The bedroom air is thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and the unmistakable musk of a real man’s seed. The kind of scent that makes a slave’s stomach twist with shame and his useless cock ache with forbidden longing. Goddess Obsidian strides into the room, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor like a judge’s gavel, each step a verdict: guilty. Guilty of being weak. Guilty of being a man. Guilty of existing only to serve Her.

Her slave lies spread-eagle on the bed, blindfolded, his body trembling with the knowledge of his own insignificance. The pink chastity cage glints under the soft bedroom light, a constant reminder that his cock is useless—locked away, denied, owned. He hears the soft thud of Her heels hitting the floor, the rustle of fabric as She peels off her dress. His breath hitches. He knows what’s coming. He always knows.

“Oh, slave,” She purrs, Her voice dripping with amusement, “what a wild night I had with my new boyfriend, Tyrelle.” The name alone makes his stomach twist. Tyrelle. A real man. A man who can fill Her up, who can make Her moan, who can leave Her dripping with his seed. The slave’s jaw clenches behind the blindfold. He knows what that means. He knows what’s coming next.

She climbs onto the bed, Her weight pressing down on the mattress beside him. The scent of Her—sweat, perfume, and the thick, musky smell of cum—fills his nostrils. His cock, useless in its cage, twitches traitorously. She leans down, Her breath hot against his ear. “He filled me with three loads, slave. Three. Can you even imagine that?” She laughs, low and cruel. “Of course you can’t.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. She never does. Instead, She shifts, Her thighs straddling his head, Her panty-covered crotch pressing down against his face. The fabric is soaked, the heat of Her pussy radiating through the thin material. The slave’s nose is immediately flooded with the scent—salt, musk, and the unmistakable, thick aroma of Tyrelle’s cum. His stomach lurches. His mind screams at him to turn away, to refuse, to fight—but his body betrays him. His tongue darts out, just a little, tasting the air. He can’t help it.

Goddess Obsidian feels it. She always feels it.

“Can you smell his cum, slave?” She taunts, grinding Her soaked panties against his face. “That’s the smell of a real man’s cum.” She presses down harder, smothering him, making him breathe in the humiliation. “Go on. Sniff.”

The slave hesitates. His pride, what little he has left, rebels. But pride is a luxury for men. And he isn’t a man. Not anymore.

She doesn’t wait. The crack of the whip against his chest is sudden, sharp. Pain blooms across his skin, and he gasps, arching up against the restraints. “I said sniff,” She snarls. The whip comes down again, this time across his thighs. “Do you need another reminder of who owns you?”

“N-no, Mistress!” he chokes out, his voice muffled against Her panties. He inhales deeply, the scent of Tyrelle’s cum filling his lungs. It’s everywhere—in Her, on Her, soaking into the fabric pressed against his face.

“Good,” She coos, though there’s no warmth in it. Only mockery. “Now, let’s see if that tongue of yours is good for anything.”

She shifts, settling Her full weight onto his face. The slave can feel the heat of Her, the wetness of Her panties against his skin. She starts to rub, grinding Her crotch against his mouth, his nose, his everything. “Lick,” She commands. “Get it all, slave. Every. Last. Drop.”

He obeys. What else can he do? His tongue flicks out, pressing against the soaked fabric, tasting the bitterness of Tyrelle’s cum seeping through. It’s thick, salty, real. Nothing like the pathetic dribbles his own useless cock could ever produce. He licks, his tongue tracing the outline of Her lips through the panties, lapping up the cum that’s already dripping down Her thighs.

“Mmm, that’s it,” She murmurs, rocking Her hips slightly. “Taste that? That’s what a real man leaves inside me.” She reaches down, gripping his hair, yanking his head up slightly. “Tell me how good it tastes.”

The slave swallows, his throat working. The taste is overwhelming—the musk of Her, the salt of Tyrelle, the humiliation of it all. “I-it tastes...” His voice cracks. He can’t even lie. “Good, Mistress.”

She laughs, the sound rich and cruel. “Good? That’s it?” She shifts again, lifting Her hips slightly. “Here. Let’s see if you can do better.”

She peels off Her panties, the fabric making a wet schlick as it pulls away from Her skin. The slave can hear the cum dripping from Her, the thick, sticky sound of it hitting the bed beneath him. His mouth waters—not with desire, but with the need to obey. To please. To survive.

“Oooh, it’s starting to drip out,” She sighs, turning around. The slave can feel the heat of Her ass against his face now, the wetness of Her pussy hovering just above his mouth. “And I don’t want you to waste a single drop of that.”

Before he can react, She sits down—hard—sealing Her cum-filled pussy over his mouth. The slave’s nose is pressed into the crack of Her ass, his mouth smothered by Her dripping cunt. The first thing he tastes is the flood of Tyrelle’s cum, thick and warm, oozing out of Her and into his mouth. He gags, but She doesn’t let up. “Suck it out,” She orders, grinding down on him. “It’s so deep inside. You need to suck it out.”

The slave does as he’s told. His tongue works frantically, pressing into Her, trying to coax out more of the sticky, salty fluid. He can feel it—so much of it, pooling inside Her, waiting to be claimed. By him. The thought makes his head spin. He’s not worthy of this. He’s not anything. But Goddess Obsidian doesn’t care about worth. She only cares about obedience.

She rises up slightly, giving him a moment to breathe. Then, with a groan, She reaches down, spreading Her lips apart with Her fingers. “Mmm, there’s so much,” She murmurs. He can hear the wet sounds as She digs inside, trying to coax out more of Tyrelle’s seed. Finally, with a satisfied sigh, She pushes out a big dollop of the creamy, sticky fluid. It splashes onto his face, into his mouth, dripping down his chin. The slave swallows reflexively, the taste burning its way down his throat.

“Tell me how good it tastes,” She demands, Her voice thick with amusement.

The slave’s mind races. He wants to lie. He wants to say it’s disgusting, that he hates it. But the words won’t come. Because the truth is, it does taste good. Not because of the flavor—no, it’s bitter, salty, humiliating—but because it’s Hers. Because She wants him to like it. Because he needs to please Her.

“It’s... it’s delicious, Mistress,” he chokes out, his voice breaking.

She laughs, the sound echoing through the room. “Beg for more.”

The slave’s chest tightens. Beg. The word is a punch to his gut. But he knows what happens if he doesn’t obey.

“P-please, Mistress,” he whimpers, his voice trembling. “Please, let me have more of Tyrelle’s cum. Please, I need it.”

She doesn’t make him wait. She slams Her pussy back down onto his face, smothering him completely. “Suck up every drop,” She orders, Her voice muffled by the press of Her body against his face. The slave obeys, his tongue working furiously, lapping at Her, cleaning Her. He can feel Her muscles clenching around his tongue as She rides his face, Her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles. “That’s it. Get it all. Don’t you dare waste a single drop.”

