Queen Irene and Goddess Obsidian are fresh from a workout, still flushed and sweaty in Their tight little booty shorts, and They've already made the slave worship Their filthy, sweat-soaked socks until it gagged on the stink. Now They want its face. It's cuffed behind its back, blindfolded, collared and leashed, and flat on the floor. Each Goddess holds a wicked riding crop, and it's about to find out how much They enjoy using them.

Queen Irene goes first. She stands over its face and takes Her time, letting it hear Her laughing above it and letting it feel the heat coming off Her before She lowers Her round, perfect ass right down onto it. The damp white shorts are stretched tight across Her cheeks, and She drops Her full weight. Its nose and mouth vanish between Her cheeks and its airways seal shut.

Fifteen seconds. It bucks and kicks against the carpet while She sits there like it's a cushion, wiggling Her hips to get comfortable and grinding Herself deeper over its mouth.

Goddess Obsidian isn't going to let the moment go to waste. She climbs onto its chest in Her sweaty white socks and stands there, the leash chain in one hand and the crop in the other, pressing Her weight down on its ribs every time it tries to heave in air that isn't there. She yanks the collar tight to pull its face harder up into Irene's ass. Then She steps down onto its stomach and grinds Her sock into it until it squirms, and takes the crop across its thighs just to hear the muffled yelp come out from under Irene.

"Did I say you could move?"

When Irene finally lifts off, it's gasping and choking, and it doesn't get to catch its breath.

"Thank Her. Now."

"Thank you Queen Irene for sitting on my worthless face with your perfect ass! Please smother me even longer this time!"

"I can't fucking hear you. How long do you want me to sit on your face with my perfect ass?"

It screams it louder. Still not good enough. Every answer is too quiet, too slow, not grateful enough, and every failure earns the crop. Both Goddesses lay stripe after stripe across its chest, stomach and thighs, laughing at how it jerks and howls, until its body is covered in angry red welts and it's shrieking out its gratitude just to make the whipping stop.

Then it's Goddess Obsidian's turn. She straddles its head, sinks Her sweaty little shorts down over its mouth, and settles in with Her whole weight, knees pinning its head to the floor. Its chest heaves under Her and its cuffed hands claw uselessly at the carpet.

Queen Irene relaxes back on the couch like She's watching TV and props Her bare feet up on it as Her personal foot rest. She crosses Her ankles on its stomach, digs Her heel into its crotch, and flexes Her toes against its boxers while it chokes. Every time its hips jerk from lack of air, She presses down harder and taps the crop against its welts, slow and bored.

"Stop squirming. You're ruining my foot rest."

She counts out loud, lazily, taunting it the whole way through while it thrashes under Obsidian's ass.

"Still breathing? Guess She needs to sit longer."

Every round is longer than the last. Every round it has to beg louder for the next one, and every round the begging gets rejected. Every round the other Goddess finds a new way to use it while it's trapped. She stands on its chest in Her dirty socks, uses its stomach and crotch as a foot rest, drags the leash to pull its face up tighter into the ass sealing it shut, and whips the crop down on welts that are already raw. It never gets a second where only one of Them is using it.

By the end it's buried under a young, sweat-damp ass for seventy full seconds, blind, cuffed, leashed and whipped raw. One Goddess seals its airways shut with Her full weight, the other stands on its body and cracks the crop across its thighs, and it's thrashing on the carpet with two Goddesses fresh from the gym treating its face as a seat, its body as furniture and its breathing as something They hand out when They feel like it.

It only breathes when They decide it's begged well enough.

So far it hasn't.

Queen Irene and Goddess Obsidian are fresh from a workout, still flushed and sweaty in Their tight little booty shorts, and They've already made the slave worship Their filthy, sweat-soaked socks until it gagged on the stink. Now They want its face. It's cuffed behind its back, blindfolded, collared and leashed, and flat on the floor. Each Goddess holds a wicked riding crop, and it's about to find out how much They enjoy using them.

Queen Irene goes first. She stands over its face and takes Her time, letting it hear Her laughing above it and letting it feel the heat coming off Her before She lowers Her round, perfect ass right down onto it. The damp white shorts are stretched tight across Her cheeks, and She drops Her full weight. Its nose and mouth vanish between Her cheeks and its airways seal shut.

Fifteen seconds. It bucks and kicks against the carpet while She sits there like it's a cushion, wiggling Her hips to get comfortable and grinding Herself deeper over its mouth.

