The Name is Maitresse, Don't Fuck it Up

Maitresse Madeline moves like a blade under that latex. Two minutes in she is already laying into the smart-ass, open-hand blows cracking across his face like a whip. He calls her Ma’am. That single word flips the switch. She grabs the cane and writes the lesson in straight, burning lines across his ass. Only when he finally spits the right name—Maitresse—does she swing harder, making sure the stripes stay with him for good. "Thought you’d waltz in here and I’d go soft on you?" Her laugh is low and ugly as she grabs his cock and balls, slapping, twisting, crushing. Pliers flash, then the spiked nerve wheel tracks over tender skin. She drops onto his mouth, smothering him with the slick, latex-sheathed curve of her ass. "Lick it," she tells him. "That’s as close as you’ll ever get to my cunt or my ass." She straps the thick dildo to her hips, lines up, and shoves it home. Every inch splits him open. Her nails rake the swollen head of his cock while she presses the hitachi against the shaft. He surges toward the edge; she kills the motor and walks off, leaving him empty and twitching.