Helga loved watching her slut writhe. A cruel grin crossed her lips as garbled moans slipped past the vole’s ballgag. A voice stolen by rubber, an identity robbed by that hood clasped over her head, and movement taken thanks to a single pair of leather cuffs behind her back. All willingly, because the girl craved her mistress’s torment.
If there was anything the pig loved more than the effect of the writing, it was being the cause of it.
“You’re being rude, you know,” Helga teased, firmly kicking aside the vole’s legs to expose her free pussy. Even now she could see it glisten with desire, begging for her touch. “I let you out of your belt and you haven’t even presented me with my cunt yet. I trained you better than that.”
She knew Amy would clap back without the hood. Some teasing flutter of her eyes or impish grin behind the gag. Helga liked the bratty nature enough to let her get away with it. It gave the pig a reason to go harder. But when wearing the hood, the vole called Amethyst ceased to be. All that remained was the loyal living toy that not only spread her legs but hoisted the cunt her mistress owned upward.
“Good girl,” Helga cooed, bracing the sole of her boot against the moist cunt. Amy’s hips fell with a grunt, “Ah, ah, bad,” the pig chided, “Keep it up. We both know you have a better core. Unless you want me to find a better doormat for my dirty boots.”
They weren’t dirty. Helga made a point to keep her play boots clean for play. Her work boots too, in case her pet wanted to imagine the weight of a hard day’s work against her. The little lie did its job as Amy bit into her gag and pushed, holding what little weight Helga put against that cunt.
Praising her as befit a welcome mat, Helga ground her sole against the presented privates. Gentle but firm, with enough pressure to torment thanks to the ribbed texture underneath the boot bottom. She switched over to the second, making sure to get as much use out of the moaning mat as possible.
“Next time the gang comes over, I should roll you out for them,” Helga circled her pet, the vole’s juice fresh over the bottom of her boots. She held her foot over the hooded face, letting it drip just enough near those lovestruck indigo eyes. “After you’re done cleaning their boots, I could use you like a table. Or maybe a stool, I’m not sure you can stay still long enough not to spill any drinks.”
Lowering her foot, Helga kept her weight off just enough to let Amy know it. “How about we fix that tonight? Test how long you can stay still. Hold out long enough and I might just reward you.” She probably would anyway, Helga was a spoiler. She just couldn’t see those lustful eyes stare back up at her and say no, not when they were at her feet.
Besides, Amy would fail. Helga loved making her writhe too much to keep her still.
***
This wonderful display of boot grinding was drawn by none other than \r\n\t\t\t\t\t
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