Goddess Obsidian isn't going to let the moment go to waste. She climbs onto its chest in Her sweaty white socks and stands there, the leash chain in one hand and the crop in the other, pressing Her weight down on its ribs every time it tries to heave in air that isn't there. She yanks the collar tight to pull its face harder up into Irene's ass. Then She steps down onto its stomach and grinds Her sock into it until it squirms, and takes the crop across its thighs just to hear the muffled yelp come out from under Irene.

"Did I say you could move?"

When Irene finally lifts off, it's gasping and choking, and it doesn't get to catch its breath.

"Thank Her. Now."

"Thank you Queen Irene for sitting on my worthless face with your perfect ass! Please smother me even longer this time!"

"I can't fucking hear you. How long do you want me to sit on your face with my perfect ass?"

It screams it louder. Still not good enough. Every answer is too quiet, too slow, not grateful enough, and every failure earns the crop. Both Goddesses lay stripe after stripe across its chest, stomach and thighs, laughing at how it jerks and howls, until its body is covered in angry red welts and it's shrieking out its gratitude just to make the whipping stop.

Then it's Goddess Obsidian's turn. She straddles its head, sinks Her sweaty little shorts down over its mouth, and settles in with Her whole weight, knees pinning its head to the floor. Its chest heaves under Her and its cuffed hands claw uselessly at the carpet.

Queen Irene relaxes back on the couch like She's watching TV and props Her bare feet up on it as Her personal foot rest. She crosses Her ankles on its stomach, digs Her heel into its crotch, and flexes Her toes against its boxers while it chokes. Every time its hips jerk from lack of air, She presses down harder and taps the crop against its welts, slow and bored.

"Stop squirming. You're ruining my foot rest."

She counts out loud, lazily, taunting it the whole way through while it thrashes under Obsidian's ass.

"Still breathing? Guess She needs to sit longer."

Every round is longer than the last. Every round it has to beg louder for the next one, and every round the begging gets rejected. Every round the other Goddess finds a new way to use it while it's trapped. She stands on its chest in Her dirty socks, uses its stomach and crotch as a foot rest, drags the leash to pull its face up tighter into the ass sealing it shut, and whips the crop down on welts that are already raw. It never gets a second where only one of Them is using it.

By the end it's buried under a young, sweat-damp ass for seventy full seconds, blind, cuffed, leashed and whipped raw. One Goddess seals its airways shut with Her full weight, the other stands on its body and cracks the crop across its thighs, and it's thrashing on the carpet with two Goddesses fresh from the gym treating its face as a seat, its body as furniture and its breathing as something They hand out when They feel like it.

It only breathes when They decide it's begged well enough.

So far it hasn't.

The dungeon glows with deep red light. A muscular slave is tightly strapped face-up to the heavy bondage bench, wrists and ankles locked, thick black blindfold covering its eyes, and its pathetic cock locked in a tiny steel chastity cage that has been on for an entire week.

Queen Irene (shiny red PVC bikini top barely containing her breasts, black PVC shorts, long red PVC gloves, black leather flogger in hand) and Goddess Obsidian (skin-tight black PVC romper with a high-cut thong, riding crop ready) stand over their new piece of furniture.

Irene cracks the flogger across its stomach. “Look at it, Obsidian. This thing’s cock has been locked for a week and it still thinks it deserves attention. It will never fuck a pussy again. Today it learns its only purpose is to serve our superior pussies.”

She brings the riding crop down hard on its inner thighs, leaving bright red marks. “Got that, it? Thank your Owners for this honor.” The slave whimpers, “Thank you, Queen! Thank you, Goddess!”

Irene steps over its head and drops her full weight down, centering her crotch perfectly over its mouth and nose. Her legs hang straight down on either side of the bench, feet completely off the floor. The warm, damp black PVC shorts press tightly, completely sealing its airways under her pussy. “Sniff it, furniture. Smell the pussy you exist to worship.” Even through the steel cage, the rich scent of her pussy makes its locked peanut twitch and strain painfully, desperate but denied.

Goddess Obsidian laughs and whips its chest while Irene smothers it. “It’s already trying to get hard just from our scent. How pathetic. Furniture doesn’t get hard — it just serves.”

They take turns. Obsidian lowers herself and plants her full weight directly onto its face, centering her pussy and ass so it is completely engulfed. Her legs lift, feet dangling freely — every ounce of her body sealing its airways under her superior pussy. Its face is smashed deep into her crotch, showing it exactly how completely her pussy controls its breath. While one Goddess smothers it with long, escalating holds, the other sits on its chest or stomach and whips its locked cock, laughing as the cage twitches from the overwhelming pussy scent.

