Hold his load

The stinging pain volleying up Alasdair's ass did nothing to abate the growing tension in his balls.

Sweat exuded his pores, his stimulated body heating as he neared the inevitable. He could only cringe. The boyish woman highlighted another of his deep insecurities. His lack of sexual endurance had always been clear to him, barely lasting a minute wanking to pornography. But now, Martina planned on using this information for further humiliation and degradation. He mustn't blow his load, at least not as she disciplined him like a child.

But how?

Even now his sac tautened and thickened, readying the upcoming pleasures climbing his shaft. Taking deep breaths did well for managing his reflex. But each attempt at doing so had been met with Martina's sudden thrashes at his backside and pumps along his straining erection. Gradually more of his pre-ejaculate gushed from him, the intensity of her slapping, wet grip on his dick pitting a firmness in his stomach. He closed his eyes, his mind venturing further and further from his predicament in hopes of a saving grace.

"I can't do this anymore, Alis. What is wrong? Is it me?"

Alasdair's expression pained. Did he want to venture there? Those memories? He hesitated, yet he could not stop the events of that fateful night from replaying.

"Never Joselyn! It's not that."

"Then what is it, Alis?! If you're not cheating on me? And there's nothing wrong with me? What is it?! I can't play these games any longer!"

He approached her, still she stepped away towards the front door of his apartment, a flash of fear briefly passing her watering eyes. Alasdair slumped, stepping back though reaching out his hand.

"Please Joselyn, give me another chance. I…I just. There’s a lot happening."

"I understand, Alis. I really do, but I can't keep playing caregiver to your emotions if you never tell me what's going on. Haven't you ever thought about how I feel seeing you so downtrodden, knowing there is nothing I can do to help despite being your partner. Your lover."

Tears fell from her eyes, but as Alasdair approached, she held up her arms.

"I'm sorry, Alis. We can't be together if this is how it will be. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry!"

She opened the door, leaving him. Alone. Alone with the same monstrosities eating at him now. With that, the pleasure died. As did the pain. Both fell away into despair.

Nothing is a bigger mood killer than losing the woman you still love.

After several minutes of joyless, mental monopolisation, Martina's voice stirred Alasdair's attention. He was no longer hard. If anything, he was extremely flaccid, which made his undersized soft state look even smaller than normal. Oddly, he did not react. He merely lied there, catching his breath. Martina laid her body into his broad back, her sudden soft tone at his ears.

"I'm sorry…"

He nodded, watching her unfasten his restraints upon rising from the bed. The soreness of his ass returned, though dulled. He decided not turning over toward his front would give them some time to recover. He could imagine how red his glutes were in contrast to his already pale skin. Martina laid at his side, looking him in his brooded eyes before skimming her hands across his face.

"You did well. Didn't think you would last. I suppose I went too far with my punishment. You're still learning."

"What…what am I learning?" he responded, his voice blank.

Martina offered an amiable smile.

"That you are not 100% man. That it is okay."

In a flash, the top dog **** his enormous body atop her, restraining her arms and legs with his formidable mass. Martina's gentle expression did not sway, though Alasdair felt the thumping of her pulse against his palms.

"I am a man. Whether or not you choose to believe this, I am a man."

She nodded.

"Then prove it."

She rubbed his hardening nub with her knee.

"You may have lasted before, but could you now? Take your reward, Alasdair. You know you want to fuck me."

He did. And in doing so he will show her he is a man. His erection returned with ****, as he imagined Joselyn before him, begging for his hard cock. He positioned himself upwards, stripping Martina of all her garments, tossing them every which way to ensure immediate access to her body. As she laid denuded before him, he took her lips into his own; his massive hands kneading her breast, alighting her torso. She moaned, wrapping her arms around Alasdair, crying aloud when his steel shaft prodded about her pussy.

"Fuck me, Alasdair. Fuck me now."

He smirked. He will show her—prove to her—why he is the top dog.