Broken Prisoner

Mistress Katy Parker learned everything as an interrogation officer. She still pulls those methods out when she meets girls who think they can hold their ground, girls like Lillandra. The blonde walks in cocky, turns up her nose, and refuses to give an inch. Katy watches her with that flat, knowing look. The cuffs click open. Lillandra is on the table before she can take another breath, wrists pinned, thighs forced wide. Katy works fast—precise pressure, measured heat, each touch placed where defiance starts to crumble. Sweat beads. Muscles lock. Lillandra spits curses, then moans when pressure becomes slick friction between her legs. Her hips twitch, betraying her, each small shake feeding Katy’s steady hand. Hours later the only sounds left are ragged breathing and the wet slap of fingers moving inside her until the bimbo finally breaks and tells Katy everything she wants to hear.