Femdom Therapy - Kendra Cole

Glenn shows up at Dr. Kendra Cole’s office already defeated. Women push him around, take what they want, and he lets them. He thinks a shrink might fix it. She takes one look at him—slumped shoulders, soft voice—and decides he’s already broken the way she likes it. She leans back in her chair, crosses her legs slow, watches him shrink under her stare. Then she stands, walks around the desk, lifts her skirt without asking. His mouth opens before his brain catches up. She plants herself over his face, weight dropping, cutting off everything but the heat of her skin and the smell of her. Her ass pins him. She grinds down, makes him fight for air. When she lifts up she doesn’t go far—just enough for him to catch a breath before she lowers again. He licks because it’s the only move left. She laughs once, short, and settles heavier. She shifts, gives him her feet instead. Clean soles, red nails. He kisses each toe like it might save him. She presses the ball of her foot against his mouth until his tongue works between them. Every time he hesitates she pushes harder. Later she has him on his knees again, cock in her hand, circumcised head already slick. She strokes once, twice, then takes him in her mouth like it’s owed. No warm-up. She sucks deep, pulls off, spits on the shaft, strokes again. Her other hand stays in his hair, keeping him still. She controls the pace, the pressure, the moment he’s allowed to come. Every command is quiet. Every look says she owns the rest of his sessions.