They rotate for several minutes, increasing the time until its world is nothing but their pussies and total denial.

Finally, they strap a double-sided dildo gag deep into its mouth. Irene pins its chest while Obsidian pulls her thong aside, sinks down onto the dildo, and rides its face hard. “Fuck my pussy with your face, it. Move!” Irene whips its body without mercy as Obsidian uses its head to pleasure herself, grinding until she cums hard, flooding the gag and its face with her juices.

They remove the gag and shove the cum-covered dildo down its throat. “Swallow every drop of superior pussy juice, it. You will never waste any.”

The Goddesses finish with long, full-weight facesits — legs dangling, crotches perfectly sealed, reminding it that its only purpose is to serve as their living furniture. Obsidian stands, adjusts her thong, and spits on its face. “We’re going to find real men now, it. Stay locked and useless.”

The camera lingers on the broken, juice-covered, whip-marked piece of furniture still strapped helplessly to the bench as the two Goddesses walk away laughing.

La Trappola È Stata Tesa

La Regina Irene attira il molestatore del college sul suo divano, sbattendo le ciglia mentre lui entra con aria da spaccone, già a vantarsi: “Diventerai la mia puttana sottomessa.” Crede di avere il controllo—finché la porta si spalanca. La Dea Obsidian fa il suo ingresso maestoso, frusta in mano, i Suoi occhi scuri che bruciano di fredda furia. “No,” Sussurra con voce colma di veleno, “tu diventerai LA NOSTRA puttana sottomessa.” Getta un telefono sul tavolino—il SUO telefono. Lo schermo illumina immagini inequivocabili: lui che recupera la sua telecamera illegale dagli spogliatoi femminili della squadra di pallavolo, lui che sorride compiaciuto mentre infila in tasca quel dispositivo che ha violato l’intimità di innumerevoli Donne Superiori. Il suo volto impallidisce. La Regina Irene si avvicina, la Sua voce una lama avvolta nella seta: “Andrai in prigione e laggiù sarai la puttana di qualcuno... a meno che tu non faccia esattamente ciò che ti diciamo noi.” L’aria nella stanza si appesantisce sotto il peso della sua rovina imminente. Non c'è trattativa. C'è solo sottomissione.

L'Inizio della Discesa

Gli fanno abbassare le ginocchia, poi lo costringono disteso sul morbido tappeto bianco—il suo nuovo dominio. Le manette scattano ai polsi, immobilizzandolo mentre comincia la prima lezione. “Devi imparare a rispettare le donne,” dichiara la Dea Obsidian, “e comincerai dal basso—con I nostri piedi.” La Regina Irene sale sulla sua schiena, la Sua pianta nuda preme lungo la spina dorsale mentre testa la sua resistenza. “Sei un ottimo tappeto,” riflette, spostando il peso e affondando il tallone nelle sue costole. Un'altra Dea si aggiunge, il Suo piede calzato di stiletto inchioda la scapola. Lui trasalisce, ma l'autentica umiliazione deve ancora cominciare.

L'Odore Sacro della Superiorità

La Regina Irene si accomoda sul divano, puntellando i Suoi piedi sudati e puzzolenti—racchiusi in calze bianche—direttamente davanti al suo viso. “Annusali,” ordina, muovendo le dita dai vivaci smalti rosso scuro. “Annusa il sudore dei Miei sacri piedi, puttana. Da ora in poi sarai IL nostro foot bitch.” Premette il tessuto umido contro il suo naso, la Sua voce tagliente per il disgusto. “Non sento nessun cazzo di annusamento.” Le narici gli si dilatano mentre l'afrore della Sua dominanza riempie i suoi polmoni, l'odore del lavoro di una Dea—l'allenamento di pallavolo, la Sua superiorità—diventa adesso la sua punizione. La Dea Obsidian sta in piedi sopra il suo corpo prostrato, il Suo peso schiaccia il petto mentre la Regina Irene gli strappa via la calza con i denti, il tessuto allungato tra le labbra come un guinzaglio. Gli agita la calza sporca davanti alla faccia. “Annusal’a,” ringhia. Obbedisce, inspirando la puzza acre e salata dell'impegno del Suo piede. Poi, con una crudele risata, gliele ficca in bocca. “Tienila lì dentro. Questo è il tuo nuovo gusto.”

