Myras, the mistress of her domain, lounges, her fingers idly tracing the lace of her stockings, a picture of elegant ennui. Her gaze falls upon a man, his body tense, eyes downcast, waiting for her command. "Come here," she orders, her voice a whipcrack. "Kneel. I need a cock, and it seems you have one eager to serve." She leans in, her breath hot on his ear, "But remember, darling, it's my pussy that calls the shots."