A lone, eager boy awaits his mistress in her boudoir, his throbbing dic already tenting his pants. The domme enters, her heels clicking on the hardwood, her gaze locked on the prize between his legs. She circles him, running a sharp nail along his arm, her voice a sultry purr, "You're mine to command." He nods, eager, as she orders him to strip, revealing his stiff, aching dic. She smirks, "You're pathetic, aren't you?" She grabs his chin, forcing him to look at her as she reaches down, running a finger along his length, not touching, just tormenting. "You'll do as I say," she commands, "Now, show me how you please that dic."