Personal Trainer Brandi Mae

Marcelo knows he’ll never land a woman unless he fixes his soft body, so he joins MeanBitch Gym and books Brandi Mae. One look at her massive tits and granite abs stops him cold. She takes one glance and snorts, “Bitchboy, you’re fucking hopeless.” “Drop and give me push-ups,” she orders. Every time his chest hits the floor, her boot thumps down and he has to plant a kiss on the sweaty leather. “Subservient little loser slut,” she laughs. Next she kicks off the boots and shoves her damp toes in his mouth between reps, making sure the smell of sweat and vinyl coats his tongue. Bench presses come after. She straddles the rack, sweat-slick pussy hovering above his face while he wheezes out weak reps. She spins, plants her bare ass on his mouth, and smears it slow and deliberate, smirking at every shake in his arms. Sit-ups follow. On each crunch she snaps, “Kiss that hole,” and he has to count aloud, lips smacking her puckered ring. Then she pins him flat and tells him to tongue it clean while she calls him an oinker pig. She makes him sniff—deep, humiliating sniffs—before burying his nose and laughing at the sound of him choking on her scent. She drops her heavy, muscled ass over his face, demanding his tongue work while she mocks him. Bike time next: she sits backward on the seat, cheeks parted right over his nose as he pedals. Finally she flattens him for leg scissors—thick, veined quads crushing his throat while she taunts him through every squeeze.