He doesn’t. He can’t. His tongue darts into Her, swirling, pressing, searching for every last bit of Tyrelle’s cum. He can feel it—thick, sticky, real—coating his tongue, sliding down his throat.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Goddess Obsidian lifts Her hips, Her pussy glistening and clean. The slave gasps for air, his face covered in the remnants of Tyrelle’s cum, his lips swollen from the friction. He’s dripping with it—his chin, his cheeks, his tongue. He swallows again, the taste lingering.

She doesn’t let him rest. She turns around, straddling his chest, Her ass pressing down against his face. “Mmm, you did good, slave,” She purrs, reaching down to stroke his hair. “But we’re not done yet.”

The slave’s heart sinks. More? But She’s clean. There’s nothing left—

Then he feels it. The weight of something being pressed against his lips. Something soft. Something soaked.

“Here’s your reward, slave,” She says, Her voice dripping with sadistic delight.

The slave realizes what it is. Her panties. The same ones She’d been wearing. The same ones soaked with Tyrelle’s cum. The same ones he’d been licking just minutes before.

She stuffs them into his mouth, pushing them deep, making him taste the fabric, the cum, the humiliation. “Chew,” She orders. “And swallow. Every last bit.”

The slave obeys. He has to. The fabric is thick in his mouth, the taste of Tyrelle’s cum and Her musk overwhelming. He chews, the wet fabric sticking to his teeth, his tongue. He swallows, the bitter, salty flavor burning its way down his throat.

Goddess Obsidian watches, Her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Good,” She murmurs, patting his cheek. “Now that’s how a slave earns his keep.”

She leans down, Her lips brushing against his ear. “Tomorrow, Tyrelle’s coming back,” She whispers. “And you’re going to watch as he fills me up again. And then...” She laughs, low and dark. “Then you’re going to clean me all over again.”

The slave’s stomach twists. His cock, useless in its cage, throbs. And for the first time, he realizes the truth:

He can’t wait.

The bedroom air is thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and the unmistakable musk of a real man’s seed. The kind of scent that makes a slave’s stomach twist with shame and his useless cock ache with forbidden longing. Goddess Obsidian strides into the room, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor like a judge’s gavel, each step a verdict: guilty. Guilty of being weak. Guilty of being a man. Guilty of existing only to serve Her.

Her slave lies spread-eagle on the bed, blindfolded, his body trembling with the knowledge of his own insignificance. The pink chastity cage glints under the soft bedroom light, a constant reminder that his cock is useless—locked away, denied, owned. He hears the soft thud of Her heels hitting the floor, the rustle of fabric as She peels off her dress. His breath hitches. He knows what’s coming. He always knows.

“Oh, slave,” She purrs, Her voice dripping with amusement, “what a wild night I had with my new boyfriend, Tyrelle.” The name alone makes his stomach twist. Tyrelle. A real man. A man who can fill Her up, who can make Her moan, who can leave Her dripping with his seed. The slave’s jaw clenches behind the blindfold. He knows what that means. He knows what’s coming next.

She climbs onto the bed, Her weight pressing down on the mattress beside him. The scent of Her—sweat, perfume, and the thick, musky smell of cum—fills his nostrils. His cock, useless in its cage, twitches traitorously. She leans down, Her breath hot against his ear. “He filled me with three loads, slave. Three. Can you even imagine that?” She laughs, low and cruel. “Of course you can’t.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. She never does. Instead, She shifts, Her thighs straddling his head, Her panty-covered crotch pressing down against his face. The fabric is soaked, the heat of Her pussy radiating through the thin material. The slave’s nose is immediately flooded with the scent—salt, musk, and the unmistakable, thick aroma of Tyrelle’s cum. His stomach lurches. His mind screams at him to turn away, to refuse, to fight—but his body betrays him. His tongue darts out, just a little, tasting the air. He can’t help it.

Goddess Obsidian feels it. She always feels it.

“Can you smell his cum, slave?” She taunts, grinding Her soaked panties against his face. “That’s the smell of a real man’s cum.” She presses down harder, smothering him, making him breathe in the humiliation. “Go on. Sniff.”

The slave hesitates. His pride, what little he has left, rebels. But pride is a luxury for men. And he isn’t a man. Not anymore.

She doesn’t wait. The crack of the whip against his chest is sudden, sharp. Pain blooms across his skin, and he gasps, arching up against the restraints. “I said sniff,” She snarls. The whip comes down again, this time across his thighs. “Do you need another reminder of who owns you?”

“N-no, Mistress!” he chokes out, his voice muffled against Her panties. He inhales deeply, the scent of Tyrelle’s cum filling his lungs. It’s everywhere—in Her, on Her, soaking into the fabric pressed against his face.

“Good,” She coos, though there’s no warmth in it. Only mockery. “Now, let’s see if that tongue of yours is good for anything.”

She shifts, settling Her full weight onto his face. The slave can feel the heat of Her, the wetness of Her panties against his skin. She starts to rub, grinding Her crotch against his mouth, his nose, his everything. “Lick,” She commands. “Get it all, slave. Every. Last. Drop.”

He obeys. What else can he do? His tongue flicks out, pressing against the soaked fabric, tasting the bitterness of Tyrelle’s cum seeping through. It’s thick, salty, real. Nothing like the pathetic dribbles his own useless cock could ever produce. He licks, his tongue tracing the outline of Her lips through the panties, lapping up the cum that’s already dripping down Her thighs.

“Mmm, that’s it,” She murmurs, rocking Her hips slightly. “Taste that? That’s what a real man leaves inside me.” She reaches down, gripping his hair, yanking his head up slightly. “Tell me how good it tastes.”

The slave swallows, his throat working. The taste is overwhelming—the musk of Her, the salt of Tyrelle, the humiliation of it all. “I-it tastes...” His voice cracks. He can’t even lie. “Good, Mistress.”

She laughs, the sound rich and cruel. “Good? That’s it?” She shifts again, lifting Her hips slightly. “Here. Let’s see if you can do better.”

She peels off Her panties, the fabric making a wet schlick as it pulls away from Her skin. The slave can hear the cum dripping from Her, the thick, sticky sound of it hitting the bed beneath him. His mouth waters—not with desire, but with the need to obey. To please. To survive.

“Oooh, it’s starting to drip out,” She sighs, turning around. The slave can feel the heat of Her ass against his face now, the wetness of Her pussy hovering just above his mouth. “And I don’t want you to waste a single drop of that.”

Before he can react, She sits down—hard—sealing Her cum-filled pussy over his mouth. The slave’s nose is pressed into the crack of Her ass, his mouth smothered by Her dripping cunt. The first thing he tastes is the flood of Tyrelle’s cum, thick and warm, oozing out of Her and into his mouth. He gags, but She doesn’t let up. “Suck it out,” She orders, grinding down on him. “It’s so deep inside. You need to suck it out.”

The slave does as he’s told. His tongue works frantically, pressing into Her, trying to coax out more of the sticky, salty fluid. He can feel it—so much of it, pooling inside Her, waiting to be claimed. By him. The thought makes his head spin. He’s not worthy of this. He’s not anything. But Goddess Obsidian doesn’t care about worth. She only cares about obedience.

