Serve Martina

"…what’s your request?" quietly questioned Alasdair, his gaze not meeting Martina.

"Nuh-uh-uh. How does a young, obedient man refer to his master?"

A blood rush juddered him, giving him pause before responding.

"…Mistress."

"Correct. You will address me as such from now on. Now repeat little Alis."

"… what’s your request…Mistress?"

Mistress. Despite his inner sentimentalities, he declared his submission to Martina Washington. Was he accepting her domination over him? Both in mind and body?

He looked into her softened eyes. They differed from before these events transpired. These events that accentuated his manly deficiencies. His brain failed, providing further justifications for his behaviours. He could only reinforce the fact that he was still Alasdair Myers, a man whom established a prominent professional position, one commended by both women and men because of his intelligence, strength, and sexual appeal.

Alasdair flinched, a subtle pain shooting upwards his hefty sac towards his cock. Right at this moment, the only worthwhile rationale for his behaviours, at least one he felt comfortable admitting to himself, concerned his current malcontent state. Little Alis needed release.

Badly.

His rod pulsed with intensity, no longer capable of sustaining its uncontrolled twitches given its over-protuberance. His flared purplish glans and reddened shaft made Alasdair's penis comparable to another entity separate from himself, one that appeared a half-inch larger than his standard length. Despite urges eating at him, calling for him to take his burgeoning matter into his own palms, here he laid into his mistress’s arms, seeking her relief. If not by her hands, with her explicit permission.

Martina cupped Alasdair's cheeks, pulling him upwards to her before taking in his trembling lips. He calmed, his racing thoughts suspended, granting this moment onward, or at least until the simulation’s conclusion, for enjoying his debaucheries.

"Strip and wash my body."

At her words, Alasdair could hear rushing water behind him. Towards the side wall by the primary entrance, he found an opened door. Inside occupied a large bathroom with small white candles placed about the interior with unremitting detail. Inwards emanated a mild apricot luminosity, only muddled by lighting of the premier room. He returned his attention to Martina, noting the smile budding her lips, no longer snarky or triumphant. They were ****. Considerate. Understanding. Like…like Joselyn's.

He rose above her, tearing away her ruined bustier and throwing it onto the ground. His hands brushed her body, tracing down her abdomen towards her toes. He removed both heels, casting them across the room before pulling her stockings and doing the same. With her feet, Martina toyed at his erection, polishing his solid rock-hard rod between her tender digits. Alasdair flinched from sudden sensual flare, a mere breadth from ejaculatory inevitability. Instead of becoming angered, he chuckled, taking hold Martina before she could do more bringing about his premature end. He lifted her over one of his broad shoulders, securing each hallow of her knees with his enormous arms.

"You're quite the man aren't you, little Alis. Desire to be Tarzan?" spoke Martina, more high-spirited than he had always known her.

He disrobed her skirt and soaked panties, discarding the last items preserving her nudity onto the floor while trekking towards the bath. He caressed and kissed her profuse ass cheeks, making her moan aloud.

"I would believe Jane wasn't as lewd as you are…Mistress."

"I suppose you're right," spoke Martina in hushed breaths. "Though dominating a feral man would be more dangerous than sexy. Lucky, I have you little Alis."

Upon entering the bathroom, low viola strings and sweet scents of rosemary and lime met the young couple. Cool, silvery ceramic tiles mollified Alasdair's feet as he brought Martina into the bright cream room. The large mirrors positioned over the chestnut cabinets and counter tops reflected the candle light’s soft, wavering carroty radiance.

The soaking bathtub neared its fill as Alasdair approached. He carried Martina in his hands, one arm now under her legs and the other on her back. The faucet ceased running upon lowering his mistress into the white, rectangular vessel; the warm bubble foamed water blanketing her ebony skin up to her neck. She let out a heavy sigh, closing her eyes to fully absorb the tranquil kneading her bones. Though out of curiosity, Martina peeked, observing Alasdair as he watched her, in particular his erection. As expected, while still solid and leaking his juices, his hard-on had wilted, likely from his labours carting her. She draped her arm over the edge of the tub to trace his shaft, revitalising his manhood. Alasdair's breathing fluttered, allowing Martina's play.

