I walked into the room in my tight latex skirt, fully in control and fully aware that today was about nothing except my pleasure. My slave was already in position on the couch exactly how I like him — silent, still, and useful. I climbed over his thigh and settled onto it, feeling the firm shape beneath me while the latex stretched and creaked with every movement. I didn’t need his touch or his pleasure, only his body as something to grind on. I started moving my hips slowly, building friction, letting the heat rise between my legs as I rode his thigh like a living toy. His cock swelled pathetically under him, stiff and desperate, but that wasn’t my problem. I wasn’t here to give him anything. I used his body the way I needed — rocking back and forth, grinding harder as the pressure built, chasing my orgasm with single-minded focus. I grabbed onto him for leverage, riding his thigh faster, using him as if he were just a piece of furniture built for me to cum on. Eventually the pleasure
