Massage Parlor Domme Blake Blossom

Glenn King walks into Mean Bitch Massage Parlor, orders the deluxe package, the one where the client surrenders total control. Blake is waiting—pale skin, hair loose, not a stitch she can’t strip in seconds. She starts like any pro, palms gliding, warming the oil, yet minutes later she’s peeled bare and dragging her slick body along his spine, tits heavy against his ribs, nipples catching. He feels every ridge of her, sliding. The twist comes when she orders the flip and he watches that perfect ass descend, slow, deliberate, until his nose presses straight into her tight, oiled pucker. "Aromatherapy," she purrs, voice like smoke, and grinds backward, painting his mouth and cheeks with warm oil and skin. "How’s that massage feel?" He groans something senseless. She lifts just enough for words. "Tell me you’ll do anything." He does. Weak. Owned. "Good. Give me your car." No hesitation left. She laughs, turns, clamps his cock between her soles, slick feet working him in short strokes. He throbs, hips jerking. She leans, lets her slick lips brush the head, kisses, no entry, then snaps her oily toes between his teeth, gagging him. Next her thick, dark muff covers his face, rocking, smearing cunt across nose and mouth till every breath smells like sex and sweat. She flips to her knees, spreads, orders him in. He pushes tongue deep into that ringed hole, obedient, hungry, face planted like worship. "Deeper, asslicker," she commands, rocking on his mouth, chuckling at the wet sounds. "Make out with it." He kisses, tongues, lost. Finally she drops all weight onto his face, smothering, while her fist jacks his cock until he spills across his own stomach, shaking, owned.