Pathetic Little Bitch: Helena Locke Smothers & Tramples Sherman Maus

Sherman fucked up again. Helena Locke stands over him in the kitchen, heels sharp against the tile, and the look on her face says mercy isn’t on the menu. She strips him bare, shoves him down, and makes him kiss leather. Every inch of her boot. Respect before pain. The crop cracks across his ass, fast and mean. He jerks, breath caught between leather and floor. When that’s not enough she drags him to the sink, dunks his head, holds him under until the fight leaves his lungs. The second he sucks air, the zapper kisses his balls. Another jolt. Another. She laughs low, then swaps it for the crop and starts on his sack like she’s tenderizing meat. Rope bites his neck. The red ball gag stretches his jaw. Bent over, he takes the flogger until his skin sings. Helena steps away, steps back wearing latex and a leather harness hung with a cock that looks more weapon than toy. She pushes in without warning. Sherman howls around the gag, every thrust punctuated by the slap of her hips. When she’s bored of his hole she walks on him, full weight, heels leaving angry little stamps. Then she drops, smothers him, grinds until he’s licking whatever she puts in his face—pussy, ass, both. She rides his tongue, comes hard, leaves him glazed. One last command and he’s cleaning every drop, tongue working like the lesson still isn’t finished.