Il Bagno di Lingua

Si scambiano posto. La Regina Irene a cavalcioni sul torace, le Sue cosce stringono le costole mentre la Dea Obsidian sale sul divano, il Suo piede coperto dalla calza sudata fluttua sopra il suo viso. “Annulla le Mie calze sudate, foot bitch,” ordina, premendovi la suola. Lui geme, ma l’alternativa è il carcere. Lei gli toglie la calza con la bocca, quindi intima: “Fuori la lingua.” Obbedisce, ed Ella trascina il tessuto sporco attraverso di essa, spalmando lo sporco accumulato durante la giornata sulle papille gustative. “Adesso togliela—con i denti.” Strappa il tessuto come un cane affamato, la dignità che svanisce con ogni filo. Ma non ha finito. “Fuori la lingua, zerbino,” ringhia, piantando la Sua pianta nuda e lucida direttamente su di essa. Pulisce il piede su e giù lungo la lingua come fosse uno strofinaccio, il sudore di una Dea ormai parte integrante della sua dieta permanente. La Regina Irene prende il turno, il Suo piede scorre sulla lingua, la Sua risata echeggia mentre lui soffoca col gusto della propria inferiorità.

Il Sesso Orale Forzato

La Dea Obsidian non è soddisfatta dalle sue prestazioni scadenti. “Apri quella cazzo di bocca,” urla, ma lui esita. Gli afferra la mascella, forzandola aperta mentre la Regina Irene inserisce il Suo piede all'interno, premendo fino a quando la gola gli si gonfia. La saliva cola lungo il mento mentre Lei scopacchia la sua bocca, le dita dei piedi che si arricciano sulla lingua. La Dea Obsidian posiziona entrambi i piedi ai lati della testa, bloccandolo in posizione mentre la Regina Irene possiede la sua gola, il Suo piede che va avanti e indietro come un pistone. Lui gorgoglia, lacrime gli rigano il volto, ma la Dea sorride soltanto. “Così, prendilo tutto, puttana.” Poi cambiano ruolo: la Dea Obsidian monta sul divano, sostituendo il piede della Regina Irene. Affonda la suola nella sua bocca, provocandogli ripetuti conati, le Sue unghie bianche con french immacolate conficcate nel suo petto mentre gli ricorda: “Questo è ciò che succede agli uomini che disprezzano le DONNE.”

Il Tappeto Umano

Sfiduciato e spezzato, giace riverso sotto di loro mentre lo usano come poggiapiedi, pianificando la mossa successiva. Le dita dipinte di rosso scuro della Regina Irene scavano nella sua gola mentre le unghie bianche con french della Dea Obsidian premono sul suo petto. “Con te non abbiamo ancora finito,” mormora, giocherellando con la frusta. “Ma per ora… sei il nostro tappeto.” La telecamera si sofferma sul suo volto sconfitto, segnato dalle lacrime, mentre le due Dee si scambiano un'occhiata complice. Il suo destino è sigillato. Non è più un uomo. È proprietà. E il suo nuovo scopo è venerare i piedi che hanno ridotto il suo ego in polvere.

La Trappola È Stata Tesa

La Regina Irene attira il molestatore del college sul suo divano, sbattendo le ciglia mentre lui entra con aria spavalda, vantandosi già: "Diventerai la mia puttana sottomessa." Pensa di avere il controllo—finché la porta non si apre. La Dea Obsidian fa il suo ingresso maestoso, frusta in mano, i Suoi occhi scuri ardono di fredda furia. "No," ringhia, voce colma di veleno, "SEI TU a dover diventare la nostra puttana sottomessa." Getta un telefono sul tavolino—il SUO telefono. Lo schermo brilla mostrando prove inequivocabili: lui che recupera la sua telecamera illegale dagli spogliatoi femminili della squadra di pallavolo, lui che sorride compiaciuto mentre infila in tasca quel dispositivo che ha violato l'intimità di innumerevoli Donne Superiori. Il suo volto impallidisce. La Regina Irene si avvicina, la Sua voce una lama avvolta nella seta: "Finirai in prigione e là sarai la puttana di qualcuno… a meno che tu non faccia esattamente ciò che ti diciamo noi." L'aria nella stanza si carica del peso della sua rovina imminente. Non c’è trattativa. C’è solo sottomissione.