She rises up slightly, giving him a moment to breathe. Then, with a groan, She reaches down, spreading Her lips apart with Her fingers. “Mmm, there’s so much,” She murmurs. He can hear the wet sounds as She digs inside, trying to coax out more of Tyrelle’s seed. Finally, with a satisfied sigh, She pushes out a big dollop of the creamy, sticky fluid. It splashes onto his face, into his mouth, dripping down his chin. The slave swallows reflexively, the taste burning its way down his throat.

“Tell me how good it tastes,” She demands, Her voice thick with amusement.

The slave’s mind races. He wants to lie. He wants to say it’s disgusting, that he hates it. But the words won’t come. Because the truth is, it does taste good. Not because of the flavor—no, it’s bitter, salty, humiliating—but because it’s Hers. Because She wants him to like it. Because he needs to please Her.

“It’s... it’s delicious, Mistress,” he chokes out, his voice breaking.

She laughs, the sound echoing through the room. “Beg for more.”

The slave’s chest tightens. Beg. The word is a punch to his gut. But he knows what happens if he doesn’t obey.

“P-please, Mistress,” he whimpers, his voice trembling. “Please, let me have more of Tyrelle’s cum. Please, I need it.”

She doesn’t make him wait. She slams Her pussy back down onto his face, smothering him completely. “Suck up every drop,” She orders, Her voice muffled by the press of Her body against his face. The slave obeys, his tongue working furiously, lapping at Her, cleaning Her. He can feel Her muscles clenching around his tongue as She rides his face, Her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles. “That’s it. Get it all. Don’t you dare waste a single drop.”

He doesn’t. He can’t. His tongue darts into Her, swirling, pressing, searching for every last bit of Tyrelle’s cum. He can feel it—thick, sticky, real—coating his tongue, sliding down his throat.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Goddess Obsidian lifts Her hips, Her pussy glistening and clean. The slave gasps for air, his face covered in the remnants of Tyrelle’s cum, his lips swollen from the friction. He’s dripping with it—his chin, his cheeks, his tongue. He swallows again, the taste lingering.

She doesn’t let him rest. She turns around, straddling his chest, Her ass pressing down against his face. “Mmm, you did good, slave,” She purrs, reaching down to stroke his hair. “But we’re not done yet.”

The slave’s heart sinks. More? But She’s clean. There’s nothing left—

Then he feels it. The weight of something being pressed against his lips. Something soft. Something soaked.

“Here’s your reward, slave,” She says, Her voice dripping with sadistic delight.

The slave realizes what it is. Her panties. The same ones She’d been wearing. The same ones soaked with Tyrelle’s cum. The same ones he’d been licking just minutes before.

She stuffs them into his mouth, pushing them deep, making him taste the fabric, the cum, the humiliation. “Chew,” She orders. “And swallow. Every last bit.”

The slave obeys. He has to. The fabric is thick in his mouth, the taste of Tyrelle’s cum and Her musk overwhelming. He chews, the wet fabric sticking to his teeth, his tongue. He swallows, the bitter, salty flavor burning its way down his throat.

Goddess Obsidian watches, Her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Good,” She murmurs, patting his cheek. “Now that’s how a slave earns his keep.”

She leans down, Her lips brushing against his ear. “Tomorrow, Tyrelle’s coming back,” She whispers. “And you’re going to watch as he fills me up again. And then...” She laughs, low and dark. “Then you’re going to clean me all over again.”

The slave’s stomach twists. His cock, useless in its cage, throbs. And for the first time, he realizes the truth:

He can’t wait.

The slave is already cuffed to Mistress Minerva’s custom facesitting chair, his wrists secured to the arms, his head locked through the hole—face up, mouth exposed, and completely at Her mercy. His body is not just restrained; it is owned. The chair’s design ensures he cannot twist, cannot turn, cannot do anything but offer his mouth upward like the worthless tool he is. His legs are free, but they might as well be bound—there is nowhere to go, no escape from the weight of the Goddesses’ asses or the sting of the crop. He is a living footstool, his tongue the only part of him that matters now.

Mistress Minerva enters first, dressed in booty shorts and a crop top that clings to Her body, emphasizing the power in every curve. She doesn’t even look at him as She steps forward, Her attention on Goddess Obsidian. Without a word, She sits down on his face, Her full weight pressing down, smothering him instantly. The slave’s muffled gasps are the only sound as She turns to Goddess Obsidian, who watches with a thin, sheer sweater barely covering Her authority. "You need to show your male that your needs are his only concerns," Minerva instructs, Her voice dripping with casual cruelty, as if She’s discussing the weather. "Eating your ass and being your chair is a privilege for an inferior." She shifts slightly, the fabric of Her shorts the only barrier between his mouth and Her superiority. The slave’s tongue flicks out instinctively, already learning its place. "I’m doing it with My shorts on... but of course, you should take yours off." With that, She rises, leaving the slave gasping, his face glistening with the proof of his submission. As She exits, She delivers the final lesson with a smirk: "Besides, he’ll get used to the taste. Then you move up to using him as toilet paper, passing gas, things like that... before you turn him into a full toilet."

Goddess Obsidian, clad in panties and Her thin sweater, steps forward, riding crop in hand. The crop taps lightly against Her palm as She surveys the scene—Her new toy, already broken in by Minerva’s expertise. She looks down at the pathetic male beneath Her, his face already marked by Mistress Minerva’s dominance, his lips parted in anticipation of what’s to come. "You hear that, bitch? You’re gonna be My toilet... but one step at a time." The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of his new reality. She mounts the chair, Her perfect, round light brown ass hovering just above his lips. The slave can smell Her, feel the heat radiating from Her, and knows his purpose. "Kiss My asshole, bitch." The command is simple, but the slave hesitates—his disgust still lingering from his old life, the one where he thought he had a choice. CRACK! The riding crop snaps against his chest, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "I said kiss My asshole, ass bitch!" The tone leaves no room for disobedience, no space for hesitation. He is here to serve, and serve he will.

He obeys, his lips pressing against Her tight hole, and She rewards him by sitting down fully, smothering him. The weight of Her ass cuts off his breath as She grinds, Her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles. "You’re gonna treat My asshole like your girlfriend. Understand?" Her voice is calm, almost conversational, as if She’s explaining the weather. But the message is clear: this is his life now. She pulls Her thong aside, exposing Herself completely, the fabric now a useless barrier between them. "Stick out your tongue, like a cock." The slave complies, his tongue trembling as it extends, already learning its new purpose. She spreads Her cheeks wide, pulling Her asshole open with Her fingers, guiding him to accept the full depth of his new existence. "Not deep enough. I said make your tongue like a cock—it’s bigger than your actual peanut anyway. But that’s getting locked up soon." The humiliation burns deeper than the crop’s sting, searing into his soul. He is nothing. His tongue is everything.

