Boss Girls Productions - Jeanssitting hell

Boss Girls Productions: Jeanssitting Hell

Mistress Amy, the boss of Boss Girls Productions, was in a particularly perverse mood today. She had called her slave into her office for some 'special' treatment. The poor bastard didn't know what he was in for as he nervously entered the room. Mistress Amy was lounging on her leather couch, dressed casually yet provocatively in a pair of tight, skinny jeans that hugged her pert ass. Her eyes gleamed with wicked anticipation as she motioned for the slave to approach. "Bend over, slave," she commanded, her voice dripping with honeyed venom. The slave obeyed, his heart racing as he lowered his head between her spread thighs. He could already feel the cold hardness of her zipper against his cheek. Mistress Amy chuckled darkly, running her hands through her long, silken hair. She kept his head pinned in place with one hand while she ran the other up and down his spine, grabbing handfuls of his shirt. Her ass pressed firmly against his face, her tight denim covering his nostrils, making it difficult to breathe properly. She grinded her hips against his face, relishing in the sight of his struggles as he tried to keep up with her movements. She could feel him attempting to push away, but she didn't budge an inch. Her strong thighs held him firmly in place, leaving him with no choice but to succumb to her demands. Suddenly, Mistress Amy leaned back slightly, teasing him by just brushing the tip of her cock-shaped stiletto heel against his lips. She laughed cruelly before descending upon him once again, driving her ass hard into his face. The slave couldn't help but feel a sharp pain shoot through his jaw as her denim-clad ass repeatedly plowed into his face. She started to grind her hips slowly at first, rotating her pelvis in circles. Then, she sped up, gyrating her ass in a frenzied motion that left the slave dizzy and breathless. He felt her ass cheeks slap against his cheeks as she bounced up and down, her buttcheeks clapping together with each thrust. Every now and then, she'd lean back again, using those same, cruel heels to tease and torment him. She'd run the tips of her shoes up and down his chest, drawing invisible patterns on his skin. The slave whimpered softly, begging for mercy between each grunt of agony. With a sinister smirk, Mistress Amy reached down, grabbed a handful of his hair, and pulled his face hard into her crotch. She groaned in pleasure as she slid her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp as her ass continued to violate his face. Her hips moved faster and faster, the rhythm becoming more and more erratic. The slave could feel her approaching climax; he could feel the warmth emanating from between her legs as she grew closer and closer. He knew that when she came, it would be hell for him. And he was right. Mistress Amy exploded into a fit of pleasure, her body shaking violently as her orgasm rippled through her. She threw her head back, letting out an animalistic growl as she came hard, her ass pounding against the slave's face relentlessly. Finally, she collapsed onto his chest, panting heavily. She pulled away, leaving the slave gasping for air and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. She had left marks on his face – deep, purple hickeys from where her thighs had pressed down on his cheeks and nose. Mistress Amy climbed off the slave, her breathing still labored from the intense orgasm. She stood above him, one hand on her slim hips and the other on her forehead, still catching her breath. She looked down at the pathetic wimp lying at her feet and smiled coldly. "Jeanssitting hell," she murmured softly, running her hand over the remnants of her jeans on his lips and chin. The slave groaned, feeling the rough denim against his sensitive skin. Mistress Amy chuckled darkly before turning and walking away, leaving the slave to lick his wounds and contemplate what on earth he had just been through.