L'Inizio della Discesa

Gli fanno abbassare le ginocchia, poi lo costringono disteso sul morbido tappeto bianco—il suo nuovo dominio. Le manette scattano ai polsi, immobilizzandolo mentre comincia la prima lezione. "Devi imparare a rispettare le donne," dichiara la Dea Obsidian, "e comincerai dal basso—con i nostri piedi." La Regina Irene sale sulla sua schiena, la Sua pianta nuda preme lungo la spina dorsale mentre testa la sua resistenza. "Sei un ottimo tappeto," commenta, spostando il peso e affondando il tallone nelle sue costole. Un'altra Dea si aggiunge, il Suo piede calzato di stiletto inchioda la scapola. Lui trasalisce, ma l'umiliazione vera deve ancora cominciare.

L'Aroma Sacro della Superiorità

La Regina Irene si accomoda sul divano, appoggiando direttamente sotto il naso i Suoi piedi sudati e maleodoranti—infilati in calze bianche. "Annusali," ordina, muovendo le dita dipinte di rosso scuro. "Annulla il sudore dei Miei sacri piedi, puttana. Da ora sei il nostro servitore dei piedi." Prende a strofinargli il tessuto umido contro il naso, la voce tagliente per il disgusto. "Non sento proprio nessun sniffare." Le sue narici si dilatano mentre l'odore muschiato della Sua dominanza gli riempie i polmoni, il sentore dell'impegno di una Dea—l'allenamento di pallavolo, la Sua superiorità—diventa adesso la sua punizione. La Dea Obsidian sta in piedi sopra il suo corpo prostrato, il Suo peso schiaccia il petto mentre la Regina Irene gli strappa via la calza con i denti, il tessuto allungato tra le labbra come un guinzaglio. Gli agita davanti al viso la calza sporca. "Annusalà," sibila. Obbedisce, inspirando il puzzo acre e salmastro del lavoro del Suo piede. Poi, con una crudele risata, gliele ficca in bocca. "Tienitela lì. Questo è il tuo nuovo gusto."

Il Bagno di Lingua

Si scambiano posto. La Regina Irene a cavalcioni sul torace, le Sue cosce stringono le costole mentre la Dea Obsidian sale sul divano, il Suo piede coperto dalla calza sudata fluttua sopra il suo viso. "Fiuta le mie calze sudate, servitore dei piedi," ordina, premendovi la suola. Lui geme, ma l'unica alternativa è il carcere. Lei gli toglie la calza con la bocca, quindi intima: "Fuori la lingua." Obbedisce, ed Ella trascina il tessuto sporco sulla lingua, spalmando lo sporco accumulato durante tutta la giornata sui suoi sensi gustativi. "Adesso levamelo—con i denti." Strappa il tessuto come un cane affamato, la dignità che svanisce filo dopo filo. Ma non ha finito. "Fuori la lingua, zerbino," ruggisce, piantando la Sua pianta nuda e lucida contro di essa. Pulisce il piede su e giù sulla lingua come fosse uno straccio, il sudore di una Dea ormai parte integrante della sua dieta permanente. La Regina Irene prende il turno, il Suo piede scorre sulla lingua, la Sua risata echeggia mentre lui soffoca col sapore della propria inferiorità.

Il Sesso Orale Forzato

La Dea Obsidian non è soddisfatta dalle prestazioni scadenti. "Apri quella cazzo di bocca," urla, ma lui esita. Gli afferra la mascella, forzandogliela aperta mentre la Regina Irene ci infila dentro il Suo piede, premendo fino a quando la gola gonfia. La saliva cola lungo il mento mentre Lei scopacchia la sua bocca, le dita dei piedi contratte sulla lingua. La Dea Obsidian posiziona entrambi i piedi ai lati della testa, bloccandolo mentre la Regina Irene possiede la sua gola, il piede che va avanti e indietro come un pistone. Lui gorgoglia, lacrime gli rigano il volto, ma la Dea sorride soltanto. "Così, prendilo tutto, puttana." Poi cambiano ruolo: la Dea Obsidian monta sul divano, sostituendo il piede alla Regina Irene. Affonda la suola nella bocca, provocandogli ripetuti conati, le Sue unghie bianche con french tip conficcate nel petto mentre gli ricorda: "È questo che succede agli uomini che disprezzano le Donne."

Il Tappeto Umano

Sfiduciato e spezzato, giace riverso sotto di loro mentre lo usano come poggiapiedi, pianificando la mossa successiva. Le dita dei piedi dipinti di rosso scuro della Regina Irene scavano nella sua gola mentre le unghie bianche con french tip della Dea Obsidian premono sul suo petto. "Con te non abbiamo ancora finito," mormora Lei, giocherellando con la frusta. "Ma per ora… sei il nostro tappeto." La telecamera si sofferma sul suo volto sconfitto, segnato dalle lacrime, mentre le due Dee si scambiano un'occhiata complice. Il suo destino è segnato. Non è più un uomo. È proprietà. E il suo nuovo scopo è venerare i piedi che hanno ridotto il suo ego in polvere.

