You’re on your back, exactly where you belong, and I’m standing over you with my legs spread wide, looking down at your pathetic face. I tell you to hold still. Not a twitch. Not a breath unless I say so. And then I lower myself down, slow, until my thick thighs are framing your cheeks and my pussy is pressed heavy and hot right over your mouth and nose.

I grind down, smothering you completely, feeling you struggle beneath me. Your face disappears under my ass, swallowed up by my flesh. I reach back and spread my cheeks wider, sealing you in tighter, cutting off every bit of air while I laugh at how weak you are. You try to gasp but there’s nowhere to go. I’m sitting on your face like a throne, and thrones don’t concern themselves with whether the furniture is breathing.

I lift up just enough for one cruel second, letting you suck in a desperate, ragged breath before I slam back down even harder. My pussy grinds against your gagged mouth, while I mock your tiny struggles. “Hold still, bitch. I didn’t say you could move.” I control your oxygen like I control everything else you own. I count down while you’re trapped under me, making you hold your breath for longer and longer, feeling your body panic while your cock throbs harder against your pants.

I lean forward, smothering you deeper with my ass, and tell you that this is the only way you’re allowed to breathe me. No air for you unless it comes from my ass. No life for you unless I’m sitting on your face. You’re just a seat, a warm face, a piece of meat with a pulse that I play with when I’m bored. By the time I finally rise up, you’re gasping, covered in my sweat and my juices, your face red and your mind broken. I look down at the mess I made of you and smirk. “Good boy. Now stay right there. I’m going to sit on you again.” And I do.

Hold still…!