Bound and dripping, the curvy brunette goddess in full glossy black latex catsuit and opera-length gloves owns her thick, hairy-chested sub. Her massive tits strain the sheer mesh while her plump round ass arches perfectly as she leans over the ornate wooden chair. With both slick latex hands wrapped around his throbbing cock and another glove gripping his throat, she milks him mercilessly while their tongues swirl in a deep sloppy kiss. His ankles are spread and roped to the chair legs, feet flexed, body glistening with oil and precum. The dark studio set glows under moody lighting as she edges him closer with every slow, shiny stroke. This intense femdom handjob scene is pure latex worship and total surrender.
"I am the queen of spitting. Not only is my accuracy excellent, but so is the amount of saliva I produce!" ~ Lady Stefanie @LadyStefanieDom
Find more: https://t.co/Bo49ZNY8Oo
Video link: https://t.co/nia9j6qS9L
Spoil her: https://t.co/BNLZfjNZXj
✅21RBA❤️❤️https://t.co/4ZNwBicUop
✅My friend’s boyfriend is completely tied up, lying helpless on the floor, totally at our mercy. The three of us — me, Rebecca, and Julia — stand over him like goddesses, looking down at this pathetic, squirming little worm.
Bertie is standing full weight on his chest — her heels digging painfully into his ribs, crushing the air out of him. He gasps and wheezes, struggling to breathe, but she just laughs loudly and cruelly right in his face: “Stay down, you worthless piece of shit! You’re nothing but a doormat under my feet.”
Meanwhile, Rebecca and Julia lean in and start spitting hard into his face — thick, heavy, merciless loads. Stringy white globs of saliva and phlegm slap onto his cheeks, eyes, nose, straight into his open mouth. They take turns aiming: one hocks into his left eye, the other into his mouth, then switch. Spit pours down like a river, covering his entire face, dripping into his hair and ears. He chokes, coughs, tries to turn away, but Bertie presses her feet down harder on his chest, pinning him motionless.
“Open wider, bitch! Catch our divine spit!” Julia laughs, shoving her bare foot deep into his mouth. Rebecca immediately follows — the second foot forces its way in, stretching his mouth to the limit.He suffocates, eyes bulging, tears streaming, while both girls push their feet deeper, wiping them on his tongue, making him suck their toes and swallow his own drool mixed with their thick loogies.
Bertie stands on his chest laughing loudly, watching him writhe helplessly under their feet like the useless piece of meat he is. She occasionally shifts her weight, crushing him even harder into the floor so he feels every kilogram.
The three of us smear the spit all over his face with our hands and feet — grinding the thick, wet mess into his skin, eyes, and nostrils. We kick his cheeks, slap his head and shoulders. Every kick is followed by our mocking laughter. He groans, wheezes, and cries from helplessness and pain, and we just enjoy every desperate sound he makes.
“Look at him,” Bertie says through her laughter, “completely broken, choking on our spit and our feet. He exists only to be tortured by us. He has no voice, no right to air, nothing except our contempt and our spit.”
We keep going again and again: spitting, forcing our feet down his throat, crushing, kicking, smearing. He no longer fights back — he just cries and swallows everything we give him. Total surrender. Total destruction.
He is our personal doormat, spittoon, and foot toy. And we haven’t even really started yet.
😈