In a dimly lit dungeon, a bound man kneels, his eyes locked onto the floor, awaiting his mistress's command. She approaches, her heels clicking on the stone floor, her whip trailing behind her. She circles him, her fingers tracing lines down his back, his arms, his chest, igniting sparks of anticipation. She stops in front of him, her voice a low purr, "Worship my cock, slave." He hesitates, then leans in, his tongue flicking out to lick the shaft, his hands gripping her thighs for support. She groans, her fingers tangling in his hair, pushing him closer, guiding him. He takes her in his mouth, his lips stretching around her thickness, his tongue exploring every inch, his eyes locked onto hers, seeking approval. She smiles, her hand tightening in his hair, "Good boy," she purrs, "Now, make me come."