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.

The Trap is Set

Queen Irene lures the college creep to her sofa, batting her eyelashes as he swaggers in, already bragging, “You’re gonna be my down bitch.” He thinks he’s in control—until the door swings open. Goddess Obsidian strides in, flogger in hand, Her dark eyes burning with cold fury. “No,” She purrs, voice dripping with venom, “YOU are gonna be our down bitch.” She tosses a phone onto the coffee table—his phone. The screen glows with undeniable footage: him retrieving his illicit camera from the women’s volleyball locker room, him smirking as he pockets the device that invaded the privacy of countless Superior Women. His face pales. Queen Irene leans in, Her voice a blade wrapped in silk: “You’re gonna go to jail and be someone’s bitch in there... unless you do exactly what we tell you.” The room thickens with the weight of his impending ruin. There is no negotiation. There is only submission.

The Descent Begins

They make him drop to his knees, then flat onto the plush white rug—his new domain. The cuffs click around his wrists, binding him as the first lesson begins. “You need to learn how to respect women,” Goddess Obsidian declares, “and you’re gonna start at the bottom—with our feet.” Queen Irene steps onto his back, Her bare sole pressing into his spine as She tests his durability. “You make a great carpet,” She muses, shifting Her weight, grinding Her heel into his ribs. The other Goddess joins, Her stiletto-clad foot pinning his shoulder blade. He winces, but the real humiliation hasn’t even begun.

The Sacred Stench of Superiority

Queen Irene sinks onto the sofa, propping Her sweaty, stinky feet—encased in white socks—directly in his face. “Smell them,” She commands, wiggling Her dark red-painted toes. “Smell the sweat from My sacred feet, bitch. You’re gonna be our foot bitch now.” She grinds the damp fabric into his nose, Her voice sharp with disgust. “I don’t hear you fucking sniffing.” His nostrils flare as the musk of Her dominance fills his lungs, the scent of a Goddess’s labor—Her volleyball practice, Her superiority—now his punishment. Goddess Obsidian stands on his prone body, Her weight crushing his chest as Queen Irene peels off Her sock with his teeth, the fabric stretched between his lips like a leash. She dangles the dirty sock in front of his face. “Smell it,” She hisses. He obeys, inhaling the rank, salty funk of Her foot’s work. Then, with a cruel laugh, She shoves it into his mouth. “Keep it there. That’s your new flavor.”

The Tongue Bath

They trade places. Queen Irene straddles his torso, Her thighs squeezing his ribs as Goddess Obsidian ascends the sofa, Her sweaty, sock-covered foot hovering over his face. “Sniff My sweaty socks, foot bitch,” She orders, pressing the sole down. He whimpers, but the alternative is prison. She peels off the sock with his mouth, then orders, “Stick out your tongue.” He obeys, and She drags the dirty fabric across it, smearing the day’s grime onto his taste buds. “Now take it off—with your teeth.” He gnaws at the fabric like a starving dog, his dignity dissolving with every thread. But She’s not done. “Stick out your tongue, doormat,” She snarls, planting Her bare, glistening sole against it. She wipes Her foot up and down his tongue like it’s a rag, the sweat of a Goddess now part of his permanent diet. Queen Irene takes Her turn, Her foot sliding over his tongue, Her laughter echoing as he gags on the taste of his own inferiority.

The Throat Fucking

Goddess Obsidian isn’t satisfied with his lackluster performance. “Open your fucking mouth,” She barks, but he hesitates. She grips his jaw, wrenching it wide as Queen Irene wedges Her foot inside, pressing down until his throat bulges. Saliva drips down his chin as She fucks his mouth, Her toes curling against his tongue. Goddess Obsidian plants both feet on either side of his head, locking him in place as Queen Irene owns his throat, Her foot pistoning in and out. He gurgles, tears streaming, but the Goddess only smiles. “That’s it, take it all, bitch.” Then She switches, Goddess Obsidian mounting the sofa, Her foot replacing Queen Irene’s. She grinds Her sole into his mouth, making him gag repeatedly, her white French-tipped nails digging into his chest as She reminds him: “This is what happens to men who disrespect Women.”

The Human Rug

Exhausted and broken, he lies sprawled beneath them as they use him as a footrest, planning their next move. Queen Irene’s dark red-painted toes dig into his throat while Goddess Obsidian’s white French-tipped nails press into his chest. “We’re not done with you yet,” She murmurs, twirling the flogger. “But for now... you’re our carpet.” The camera lingers on his defeated, tear-streaked face as the two Goddesses exchange a knowing glance. His fate is sealed. He is no longer a man. He is property. And his new purpose is to worship the feet that have crushed his ego into the dust.

