Domming the Dom

She opened the front door and he was waiting there, wearing nothing but his chastity cage, bracelets on his wrists and ankles, and a studded leather collar, a leash fastened to it and held between his teeth.

She walked in, took off her heels, and rolled her hose down.

"Get the Nautilus, strap it on, and fuck my throat. I'm so stressed!", she ordered her poppet.

She continued to get undressed and walked into the bedroom as her slave fastened the tentacle-shaped dildo to his waist, nestled above his limp caged cock.

It wasn't often he penetrated her.

He walked into the bedroom and found her kneeling, nude. Her mouth agape and waiting, eyes burning into his soul.

Without a word she still commanded him, and even though he would be fucking her mouth, she was always in control.

Her job was stressful, managing thousands at a business she started with her own seed money.

He served.

He slid the nautical demon down her throat, past her tongue. She long ago abated the weakness of a gag reflex, and he knew precisely how deep to go, how long to hold it in so she wouldn't choke.

He grabbed her raven hair and shoved the tentacle deep down her gullet, her eyes tearing.

All the while his cock struggled in his cage. HER cage, she would often remind him. He swore it to her for the privilege of serving her.

Most days he was topped, his ass and throat was testament, but occasionally she needed topping. And her needs were always met.

She moaned.

He saw the stress drain from her mascara-streaked eyes. She needed this, and only he knew how much.

He loved his master, and would serve dutifully as long as it pleased her.

She pushed him off her, a thick string of saliva still joining her to the plastic invader.

"My turn."