Wrap it up

Mara leaves the wire-frame cage locked in place. The open metal bars still expose every inch of your drained, sensitive shaft. Her new cock—twelve inches of thick, veined flesh stolen through the cage—hangs heavy and glistening between her thighs, still half-hard from using you. Cum continues to leak slowly from your well-stretched hole and drip onto the stone. The Shared Heat carries the residual throb of her dominance straight into your nerves.

She does not unlock you. She does not let the massive cock shrink. Instead she takes you by the hair and leads you upstairs, the wire cage swinging and rattling with every step. In the main hall she pushes you to your knees again and feeds the thick length back into your mouth.

“Suck it properly,” she orders. “I want to feel your throat.”

You open wide. The flared head pushes past your lips and keeps going, stretching your jaw, sliding over your tongue, and forcing its way into your throat. Mara’s hands lock in your hair. She begins to fuck your face with deep, owning strokes, hips snapping forward until her heavy balls slap against your chin. Spit runs down your chin and onto your chest in thick strings. Every time she bottoms out she grinds against your face, holding you there until your vision spots, then pulls back just enough for you to gasp before driving in again.

She keeps the wire-frame cage locked on you the entire time. One hand occasionally drops to squeeze and stroke the metal, forcing weak, ruined spurts of cum out of the tip while she uses your throat. The Shared Heat feeds every sensation back and forth—her thick cock stretching your throat, your locked shaft twitching and leaking under her fingers. She comes with a low, guttural groan, flooding your mouth and throat with heavy pulses. You swallow what you can. The rest spills from the corners of your lips and drips onto the floor.

She is not finished.

Mara pulls free, hauls you up by the hair, and bends you over the nearest table. She kicks your feet apart, spreads your cheeks with both hands, and spits directly onto your already-used hole. The massive head presses against you. She pushes in without pause, forcing the full twelve inches inside in one long, relentless stroke. You cry out against the wood. She only moans in satisfaction and starts to move.

The pace is brutal. Long, deep thrusts that drag almost all the way out before slamming home again. The wire cage clatters against the table edge with every impact. Mara reaches around, wraps her fingers through the open bars, and milks your locked cock in time with her hips so that every thrust forces another weak spurt of cum from the tip. Your prostate is battered on every stroke. The dual sensation—her massive cock stretching you open, the relentless milking of the cage—turns your thoughts white.

She leans over your back, tits pressing against you, and bites the side of your neck while she keeps pounding.

“Feel that?” she pants. “That’s everything I took from you. Every inch. Every drop of stamina. And I’m going to fuck it all back into this hole until you can’t think of anything else.”

She changes angles, finds the exact spot that makes your locked cock jump and leak harder, and hammers it without mercy. When your legs shake she hooks an arm under your hips and keeps going. The wet slap of her hips against your ass, the continuous rattle of the wire cage, the broken sounds forced out of your throat—all of it fills the hall. She forces another ruined orgasm out of the cage, a weak, dribbling pulse that only seems to make her cock swell thicker inside you.

When she finally finishes it is with a deep, animal sound. Her cock pulses hard, flooding your guts with thick, heavy ropes of cum. The volume is obscene; it leaks out around the shaft and runs down your thighs even while she is still buried to the hilt. She stays locked inside you through the aftershocks, grinding slowly, still milking the cage with one hand until the last weak drops are forced out of you.

Only then does she pull out. A thick rush of her cum follows, dripping from your open, used hole onto the floor. Mara looks down at the wire-frame cage still locked around what is left of your cock, then at the massive, glistening length still hanging heavy between her own legs. She gives a low, satisfied laugh.

She leaves the metal locked in place and walks back toward the cellar without a word. You stay draped over the table, hole leaking, the cage still rattling softly with every shaky breath. Minutes pass. The Shared Heat still links you. You feel her arousal spike again, sharper this time, mixed with something darker and more focused.

Footsteps return. Mara appears in the doorway, still completely naked, the twelve-inch cock hanging heavy and fully hard once more. In one hand she carries the green perfume bottle. In the other she holds the ahegao mask and the pink Toolkit.

She stops in front of you and looks down at the wire cage still imprisoning what is left of your cock. A slow, predatory smile curves her mouth. Pre-cum drips from the head of her massive shaft onto the floor between your feet.

“We’re not done,” she says, voice thick with renewed hunger. “Not even close.”

She uncorks the perfume and tips a single drop onto her tongue. The air in the hall shifts at once. A tall, bare figure begins to gather in the shadows behind her—dark hair, full breasts, wide hips, a presence that makes the temperature in the room climb. The Madame’s shape is only half-formed when Mara steps forward, lowers the ahegao mask toward your face, and fists her thick cock in her other hand, stroking it slowly while she speaks in a voice that is no longer entirely her own.

“Open your mouth. We’re both going to use you until there’s nothing left to take.”

The last thing you feel is the blank, ecstatic print of the mask descending, the flared head of Mara’s stolen cock pressing against your lips again, and the Madame’s fully solid hand sliding down your back toward the still-leaking cage.