She changes positions, turning around to face-fuck him into a frenzy. The wet smack of his mouth against Her ass fills the room, the sounds of his submission echoing off the walls. The riding crop lashes out intermittently, leaving red marks across his trembling body—his chest, his thighs, his useless cock straining against his shorts. She whips his dick more than once, the pain making him scream into Her asshole, a sound She savors. "That’s right, scream for Me. Let Me hear how much you love it." His muffled cries vibrate against Her, and She grinds harder, ensuring he understands the depth of his insignificance. His tongue is buried inside Her, his breath hot against Her skin, his entire world reduced to the taste of Her, the scent of Her, the weight of Her.

She turns back around, bouncing up and down on his tongue, using his face like the worthless furniture it is. The chair creaks beneath them, the only witness to his degradation. Then She takes breaks, smothering him completely, Her ass pressing down until he can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but serve. Each time She rises, She orders him to thank Her, to confess in a choked, desperate voice how delicious Her asshole tastes, how he craves everything that comes out of Her. "Tell Me again, slave. Tell Me how much you love My asshole." His voice is muffled, broken, the words barely intelligible: "Thank You, Goddess... it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted... I want everything You give me..." She laughs, the sound cruel and triumphant, as She reaches back to spread Her cheeks wider, giving him even deeper access. "Good. Because you’re going to get it all."

The session escalates into a rhythm of absolute dominance: grinding, smothering, whipping, and verbal degradation. She taunts him, reminding him of his future—"Next time, I’ll pass gas on your face. Then I’ll use you as My toilet. And you’ll thank Me for it." His mind fractures under the weight of Her words, his resistance crumbling with every stroke of the crop, every bounce of Her ass on his tongue. She alternates between riding him hard, her ass slapping against his face, and smothering him completely, her weight pressing down until he can’t breathe. "Keep that tongue in there, or I’ll whip your cock raw," She warns, and he obeys, his tongue staying buried inside Her even as he gasps for air. The crop lashes out again, this time across his thighs, the pain a constant reminder of his place.

By the end of the 21 minutes, the slave is a gasping, trembling mess, his body covered in crop marks, his face drenched in Her, his spirit broken down to a single truth: his purpose is to worship, to serve, to consume what She offers. His tongue is raw, his jaw aches, but he doesn’t dare complain. Goddess Obsidian stands, admiring Her work, Her ass glistening with his saliva. The camera lingers on his exhausted, used face, his eyes glazed with submission, his lips still parted as if waiting for Her to sit back down. "Next session, we’ll see how you do with toilet paper duty," She says, Her voice light, as if She’s discussing the weather. But the message is clear. He is Hers now. And this is only the beginning.

The slave is already cuffed to Mistress Minerva’s custom facesitting chair, his wrists secured to the arms, his head locked through the hole—face up, mouth exposed, and completely at Her mercy. His body is not just restrained; it is owned. The chair’s design ensures he cannot twist, cannot turn, cannot do anything but offer his mouth upward like the worthless tool he is. His legs are free, but they might as well be bound—there is nowhere to go, no escape from the weight of the Goddesses’ asses or the sting of the crop. He is a living footstool, his tongue the only part of him that matters now.

Mistress Minerva enters first, dressed in booty shorts and a crop top that clings to Her body, emphasizing the power in every curve. She doesn’t even look at him as She steps forward, Her attention on Goddess Obsidian. Without a word, She sits down on his face, Her full weight pressing down, smothering him instantly. The slave’s muffled gasps are the only sound as She turns to Goddess Obsidian, who watches with a thin, sheer sweater barely covering Her authority. "You need to show your male that your needs are his only concerns," Minerva instructs, Her voice dripping with casual cruelty, as if She’s discussing the weather. "Eating your ass and being your chair is a privilege for an inferior." She shifts slightly, the fabric of Her shorts the only barrier between his mouth and Her superiority. The slave’s tongue flicks out instinctively, already learning its place. "I’m doing it with My shorts on... but of course, you should take yours off." With that, She rises, leaving the slave gasping, his face glistening with the proof of his submission. As She exits, She delivers the final lesson with a smirk: "Besides, he’ll get used to the taste. Then you move up to using him as toilet paper, passing gas, things like that... before you turn him into a full toilet."

Goddess Obsidian, clad in panties and Her thin sweater, steps forward, riding crop in hand. The crop taps lightly against Her palm as She surveys the scene—Her new toy, already broken in by Minerva’s expertise. She looks down at the pathetic male beneath Her, his face already marked by Mistress Minerva’s dominance, his lips parted in anticipation of what’s to come. "You hear that, bitch? You’re gonna be My toilet... but one step at a time." The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of his new reality. She mounts the chair, Her perfect, round light brown ass hovering just above his lips. The slave can smell Her, feel the heat radiating from Her, and knows his purpose. "Kiss My asshole, bitch." The command is simple, but the slave hesitates—his disgust still lingering from his old life, the one where he thought he had a choice. CRACK! The riding crop snaps against his chest, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "I said kiss My asshole, ass bitch!" The tone leaves no room for disobedience, no space for hesitation. He is here to serve, and serve he will.

He obeys, his lips pressing against Her tight hole, and She rewards him by sitting down fully, smothering him. The weight of Her ass cuts off his breath as She grinds, Her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles. "You’re gonna treat My asshole like your girlfriend. Understand?" Her voice is calm, almost conversational, as if She’s explaining the weather. But the message is clear: this is his life now. She pulls Her thong aside, exposing Herself completely, the fabric now a useless barrier between them. "Stick out your tongue, like a cock." The slave complies, his tongue trembling as it extends, already learning its new purpose. She spreads Her cheeks wide, pulling Her asshole open with Her fingers, guiding him to accept the full depth of his new existence. "Not deep enough. I said make your tongue like a cock—it’s bigger than your actual peanut anyway. But that’s getting locked up soon." The humiliation burns deeper than the crop’s sting, searing into his soul. He is nothing. His tongue is everything.

She changes positions, turning around to face-fuck him into a frenzy. The wet smack of his mouth against Her ass fills the room, the sounds of his submission echoing off the walls. The riding crop lashes out intermittently, leaving red marks across his trembling body—his chest, his thighs, his useless cock straining against his shorts. She whips his dick more than once, the pain making him scream into Her asshole, a sound She savors. "That’s right, scream for Me. Let Me hear how much you love it." His muffled cries vibrate against Her, and She grinds harder, ensuring he understands the depth of his insignificance. His tongue is buried inside Her, his breath hot against Her skin, his entire world reduced to the taste of Her, the scent of Her, the weight of Her.

She turns back around, bouncing up and down on his tongue, using his face like the worthless furniture it is. The chair creaks beneath them, the only witness to his degradation. Then She takes breaks, smothering him completely, Her ass pressing down until he can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but serve. Each time She rises, She orders him to thank Her, to confess in a choked, desperate voice how delicious Her asshole tastes, how he craves everything that comes out of Her. "Tell Me again, slave. Tell Me how much you love My asshole." His voice is muffled, broken, the words barely intelligible: "Thank You, Goddess... it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted... I want everything You give me..." She laughs, the sound cruel and triumphant, as She reaches back to spread Her cheeks wider, giving him even deeper access. "Good. Because you’re going to get it all."