"Can't have the ledged star in show slacking can we, Alis?"

"No…Mistress."

"Good. Take the washcloth and start washing."

Alasdair nodded.

"Yes Mistress."

The top dog lathered the washcloth aside Martina with a bar soap at the foot of the tub. He coated her shoulders and neck with foam, plying his way down her body. With each part that required cleanse, she extended it from the water, allowing Alasdair time to meticulously cleanse to her satisfaction. Throughout Martina used a finger or two to play with his cock, that would slacken during the whole of performing his duty. The youthful woman demanded his full attention without hindrance, though from Alasdair's slight grunts and shallow pants, she allowed the opposite; her continued tease torturing his exploding libido. It was not until he began rubbing towards her vulva, she stopped her game, her skin flushing.

"Thorough aren't we little Alis," she said, biting her lips.

"As expected, Mistress."

She positioned her fingers on her pubic mound, walking them to her swollen lips. Upon arrival, she parted her aroused flesh, exposing her clit and darkened vagina.

"Be gentle, or else I must discipline you."

She pinched his hefty, bubble ass, faltering him a bit. Mischief motioned about her face while the vigorous man regained composure. He smirked, cupping the warm water in his palms for washing between her inner and outer lips along with the inside of her hooded clitoris. Martina closed her eyes, humming while Alasdair played with her beneath the covering foam blanket. His hands, though large and rough, felt gratifying against her privates, priming her for another orgasm. Alasdair noticed as well, his own erection regaining its unmovable steel state while feeling the rapid pulsing against her swollen labia. He pulled away once she squeaked aloud, taking back the wash cloth and finishing her legs.

"Let's return to the hotel room," her voice laboured.

Alasdair nodded, picking up the drain; allowing the descending water to reveal more and more of Martina's body. His heart raced seeing the woman aroused. Both her reddened nipples stood erect from the covering soap suds while her breasts were plumper and pinkish. Martina's breathing roughened; a feverish red flushing across her dark skin from her chest. Alasdair took the young woman's hands, pulling her up before using the detachable shower head to wash the foams off her form. As he turned her around, she made every effort to 'accidently' graze his erection, warranting another rinse each time his "leaking cum" had overlain her skin.

In time, Alasdair cleaned and dried Martina’s body, but as he attempted to put on a robe, she shook her head.

"Take me back as I am," she whispered.

"Yes Mistress," he answered with a grin.

Alasdair placed Martina on the bed inside the room; watching her stretch out all over the mattress. Laughing. Genuine mirth. Sights that reminded him more and more of Joselyn. His hand neared his cock, needing to steady the building pressure, though he drew away once Martina looked at him. She rose on her knees, pulling Alasdair onto the bed with her. They rolled about until they were in each other's embrace. She pecked his nose, noting the slight anxiety in his eyes.

"What do you want little Alis?"

He was silent, still his gaze did not fade. Martina clasped his mouth, massaging his warm, trembling lips with her sturdy own. His breath escaped him, accepting Martina's wandering tongue; allowing the two play. Alasdair's tingles countered Martina's prods down his massive back, but upon pulling his burning form into her own, his heart pulsed strong and uncontrolled against her. She rolled atop him, enclosing her arms around his musculature. Alasdair's breathing calmed from her embrace, so did his pounding chest, though his arousal remained potent. Martina squeezed at his bottom lip before her ease, nestling herself into his great pectorals, leaving Alasdair with vague toasty tenderness that intensified upon returning her affection.

"I…I want you, Mistress."

"What you want with me Alis?"

"I want to have sex with you, Mistress."

Martina laughed.

"No, you don't. What do you want?"

He looked down at her, a playful smirk on her amused expression. He licked his lips.

"I want to fuck you, Mistress."

Martina smiled, collecting his cheek in her palms; planting another kiss against his mouth before kneeling above his body. She grasped his heavy cock, stroking it twice, which **** Alasdair to grab Martina's waist. She laughed some more.

"I teased you long enough. Come little Alis. Come and ravage your Mistress."