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The domme's boots squeak against the polished floor as she positions herself over her willing prey. She begins at her victim's face, trapping her between her soles, forcing her to breathe in her scent, her power. She moves down, her heels digging into soft flesh, leaving marks, claiming every inch. Reaching her target, she presses down, the banana peel sliding against her slick folds, the girl writhing, begging for more, her body covered in a sheen of sweat and lust, her cries echoing in the room as she's brought to the edge, then denied, over and over again.