The session escalates into a rhythm of absolute dominance: grinding, smothering, whipping, and verbal degradation. She taunts him, reminding him of his future—"Next time, I’ll pass gas on your face. Then I’ll use you as My toilet. And you’ll thank Me for it." His mind fractures under the weight of Her words, his resistance crumbling with every stroke of the crop, every bounce of Her ass on his tongue. She alternates between riding him hard, her ass slapping against his face, and smothering him completely, her weight pressing down until he can’t breathe. "Keep that tongue in there, or I’ll whip your cock raw," She warns, and he obeys, his tongue staying buried inside Her even as he gasps for air. The crop lashes out again, this time across his thighs, the pain a constant reminder of his place.

By the end of the 21 minutes, the slave is a gasping, trembling mess, his body covered in crop marks, his face drenched in Her, his spirit broken down to a single truth: his purpose is to worship, to serve, to consume what She offers. His tongue is raw, his jaw aches, but he doesn’t dare complain. Goddess Obsidian stands, admiring Her work, Her ass glistening with his saliva. The camera lingers on his exhausted, used face, his eyes glazed with submission, his lips still parted as if waiting for Her to sit back down. "Next session, we’ll see how you do with toilet paper duty," She says, Her voice light, as if She’s discussing the weather. But the message is clear. He is Hers now. And this is only the beginning.

Das Video beginnt mit Königin Circe, die über ihrem erbärmlichen Sklaven steht, der an einen Tisch gefesselt ist, sein Kopf fest an Ort und Stelle gesichert ist. Die Hände des Sklaven sind angekettet, was ihn völlig hilflos macht. Königin Circe, in ihrer dominanten Kleidung gekleidet, blickt auf den Sklaven mit einer Mischung aus Amüsement und Verachtung.<\/p>

\"Du bist hier, um mich zu dienen, Sklave,\" verkündet Sie, ihre Stimme fest und befehlend. \"Und heute wirst du meine Muschi anbeten.\"<\/p>

Königin Circe setzt sich auf das Gesicht des Sklaven, senkt ihr volles Gewicht darauf. Sie fixiert das Gesicht des Sklaven und seinen Mund am Tisch, um sicherzustellen, dass er ihrer Dominanz nicht entkommen kann. Sie beginnt, ihre Muschi gegen das Gesicht des Sklaven zu reiben, seinen Mund für ihr Vergnügen zu benutzen. Sie beginnt langsam, die Empfindung genießend, aber erhöht schnell ihr Tempo. Der Klang ihrer nassen Muschi, die gegen das Gesicht des Sklaven schlägt, erfüllt den Raum.<\/p>

\"Muschi-Sklaven sollten nach Muschi riechen,\" verkündet Sie, ihre Stimme von Dominanz triefend. \"Es ist eine Ehre, dich auf diese Weise zu dienen, für ein Schwein wie dich.\"<\/p>

Die gedämpften Stöhnen und verzweifelten Atemzüge des Sklaven nach Luft füllen den Raum, während Königin Circe weiter gegen sein Gesicht reibt, ihre Hüften in einem unerbittlichen Rhythmus bewegend. Sie genießt ihre Macht, indem sie den Mund des Sklaven benutzt, um sich selbst näher an einen Orgasmus zu bringen.<\/p>

Königin Circe dreht sich um, positioniert ihren Hintern über dem Gesicht des Sklaven. Sie senkt sich auf das Gesicht des Sklaven, um sicherzustellen, dass er immer noch ihre Muschi von hinten lecken und anbeten kann. Sie reibt sich gegen das Gesicht des Sklaven, ihre Bewegungen jetzt eiliger.<\/p>

\"Leck es, Sklave,\" befiehlt Sie, ihre Stimme atemlos vor Lust. \"Leck es, als würde dein Leben davon abhängen.\"<\/p>

Der Sklave gehorcht, seine Zunge arbeitet fleißig daran, seine Königin zu erfreuen. Die Lustschreie von Königin Circe erfüllen den Raum, während sie sich ihrem Orgasmus nähert, ihre Hüften schneller und schneller gegen das Gesicht des Sklaven bewegend.<\/p>

Der Körper von Königin Circe versteift sich, als Sie ihren Orgasmus erreicht, ihre Hüften ein letztes Mal gegen das Gesicht des Sklaven reibend. Sie lässt einen triumphierenden Schrei los, ihr Körper bebt unter der Kraft ihres Höhepunkts. Sie bleibt einen Moment lang auf dem Gesicht des Sklaven, genießt die Nachbeben ihres Orgasmus.<\/p>"

Das Video beginnt mit Königin Circe, die über ihrem erbärmlichen Sklaven steht, der an einen Tisch gefesselt ist, sein Kopf fest an Ort und Stelle gesichert ist. Die Hände des Sklaven sind angekettet, was ihn völlig hilflos macht. Königin Circe, in ihrer dominanten Kleidung gekleidet, blickt auf den Sklaven mit einer Mischung aus Amüsement und Verachtung.<\/p>

\"Du bist hier, um mich zu dienen, Sklave,\" verkündet Sie, ihre Stimme fest und befehlend. \"Und heute wirst du meine Muschi anbeten.\"<\/p>

Königin Circe setzt sich auf das Gesicht des Sklaven, senkt ihr volles Gewicht darauf. Sie fixiert das Gesicht des Sklaven und seinen Mund am Tisch, um sicherzustellen, dass er ihrer Dominanz nicht entkommen kann. Sie beginnt, ihre Muschi gegen das Gesicht des Sklaven zu reiben, seinen Mund für ihr Vergnügen zu benutzen. Sie beginnt langsam, die Empfindung genießend, aber erhöht schnell ihr Tempo. Der Klang ihrer nassen Muschi, die gegen das Gesicht des Sklaven schlägt, erfüllt den Raum.<\/p>

\"Muschi-Sklaven sollten nach Muschi riechen,\" verkündet Sie, ihre Stimme von Dominanz triefend. \"Es ist eine Ehre, dich auf diese Weise zu dienen, für ein Schwein wie dich.\"<\/p>

Die gedämpften Stöhnen und verzweifelten Atemzüge des Sklaven nach Luft füllen den Raum, während Königin Circe weiter gegen sein Gesicht reibt, ihre Hüften in einem unerbittlichen Rhythmus bewegend. Sie genießt ihre Macht, indem sie den Mund des Sklaven benutzt, um sich selbst näher an einen Orgasmus zu bringen.<\/p>

Königin Circe dreht sich um, positioniert ihren Hintern über dem Gesicht des Sklaven. Sie senkt sich auf das Gesicht des Sklaven, um sicherzustellen, dass er immer noch ihre Muschi von hinten lecken und anbeten kann. Sie reibt sich gegen das Gesicht des Sklaven, ihre Bewegungen jetzt eiliger.<\/p>

