My Feet & Ass Treat For Lucky Slave - Mistress Mercy Rage

This slave got lucky today — and he knows it. It opens with me. Close-up, comfortable, one hand moving between my thighs at whatever pace I decide — unhurried and deliberate, because I'm in charge of this room and everything in it. There's no rushing me. I touch myself the way I want, when I want, and if you're watching, that's a privilege I've chosen to extend. The camera drifts down to my feet first — bare, perfect, the kind of feet that have earned worship just by existing — before pulling back to give you the full picture. All of me. At ease. Already thinking about what I want to take from this moment. I look directly at the lens. "I should get my feet worshiped." My slave appears and positions himself at my feet without hesitation. He lifts my foot, presses his lips to my sole, and gets to work — mouth first, tongue following, covering every inch of my sole and the spaces between each of my toes the way I've made clear I expect. He's thorough. He knows that thoroughness is what keeps him here. I keep my hands on myself the whole time because this is for me, all of it is always for me. I think about my boyfriend while the slave works. I say it out loud because I feel like it — not for the slave's benefit, just because the thought arrived and I decided to share it: if he were here right now, he could fuck me while you worship my feet. The thought makes me press harder, move my hand differently. The slave keeps his focus on my feet. He knows his job. He does it. Eventually I decide I want something more. A different kind of attention. "Get on the bed." He moves immediately. I position myself over him, knees on either side of his head, my full weight descending onto his face with every intention of staying there until I'm satisfied. And you are going to want to see this. Full screen: my ass on his face. I lean forward to give you exactly what you need — his tongue pressed against my crack, dragging slow and deliberate up and down the full length, circling back to my hole and tracing it with the patience I've trained into him. He works up my crack. He works back across my dirty hole. He covers everything while I feel every movement from where I'm sitting above him. You can see all of it. Nothing is hidden. I sit upright and arch my back. My hand drops to his chest and finds his nipple — I grab it and pull, sharp and controlled. His comfort is irrelevant to this arrangement. He performs or he gives me a reason to make things harder on him. I start to move. Rolling my hips, grinding my ass against his face in circles while his tongue stays with me — pressed up and following every movement, doing what it's there to do. I can feel exactly where it is as I move and I adjust to get what I want from it. His face is occupied. His tongue is working. I keep moving. Then I start bouncing — short and rhythmic, because I found the angle I want and I intend to use it. My ass meets his tongue on every descent, lined up and hitting right where I need it. I press into it, come back up, come back down again. Over and over, back arched, hips driving, reaching back to pull his nipple while I work. His tongue is exactly where it belongs and I am taking full advantage of that. His cock has been very opinionated about all of this. I glance down at it, look up at the camera with exactly the expression it deserves — and I reach over and slap it. His balls get the same. He made his feelings obvious and obvious feelings, in this room, have consequences. Arousal here has a cost. Everything does. I set the price. I catch the camera's eye. I smile. There's always a price to pay.