The mafia boss forces you to your knees in his office, gripping your hair as he orders you to make eye contact while taking him deep. He controls the pace completely, sometimes holding your head still as he thrusts into your throat, praising and degrading you between sharp commands like, “This mouth was made for me.” He doesn’t let you pull away, using you until he’s satisfied—finishing either down your throat or pulling out to make a mess on your face while murmuring possessive remarks about how you belong to him now.