\"Leck es, Sklave,\" befiehlt Sie, ihre Stimme atemlos vor Lust. \"Leck es, als würde dein Leben davon abhängen.\"<\/p>

Der Sklave gehorcht, seine Zunge arbeitet fleißig daran, seine Königin zu erfreuen. Die Lustschreie von Königin Circe erfüllen den Raum, während sie sich ihrem Orgasmus nähert, ihre Hüften schneller und schneller gegen das Gesicht des Sklaven bewegend.<\/p>

Der Körper von Königin Circe versteift sich, als Sie ihren Orgasmus erreicht, ihre Hüften ein letztes Mal gegen das Gesicht des Sklaven reibend. Sie lässt einen triumphierenden Schrei los, ihr Körper bebt unter der Kraft ihres Höhepunkts. Sie bleibt einen Moment lang auf dem Gesicht des Sklaven, genießt die Nachbeben ihres Orgasmus.<\/p>"

Die Szene beginnt damit, dass Herrin Minerva sich auf eine Sonnenbadeinheit vorbereitet, aber bevor sie sich den Sonnenstrahlen hingibt, hat sie eine Aufgabe für ihren Sklaven. Der Sklave ist aufgehängt, in der Gewölbe aufgehängt, vollständig ihrem Willen ausgeliefert. Sie nähert sich ihm, präsentiert ihm ihre verschwitzten Füße ins Gesicht, und zieht an seiner Leine, um ihn dazu zu bringen, ihren strengen, feuchten Hautgeruch einzuatmen. Er verzieht das Gesicht, als er anfängt zu lecken, aber Herrin Minerva bestraft ihn sofort mit einer harten Ohrfeige ins Gesicht. \"DU WIRST ALLES EHREN, WAS VON MEINEM GÖTINNEN KÖRPER KOMMT!\" befiehlt sie. ???? \"Jetzt sag mir, wie gut es schmeckt und bettele um mehr, Schwein.\" ????<\/p>

Der Sklave gehorcht, leckt und saugt ihre Füße sauber, kämpft mit dem salzigen Geschmack ihres Schweißes. Nur, wenn sie mit seiner Arbeit zufrieden ist, tritt sie hinaus in die glühende Sonne, lässt ihren Sklaven aufgehängt zurück, der in Erwartung ihrer Rückkehr hängt.??????<\/p>

Nach ihrer Sonnenbadeinheit kehrt Herrin Minerva mit einem Körper zurück, der von Schweiß trieft, und ihre Achselhöhlen verströmen einen strengen, muskulösen Duft. Sie nähert sich ihrem Sklaven, lässt ihn ihren stinkenden, verschwitzten Achselhöhlen riechen. Er zuckt zusammen, aber sie packt ihn am Haar und zieht ihn näher, befiehlt ihm, sie sauber zu lecken. Sie sichert ihn in einem Kopfgriff, um sicherzustellen, dass er der Aufgabe nicht entkommen kann. \"Welche Achselhöhle riecht und schmeckt am besten, Sklave?\" neckt sie, lacht über sein Unbehagen.?????<\/p>

Der Höhepunkt dieser intensiven Begegnung kommt, wenn Herrin Minerva ihren Sklaven fragt, ob er den Geschmack ihres Schweißes abwaschen möchte. Als er nickt, verzweifelt nach Erleichterung suchend, statten sie ihn mit einem offenen Kehlkopf aus. Was folgt, ist ein unerbittlicher Ansturm von Ausspucken, da Herrin Minerva ihre Speichelklumpen aufwirft, sie direkt in den Kehlkopf absetzt. Er würgt und spuckt, Tränen strömen über sein Gesicht, während er kämpft, jeden Tropfen zu schlucken.????<\/p>"

Die Szene beginnt damit, dass Herrin Minerva sich auf eine Sonnenbadeinheit vorbereitet, aber bevor sie sich den Sonnenstrahlen hingibt, hat sie eine Aufgabe für ihren Sklaven. Der Sklave ist aufgehängt, in der Gewölbe aufgehängt, vollständig ihrem Willen ausgeliefert. Sie nähert sich ihm, präsentiert ihm ihre verschwitzten Füße ins Gesicht, und zieht an seiner Leine, um ihn dazu zu bringen, ihren strengen, feuchten Hautgeruch einzuatmen. Er verzieht das Gesicht, als er anfängt zu lecken, aber Herrin Minerva bestraft ihn sofort mit einer harten Ohrfeige ins Gesicht. \"DU WIRST ALLES EHREN, WAS VON MEINEM GÖTINNEN KÖRPER KOMMT!\" befiehlt sie. ???? \"Jetzt sag mir, wie gut es schmeckt und bettele um mehr, Schwein.\" ????<\/p>

Der Sklave gehorcht, leckt und saugt ihre Füße sauber, kämpft mit dem salzigen Geschmack ihres Schweißes. Nur, wenn sie mit seiner Arbeit zufrieden ist, tritt sie hinaus in die glühende Sonne, lässt ihren Sklaven aufgehängt zurück, der in Erwartung ihrer Rückkehr hängt.??????<\/p>

Nach ihrer Sonnenbadeinheit kehrt Herrin Minerva mit einem Körper zurück, der von Schweiß trieft, und ihre Achselhöhlen verströmen einen strengen, muskulösen Duft. Sie nähert sich ihrem Sklaven, lässt ihn ihren stinkenden, verschwitzten Achselhöhlen riechen. Er zuckt zusammen, aber sie packt ihn am Haar und zieht ihn näher, befiehlt ihm, sie sauber zu lecken. Sie sichert ihn in einem Kopfgriff, um sicherzustellen, dass er der Aufgabe nicht entkommen kann. \"Welche Achselhöhle riecht und schmeckt am besten, Sklave?\" neckt sie, lacht über sein Unbehagen.?????<\/p>

Der Höhepunkt dieser intensiven Begegnung kommt, wenn Herrin Minerva ihren Sklaven fragt, ob er den Geschmack ihres Schweißes abwaschen möchte. Als er nickt, verzweifelt nach Erleichterung suchend, statten sie ihn mit einem offenen Kehlkopf aus. Was folgt, ist ein unerbittlicher Ansturm von Ausspucken, da Herrin Minerva ihre Speichelklumpen aufwirft, sie direkt in den Kehlkopf absetzt. Er würgt und spuckt, Tränen strömen über sein Gesicht, während er kämpft, jeden Tropfen zu schlucken.????<\/p>"

Queen Circe is trying out a new ass slave that She's had secured on the floor of the dungeon, with his head under a fuck chair, resting on an inflatable pillow-She wants to ass fuck his face. She walks in wearing spike heels and a one-piece leotard that barely covers Her charms but splits Her incredible ass perfectly. She puts clothespins on his nipples to help him 'focus', then spreads Her magnificent round ass cheeks and sits down on the chair, ordering Her slave to get busy:

"Your only purpose today is to go spelunking in My sweaty asshole. I took a dump before yoga so it's kinda slimy back there, but that's what a slave is for! But first, kiss My asshole, pig!"

