You look down

Your bound arms ache, as you move your head in order to look down. Below you, there’s a man in a shiny black gimp costume, kneeling before Lana Lang, who’s dressed in black leather boots and a long pink raincoat. A small matching pink handbag hangs from her arm.

“Thanks for helping me get him up there,” Lana says, as her hand moves towards a stepladder, its steps leading up to you. “I’ll have no problem keeping him up.”

The gimp makes a strange noise and looks at her expectantly.

“No, I don’t need your services any further tonight,” she tells him.

The gimp emits a whimpering sound as he gets to his feet.

“There, there,” she says, “your mistress will see you tomorrow night, when I get bored with this toy, once it’s all broken.” She glances up at you while the gimp giggles, “Now, get off home, quick, before I have to tell your family about what you get up to.”

The gimp runs away, as Lana stands there, watching him go, and laughs. “Poor Jonathan, one of these days I’ll give him a heart attack.” Then she turns her attention to you, as she starts to ascend the ladder, a waft of her perfume filling your nostrils.

Soon, she’s level with you, a wide smile crossing her face. “This is what you could have had,” she says as, one-by-one, she undoes each button of her raincoat, the hot summer Smallville night getting ever hotter, as she slowly reveals her perfect naked body, bathed by moonlight. It’s definitely worth the standing ovation you suddenly feel below, making you forget the pain in your arms. She looks down and smiles. “Your cock’s mine now,” she tells you. “You’re all mine, and you’ll regret ever saying ‘No’ to Lana Lang.”

You open your mouth to speak, but her hand covers it. “You only get to speak, when I tell you to,” she says, “those are the rules.”

Slowly, she removes her hand from your mouth, and then takes a stick of lipstick out of her handbag. “Time to brand you,” she says, as she twists open the lipstick, and then starts to write on your bare chest.

When she’s finished, she applies the lipstick to her own lips. “So, it’s one of those times when you get to talk,” she says, as she rolls the tube of lipstick between her fingers. “What do you think that S on your chest stands for?” She leans over you, her breasts brushing against you, as she checks the ropes that are biting into your arm. “****?” she whispers into your ear. “Maybe Slut?” She waves the lipstick in front of your face, “How about Sissy?”

She laughs, and stands there in front of you, hands on naked hips, her perfect breasts thrust toward you, waiting for your answer.