Mistress controls all bitches

Her four girls kneel on the carpet, naked, eyes on the floor. Each girl wears a black leather collar with a silver tag. Jade stands behind them, corset laced tight, crop in hand. She snaps her fingers. Three mouths part at once. Two girls drop forward and crawl to meet her boots. One stays back, breath quickening, lips already wet. Jade drags the crop along a bent spine, circles a nipple, watches it tighten. "Lick," she says. Tongues meet polished leather. The second girl leans in to clean her other shoe, slower, trembling with the need to earn. A fourth remains at the edge, a leash pulled taut by her own teeth because both hands have been taken away. Sweat glistens on Jade's shoulders when she tugs the leash upward, clicks the handle twice; the desperate fourth girl groans around the soft leather and crawls closer. Soon every mouth is busy. Lips part sleek labia, tongues slide and curl, noses press close enough to drink in every rich scent. One girl laps deeper and Jade pulls her hair until she follows a rhythm she set. Another slips two slick fingers inside and earns a low sigh, a brief nod, the barest permission to keep going. Every slap of the crop against a round cheek signals a new shift in task or speed. Jade leans back, breath shorter now, hips tilting forward, breasts rising inside tight black satin. One well-trained mouth finds her clit and works it in steady circles until her heel presses down, hard, demanding more. Another girl moans around a separate clit, hips rocking against nothing, thighs shining. The bed behind Jade frames the sprawl; shadows of pressed bodies bleed across the sheets. Tension winds, slick skin, pulsing tongues, satisfied low gasps from the one who receives and the ones who give. When the commanding woman comes, it arrives with a sharp cry muffled against the back of her hand. Fingers tighten on collars, pulling each mouth harder to where she wants them, before she opens again, shudders, commands them to keep licking, slower, as her hips still roll in tiny aftershocks. Every girl stays present, waiting for the next command, another order, another taste.