Nearby, a trio of women were pleasuring each other on a plush rug, their tongues and fingers exploring every inch of each other's bodies.

Her hands dug into the corduroy couch where she usually sat with her husband watching TV. She moaned loudly, her back arching off the couch.

Despite his powerful physique, he was softly spoken, his voice a gentle contrast to his imposing appearance. His body already trembled....

He broke Mummy’s rule—and now he’s strapped down, legs spread, cock dripping, trembling in the punishment chair she built for boys like him. She doesn't punish with pain. She punishes with denial. Her mouth teases him to the edge again and again—but never gives him release. Bound, aching, and desperately obedient, he learns: his pleasure isn’t his anymore. It’s hers.

I reached down between his legs, rubbing my fingers over the caged cock that ached, that throbbed untouched.

I had watched his eyes linger on the deep crimson lace, the sheer black fabric embroidered with intricate patterns. I had let him trace his fingers over the delicate material, whispering how beautiful it would look on my body.