Bound by leather straps, a helpless captive squirms on the cold stone floor, his eyes locked onto the dominatrix standing over him. Berthamorin1995, in her thigh-high boots and corseted top, circles him like a predator. She snaps her riding crop against her palm, the sound echoing in the dungeon. "You will serve me," she growls, tracing the crop along his chest, his abs, his thighs. She teases his cock, already hard and aching, with the tip of the crop. "And you will beg for more," she promises, her voice dripping with lust and power.