Bent over the coffee table with his face buried in the cushions, the young man grips the edge as the silver-haired dominatrix straps on behind him. Each slow, deliberate thrust forces a groan from his throat while her black dress rides up her thick thighs. Her free hand tangles in his hair, yanking his head back just enough to see the strain in his eyes. The strap-on sinks in deep, stretching him open with every measured pump, her stockings creaking against the leather seat. He barely holds back, his fingers clawing at the wood until she flips him onto his back and climbs on top, riding him reverse cowgirl while her silver curls bounce loose around her shoulders. What kind of slave lasts past the first slow stroke with a dominatrix this hungry?
