Joey Sommers and Princess Kali

Princess Kali watches Joey Sommers grunt and strain with a barbell that clearly outmatches him. She smirks, steps on his chest with one heavy boot, then the other, pinning him flat while the iron rattles uselessly beside him. Once he’s breathless beneath her sole, she unbuckles her strap-on, grabs his hair, and shoves the thick length straight down his throat. He gags, eyes watering, but she holds him steady, thrusting until spit strings from his chin. “Tell me what you are,” she orders, voice flat and hard. He gasps, “Your worthless fuck-hole,” and she rewards the confession by yanking his nuts tight and swinging a wooden paddle into them—two, three, four solid cracks. His knees buckle; she keeps him upright by the hair and lands another stroke right where it hurts most. Each impact jerks his whole body, but his cock twitches, leaking against her boot. When the pain finally wipes the last ounce of fight out of him, she shoves him aside and walks away, done.