Queen Irene's professor comes by to help tutor Her in a class She's fallen behind in, but She lost track of time and forgot; She was in the middle of a grueling workout when the prof came by. She apologizes for being so sweaty, as She sits down with him wearing just a skimpy yoga top and neon yellow yoga pants with black, sweat-soaked socks. The professor notices and Queen Irene says:

"One of my friends told Me My feet were smelly years ago and now I have a complex. Will you smell them for Me and make sure they don't smell bad?"

He is mesmerized by Her sweaty, black sock covered feet and touches them as She pushes one up into his face:

"Smell it....good, now deeply. Really inhale the essence fully. Do they smell bad?"

"No, they smell....wonderful"

"So you like My feet?"

"Oh my good YES...they're beautiful, they smell amazing...and ..."

"Would you like to serve My feet?"

"Oh my god, yes, definitely!"

"Then get on your knees in front of me"

She puts Her black, sweat-soaked socks into his face and nose, completely covering it with Her stinky socks.

"Smell them, sniff deeply"

He starts inhaling audibly over and over as She rubs them in his face. Then She tells him to take off his clothe and get on the ground. She has him strip down to his underwear and kneel in front of Her and puts a collar, leash and a pig mask on his head. She stands over him and. rubs each of Her sweaty socks into his face, making him stick his tongue out so She can use his tongue as a doormat. Then She sits on the sofa and has him open his mouth:

"Taste my dirty, sweaty sock, piggie....now the other one...which one tastes better?"

She makes him suck each dirty sock, pushing one down into his throat while She holds his head with Her other foot and begins logging him hard across his body. He tries to move his head to avoid the invading foot in his throat:
"Don't you DARE try to get away from my foot! Take my foot deeper down your pig throat and suck the sock clean!"

He is gagging and retching, trying to fit all Her sweaty toes into his mouth while She pulls on the leash. THen She puts both feet together and pries the pig's mouth open with Her toes:

"Ready for a sweaty sock sandwich? Open up, bitch"

She tries to push both feet down into the pigs throat, pulling hard on the leash as the clip fades out.

Queen Irene's professor comes by to help tutor Her in a class She's fallen behind in, but She lost track of time and forgot; She was in the middle of a grueling workout when the prof came by. She apologizes for being so sweaty, as She sits down with him wearing just a skimpy yoga top and neon yellow yoga pants with black, sweat-soaked socks. The professor notices and Queen Irene says:

"One of my friends told Me My feet were smelly years ago and now I have a complex. Will you smell them for Me and make sure they don't smell bad?"

He is mesmerized by Her sweaty, black sock covered feet and touches them as She pushes one up into his face:

"Smell it....good, now deeply. Really inhale the essence fully. Do they smell bad?"

"No, they smell....wonderful"

"So you like My feet?"

"Oh my good YES...they're beautiful, they smell amazing...and ..."

"Would you like to serve My feet?"

"Oh my god, yes, definitely!"

"Then get on your knees in front of me"

She puts Her black, sweat-soaked socks into his face and nose, completely covering it with Her stinky socks.

"Smell them, sniff deeply"

He starts inhaling audibly over and over as She rubs them in his face. Then She tells him to take off his clothe and get on the ground. She has him strip down to his underwear and kneel in front of Her and puts a collar, leash and a pig mask on his head. She stands over him and. rubs each of Her sweaty socks into his face, making him stick his tongue out so She can use his tongue as a doormat. Then She sits on the sofa and has him open his mouth:

"Taste my dirty, sweaty sock, piggie....now the other one...which one tastes better?"

She makes him suck each dirty sock, pushing one down into his throat while She holds his head with Her other foot and begins logging him hard across his body. He tries to move his head to avoid the invading foot in his throat:
"Don't you DARE try to get away from my foot! Take my foot deeper down your pig throat and suck the sock clean!"

He is gagging and retching, trying to fit all Her sweaty toes into his mouth while She pulls on the leash. THen She puts both feet together and pries the pig's mouth open with Her toes:

"Ready for a sweaty sock sandwich? Open up, bitch"

She tries to push both feet down into the pigs throat, pulling hard on the leash as the clip fades out.

Queen Irene's sissy had undergone its initial training, but Queen Irene feels the cunt needs to be brought down a peg or two. She's secured the bitch in twin spreader bars on the floor, wearing a black latex slave hood, secured in pink cuffs and collar, pretty pink sissy bra and matching pink satin camisole. She even put a pink, satin clitty-bonnet over it's pathetic excuse for a penis.

