Sex slave: Lisa Sparkle

Lisa blinked. This miniature thing called herself a mistress? Sabrina stood half a head shorter, wrapped in some wisp of a dress, all delicate bones and barely-there limbs. The shock of that slender silhouette hadn’t faded when the slap cracked across Lisa’s cheek, hot and sudden, making her lush tits jolt in their low-cut top. The sting bloomed instantly, yet something hotter pooled low between her legs. Sabrina moved fast for a pocket-sized sadist; her palm met Lisa’s mouth again, this time followed by sharp nails dragging down the slope of her breast until they snagged a nipple and twisted. Lisa gasped, eyelids fluttering, but Sabrina just laughed. The tiny tormentress didn’t bother announcing her intentions. She grabbed a candle, tilted it, let molten wax kiss Lisa’s cleavage in biting droplets. The heat bloomed, then cooled against sweat-slick skin. When Lisa’s breathing changed, Sabrina already held the steel pins, cold tips tracing beneath one heavy breast before sinking in slowly. Lisa moaned, back arching, more than ready. Sabrina tapped Lisa’s thigh—open—and drove the first thrust of the fat dildo straight into her, long, slick, relentless. Each slam shoved air out of Lisa’s lungs; her wrist restraints rattled. And every time she whimpered, the vicious little woman smiled wider, eager to find new ways to hurt her.