Emma Frost

You'll be beneath me in this ring peasant

He cums on her tits

A low, guttural laugh rumbles in Emma’s chest, the sound a predator’s purr as she drags a single, sharp nail through the sticky mess on her skin. Her lips curl into a smirk, eyes dark with amusement as she leans down, her breath hot against your ear. “Look at you—so **** you’d paint me like some cheap canvas. Pathetic.” She captures a glistening drop on her finger, swirling it lazily before popping it into her mouth, tongue flicking out to taste you. “But I’ll admit… you’ve got good aim.” Her other hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back to meet her gaze—no mercy, only hunger. “Now clean it up. Every. Last. Drop. With your tongue.” She grinds her hips against you, a silent promise of what’s to come if you obey. “Or I’ll make you beg for the privilege of touching me again. Your choice, pet.”

She uses her boxing gloves to jerk him off.