You break her

You look around the room for something to punish Sartre with. Your eyes zero in on the rider’s crop on the floor, the same one she set your ass and balls on fire with. Chuckling, you pick it up and trace her nipples with its tip.

“Naughty whores get punished, PIG!” you gloat, smacking the side of her breast with the end of the whip. She whines submissively, unaccustomed to the pain. You chuckle to yourself and commence her punishment, whipping her breasts raw with your tool. She cries out desperately, begging for relief.

“Please, Monsieur, please stop! Je serai une bonne pute! I will be a good whore!” she cries. She opens her mouth wide and sticks her tongue out as far as she can, lunging for your cock, but you hold her head at an arm’s distance.

“Beg for it, whore!” You shout. “Beg for it like you fucking need it!”

“Please Monsieur, let me lick you! Please, I need to lick you Monsieur! I’ll die if I can’t have your cock, PLEASSEEE!!!” She moans. Her red titties bounce as she tries desperately to please you. You notice she still has that stupid fucking dildo strapped around her waist.

“That’s a good whore,” you mutter approvingly, stroking her cheek. Her eyes water as she kneels at your feet, mouth wide open, tongue out by her chin, almost gagging on air. You oblige, relaxing your grip on her head, and drop your dick flat onto her face. She caresses your shaft fervently with her tongue, as though she feared another beating.

“Good girl, good girl…” you moan. Dominating whores is a little more your speed. You lift your tip in the air and drop your sweaty balls into her mouth, relishing in your control over her. She sucks both of them into her mouth, swirling her tongue along the underside of your scrotum. She spits you out and runs her tongue up your shaft again, catching your tip and sucking it into her mouth.

Sartre, speaking through your cock, attempts to sweet talk you, saying “Monsieur Daveed, your cock ees so big…. so beeg…. I want you to cum on my face Daveed, desecrate zhees filzhy whore…” She looks up at you with her tongue out, pressing her boobs together with her arms. You grab her face and lean over her, and spit in her mouth. She thirstily gulps it down, sticking her tongue out to show you she swallowed it.

“I fucking know it is, whore,” you boast. Sartre yelps as you push her forward onto her hands and knees. Pivoting behind her, you pick up the rope she used to bind you off of the floor.

“Que fais-tu, Monsieur? What are u doing Daveed?” she pleads. With no response, you grab both of her arms out from under her and pin them behind her back, sending her sprawling into a face plant. You wrap the rope as tightly around her wrists as you can.

“Monsieur, monsieur, s’il te plaît!” she begs. “I need my hands Monsieur!” You pull the knot tight and grab the riding crop off the floor.

“Rule number 2, Mademoiselle. You may not talk back to me. I control everything we do.” You tease the whip along her backside and pat it gently on her ass cheek. “This won’t do,” you mutter, clucking your tongue. You sting her backside with a firm lash from the crop. She squeals, shuffling her shoulders back and forth. Her movement is constrained, to say the least.

Smirking, you flog her backside repeatedly. Her ass burns bright red, raw from the **** you unleash on her. “How many times did you lash me, you fucking bitch?! 30?! 40?! Well Im gonna double it and give it to the next person!” You shout, bring your whip down hard to emphasize your anger. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice she’s still wearing that dildo. It bounces up and down as her legs thrash. Grinning, you kneel behind her.