And then the ritual began, slow and searing. Her gloved fingers gripped my jaw as she forced me to meet her gaze, every inch of her radiating authority. Her scent, the slick heat of leather mixed with her perfume, filled my lungs like a drug as she flogged the back of my left thigh with a sharp crack, causing my body to jerk. She didn’t ask, she took, as she flogged the other thigh, and I groaned in pleasured pain. It was as if every sound she drew from me was orchestrated, purposeful, each slap dragging more from me than just moans; it dragged truth.
She consumed me, body and soul. Worshipped me with cruelty, broke me with grace. Every word from her lips was a whip crack to my ego, every praise a balm that made me crave more punishment—her words, low, filthy, adoring, curled through me like smoke.
“You’ll take my dick like you were made for it,” she sneered, lips against my ear, as she spread my ass open and rubbed the head of her lubricated strap-on against my asshole.
“Yes, Mistress, my surrender is yours to have,” I croaked out, pre-cum dripping from my dick.
“To the bed, face down, ass up, NOW,” she demanded.
With no hesitation, I did as I was told, feeling her walk up behind me and run her hand from the head of my dick to the rim of my ass. I shivered in anticipation. “Look at you, dripping and desperate.”
“My beautiful whore,” she growled into my ear, the sting of her flogger echoing against my skin as. “You love being used, don’t you?”
I nodded, nearly sobbing from the mix of pleasure and shame, and she hadn't even penetrated me yet. She saw all of me, every fractured part, and still, she chose me.
“You beg for my dick like it’s salvation,” she whispered. “And I’ll give it to you. But you won’t come until I say. Understood?”
“Yes, Mistress,” I gasped, my voice barely holding together.
She pushed every inch in with a slowness that made my body shiver. “Ohhhhh fuck, Mistress,” I moaned.
Behind us, Amiyah moaned, her fingers likely twitching at her sides, as Calla began to stroke in and out of me at a steady rhythm, the pleasure coursing through my body.
“Please, Mistress,” she whimpered. “Please may I touch myself?”
Calla didn’t answer right away. She simply smiled. Dangerous. Devastating. And then she nodded once.
“Be good,” she said. “Touch yourself, but don’t come, not yet.”
What followed was a symphony of surrender. The sound of Amiyah’s pleasure mixed with the guttural cries I couldn’t contain. Calla orchestrated us like a conductor, our bodies her instruments. Her touch ruined me. Her presence anchored me. Her rhythm dragged me to the edge again and again until my knees buckled, and my orgasm tore through me.
“Fuckkkkkkkkkk,” I cried out, my cum spilling from the head of my dick with reckless abandon.
When she was satisfied with the wreck she’d left my body in, she slid out of me as I collapsed against the bed, heart pounding like a war drum.
But it wasn’t over.
“On your back,” she ordered. “Now.”
I obeyed.
“Amiyah,” she said, her tone indulgent and firm, “I want you to get our dirty little toy back hard and take your pleasure from him like you mean it.”
And she did, her dripping pussy sliding up and down dick, yet to slide me inside her warmth as I got harder by the second.
“Mmmmmm, Baby, you want this pussy wrapped around you,” she asked as she let a string of saliva travel to my open mouth.
Showing her better than I could tell her, my hands found her hips as her warmth swallowed me whole, her rhythm frantic, her cries breathless.
Calla got between my legs again, her hands slick and skilled, her mouth against Amiyah’s ear as she whispered all the wicked things she had planned next. I couldn’t focus on anything but the way she touched me, as she lubricated my hole and slid into me, claiming me, owning me, while pulling Amiyah’s head back gently and kissing her neck.
“Thisis what you wanted, right, Princess? Wanted to see me strip James bare and make his power mine. Wanted to take his dick while he takes mine?” Her voice filled with power as she let her saliva now spill into Amiyah’s mouth the way Amiyah let hers spill into mine.
I was unraveling, every nerve raw, my breath stuttering with each impact of her hips, every stroke lighting up my spine. She fucked me with the kind of control that made worship feel like degradation and made me grateful for the privilege.
Not just from the pressure, not just from the pleasure, but from the love I felt for them both.
And the safety in knowing they saw every part of me, every weak, needy, broken part, and didn’t flinch.
