The air is thick with the scent of aged whiskey and rich, conditioned LEATHER. MASTER CHRISTIAN WILDE (commanding presence, piercing eyes) stands before us. He is already shirtless, muscles taut. His focus is absolute. He picks up a pair of well-worn, black LEATHER CHAPS from a chair. The leather creaks softly, a sound of pure authority. He methodically straps them on. The sound of the buckles snapping into place is sharp, final.
He steps closer. The smell of the leather is overwhelming and intoxicating. “On your knees”, orders the master, and we sink to the floorboards. The cool wood is a stark contrast to the heat radiating from him. His gaze locks with ours. There is no question, only expectation. His thick cock is already hard, jutting out from the open front of the chaps. A bead of clear PRECUM glistens at the tip.
The Master doesn’t wait. He guides his thick length past our lips, filling our mouths. He sets a brutal, punishing rhythm, using our throat for his pleasure. The leather of his chaps presses against our cheeks with every thrust, the scent a constant reminder of his dominance. He grunts, and his balls slap against our chin. He drives deeper, hitting the back of our throat. With a final, deep roar, he unleashes his load, pulsing hot and thick down our gullet. We swallow convulsively, taking every drop.
He pulls out, slick and spent. He looks down, a predator satisfied. Master Wilde turns and walks away, the leather of his chaps whispering promises of what’s to come.
