In Sasha's world, men have one purpose; to be underneath her. Laying out across the leather sofa, her slave lies flat on his back without saying a word; awaiting her. When she enters, she pays him no mind, eating a snack and checking her messages as she sits right onto his face. Crushing his nose in with her denim jeans, Sasha looks through her emails, typing away her replies as her slave struggles to breath underneath her but obediently doesn't move a muscle. The only words she says in his directions, is a complaint about him attempting to breath, feeling the air on her denim ass; which ca...

In Sasha's world, men have one purpose; to be underneath her. Laying out across the leather sofa, her slave lies flat on his back without saying a word; awaiting her. When she enters, she pays him no mind, eating a snack and checking her messages as she sits right onto his face. Crushing his nose in with her denim jeans, Sasha looks through her emails, typing away her replies as her slave struggles to breath underneath her but obediently doesn't move a muscle. The only words she says in his directions, is a complaint about him attempting to breath, feeling the air on her denim ass; which causes Sasha to press her weight further into his face. Her slave is her personal chair, bench, whatever piece of furniture she desires to smash her ass into.