Sex slave: Regina Moon

The host’s grin stretched across the stage. "Who’s our little birthday girl? Regina Moon, that’s who," he purred. "Or should we call her birthday fuck-slut?" The crowd laughed, but the laughter died when a darker figure stepped out of the shadows—Mistress Mandy, crop tucked under one arm like a loaded pistol. Regina knelt center-stage in nothing but a collar and the shy flush that spread from her throat to her tits. Mandy gave her an approving once-over, then snapped her fingers. The silence thickened. A blindfold slid over Regina’s eyes. Leather cuffs clamped her wrists behind her back. When the wand touched her clit, the jolt ripped through her hips and straight up her spine, but Mandy held it steady, marking lazy circles until Regina whimpered and twitched against the head of the toy. "That’s it, birthday girl," Mandy breathed, her voice velvet over steel. "Every jolt is another candle on your cake." She switched off the wand and slid a thick silicone plug past Regina’s dripping cunt. Slick with lube and Regina’s own slick, it seated with a wet pop. Regina gasped, thighs trembling. Mandy fastened a leather harness around her hips, locking the plug inside with a cruel little buckle. The audience counted each turn of the buckle aloud—one, two, three—until Regina was breathing in short, sharp huffs, cunt clenching hard on the solid intrusion. A fresh trail of arousal glistened down her inner thighs. Mandy smiled, wiped the wetness up with two fingers, then fed those same fingers past Regina’s parted lips. Regina sucked like she’d been starving for it. When she moaned around them, Mandy slid them deeper until Regina gagged, eyes watering beneath the blindfold, drool tracking her chin. Mandy retracted her fingers with a wet sound. She reached for the long glass rod next—smooth, cold, gleaming—lubing it until it shone. The tip circled Regina’s stretched cunt, teasing the swollen entrance before pushing in. Regina’s breath shattered into rapid whimpers. Inch by inch the rod advanced, pinning the plug deeper, setting off a series of tight, involuntary squeezes that carried clear to her ass. A vibrator humming somewhere in the audience caught Regina’s rhythm and she started rocking despite herself, chasing the friction of glass and rubber at once. Mandy switched the vibe off and kissed the shell of Regina’s ear. "Not yet," she murmured. Then came the flogger. First light lashes traced Regina’s tits, then harder stripes landed lower across her trembling belly, marking skin in angry lines that bloomed pink. The next set came across the inside of both thighs, the leather tails snapping the wetness that coated them. Regina cried out, hips jerking forward and shoving the plug deeper again. Mandy kept count the way birthday girls often do—counting down toward something they’re dying for. When she’d delivered the last blow, a strand of spit connected Regina’s lower lip to her nipple; the guests watched it stretch, break, fall. Finally Mandy eased the blindfold down. Regina blinked into the white spotlights, gaze glassy. Cum-slicked, striped raw, full in both holes and underdressed for mercy, she licked her parted lips as the audience began to sing. The only cake she tasted tonight was Mandy’s thumb pressing down on her tongue and forcing her mouth wider. Everyone cheered.