She has him make out with Her asshole, telling him to French kiss it, She starts moaning when he tongue fucks Her anus. She spreads Her cheeks wider and starts pumping up and down on his face and tongue.

"Not only does a male tongue feel good on My asshole, but it's essential for cleaning. Your face form fits into My ass crack too-you're a like a form fitting, heated seat! Now get your tongue farther up My ass, pig!"

She sits on his face with Her full weight, pinning his head to the floor, covering his face and sealing his airways.

"Ahhh, keep it up there. Suck and lick and taste My waste"

She starts humping his face, he gasps for breath, but She lets him catch his breath again before spreading Her cheeks wide again and pushing back onto his tongue again, then releasing Her ass cheeks which flop around his face until he's engulfed in Her ass, only the tip of his nose is visible besides the hair on his head. She moans as he digs it in and out, finally getting up and ditching the chair, She climbs onto his body, his cock hard as a rock but completely ignored by Queen Circe as She fucks his face:

"I want you to thank Me for allowing you to taste My dirty ass. It's not a privilege that many are allowed. After you thank Me I want you to prove to Me how grateful you are by going even deeper than before so I'm really fresh"

He agrees, so She spreads Her ass cheeks again but this time rocks back and forth on his body, his tongue disappearing in and out of Her asshole She starts grinding on his face again, pinning it to the floor with Her 5'10 ass. But finally, She seems satisfied and stands up, saying:

"Ok toilet brush, now let's take off those clothespins!"

As She does, he screams in pain and the clip ends.

Queen Circe is trying out a new ass slave that She's had secured on the floor of the dungeon, with his head under a fuck chair, resting on an inflatable pillow-She wants to ass fuck his face. She walks in wearing spike heels and a one-piece leotard that barely covers Her charms but splits Her incredible ass perfectly. She puts clothespins on his nipples to help him 'focus', then spreads Her magnificent round ass cheeks and sits down on the chair, ordering Her slave to get busy:

"Your only purpose today is to go spelunking in My sweaty asshole. I took a dump before yoga so it's kinda slimy back there, but that's what a slave is for! But first, kiss My asshole, pig!"

She has him make out with Her asshole, telling him to French kiss it, She starts moaning when he tongue fucks Her anus. She spreads Her cheeks wider and starts pumping up and down on his face and tongue.

"Not only does a male tongue feel good on My asshole, but it's essential for cleaning. Your face form fits into My ass crack too-you're a like a form fitting, heated seat! Now get your tongue farther up My ass, pig!"

She sits on his face with Her full weight, pinning his head to the floor, covering his face and sealing his airways.

"Ahhh, keep it up there. Suck and lick and taste My waste"

She starts humping his face, he gasps for breath, but She lets him catch his breath again before spreading Her cheeks wide again and pushing back onto his tongue again, then releasing Her ass cheeks which flop around his face until he's engulfed in Her ass, only the tip of his nose is visible besides the hair on his head. She moans as he digs it in and out, finally getting up and ditching the chair, She climbs onto his body, his cock hard as a rock but completely ignored by Queen Circe as She fucks his face:

"I want you to thank Me for allowing you to taste My dirty ass. It's not a privilege that many are allowed. After you thank Me I want you to prove to Me how grateful you are by going even deeper than before so I'm really fresh"

He agrees, so She spreads Her ass cheeks again but this time rocks back and forth on his body, his tongue disappearing in and out of Her asshole She starts grinding on his face again, pinning it to the floor with Her 5'10 ass. But finally, She seems satisfied and stands up, saying:

"Ok toilet brush, now let's take off those clothespins!"

As She does, he screams in pain and the clip ends.

Königin Circe hat einen neuen Pussy-Sklaven-Kandidaten, den Sie sich bereit erklärt hat, ihn für die Position ausprobieren zu lassen. Sie hat den Sklaven gefesselt, auf einer Bank, mit seinem Kopf an einen Kopf-Harness angeschlossen, sicher an die Kette gefesselt, nicht in der Lage, einen Muskel zu bewegen. Sie hat eine mobile Kamera auf seinem Kopf montiert, um seine Leistung zu bewerten. Sie geht in den medizinischen Raum, gekleidet in ein weißes und rotes Krankenschwester-Outfit, komplett mit alten Schul-Strümpfen und roten PVC-Handschuhen. Sie steht vor dem Sklaven, ohne Unterwäsche, Ihr nacktes Pussy zur Schau stellend, während Sie fragt:<\/p>

\"Ok, du glücklicher Stiefsohn einer Schlampe, ich werde dir das Privileg geben, mein Pussy anzubeten. Du solltest einen verdammt guten Job machen, oder ich werde die verdammte Haut von deinen Eiern entfernen!\"<\/p>

\"Ja, Herrin\" ist alles, was der Sklave antwortet, während Sie sich auf sein Gesicht setzt, es straddling. Sie mit Ihrem kurz geschorenen Scham. Sie öffnet ihre Schamlippen in seinem Gesicht und fragt:<\/p>

\"Siehst du mein Pussy, Sklave? Riechst du es? Ich will hören, wie du tief einatmest, meine Pheromone an dich bindest und dich an mein Pussy versklavst\"<\/p>

Sie senkt Ihr Pussy auf das Gesicht des Sklaven, reibt es über seine Nase, hin und her. Der Sklave weiß besser, als anzufangen zu lecken, ohne Erlaubnis. Sie lässt den Sklaven Ihr Pussy riechen, dann öffnet sie die Schamlippen ein weiteres Mal und befiehlt:<\/p>

\"Du darfst anfangen, meine Schenkel zu küssen und alles UM mein Pussy - gut. Fang an, mein Pussy zu küssen\"<\/p>

Der Sklave tut, wie befohlen, Ihr Schritt mit Küssen überschüttet und dann leicht Ihr Pussy küsst, wie ein verfluchter Liebhaber.<\/p>

\"Du darfst anfangen zu lecken. Auf und ab GENTLY zuerst, dann fang an, in die inneren Schamlippen zu bohren, um meinen Saft zu schmecken\"<\/p>

Der Sklave tut, wie angeordnet, sie zum Stöhnen bringt und sich auf sein Gesicht setzt, mit Ihrem vollen Gewicht, während sein Gesicht unter Ihr verschwindet.<\/p>

\"FICKEN LICKEN. Du darfst mir nicht im Geringsten aufhören, bis ich dir befehle, aufzuhören!\"<\/p>

Sie beginnt, sich auf sein Gesicht zu bewegen, vor und zurück langsam, dann beschleunigend, während sie dem Sklaven Schritt-für-Schritt-Anweisungen gibt:<\/p>

\"Jetzt stecke deine Zunge in mein Pussy - TIEFER! Gut, jetzt hinein und heraus, mein Loch fickst\"<\/p>

