She looked at her Sir in an apprehensive manner. It was her first time being tied by a professional. Her ropes were snug. Her emotions were a jumble, but her moist cunt betrayed them.
He studied her with an intent that conveyed a preciseness normally reserved for marksmen. His emerald eyes soaked every part of her in.
As an eagle diving upon its prey, he moved to her. She jumped and gasped, her heart missing several beats as her cunt ached for his touch. He stopped just inches from her face. She could smell his sharp, rich cologne.
“You have a pretty face” he said in a voice as menacingly dark as pitch. She moaned and gasped as she tensed futily against her ropes. “But when playtime is through, it will be flushed, your mascara and tears will from rivulets of onyx down your cheeks, and your throughly used mouth will be glistening and dripping with my seed.”