Disobey Martina

"…I…I can't," responded Alasdair, his voice almost non-existent.

He pulled away from Martina, standing afar while each maintained one another's gaze. His compulsion for catering into his debaucheries would only do more damage than good. In this scant time, he attempted various avenues of logic, justifying his crude behaviours.

Oh, this is just a fantasy.

It's only porn. It's harmless.

You are still the top dog!

Was that true? His efforts in growing into a man of reputable professionalism, admired by both women and men for his intelligence, strength, and sexual appeal, arose because inwardly he set his sights on becoming as such. He strived to efface the toxic thoughts that monkeyed his prowess knowing if he gave them any clout, they would lead him to ruins.

Alasdair flinched, a subtle pain shooting upwards his hefty sac towards his prick. He glanced down, observing the intense jerks of his shaft, no longer capable of sustaining its uncontrolled twitches given its over-protuberance. With his flared purplish glans and reddened cock, Alasdair's penis looked like a separate entity, one that appeared a half-inch larger than his standard length. His urges ate at him, calling to take his burgeoning matter into his own palms, accepting this would be the case after tonight.

He denied Martina's control over him. Why he thought she had that power? He would rather manage his own painful hard-on than compromise on his masculinity.

The youthful woman nodded.

"Are you sure little Alis? Your willy direly needs release."

He took a sharp breath, nodding without decoration; no longer willing to defend his pride.

"You have stripped before me, most assured you possessed no desire for me to see you nude and ****. You have worshipped me, very well knowing you dislike every fibre of my being, but you stop here?"

She sat up from the bed.

"Despite your dominance and control, deep inside you crave the opposite…the sensual excitement from willingly giving up command over both your mind and body so another can use you as they wish."

She turned her legs over the mattress, standing on the floor. Alasdair stepped backwards upon her approach, stopping once he realised his actions. Martina smirked.

"Alasdair Myers, are you afraid of me? Or of the desires seeking concession."

She stood before him, shorter, despite being a tall woman herself, but with fixed purpose that rivalled him in breadth. She cupped his cheeks, her eyes never leaving his own.

"Why can't you answer Alasdair?"

He bit his lips, though Martina tapped them with her fingers, making his pale skin redden.

"What's on your mind, Alasdair? Tell me."

"Y…You're right," he answered, his voice dry; croaky. "You're right about everything. That's why I can't."

Martina nodded, her eyes softening. They differed from before these events transpired. From what he was accustomed to when dealing with her. But they were not unfamiliar. Not at all. They were like…Joselyn's. Kind. Considerate. Understanding.

Martina placed her lips on his own, pressing herself into him. Electricity shot throughout Alasdair; his body warming from her embrace and aroma. His chest expanded and contracted with increasing speed; tensions running through his arms and affixing his hands into fists. His eyes tightened while he pulled aside to take a deep breath. On the condition that Martina remained in his faculty, he ached for more than her gentle touches.

She drew him forward towards the bed, though Alasdair grew preoccupied with the formidable thrills buzzing out and abroad of his groin. Martina whispered, her words giving way to sighs and moans once Alasdair's lips parted her own, now sprawling down her neck. He secured her body onto his, her clothing the only buffer between them. In understanding, Martina broke away, descending backwards onto the mattress while Alasdair gazed down at her.

She tore aside her ruined bustier, throwing it onto the ground before holding up her feet. Automatically, Alasdair unfastened her heels, pulling away her stockings while she yanked down her skirt and panties. Both tossed Martina's gathered garments aside from them before leering at each other's bodies. Her tender feet cuddled Alasdair's erection, his entire body lurching. She polished his shaft with his leaking fluids, mindful of his rising balls nearing orgasm.

"It's fine Alasdair," her voice soft. "Let's forget all this talk about control and manhood."

He flinched, yet could not answer given the growing euphoria from her manipulation of his rod.

"This is fine, my little Alis. More than fine. As long as you understood your lesson, you are deserving of your prize."

She jerked her feet forward, entwining the falling Alasdair into her arms and legs, which rested right above his burly, bubble ass.

"Let's fuck Alis."

He considered her remarks. All of them. Was this his chance to illustrate what he worked so hard to achieve? To prevail upon changing Martina's mind about his manhood. His own mind about his indecisive masculinity? His distinctive arousal placed him at a severe disadvantage, but no matter. He always made things work.

The tips of his mouth curled upwards into a smirk, before he granted Martina an answer typical of his arrogance.

"Lets."

The top dog was ready to play.