Bend over, sweet boy. My whipstick is ready and your ass is going to learn its place. Count every stroke out loud, and don't you dare ask me to stop. You don't get to decide when it ends. I do. Every red mark is a reminder of who owns you. You don't get pleasure, you get discipline. I'm the one who decides how much you can take before you beg. Crying is fine, pet. Quitting isn't. So tell me, how many strokes do you think your ass can handle before you're crying for your princess?
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I want to hear you whine like a pathetic slut while I edge your cage. Locked, leaking, and desperate. You don’t get to cum. You don’t get relief. You just stay crushed in that tiny prison while I tease you until you’re whimpering, twitching, and begging like the denied little whore you are. Your cock is useless. Your moans are the only thing I want. Keep whining.