Goddess Samariel stands before Her helpless chattel, a vision of pure power draped in sensual lingerie that leaves him aching with desire. She knows the sight of Her leaves him desperate to touch, but his dreams will go unfulfilled. Her divine hands are far too precious to make contact with his lowly flesh. No, if he is to be touched, it will only be through the barrier of gloves, just enough to remind him of how far beneath Her he truly is.

As She allows him the privilege of sniffing Her gloves, She taunts him, reminding him of his utter inadequacy, how he will always remain loc...

Goddess Samariel stands before Her helpless chattel, a vision of pure power draped in sensual lingerie that leaves him aching with desire. She knows the sight of Her leaves him desperate to touch, but his dreams will go unfulfilled. Her divine hands are far too precious to make contact with his lowly flesh. No, if he is to be touched, it will only be through the barrier of gloves, just enough to remind him of how far beneath Her he truly is.

As She allows him the privilege of sniffing Her gloves, She taunts him, reminding him of his utter inadequacy, how he will always remain locked, denied the freedom he so foolishly craves. His fantasies of being released, of cumming freely at Her command, are just that, fantasies. That is not his fate.

Goddess Samariel revels in the power that Her voluptuous body holds over him, knowing every inch of Her teases his tormented mind. With him chained to the ceiling, She circles slowly, each step calculated, His mind unraveling under the weight of Her beauty and cruelty. As She strikes his ass with Her crop, the blows land with perfect precision, reminding him that pleasure belongs solely to Her.

This is all he deserves: locked, denied, and teased relentlessly. his role is clear, and so is Hers: to command and control, while he remains forever beneath Her, aching for what he can never have.