Aletta Ocean' cleanie slave

Aletta Ocean came back swinging. Sandra had strutted around their last meeting like she owned everything, and that mouth needed correcting. Aletta cracked the whip across Sandra's ass, then made her lick the handle clean. It looked like mercy. It wasn't. Real punishment slips through the fingers when someone already expects it, so Aletta waited until Sandra thought she had endured the worst. Only then did she push Sandra to her knees and tell her exactly what she was going to do next. Sandra spread Aletta open and started with slow, wet strokes of her tongue, the kind that said she'd done this plenty and enjoyed every second. Her mouth never missed a fold, never rushed, just worked until Aletta's clit swelled against her lips. Aletta grabbed Sandra's hair, forced her deeper, hips rolling against that hungry mouth. When Aletta handed her the thick glass dildo, Sandra slid it in without hesitation, fucking slow and steady while her tongue kept up the pace. Every thrust was precise, filthy, and shamelessly skilled. There was nothing humiliating about it. Sandra loved the taste, loved the way Aletta tightened around the toy, loved feeling her own arousal pool between her thighs. When Aletta finally came, trembling and cursing, Sandra kept licking until she was told to stop. Aletta caught the smug little smile on Sandra's face and knew the lesson had failed. Sandra had survived the whip, the cleaning, the forced service, and she still wanted more. The arrogance wasn't going anywhere. If anything, it had found new fuel.