The man stirred awake, his head heavy, the room dim. A sharp thud broke the silence—a knock against the table. He blinked, disoriented, and saw Lana standing there, her expression unreadable, one hand still resting where she’d struck the wood. For a brief, foolish moment, he hoped it had all been a strange, fevered dream. But the ache in his groin said otherwise. This was real. Before he could sit up, Lana was on him—swift and graceful like a shadow. She straddled his hips, her hands already tugging at the waistband of his underwear. His pulse quickened. Maybe… this time, it would turn into something else. But no. Instead of indulging him, she pulled on a new pair - tighter, more constricting—and them up his thighs, yanking them hard until they bit painfully into his skin. He gasped as the fabric wedged sharply between his cheeks, the pressure on his already aching balls unbearable. Lana tilted her head, watching him squirm beneath her. “Still holding on to hope?” she whispered, tugging harder, making the new underwear ride even higher. His face flushed with discomfort and helplessness, every bit of him now sure - there would be no mercy tonight.