Queen Irene is seated above the bitch, glowering over imperiously. She wears fishnet stockings, a black PVC skirt, halter top and 5-inch, jet-black stilletto spike heels:

"You need to learn respect bitch, specifically for my perfect feet. I've worn these stockings and heels for a couple of days now...they're slimy and my feet are frankly disgusting. That's where you come in, foot whore. First lick my fucking shoe clean, cunt"

She extends Her shapely leg and pushes one of Her glossy black, 5-inch stiletto heels into its face. The slave licks up and down the sides, licks the soles clean, and then is ordered to remove the shoes with its teeth. She then places both sweaty, stinky and dirty stocking feet over the slave's face, completely nullifying it:

"Breathe in the smell of my sweaty, dirty feet slave. I want you to cherish EVERYTHING that comes from ME. Keep sniffing, pig"

She starts to smother the slave until its out of air and flailing away. She has the slave shower each foot with tiny kisses, like a lovers face. Then She gets a bit more serious:

"Open you whore mouth and keep your fucking tongue out"

She wipes Her grimy, slimy stinky foot on the slave's tongue, rubbing hard She wipes both feet on the slave's extended tongue.

"Swallow and thank Me for that honor you fucking $2 whore"

As soon as the bitch does, Queen Irene crams a stocking-clad foot into its mouth:

"Open up bitch! Now I want you take my ENTIRE FOOT down your throat. If you can't do it, we'll just have to keep trying"

She starts gagging poor slave, pulling on its leash to keep it from getting away from Her invading feet. She holds a foot behind the slave's head while stuffing the other foot into its mouth. The slave keeps choking and gagging, so She finally stops and smothers the slave again.

Queen Irene's sissy had undergone its initial training, but Queen Irene feels the cunt needs to be brought down a peg or two. She's secured the bitch in twin spreader bars on the floor, wearing a black latex slave hood, secured in pink cuffs and collar, pretty pink sissy bra and matching pink satin camisole. She even put a pink, satin clitty-bonnet over it's pathetic excuse for a penis.

Queen Irene is seated above the bitch, glowering over imperiously. She wears fishnet stockings, a black PVC skirt, halter top and 5-inch, jet-black stilletto spike heels:

"You need to learn respect bitch, specifically for my perfect feet. I've worn these stockings and heels for a couple of days now...they're slimy and my feet are frankly disgusting. That's where you come in, foot whore. First lick my fucking shoe clean, cunt"

She extends Her shapely leg and pushes one of Her glossy black, 5-inch stiletto heels into its face. The slave licks up and down the sides, licks the soles clean, and then is ordered to remove the shoes with its teeth. She then places both sweaty, stinky and dirty stocking feet over the slave's face, completely nullifying it:

"Breathe in the smell of my sweaty, dirty feet slave. I want you to cherish EVERYTHING that comes from ME. Keep sniffing, pig"

She starts to smother the slave until its out of air and flailing away. She has the slave shower each foot with tiny kisses, like a lovers face. Then She gets a bit more serious:

"Open you whore mouth and keep your fucking tongue out"

She wipes Her grimy, slimy stinky foot on the slave's tongue, rubbing hard She wipes both feet on the slave's extended tongue.

"Swallow and thank Me for that honor you fucking $2 whore"

As soon as the bitch does, Queen Irene crams a stocking-clad foot into its mouth:

"Open up bitch! Now I want you take my ENTIRE FOOT down your throat. If you can't do it, we'll just have to keep trying"

She starts gagging poor slave, pulling on its leash to keep it from getting away from Her invading feet. She holds a foot behind the slave's head while stuffing the other foot into its mouth. The slave keeps choking and gagging, so She finally stops and smothers the slave again.

Queen Irene has been helping out Her parents by doing some housekeeping at their boutique hotel while She's been on summer break. She's donned a sexy, black and white maid outfit and spike heels when a customer starts harassing Her and trying to grab Her. She politely refuses, and when he leaves for a moment She slips a mickey in his drink.

When he comes to, She has him in pink sissy lingerie, a latex bondage hood, a pink collar with rhinestones, and pink leg and wrist cuffs, the wrists attached to a red spreader bar. She is sitting on his chest and has changed out of the maid's outfit into a black, PVC halter top, skirt and perhaps the same black, stiletto, 5-inch spike heels. He starts sputtering, asking what's going on and finally recognizes Her:

"The maid? What the fuck? What are you doing to me?"

