Sheena of the Dungeon - Sheena Ryder

Jack steps into the dungeon and Sheena laughs before he even opens his mouth. He lays the envelope on the table. She doesn't touch it. She just shakes her head like the money's funny now. "That's cute," she says. "Price went up. Way up." He tries to argue but she's already reading him, eyes dropping to his crotch, then lower. She lifts one boot, plants the heel against his chest, pushes until his back hits the wall. "I know what you are," she tells him. "Foot freak. Pathetic little foot freak." The corset barely holds her tits as she leans in, twisting that heel until he groans. She sits on the edge of the bench, peels the leather off slow, flexes her bare foot in front of his face. Sweat, leather, the sharp smell of her skin—his eyes go glassy. She smirks. "You pay extra or you leave empty. Choose." He drops more cash. She hooks a finger under his chin, drags his mouth to her toes, spreads them wide so he can shove his tongue between each one. Her foot flexes, toes curling around his tongue, and she laughs again—low, mean. She stands, turns, bends slightly so that big ass fills his view, then drops it full on his face, smothering him while she grinds down. Every rock of her hips says the same thing: she owns this now. She owns the craving, owns the cash, owns the way he licks and gasps like he might die if she stands up too soon. The session just started and he's already broke in every way that counts.