," he reminds you, his tone carrying that familiar edge of authority. You hear him moving again, the whisper of fabric against skin. When he returns, something warm and firm brushes against your lips.

"Open," he commands softly. You part your lips obediently, and he slides himself into your mouth. The taste of him floods your senses as he begins to move with slow, deliberate strokes. Your jaw stretches to accommodate him, and you work your tongue against his length, earning a low groan of approval.

"That's it, darlin'," he murmurs, his fingers tangling in your hair, guiding your movements. "Just like that."

The plug shifts inside you with every movement, creating a delicious fullness that makes you moan around him. He pushes deeper, testing your limits, then eases back when your breath hitches. His other hand finds your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers with just enough pressure to make you whimper.

"Such a pretty mouth," he praises, his rhythm becoming more insistent. "Made for taking me."

You lose yourself in the task, surrendering completely to his control. The blindfold keeps you in darkness, heightening every sensation—the weight of him on your tongue, the stretch of your jaw, the fullness inside you, the ache between your legs. Your world narrows to these points of contact, to the sounds of his pleasure above you.

He withdraws suddenly, leaving you panting and empty. You hear the rustle of fabric, the clink of metal, then his weight shifts on the bed. His fingers trace your lips, still wet from his presence.

"You've been so good," he murmurs, voice honeyed with promise. "Maybe you deserve a reward."

The blindfold slips away, and you blink against the soft light. He looms above you, magnificent in his blue ensemble, his eyes dark with hunger. Without breaking his gaze, he positions himself between your spread thighs. The head of his cock teases your entrance, gathering your wetness.

"Is this what you want?" he asks, barely pressing forward.

"Yes, Sir," you whisper, voice raw with need. "Please."

He smiles—that dangerous, beautiful smile—and thrusts forward in one smooth motion. You cry out as he fills you completely, the sensation magnified by the plug still nestled inside you. The dual penetration sends sparks shooting through your nervous system, and you throw your head back with a guttural moan.

"Look at me," he commands, stilling his hips. "I want to see your eyes when I take what's mine."

You force your heavy lids open, meeting his intense gaze. Something flickers there—possession, hunger, something darker and more primal. He begins to move, each thrust deliberate and deep, angling to hit that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

"You feel that?" he asks, voice strained with restraint. "Feel how perfectly you take me?"

"Yes, Sir," you gasp, the words barely coherent as he increases his pace.

His blue heels dig into the mattress for leverage as he drives into you harder. The crotchless tights frame his movements, the contrast of fabric and bare skin only adding to the intoxicating visual. Each thrust pushes the plug deeper, creating a maddening fullness that has you writhing beneath him.

"Such a needy little thing," he pants, his grip tightening on your hips. "The way you clench around me—like you never want to let me go."

You can't form words anymore, only broken sounds of pleasure that escape your lips with each powerful stroke. The tension builds relentlessly, coiling tighter in your core until you're trembling on the precipice.

"Please, Sir," you manage to whisper, "may I—"

"No," he cuts you off, hips still pistoning relentlessly. "Not until I'm ready."

His palm cracks against your thigh, the sting sending fresh waves of heat through your already overloaded system. You bite your lip so hard you taste copper, fighting against the tide threatening to drown you.

"Look how desperate you are," he taunts, voice husky with exertion. "Dripping for me, clenching around me like a vise."

He shifts his angle, somehow driving even deeper. The plug shifts with each thrust, creating an unbearable friction that has you seeing stars. Your fingernails dig crescents into your palms as you struggle to obey, to hold back the release that's building like a tsunami.

"Please," you whimper, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. "I can't—I need—"

His thumb finds your clit, circling it with maddening precision. The touch sends lightning through your core, and you arch off the bed with a strangled cry.

"You need what I give you," he growls, pressing harder against the swollen bundle of nerves. "Nothing more, nothing less."

The dual sensations threaten to shatter your sanity—his cock driving deep while the plug stretches you, his thumb working your clit in tight circles. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, muscles tensing as you teeter on the knife's edge.

"Such a beautiful mess," he purrs, sweat beading on his forehead. "Fighting so hard to be good for me."

His free hand wraps around your throat, not squeezing but claiming, reminding you who holds your pleasure in his grasp. The weight of his palm against your pulse point makes you dizzy with want.

He growls in response, his rhythm faltering as your release triggers his own. His hips stutter, driving deep one final time as he fills you, his cock pulsing and throbbing within your core. The sensation of being so thoroughly claimed, so completely owned, sends a fresh wave of ecstasy coursing through your spent body.

Gasping for air, you collapse onto the bed, limbs boneless and shaking. He remains inside you for a moment longer, chest heaving against your back as both of you ride out the lingering tremors of your respective orgasms. Then, with a final deep breath, he reluctantly pulls out of you, leaving a vacancy that only serves to remind you of the brief connection you'd shared.

"Stay," he pants, before flipping you over onto your back. His eyes are filled with a fierce tenderness as he carefully removes the plug, eliciting a whimper from your oversensitive body. He sets it aside and begins methodically releasing your restraints, massaging each limb as he frees it. The marks from the ropes stand out in stark relief against your skin, badges of honor he traces with reverent fingertips.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, pressing his lips to each welt and bruise. His touch is gentle now, at odds with the commanding presence that had claimed you so thoroughly moments before. The blue heels click softly against the floor as he moves to retrieve a warm washcloth from the adjoining bathroom.

He returns to clean you with exquisite care, the damp cloth soothing against your tender flesh. His movements are precise, almost clinical, yet infused with an intimacy that makes your chest ache. When he's satisfied, he tosses the cloth aside and stretches out beside you on the bed, gathering you against his chest. His heartbeat thunders beneath your ear, gradually slowing as you both drift in the aftermath.

"You did so well for me," he whispers, fingers combing through your tangled hair. "So perfect."

You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent—sweat, cologne, and something uniquely him. The blue fabric of his dress feels cool against your overheated skin, a pleasant contrast to the warmth of his body beneath.

"Thank you, Sir," you murmur, voice hoarse from screaming.

He reaches for the glass of water on the nightstand, helping you sit up just enough to take small sips. The cool liquid soothes your parched throat, and you sigh with gratitude.