Poor Choice

Salome picks the dumbest stage for her little show. Right in the center of Mistress Katy Parker’s private lair, she peels off her clothes, hips rolling, fingertips grazing her own skin like she owns the room. But the room has another owner. When the Mistress steps back in and catches the intruder flaunting her body, the temperature drops. Katy doesn’t speak. She binds Salome’s wrists, winds leather around her throat, cinches her legs apart until every inch is exposed and helpless. Salome hangs suspended, weight on her knees, arms pulled behind her back, throat tugged just enough that every ragged breath is a reminder of who’s in charge. The Mistress circles her like she might a toy she hasn’t broken in yet—stroking, pinching, pushing Salome’s mouth open so the slut can taste her own surrender before the real games begin.