( one look over her shoulder — more like condemnation than consideration, a king turning her thumb downwards, off with his head. parisa idles in a way about the room like it belongs to her, knowing where to go to find what she needs. what she needs, as according to the inner workings of carmy's self-flagellating mind: latex gloves, a cock ring. she debates carmy's skin tone for a second before grabbing the gold. )

You have one rule. That's it. Even you can follow one rule, right?

( the gloves snap against her wrists as she pulls them on, stepping back up to him with a cocky twist to her mouth, pinching his chin. he really does have a pretty face — eyes so blue they're luminescent, mouth so pouty it's like it never smiled a day in its long, tiresome life, connected to a man you prefers slaps to kisses. )

You don't come until you beg for it. If I feel like making you feel good, I'll let you. ( pressure on his chin forces him to nod once, twice. ) "Yes, ma'am." Now open.

( she presses the cock ring into his mouth, left there like the bit on a tamed horse, which is not a completely inaccurate portrayal of this dynamic. parisa's own mind is full of thoughts of carmy on the blood red sheets, pale and perfect on the backdrop, covered in his own cummy humiliation, blushing, apologizing for fucking up. addictive. stepping back, she takes a seat on the cuck chair, crossing one long leg over the other, head tilted. )

Strip and kneel in front of me.