Mistress Zora glared down at her pathetic slave with disgust. This man had been nothing but trouble since she'd taken him on as her servant, and she'd had enough of his ugly face ruining her day. With a flick of her wrist, she snapped her fingers, commanding him to his feet. He hesitated only for a moment before scurrying over to her.
"On your knees," she growled, leaning down towards him menacingly. He instinctively knew better than to resist, dropping down onto his knees before her. He looked up at her expectantly, waiting for his next order.
"That's it?" She snorted, unimpressed. "I thought you had more respect for your mistress?" She reached down, grabbed a fistful of his collar, and yanked him forward until their faces were only inches apart. "Well, maybe you need a little more convincing."
Without another word, Mistress Zora pulled her jeans down to her ankles, revealing her plump ass covered in a shimmering pair of black panties. She stepped back, giving the slave a clear view of her hemorrhoid-raised cheeks and the inviting dark hole between them.
"Now, slave," she said coldly, "you will worship my royal ass until it has molded your ugly face into something even slightly resembling my own beauty." She took a step back, carefully positioning herself over his head as she placed a hand on either side of his face.
As her jeans bottoms slowly settled onto his face, seams digging painfully into his skin, the slave gasped for breath. It was already hard to breathe through her supple flesh, and he knew the pain would only get worse. But he couldn't move, couldn't resist, as he felt Mistress Zora's ass begin to press down onto his face.
It didn't take long before the slave felt his nose start to collapse inward under the pressure, his face beginning to take on the shape of his mistress's behind. Despite the pain, he could feel a sense of accomplishment washing over him. He was becoming more and more like her with every passing minute.
Hours passed, and still, Mistress Zora remained seated atop her slave. She watched with satisfaction as his features gradually morphed to mirror her own. His mouth had flattened out, his nose all but disappeared, and his eyes were squinted shut in pain. It was as if she had created a mini-me version of herself, right there on her slave's face.
Finally, satisfied that she had made her point, Mistress Zora rose from her throne. She unceremoniously ripped her jeans away from the slave's face, sending cascades of fresh air rushing in. His face was a mess of cuts and bruises, but it was now a perfect mirror image of her ass.
"Now maybe you understand who deserves your respect," she said, triumphantly. "Remember this the next time you think about disrespecting your mistress." With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the broken slave to pick up the pieces of his shattered life.
