The tour group had already moved on when Ophelia caught his wrist and pulled him into the side room. She was in full glam — towering heels, a tight sequined dress that caught every bit of the emergency lighting, wig perfect, lips glossy. She shut the door with her hip and backed him against the wall. “You stayed behind on purpose,” she said, voice low and theatrical. “So now you’re going to stand right here while I decide what kind of haunting you actually get. Drag phone sex doesn’t stay on the script once the door closes.”

She dropped to her knees without another word. The sequins scraped the floor. She unzipped him, pulled him out, and took him into her mouth in one slow, showy slide. Her hands stayed on his hips, nails digging in while she worked him with her tongue and throat. Every time he tried to move she pinned him harder against the wall and took him deeper. The old building creaked around them. She pulled off just long enough to tell him to keep his hands on the wall, then went back down, sucking harder, one hand stroking what her mouth couldn’t reach. Crossdressing wasn’t a costume tonight. It was the entire performance, and she was using every inch of it on him.

She stood, turned him around, and bent him over the dusty display case. The dress rode up. She spit on her fingers, worked them into him, then lined up and pushed inside in one steady thrust. He groaned. She fucked him hard and deep, one hand in his hair, the other braced on the glass, sequins flashing every time she slammed forward. Domination was loud with her — heels clicking, voice narrating exactly what she was doing to him, how full he was, how he was going to take every stroke until she decided he was done. No limits on the pace or the filthy things she said while she used him. BDSM lived in the grip on his hair and the way she refused to slow down even when he started shaking.

The Private Exhibit

She pulled out, spun him, and shoved him down onto the case so he was sitting. Then she climbed on, still in the dress and heels, and sank onto him. She rode him facing the door, one hand on his chest, the other lifting the hem so he could watch. Every roll of her hips made the sequins catch the light. She came first, loud and unashamed, then kept moving until he followed and filled her. She stayed on him afterward, breathing hard, lipstick smeared, telling him the next tour group was already gathering and he was going to walk out of here looking exactly like he’d been haunted.

Ophelia stayed on the line a little longer, voice still rich and satisfied, telling him the next private tour starts whenever he calls. If you want a drag queen who leads the group and then actually fucks you in the dark once everyone else is gone, you know where to find me.

More of Ophelia and the rest of her schedule are at theeroticaempire.com/ophelia.