Fuck me.

A hand was over his mouth before he could react.

Camila was barely dressed. A black leather thong clung to her hips, slipping between her legs to cover her sex but tight enough reveal an obvious camel-toe indentation. Her leather costume doesn't cover her large hits, but hugs her body in curls and spirals to crawl up her form and push her breasts forward in a half-top corset.

Aaralon blinked. Wow. Dominatrix costume! He was pushed backwards. Pulled into her tent, spun around and pushed backwards as a matter of fact. There was a gush of magic and he knew he was naked. He sat down. The chair behind him was smooth and cold. Straps snapped shut over his wrists. He was held.

He was more than simply held. The chair, the device Camila had pushed him into, started to move. Aaralon found himself being pushed again, pushed forwards, pushed down, **** forwards onto his chest and with his ass stuck up into the air.

Oh crap...

Wait! There was a chance! Aaralon felt the device/chair shift underneath him again... just as it, terribly, began to form a phallic protrusion above his backside, Aaralon felt the magic flicker. There might be a chance to break free. If he could just focus his magic...