Femdom Ass Worship #13, Scene #01

POV—Kristina Rose stares you down, petite and barely five-foot-nothing, barking orders the second the clip rolls. “Sniff that asshole, bitch.” Voice bright, filthy, pure provocation. She perches right over the lens, spreads, and feeds you her scent until the humiliation stings as sharp as her smile. Cut to the ex: broke, begging a couch. Kristina laughs in his face, crowns him “my little house bitch,” and the rules snap into place—no rent, just tongue service. She plants her bare, sweat-damp foot on his lips, wiggles painted toes, demands he suck each one clean. He licks between them while she leans back, pupils dark with ownership. She peels off soaked panties, waves them under his nose, then jams the crotch against his mouth. One stray pube sticks to his tongue; she watches him choke it down, eyes gleaming. A slap—quick, stinging—then a wet spit lands across his cheek. She shoves his head to the cushions, sits full-weight, grinds until his nose disappears and his gasps come muffled between her cheeks. She rocks, growls, uses him until the itch turns white-hot. No more fake moans. She rides until she cums hard, nails digging into his scalp, thighs quivering. Only then does she reach for the sad, twitching worm between his legs. Three brisk strokes—he spurts across his own stomach. Kristina wipes her palm on his ribs like she’s cleaning grease off a tool and stands, already bored, already planning the next order.