Latex Dominatrix Milks Slave Boy

The Latex Dominatrix Milks Her Slave Boy

In the dimly lit dungeon, the air was thick with the aroma of rubber and the faint smell of latex. Chains clanked against the walls, and a single bare bulb flickered above, casting long shadows across the cold stone floor. In the center of the room stood a tall, statuesque figure clad head-to-toe in shiny black latex, her curves accentuated by the tight, glossy material. This was Mistress Elena, the city’s most notorious Dominatrix, and she had a new plaything to break in.

The boy sat at her feet, bound and gagged, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and anticipation. He was young, barely legal, with a lean, athletic body and soft, innocent features. Mistress Elena circled him like a predator eyeing her prey, her thigh-high boots clicking menacingly with each step.

“Ah, look at you,” she purred, trailing a latex-gloved finger along his jaw. “Aren’t you just the sweetest little thing. Tell me, boy, have you ever experienced true power? The kind that makes you beg for mercy?”

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Of course you haven’t,” she continued, a cruel smirk playing at the corners of her crimson lips. “You’re just a pathetic little worm, aren’t you? Writhing on the ground, desperate to be crushed beneath my heel.”

She grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back, forcing him to look up at her. Her other hand moved to his chest, where her sharp nails dragged down his skin, leaving angry red lines in their wake.

“Beg me,” she hissed. “Beg me to dominate you, to break you, to make you my perfect little fuck toy.”

“P-please,” he stammered around the gag. “Please Mistress…”

“Mmm, that’s more like it,” she cooed, releasing his hair and stepping back. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

She produced a pairs of heavy-duty clamps, one at a time, and attached them to his nipples. He writhed and moaned, his face twisted in masochistic agony. Mistress Elena grinned manually, enjoying his suffering.

Next came the ball gag, a thick rubber bulb that stretched his mouth obscenely wide. She shoved it in place, buckling it cruelly tight behind his head.

She produced an array of toys, each more sadistic than the last – a thick, heavy urethral sounding rod, cruel-looking clover clamps on delicate chain leashes, a wickedly spiked paddle. She used each one on him with brutal efficiency, making him thrash and writhe as she read his body like a book, pushing his limits with each new implement.

Finally, she produced the piece de resistance: an enormous, battering ram of a strap-on, its fat head pulsing and leaking precum. She lubed it up with cruel, twisting fingers, spreading the lube painfully, before pressing the fat tip against his Rosetta.

“Beg me,” she commanded, pushing harder against his tight hole.

“Mphm! Mmmph!” He struggled, but the ball gag effectively silenced his pleas.

“Beg me,” she repeated, slapping his ass hard.

“MMMPFF!” The muffled cry shot through the room.

“Good boy,” she hissed, and then she was pushing into him, the thick strap-on spearing him open, his tight ring of muscle stretching obscenely around it. She took him in one brutal thrust, forcing him down onto the cold stone.

She rode him mercilessly, her latex-clad hips slapping brutally against his ass, the ceiling-mounted candles flickering in the wind of her movements. He was just a meaty hole for her to fuck, his body forgotten in the haze of pain and brutal pleasure.

Soon, her climax was building, her breathing growing ragged. She grabbed his hair, yanking his head back like a dog on a chain, and fucked him harder, faster.

“Come on, boy,” she snarled. “Gonna fuckin’ milk your slutty boycunt. Milk it dry.”

And then, with a shriek of ecstasy, she did just that, emptying her balls painfully dry inside his guts. His own orgasm was an afterthought, a tiny red balloon popping in the face of her massive, sensational pleasure.

Slowly, she pulled out, his insides gaping and sucking at the sudden emptiness. She left him there, lying in a puddle of his own filth, the taste of her strap still fresh on his tongue.

“I’ll be seeing you again soon, boy,” she cooed, her voice dripping with malevolent promises. “We have much work to do.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving him tied and aching, her scent still heavy in the air. He had found his true mistress.