Nasty Mistress was in the mood for some wild and extreme play. She had her eyes set on her loyal slave, Osel. As he walked into the room, he saw her dressed in black leather with a whip in her hand and a swarovski-studded riding crop dangling from her belt.
"Today, you're going to be my working pony," she said with a sinister grin.
Osel trembled in fear as he watched her tight ass cheeks sway hypnotically in front of him. He knew he couldn't resist her command even though he was terrified deep down inside.
She commanded him to crawl towards her and when he reached her, she grabbed the back of his head and forced him into a 69 position. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, tasting him while she continued to push her wet, eager pussy against his lips and chin.
"Now, show me how useful you can be as a pony," she said, her words laced with lust and power.
Osel felt his arousal grow even more as he struggled to maintain eye contact with her. His muscles strained as he tried to lift himself using just his arms while Nasty Mistress straddled his hips, gripping his shoulders tightly for balance.
"You can move faster, $hit boy," she taunted him.
The taunts stung but Osel didn't dare slow down. He could feel the warmth of her pussy against his chest, the strength of her thighs pressed firmly against his shoulders. Each time he reached a speed that pleased her, she grabbed the riding crop and struck him on the back, the stinging pain a reminder that he was nothing more than a animal to her.
As they moved around the room, Osel started to tire. His muscles ached from exertion and the sting of the crop. Nasty Mistress noticed the change in his pace and her anger flared up.
"You're making me sweat," she barked, "now you'll have to clean it up."
She reached down and grabbed a handful of Osel's hair, pulling his head back in submission. With a few swift strokes of her tongue, she cleaned the sweat from her legs and ass, making sure to force him to taste every drop of it.
"Now clean the rest," she ordered, slapping him hard on the cheek with the riding crop.
Osel went back to work, scrubbing the sweat from her skin while she rode him harder than ever. The form, rhythm of his movements perfectly in tune with hers. With each passing minute, he felt closer to breaking point.
Suddenly, Nasty Mistress pulled out the riding crop and struck him hard on the back. Osel let out a deep, guttural groan as the pain shot through his body. He crumpled to the floor, barely able to breathe anymore.
"You're pathetic," she sneered, her boots hovering above his face.
But then something strange happened. Instead of kicking him, she pulled her panties off and crouched down over him. Her golden juices flowed all over him, washing away the sting of the crop and filling him with an odd kind of calm.
"You may be a piece of shit," she whispered softly, "But you're my piece of shit."
And with that, she stood up, leaving him there on the floor, covered in her scent and defiled in every way possible. As Osel tried to catch his breath, he stared up at her, wondering when the next session would be. Because despite the pain and humiliation, he knew he couldn't resist her. He was hers, forever.