"You thought I was some dumb immigrant maid, huh? My parents own this hotel, and I'm just helping out. I'm gonna make you my sissy bitch. You're gonna find out what it feels like to be a vulnerable, submissive, and extremely feminine prissy, sissy girl."

"What the fuck? You're not gonna do fucking thing to me bitch, I'm gonna get even with you!"

She sits on his face, completely smothering him and sealing his airways. He starts making muffled screaming sounds, bucking wildly and trying to get free, but with his arms in the spreader bars and Her full weight on his face and arms, She easily keeps him pinned, pushing his arms back painfully as he struggles:

"There's nothing you can do bitch, you'd better understand who has the power right now and who doesn't. You're going to be a girl. You're going to talk, walk and suck cock just like a real girl does. Now repeat after Me, 'I am not a man, I am a prissy, sissy girl'"

"Fuck that! I'm not saying that BS! I'm a man!"

She sits back down on his face and starts smothering him again, but this time She starts whipping his thighs with a long, wicked, black and white riding crop, leaving painful, bright-red welts while She giggles at his muffled screams coming from under Her. She rises up again, leaving him coughing and gasping for air whlie She grabs some clothes pins. She sits back down on his face as he screeches in protest, and puts a little pink bonnet on his cock. Then She starts decorating it painfully with clothespin after clothespin. She lets off of hi again and asks him:

"Now, tell me who's not a man? Who's my pretty sissy girl?"

"I am not a man Queen Irene, I'm You pretty sissy girl"

"That's right, whore"

She says as She sits back down on the sissy's face. She keeps adding more clothespins, smothering the bitch for longer and longer times, and finally seems satisfied that She's broken the slave's will, at least for now.

She climbs off the slave and removes the clothespins from the slave's cock, which hurts even more. Laughing at the sissy's pain, She strolls out, warning the bitch that this is only the beginning.

Queen Irene has been helping out Her parents by doing some housekeeping at their boutique hotel while She's been on summer break. She's donned a sexy, black and white maid outfit and spike heels when a customer starts harassing Her and trying to grab Her. She politely refuses, and when he leaves for a moment She slips a mickey in his drink.

When he comes to, She has him in pink sissy lingerie, a latex bondage hood, a pink collar with rhinestones, and pink leg and wrist cuffs, the wrists attached to a red spreader bar. She is sitting on his chest and has changed out of the maid's outfit into a black, PVC halter top, skirt and perhaps the same black, stiletto, 5-inch spike heels. He starts sputtering, asking what's going on and finally recognizes Her:

"The maid? What the fuck? What are you doing to me?"

"You thought I was some dumb immigrant maid, huh? My parents own this hotel, and I'm just helping out. I'm gonna make you my sissy bitch. You're gonna find out what it feels like to be a vulnerable, submissive, and extremely feminine prissy, sissy girl."

"What the fuck? You're not gonna do fucking thing to me bitch, I'm gonna get even with you!"

She sits on his face, completely smothering him and sealing his airways. He starts making muffled screaming sounds, bucking wildly and trying to get free, but with his arms in the spreader bars and Her full weight on his face and arms, She easily keeps him pinned, pushing his arms back painfully as he struggles:

"There's nothing you can do bitch, you'd better understand who has the power right now and who doesn't. You're going to be a girl. You're going to talk, walk and suck cock just like a real girl does. Now repeat after Me, 'I am not a man, I am a prissy, sissy girl'"

"Fuck that! I'm not saying that BS! I'm a man!"

She sits back down on his face and starts smothering him again, but this time She starts whipping his thighs with a long, wicked, black and white riding crop, leaving painful, bright-red welts while She giggles at his muffled screams coming from under Her. She rises up again, leaving him coughing and gasping for air whlie She grabs some clothes pins. She sits back down on his face as he screeches in protest, and puts a little pink bonnet on his cock. Then She starts decorating it painfully with clothespin after clothespin. She lets off of hi again and asks him:

"Now, tell me who's not a man? Who's my pretty sissy girl?"

"I am not a man Queen Irene, I'm You pretty sissy girl"

"That's right, whore"

She says as She sits back down on the sissy's face. She keeps adding more clothespins, smothering the bitch for longer and longer times, and finally seems satisfied that She's broken the slave's will, at least for now.

She climbs off the slave and removes the clothespins from the slave's cock, which hurts even more. Laughing at the sissy's pain, She strolls out, warning the bitch that this is only the beginning.