The Trap is Set

Queen Irene lures the college creep to her sofa, batting her eyelashes as he swaggers in, already bragging, “You’re gonna be my down bitch.” He thinks he’s in control—until the door swings open. Goddess Obsidian strides in, flogger in hand, Her dark eyes burning with cold fury. “No,” She purrs, voice dripping with venom, “YOU are gonna be our down bitch.” She tosses a phone onto the coffee table—his phone. The screen glows with undeniable footage: him retrieving his illicit camera from the women’s volleyball locker room, him smirking as he pockets the device that invaded the privacy of countless Superior Women. His face pales. Queen Irene leans in, Her voice a blade wrapped in silk: “You’re gonna go to jail and be someone’s bitch in there... unless you do exactly what we tell you.” The room thickens with the weight of his impending ruin. There is no negotiation. There is only submission.

The Descent Begins

They make him drop to his knees, then flat onto the plush white rug—his new domain. The cuffs click around his wrists, binding him as the first lesson begins. “You need to learn how to respect women,” Goddess Obsidian declares, “and you’re gonna start at the bottom—with our feet.” Queen Irene steps onto his back, Her bare sole pressing into his spine as She tests his durability. “You make a great carpet,” She muses, shifting Her weight, grinding Her heel into his ribs. The other Goddess joins, Her stiletto-clad foot pinning his shoulder blade. He winces, but the real humiliation hasn’t even begun.

The Sacred Stench of Superiority

Queen Irene sinks onto the sofa, propping Her sweaty, stinky feet—encased in white socks—directly in his face. “Smell them,” She commands, wiggling Her dark red-painted toes. “Smell the sweat from My sacred feet, bitch. You’re gonna be our foot bitch now.” She grinds the damp fabric into his nose, Her voice sharp with disgust. “I don’t hear you fucking sniffing.” His nostrils flare as the musk of Her dominance fills his lungs, the scent of a Goddess’s labor—Her volleyball practice, Her superiority—now his punishment. Goddess Obsidian stands on his prone body, Her weight crushing his chest as Queen Irene peels off Her sock with his teeth, the fabric stretched between his lips like a leash. She dangles the dirty sock in front of his face. “Smell it,” She hisses. He obeys, inhaling the rank, salty funk of Her foot’s work. Then, with a cruel laugh, She shoves it into his mouth. “Keep it there. That’s your new flavor.”

The Tongue Bath

They trade places. Queen Irene straddles his torso, Her thighs squeezing his ribs as Goddess Obsidian ascends the sofa, Her sweaty, sock-covered foot hovering over his face. “Sniff My sweaty socks, foot bitch,” She orders, pressing the sole down. He whimpers, but the alternative is prison. She peels off the sock with his mouth, then orders, “Stick out your tongue.” He obeys, and She drags the dirty fabric across it, smearing the day’s grime onto his taste buds. “Now take it off—with your teeth.” He gnaws at the fabric like a starving dog, his dignity dissolving with every thread. But She’s not done. “Stick out your tongue, doormat,” She snarls, planting Her bare, glistening sole against it. She wipes Her foot up and down his tongue like it’s a rag, the sweat of a Goddess now part of his permanent diet. Queen Irene takes Her turn, Her foot sliding over his tongue, Her laughter echoing as he gags on the taste of his own inferiority.

The Throat Fucking

Goddess Obsidian isn’t satisfied with his lackluster performance. “Open your fucking mouth,” She barks, but he hesitates. She grips his jaw, wrenching it wide as Queen Irene wedges Her foot inside, pressing down until his throat bulges. Saliva drips down his chin as She fucks his mouth, Her toes curling against his tongue. Goddess Obsidian plants both feet on either side of his head, locking him in place as Queen Irene owns his throat, Her foot pistoning in and out. He gurgles, tears streaming, but the Goddess only smiles. “That’s it, take it all, bitch.” Then She switches, Goddess Obsidian mounting the sofa, Her foot replacing Queen Irene’s. She grinds Her sole into his mouth, making him gag repeatedly, her white French-tipped nails digging into his chest as She reminds him: “This is what happens to men who disrespect Women.”

The Human Rug

Exhausted and broken, he lies sprawled beneath them as they use him as a footrest, planning their next move. Queen Irene’s dark red-painted toes dig into his throat while Goddess Obsidian’s white French-tipped nails press into his chest. “We’re not done with you yet,” She murmurs, twirling the flogger. “But for now... you’re our carpet.” The camera lingers on his defeated, tear-streaked face as the two Goddesses exchange a knowing glance. His fate is sealed. He is no longer a man. He is property. And his new purpose is to worship the feet that have crushed his ego into the dust.

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.