Mean Bitches - Clothing Store Domme Luna Baby

Marcelo steps up to return a shirt. Luna Baby leans across the counter, voice like broken glass. "Returns? For little bitches like you? Not a chance." Marcelo's chin quivers. She smirks. "Look at that. Beta boys exist to serve real women. Get on your fucking knees." She turns, plants her 40-inch ass in his face. "Sniff." He does. She sighs, almost bored. "Good little bitch." A second later the order shifts: "Tongue out." Marcelo pushes in like a starving man. She grinds back, muffling his moan. "Floor," she snaps. He drops. She lifts one shoe, dirty sole hovering. "Lick." He drags his tongue along every tread; Luna's eyes darken with new disgust. When she peels the shoe away she brings bare toes to his nose. "Sniff those." He obeys. She laughs once, short and cruel, and shoves the ball of her foot into his open mouth. "Pathetic." She topples him backward and grinds her soles over his cheeks like she's scraping mud off a welcome mat. Then she peels her top off; her heavy breasts swing free. "Worship." Marcelo scrambles up, kisses and sucks until spit runs down his chin. "Back down," Luna orders, already hovering her ass above him. "Tell me what you're good for." Voice shaking: "Nothing." She drops, smothering him. "Tongue." The wet muscle pushes past her rim, sliding deep. She rocks, opening wider, giving him an obscene view of her cheeks split on his face. She clamps tight, shakes, orders him to inhale straight from her hole. Each cruel wiggle of her hips punctuates the word "loser." Luna slides a finger into her ass, pumps once, then shoves the glistening digit into his mouth. "Clean it." He sucks greedily. She seats herself again, full weight, and hisses, "I own you, bitch." A moment later she's on her side, thick thighs scissoring his skull, squeezing until the edges of his vision blur. Marcelo's moans are soaked up by skin and muscle. She finishes by straddling his face, jerking his cock with merciless strokes. When he finally spurts she keeps him pinned, breathing nothing but the scent of her hole while the last pathetic pulses paint his stomach. She wipes her palm across his chest and stands, already bored. "Next customer."