The front door clicks shut . The sl*ve tenses , his ears straining for the unmistakable sound of Her heels clicking against the hardwood . He can smell Her before She even enters the room —a rich, mesmerizing scent of perfume, sweat, and the unmistakable musk of another man’s fresh release . His heart races . His throat tightens . Because he knows what’s coming.

Mistress Malibu doesn’t just walk in . She owns the space , Her hips swaying with deliberate, predatory grace , Her fingers trailing over the swollen, well-used flesh between Her thighs. She’s still throbbing from the relentless f*cking She just took, Her p*ssy aching, dripping, and absolutely packed with c*m . She doesn’t even look at him as She kicks off Her heels , just smirks at the pathetic sight of him strapped down , waiting like the desperate l*ttle beta he is.

"Aww, did you miss Me, cuck?" She coos , trailing a finger down his cheek before gripping his jaw , prying his mouth open . "Good. Because you’re about to taste what a real man left inside Me. And you’re going to thank Me for it."

Before he can even whimper , She’s already mounting his face , Her thighs clamping vice-like around his skull. The blindfold ensures he can’t see the smirk on Her lips as She lowers Her soaked, used p*ssy onto his mouth. The first press is overwhelming — warm, sticky, thick with the evidence of another man’s pleasure . He gags . He tries to turn away . But Mistress Malibu? She doesn’t tolerate disobedience .

"Open. Your. F*cking . Mouth," She hisses , Her nails digging into his jaw until he has no choice but to comply . "You’re going to clean Me spotless , or I swear to G*d, I’ll make you regret breathing ."

The Feeding: A Masterclass in Submission

The first drag of Her p*ssy over his tongue is br*tal . The taste is bitter, salty, foreign — nothing like he’s ever experienced . His body convulses , his mind screaming in protest , but Mistress Malibu isn’t interested in his comfort . She’s interested in his surrender .

"That’s it," She coos , grinding down harder as he ch*kes on the flood of c*m She’s pushing into his throat . "Take it all, you worthless l*ttle thing ." Her hips begin to roll , Her slick, used lips dragging against his face with wet, obscene sounds . She moans , Her head tilting back as She uses him like a living washcloth , Her fingers tangled in his hair , yanking his head exactly where She wants it.

"I want to hear you," She growls , bouncing harder , Her p*ssy slapping against his chin . "Slurp. Gag . Let Me hear how much you love this."

He tries to pull away . She backhands him . "Try that again, and I’ll ruin you."

She doesn’t stop . She doesn’t care . She rides his face like it’s Her personal property , Her moans growing louder , Her movements more aggressive , until he’s nothing but a sobbing, ch*king mess beneath Her.

"This?" She pants , grinding Her p*ssy against his mouth. "This is what a real c*ck feels like. Not that useless l*ttle nub you’ve got locked up. You’re nothing , cuck. A toy . A tool . And if you’re lucky , maybe one day you’ll earn the right to watch a real man f*ck Me."

The Sm*ther: Breath as a Privilege

Mistress Malibu isn’t done . She shifts , squatting lower , Her full weight pressing down on his face. His nose is buried in Her *ss, his mouth sealed beneath Her p*ssy. He can’t breathe . He can’t move . And She doesn’t give a damn .

"Keep. L*cking ," She orders , Her voice cold, detached , as if She’s discussing the weather instead of smothring him with Her c*nt . His lungs b*rn . His vision blurs . But the second he slows , Her hand cr*cks across his face again.

"I own your air," She snarls . "You breathe when I say you breathe. Now l*ck , or I’ll leave you like this all night."

She doesn’t let up . She doesn’t show mercy . She rides him until he’s gasping , until his face is dripping with Her, until he’s nothing but a trembling, obedient mess beneath Her.

The Turnaround: Face-F*cking in Reverse

Finally, satisfied with his s*ffering , She flips around , Her dripping, well-used p*ssy now hovering over his mouth as She reverses the angle . This time, She doesn’t just grind . She f*cks his face —Her hips snapping forward , Her wetness coating his cheeks, his nose, his everything . The sounds are filthy — squishing, sloppy, the obscene noise of a thoroughly ravaged p*ssy being shoved onto a helpless mouth.

"Look at you," She pants , riding him like a cheap toy . "My personal c*m-dumpster. My l*ttle cleanup b*tch." Her moans grow louder , Her movements more erratic , until—with a shuddering gasp —She c*ms again , Her juices flooding his face in a hot, sticky rush .

The Aftermath: A Night of Ownership

Panting , She pulls back , Her p*ssy glistening , his face shiny with Her release . She smirks , running a finger along his c*m-smeared cheek before bringing it to Her lips , tasting him — tasting Her own power .

"Such a good l*ttle sl*ve," She murmurs , though Her tone is anything but kind . "I’m going to rest now. You’re going to stay right there, with your face all messy , until the sun comes up. And you’re going to think about how worthless you are."

She doesn’t wait for a response. She doesn’t need one . With a final, dismissive pat on his cheek, She curls up beside him , Her body still humming from the night’s pleasures , and closes Her eyes .

The sl*ve is left in the dark , humiliated , used , and—most importantly— c*mpletely Hers .

And Mistress Malibu?

She rests like the Queen She is .

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