Mistress Supreme: Drink It, Slave
He's strapped down and he can't turn his head away. Exactly how she wants him.
Mistress Supreme leans over him, takes his hair, and spits into his open mouth. Not once — again and again, slowly, with pauses where he gets to do nothing but wait. He has to swallow while he looks up at her, and she watches to make sure he does it properly. Spill, and it goes on his face.
She calls it her gift. He'd better be grateful for it.
While he's still swallowing, her hands are already on his nipples. Twisting, pulling, setting the clamps and leaving them on. Then she snaps the chain — short, hard, no warning — and his whole chest jerks with it. He can't pull away because the cuffs won't let him, and that's the entire point.
She alternates: a swallow, a pull, a swallow, a pull. Until he doesn't know where to look first. She takes one clamp off and lets him breathe through the sting, and she's already holding her mouth over his again.
By the end there's spit running down his chin and his nipples are raw. She doesn't ask if it was enough.