Sie beginnt, sich auf dem Gesicht des Sklaven auf und ab zu bewegen, auf der Zunge, während sein Gesicht glänzt mit Ihren Sekreten.<\/p>

\"Jetzt fang an, meinen Kitzler zu saugen. SCHLURFE MEINE JUICE, du darfst keinen Tropfen meines kostbaren Saftes verschwenden! Ein Pussy-Sklave schätzt alles von der heiligen Pussy seiner Göttin\"<\/p>

Sie setzt sich auf das Gesicht des Sklaven, Ihre Beine von der Bank hängend, Ihr ganzes Gewicht auf sein Gesicht setzend, während sein Gesicht unter Ihr verschwindet. <\/p>

\"SAUGE MEINEN KLITZ! HÄRTER!\"<\/p>

Sie hat einige kleine Zuckungen, Stöhnen und versucht, den reichlichen Mengen an süßem Pussy-Nektar, der aus Ihrer süßen Pussy fließt, die sich langsam öffnet, wie eine Blume, aufzusaugen. Sie dreht sich um und setzt sich auf allen Vieren über das Gesicht des Sklaven.<\/p>

\"Jetzt werde ich dein Gesicht ficken, vor und zurück. Halte deine verdammte Zunge die ganze Zeit heraus, wenn du deine Eier schätzt. Jetzt, sage mir, WER BESITZT DICH?\"<\/p>

\"Du und dein Pussy, Herrin\"<\/p>

\"Das ist richtig!\"<\/p>

Sie beginnt, Ihr Pussy über das Gesicht des Sklaven zu schieben, vor und zurück, wie sie einen Schuh poliert, das Gesicht des Sklaven glänzend mit Ihren klebrigen Geheimnissen, die dicker und dicker werden. Sie landet schließlich auf dem Gesicht des Sklaven:<\/p>

\"Fick mein Pussy mit deiner Zunge, Sklave. Kein Atmen für dich, bis ich mit deinen Bemühungen zufrieden bin\"<\/p>

(Fortsetzung in Teil II)<\/p>

 <\/p>"

Königin Circe hat einen neuen Pussy-Sklaven-Kandidaten, den Sie sich bereit erklärt hat, ihn für die Position ausprobieren zu lassen. Sie hat den Sklaven gefesselt, auf einer Bank, mit seinem Kopf an einen Kopf-Harness angeschlossen, sicher an die Kette gefesselt, nicht in der Lage, einen Muskel zu bewegen. Sie hat eine mobile Kamera auf seinem Kopf montiert, um seine Leistung zu bewerten. Sie geht in den medizinischen Raum, gekleidet in ein weißes und rotes Krankenschwester-Outfit, komplett mit alten Schul-Strümpfen und roten PVC-Handschuhen. Sie steht vor dem Sklaven, ohne Unterwäsche, Ihr nacktes Pussy zur Schau stellend, während Sie fragt:<\/p>

\"Ok, du glücklicher Stiefsohn einer Schlampe, ich werde dir das Privileg geben, mein Pussy anzubeten. Du solltest einen verdammt guten Job machen, oder ich werde die verdammte Haut von deinen Eiern entfernen!\"<\/p>

\"Ja, Herrin\" ist alles, was der Sklave antwortet, während Sie sich auf sein Gesicht setzt, es straddling. mit Ihrem kurz geschorenen Hügel. Sie öffnet Ihre Schamlippen in seinem Gesicht und fragt:<\/p>

\"Siehst du mein Pussy, Sklave? Riechst du es? Ich will hören, wie du tief einatmest, meine Pheromone an dich bindest und dich an mein Pussy versklavst\"<\/p>

Sie senkt Ihr Pussy auf das Gesicht des Sklaven, reibt es über seine Nase, hin und her. Der Sklave weiß besser, als anzufangen zu lecken, ohne Erlaubnis. Sie lassen den Sklaven Ihr Pussy riechen, dann öffnen Sie die Schamlippen erneut und befiehlt:<\/p>

\"Du darfst anfangen, meine Schenkel zu küssen und alles UM mein Pussy - gut. Fang an, mein Pussy zu küssen\"<\/p>

Der Sklave tut, wie befohlen, Ihr Schritt mit Küssen überschüttet und dann leicht Ihr Pussy küsst, wie ein verfluchter Liebhaber.<\/p>

\"Du darfst anfangen zu lecken. Auf und ab GENTLY zuerst, dann fang an, in die inneren Schamlippen zu bohren, um meinen Saft zu schmecken\"<\/p>

Der Sklave tut, wie angeordnet, mich zum Stöhnen bringen und sich auf sein Gesicht setzen, kniend mit Ihrem ganzen Gewicht, während sein Gesicht unter Ihnen verschwindet.<\/p>

\"KEEP FUCKING LICKING. Wage es nicht, ohne meine Erlaubnis aufzuhören!\"<\/p>

Sie fängt an, auf seinem Gesicht zu reiten, auf und ab auf der Zunge, während sein Gesicht beginnt, mit meinen Säften zu glänzen.<\/p>

\"Jetzt fang an, meinen Kitzler zu saugen. SCHLURF MEINE SÄFTE, wag es nicht, irgendwelche meiner kostbaren Säfte zu verschwenden! Ein Pussy-Sklave schätzt alles von der heiligen Pussy seiner Göttin\"<\/p>

Sie straddelt das Gesicht des Sklaven, Ihre Beine von der Bank hängen, vollständig Ihr Gesicht mit Ihrer Pussy und 5'10 Rahmen verdeckend. <\/p>

\"SAUG MEINEN KLITZ! HÄRTER!\"<\/p>

Sie hat ein paar kleine Zuckungen, Stöhnen und Schnaufen auf seinem Gesicht, während er Geräusche macht, um die reichlichen Mengen süßen Pussy-Nektars aufzusaugen, die aus meiner süßen Pussy fließen, die angefangen hat, sich wie eine Blume zu öffnen. Sie dreht sich um und setzt sich auf allen Vieren über das Gesicht des Sklaven.<\/p>

\"Jetzt werde ich dein Gesicht ficken, hin und her. Halte deine verdammte Zunge die ganze Zeit draußen, wenn du deine Eier schätzt. Jetzt, sage mir, WER BESITZT DICH?\"<\/p>

\"Du und dein Pussy, Herrin\"<\/p>

\"Das ist richtig!\"<\/p>

Sie fängt an, Ihr Pussy über das Gesicht des Sklaven zu schieben, hin und her, als würde Sie einen Schuh polieren, das Gesicht des Sklaven glänzend mit Ihren klebrigen Geheimnissen, die dicker und dicker werden. Sie landet schließlich auf dem Gesicht des Sklaven:<\/p>

\"Zunge ficke mich, Sklave. Kein Atmen für dich, bis ich mit deinen Bemühungen zufrieden bin\"<\/p>

(Fortsetzung in Teil II)<\/p>

 <\/p>"