You Are Just an Asshole Cleaning Device - Ass Worship, Humiliation

There. Perfect. You feel that? All of it. Every pound. That's your entire purpose now. Not a lover. Not a partner. Not even a pet. You're furniture with a tongue. My personal asshole massage chair. I don't even see you down there anymore. You're just... warm. Present. Useful. Finally useful for something. Mmm. That's the spot. Right there. Don't you dare move your face. I don't care if you cant breathe. I don't care if your jaw aches. I care that my asshole feels worshipped. You're going to be here for this whole movie. Two hours. Maybe three. And you're not watching. You're not participating. You're existing beneath me so my asshole receives constant, slow, pathetic attention. Open wider. I want to feel your lips actually spread for me. Good furniture doesn't make me adjust. Good furniture adapts. That's it. Just like that. Tiny kisses. I feel them. Barely. Which is perfect. You're not trying to pleasure me. You're not trying to make me cum.