19-year-old Goddess Minx loved using it as furniture so much that She’s decided to keep it. Tonight She’s training it to be Her personal face chair, and it’s going to learn that a chair doesn’t get to breathe unless She allows it.

It’s laid out on its back across the ottoman, blindfolded and collared, wrists cuffed and chained above its head to the metal frame. It can’t move, can’t see, and can’t get Her off it. Goddess Minx strolls up with Her platinum blonde hair swinging, in a lavender crop top and the tiniest white booty shorts, stretched tight over Her round, firm *ss and thick golden-tan thighs. She looks down at it, smirks, and steps over its head.

“Look at you. Chained to my ottoman like the piece of furniture you are. Let’s see if you’re any good at it.”

She starts by straddling its face with Her back to the camera, hovering for a second so it can hear Her above it. Then She lowers Her *ss onto its face and puts down all Her weight. Her firm *ss seals its nose and mouth c*mpletely, and its airways are shut. The thin white fabric of Her booty shorts is already damp with sweat, and the musk of Her sweaty p*ssy and *ss seeps through it, thick and hot, the only thing it can smell. She grinds down and rocks back and forth to settle in, and it can feel every inch of Her pressing into its face.

“Smell that? That’s all the air you get. Sweaty *ss breath. Breathe it in, you f*cking chair.”

It strains against the cuffs, chain rattling against the metal frame, fists clenching above its head. Its lungs b*rn with every breath it can’t take, its chest heaves, and its head pounds. Oxygen-starved and dizzy, it j*rks and bucks under Her. The harder it fights, the harder She sits.

“Chairs don’t wiggle. Hold still.”

Then She stands, squats over its face with Her thighs spread and Her shorts hovering an inch above its nose, and lets it feel Her heat. She holds the squat just long enough for it to gasp. Then She drops and slams down onto its face with Her full weight, sealing its airways again. It lets out a muffled groan against Her. She grins and does it again. She squats, hovers, drops, and sits, over and over, and every time She lands, it loses the l*ttle air it got.

“Up, down, up, down. Get used to it. This is all you’re good for.”

She swings around to face the camera and straddles its face again, this time with Her sweaty p*ssy crushing its mouth and nose, Her toned thighs clamped around its head. She grinds Her crotch into it, rocking and rolling, and the smell of Her p*ssy soaks through the fabric into every breath it can’t take. She holds its chained wrists down against the ottoman so it can’t even struggle.

“Now you get my p*ssy. Smell how sweaty it is. That’s what you’re for, p*ssy face.”

Then She pulls out Her phone and snaps pictures of Her new face chair, sitting on it, and sends them straight to Her girlfriend. Then She calls her, still sitting on its face with all Her weight. “Babe, look what I made. It doesn’t talk, it doesn’t move, and it smells like my p*ssy. Yes, it’s breathing. Barely. ... Oh, you want one too? You can borrow it.” It’s gasping and desperate, and She’s chatting like it’s not even there.

Then She starts filming. She holds the phone up to the camera, films it struggling under Her *ss, and talks to Her followers. “Look at my new chair, guys. I’m posting this on my socials tonight. Everyone’s going to see how pathetic you look under my *ss.” It feels the humiliation b*rn as it struggles, chained and blindfolded, while She posts it for the world to see.

She leans back, stretches Her legs out over its body, and rests Her heels on its stomach. She’s sitting on its face with Her back to it and Her feet propped up on its chest, still scrolling Her phone, with all Her weight pressing down and no gap at all. Its airways are c*mpletely sealed. It strains and heaves, chain clanking, and gets nothing.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re my chair. You’re going to sit here and take it until I’m done.”

When it tries to gasp, She reaches back and smacks its stomach hard.

“Did I say you could breathe like that? Quiet.”

Then She lifts Her *ss just far enough to shake it in its face, then drops back down, twerking and bouncing, grinding Her sweaty *ss and p*ssy into it every time it tries to catch a breath. Each time, She lets it get a half-second of air, then slams back down and seals it off again.

“Thank me for every breath. Every single one.”

“Thank you, Goddess.”

“Louder. You didn’t mean that. Tell me how lucky you are to be my chair.”

“Thank you for using me as your chair, Goddess.”

“Better. Now say it again, and keep saying it until I’m done with you.”

By the end it’s gasping, desperate, and c*mpletely helpless under Her sweaty *ss and p*ssy, straining at the bonds, lungs on fire, head spinning. It’s been used, filmed, posted, and thanked Her for all of it, and Goddess Minx has never loved a chair so much.

Sm*ther Foot Fetish Face Sitting Sweaty *ss and P*ssy Face Chair for Goddess Minx (HD 1080P Mp4) with C4s.com

Smther Foot Fetish Face Sitting Sweaty ss and P*ssy Face Chair for Goddess Minx (HD 1080P Mp4) with C4s.com