Wrapped in red, rope dual lines of blood across his chest, arms bound behind his back, long hair wound into the rope that grips his chest, he kneels with his head held back, ready to receive.
There in the bath, hard ceramic under his knees, his legs are likewise bound in slashes of red, double rows, taut and tensioned.
Steam fills the room as she stands with the warm water against her back, while he shivers, spattered only with the occasional warm droplet. His nipples are pebble-hard, his eyes wide, his cock aching and neglected.
He trembles with pent up need, already denied for hours, fingers wrapped around his flesh bringing him to the brink, again and again, only to leave him sobbing with hunger, questioning his own desire to be tortured this way.
Now, he waits on his knees and she stands before him, an eyebrow raised, asking if he's ready to accept her precious gift. He nods, tries to swallow, but the gag tied behind his head makes it hard.
She loosens the gag and removes the spit-wadded cloth from his mouth, and instead offers her fingers. His lips close around them, dutifully sucking, knowing this image pleases her.
She gives him a small smile and nudges his balls with her bare toes. The look she gives him makes him clench and release around the jewelled plug lodged in his ass. He would do anything if she would just touch him now. Anything. And he's about to.
She places a hand under his chin, giving him one last opportunity to shake his head, blink twice, tap out.
But he wants this, needs it, needs to submit to her desire to use his mouth. He will receive her gift and does, sealing his lips around her hard flesh as he greedily gulps it down. He barely tastes the liquid gold, tastes only his submission, and her satisfaction.
"So eager," she murmurs, one hand cradling her cock as he drinks, the other resting on the crown of his head, a warm weight of ownership that fills his head with cotton-wool compliance.
He drinks in silence, ensuring he takes it all, until the stream becomes a trickle, and is done.
"Such a good boy," she says softly, and his head swims with pleasure as he laps the last droplets from the end of her silicone penis.
He's kept the rope clean, not a drop spilled; unless you count the clear droplets sliding down the underside of his cock to tickle his balls.
She grips his hair and releases the knot that holds it to his chest harness. Held this way, he's paralysed, like a kitten held by its scruff, his eyes staring, his mouth open, soft lips parted, head filled with delicious float.
She teases his bobbing cock with one manicured toe, rubbing the tip sensually before tapping at him hard enough to make it sway.
"Look at you!" So much sadistic glee. "Who'd have thought that'd make you so hard?"
He can't deny it, and flushes with shame at the way his organ bobs between his spread legs.
"Now, would you like to rinse your mouth?" she asks.
He nods, accepting of any offer she might put to him rather than expressing a desire to remove the taste of her.
She steps under the shower stream and gathers a mouthful of water for him, swallowing some of it herself to mock him, then returns to him with sealed lips, a smile in her eyes.
He knows what to do and opens wide, and she leans over his upturned face and trickles warm liquid into his mouth.
On her instruction, he uses it to cleanse his palate, then dribbles it slowly onto his cock. The sensation is pleasant, and he wonders what it might feel like if it were something else.
"Hmmm."
He lifts his head from contemplation of his dripping penis, and she puts a hand to his throat, guiding his gaze higher.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
She can read his mind... or, perhaps she simply put the idea there in the first place. She sinks into a crouch before him, her hand still gripping his throat, and shakes him before letting him go.
"Turn around."
