She uses her crop whip

As you tried to regain your breath, you noticed a wicked glint in Tracey's green eyes. She reached behind her and produced a thin, black crop whip. She smirked, clearly enjoying the expression of surprise and trepidation on your face.

With a fluid motion, Tracey began tracing the whip down your chest, letting you feel its cold, smooth surface. "Did you think we were done?" she purred.

With no warning, the whip cracked against your skin. A sharp sting radiated from where it made contact, but the pain was quickly overshadowed by the arousal building within you. Every strike of the whip sent shivers through your spine, a mix of fear and excitement.

"You thought you were the dominant one, didn't you?" she taunted, each word punctuated by another stinging lash. "But look at you now, at the mercy of a woman."

Still straddling you, she brings her face inches from yours. Her breath was hot against your cheek, her eyes wild with the thrill of control. "Submit to me," she hissed, before landing another blow with the whip.

"I submit, Mistress Tracey," you gasped, pain and pleasure intertwining.

Her laughter was musical, the sound of pure, sadistic joy. "Again!"

"I submit, Mistress Tracey!" Your voice was tinged with desperation, your body writhing beneath her.

For what felt like hours, she whipped and teased, pushing you to your limits and then pulling you back just before you broke. The dance of dominance and submission continued, both physical and verbal, until finally, she seemed satisfied with your repeated proclamations of submission.

Tracey leaned in close, her eyes searching yours. "Remember this moment," she whispered. "This is the moment you became truly mine."

She shifted her weight, her movements deliberate, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. She wanted you completely spent, a symbol of her total control over you.

As Tracey leaned in close, her breath warm against your ear, she whispered a series of demeaning words, each one designed to break down any remaining walls of pride:

"You're nothing without me."

"Just a weak plaything for my amusement."

"Thought you were strong? Look at you now."

"Begging for more, even in your shame."

"You're mine, and don't you forget it."

Each whispered phrase was a testament to her dominance over you, designed to further imprint her authority and seal your submission. With a few well-placed whips and those whispered words of humiliation, she pushed you over the brink.

Limp and exhausted, you lay beneath her, the weight of your submission and her dominant body pressing down on you. But as you looked up into Tracey's eyes, you realized you wouldn't have it any other way.