Stool Bound Bidet — Ass Slave Training, Rimming & Fart Worship | Mistress Mercy Rage

He's been on that stool all day. Strapped in, face up, positioned exactly where she decided he would be — and she hasn't thought about his comfort once since she walked away this morning. He stays in position because there is no other option. That's the whole job. When the clip opens, she's already seated on the stool above him. Her ass lined up perfectly with his face, the way a stool and its function are designed to work together, because that's exactly what this is. She's in a mesh top and panties, and her body — every single part of it — is the kind of thing that exists to be worshipped. She looks directly into the camera. "If you were here, I'd have you worshipping my feet." The camera drifts down to her feet. Her perfect feet. Her perfect toes. She's right. Her entire body is worship-worthy and she knows it without effort — it's just a fact she operates from, the same way she operates from this stool. She turns her attention back to the slave beneath her. "Does my ass smell musky?" She just came from the bathroom. She doesn't wipe — she doesn't need to. That's what he's here for. His function isn't decoration and it isn't optional. He is her designated cleanup, her personal bidet, her in-house hygiene service, and she expects him to take that role with full seriousness. She has him begin with the ritual: nose to her crack first. A long, thorough sniff. Then a slow kiss on each cheek, one at a time, to demonstrate his gratitude for the position he holds. Her ass hanging over that stool looks incredible. The angle, the coverage, the way her cheeks frame the situation — every shot communicates exactly who is serving whom and exactly what that service entails. She stands. Removes her panties, because he's impressed her enough to earn it. Settles back onto the stool and gives him a clear instruction: look at her hole first. Really look at it. Then clean it with his tongue. He licks eagerly. She calls him names — dirty little ass licker, things in that register — while wiggling her ass slowly against his face. Upward camera angles give a perspective that is genuinely difficult to look away from. She is above. He is beneath. This is exactly what it looks like. She plants an idea in his head while he works. Maybe she'll leave him strapped right here tonight. Maybe the stool goes just outside the bathroom and he becomes the bidet for every woman who comes out during the party. It'll be a very busy night, she keeps saying. She describes it casually, almost cheerfully — each guest, one after the other, and him secured right there in service. The image settles in his head. She lets it sit there. She tells him to pull back and look as she spreads her cheeks wide. His eyes go to both her ass and her pussy, which he admits. She corrects him immediately. He is an ass licker. His tongue serves one function. She would never allow a tongue whose primary role is her personal bidet anywhere near something as valuable as her pussy. He knows his assignment. His tongue goes back where it belongs. "If you're lucky," she tells him, "I might give you a little treat." Almost immediately: a nasty wet fart, directly into his face. "Wrap your tongue around my hole. It's time for your dinner." Ass slave training in its complete form. A day on a stool. A role with no alternative. A woman who doesn't need to wipe because she has someone better.