Madame Marissa - Slave smothered under my jeans ass

Madame Marissa smiled down at her helpless slave, her heart racing with anticipation. She loved the feeling of power she got when she was in control of someone's breathing - and there was no better way to exercise that power than by sitting on his face until he couldn't breathe anymore. As she straddled him, her ass squeezed into her skintight jeans, pinching the flesh together just so. She positioned herself directly above his face, her thighs on either side of him like a vise grip. He tried to speak, but all that emerged was a quiet wheeze. "Be thankful I'm even letting you look at my face, slave," she purred down at him. "Most of my toys have never seen the light of day." With a sense of triumph, she lowered herself onto his face, feeling his hot breath on her thighs as they descended. His nose was pressed against the fabric of her jeans, inches from her perky ass cheeks. He tried to push against her, but it was no use; she was much stronger than he was. She leaned forward and rested her weight on his forehead, smothering him completely. His mouth opened reflexively, and she could feel his tongue slapping against the jeans covering her ass. His eyes were wide with fear, but she knew he was getting aroused by the situation too. "You like that, don't you?" she taunted him. "You like being so close to my ass, even if you can't touch it." His only response was a muffled groan from beneath her. Time after time, she sat down on him, grinding her ass into his face when she felt like it. Gradually, he weakened under her relentless assault. His struggles became less frequent, his breathing more labored. But still, she didn't stop. She sat there, in control, reading a magazine as if nothing was happening. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she stood up, her heart racing. The slave on the floor gasped for air, coughing and wheezing. He looked up at her, eyes full of fear and awe. "Thank you, Mistress," he murmured, his voice hoarse from lack of use. Madame Marissa smiled down at him, her heart still racing. "Now then," she purred, "go clean up my room like I asked you." As he staggered to his feet and left the room, she watched him go, pleased with herself. The feeling of power she got from controlling her slaves' breathing was like nothing else - and it was something she would never grow tired of.