Call Martina a Pussy

Stifled roars broken free Alasdair, who ruffled about his confinement. His escape attempts were futile, driven by his disregard for Martina's misbehaviour. She would regret restraining him. She would find herself over his lap receiving the flogging of her lifetime.

Martina wobbled from the gargantuan man's rowdiness, jumping off the bed. She teetered from him, glancing back at the hotel door, hesitating before making another move. In the end, she fetched a heavy sigh, sure-footing towards Alasdair before wrenching the flogger out of his mouth. The top dog stared her down, growling beneath his breath before spitting at her. Martina blinked, wiping his muddy spittle from her cheek, before taking a brief pause. In a flash, her silicone crop cracked against his face. Unfazed, Alasdair maintained his glares, his right jaw running scarlet.

"Manners go a great way, Alasdair. It's time you learned that," she hissed.

"I recommend learning your place before considering yourself worthy of manners, bitch—ARGH!"

He roared as Martina slapped his huge balls; knocking him on his side with her feet and exposing his massive, bubble ass. She griped his husky cheek, not fully cupping his buttock in her palm.

"Under no circumstance you will call me a bitch."

A guttural roar escaped Alasdair as she spanked his supple behind.

He heaved, too weak to move his body, even though the sensation in his balls dulled. The restraints pulled at his arms and legs; slight discomfort clutching his stiffened muscles. He laid his head on his constricted shoulder, winding down as he awaited another smack. When it came, his entire build jolted forward, warming the joints in his limbs. He controlled his resonant outcry, exuding a profound sigh in its place.

A crack pierced his ears, foreshadowing a distinct turn in his disciplinary treatment. The flat end of the crop ascended, unhurried, his thighs towards his back; tickling his sac and the cleft of his muscled glutes. He shuddered, electric tickles radiating depressed euphoria. His cock hardened, its jolting climb against his upper limbs adding to his subdued satisfaction. He hid his grimace, grateful both his face and penis bypassed Martina's gaze.

"Had enough little boy?"

He cringed, yet managed a haughty chuckle.

"Please. Give me your fucking worst."

There was a momentary lull before she responded.

"Gladly."

A smack struck Alasdair's buttocks, thrusting him forwards. Martina massaged the soft silicone along his broad back and wide hips before targeting his reddening rear with several strikes. He did not know how long he could suppress his cries, his blood rushing through his tightened muscles. Building his arousal.

Alasdair’s breathing stifled with her rhythmic thuds penetrating his rock-sturdy physique, coupled with her gentle pats at his hefty jewels. His arms tensed, as did his renewed erection that leaked pre-cum with reckless enthusiasm. Martina's chuckle grazed his pounding ears, raising his sprinting pulse. Jerking his head from his shoulders, he found the smirking woman before him, her attention on his twitching prick.

"Pity, even hard, your willy is still the size of a youth."

Alasdair attempted to hide his erection, yet the sudden carnal pleasure halted him in his tracks. Martina laughed.

"Don't tell me you're a minuteman."

He cringed, acknowledging the truth in her words, knowing he could barely last a minute wanking.

Martina tickled his contracted package and solid shaft with her crop; subtly beaming at the unmoving Alasdair as he resisted the urge to shoot his load. He hoped to regain his quelled control. His quelled masculinity. He could not further shame himself; granting the bitch audience of his premature consummation. But his raging cock did not share these sentiments, jerking rampant under Martina's sway. His glans flared, now purplish as his pre-ejaculate streamed like a broken faucet.

"Ready to cum Alasdair?"