You’re nothing but my workout equipment now. While other women use weights or yoga mats, I’ve got something better… my personal slave. Dressed in my tight workout shorts, sports bra, and tennis shoes, I stand tall over you, smirking down at my living doormat. Every stretch, every lunge, every squat — I’m pressing my full weight into you. You groan under me, but I don’t care. In fact, I laugh at how weak you are compared to my strength. From your POV, all you see are my powerful legs and perfect ass moving above you, while my shoes grind into your chest, your stomach, your face. I taunt you: “Feel how heavy I am? This is what you’re made for. You’re my gym floor, my treadmill, my cushion. Every breath you take belongs to me.” I jump, stomp, balance — testing how much you can take. Each time I land on you, I make you repeat it: “Yes, Mistress, I’m your workout slave. Yes, Mistress, I love your weight.” By the end, I’m sweaty, satisfied, and glowing — because nothing feels better than using my slave as my personal exercise toy. I leave you broken down beneath me, thanking me for every step, every stomp, every ounce of my weight I crushed you with.
