Strip Club Domme 3 - Marilyn Johnson

The lights drop to a dirty red at MeanBitch. Glenn’s barely seated when long legs in clear heels straddle him, and Marilyn Johnson drops that bare ass right onto his face. She rolls her hips, smothering him while her toes dig into his crotch. He tries to breathe; she grinds harder. Every slow circle leaves lipstick smears across his cheeks and a wet spot growing in his lap. She slides forward just enough for him to gasp, then slams back down, smothering again. Her feet—nails painted blood red—find his mouth next. He licks between her toes while she laughs, pressing the ball of her foot against his throat. When she’s bored with the chair, she clicks a thick black collar around his neck and clips a leash. “Mine,” she says, yanking him to his feet. The crowd whoops as she drags him onstage under the spotlight. Onstage she spreads out on a low bench, pulls the leash tight so his mouth is flush with her ass. Tongue out, he licks like he’s starving while she reaches back and spreads herself wider. She flips, plants her pussy on his nose, and starts a slow, wet grind that has his cock twitching against nothing but air. She leans down, rubs that slick slit up and down his shaft without letting him inside—just enough to make him shake. Tears streak his face. She giggles, cruel and bright, then lifts off right when he’s about to break. “Beg,” she says. He does. She laughs harder, drops her full weight onto his face again, and rides until the only sound is the wet slap of skin and the rattle of his collar chain.