LUDOVICA LUXURY -YOU STINK! -hd

Published: October 4, 2025

Today, my friend Mistress and I are primed for a filming day, our sacred time to craft bold, exclusive videos that push every boundary. We’re waiting for our slave, who knows he’s here to be our plaything. When he arrives, naked and ready to grovel, a sharp, foul stench fills the room like a toxic cloud. I step closer, my heels clicking deliberately on the floor, and pin him with a look of pure disdain. “What’s that smell?” I hiss to my friend, my voice dripping with contempt. She nods, a wicked smirk curling her lips. “It’s coming from him, isn’t it?” I confirm, sniffing the air with a grimace. He, eyes downcast, admits he hasn’t showered in two days. Disgusting. A blatant insult to his mistresses.“You thought you could show up like this?” I growl, my tone icy and commanding. My friend crosses her arms, her gaze a sharpened blade. “We’ll clean you ourselves,” I declare, and his face pales, but he doesn’t dare speak. With a sharp gesture, I order him to lie on the cold floor, his body exposed and powerless under our control. We exchange a knowing glance, then, with slow, deliberate intent, we slip off our panties. They’re soaked with our essence, a heady scent that screams our dominance. We toss them beside him, a trophy of his humiliation. “You’ll sniff them later,” I say with a cruel grin. “First, your bath.”My friend positions herself above him, and a hot stream of piss rains down, soaking his filthy skin, his chest, his face. He squirms, but one glare from me pins him in place. “Don’t move,” I snarl, my voice slicing through the air. Then it’s my turn. I lower myself onto his face, my ass enveloping him completely, pressing him into the floor. “Inhale,” I command, grinding down. “Breathe in your mistress’s scent.” He gasps, trembling, as my friend continues to drench him, her laughter ringing out. The room fills with the sound of liquid hitting skin and our mocking chuckles, a symphony of absolute control.  The floor is now a glistening puddle, a lake of our liquid scorn. “Surprise,” I say, rising from his face, my voice thick with mockery. “Now wash yourself with this.” We point to the pool beneath him, our “special soap.” “Scrub,” my friend orders, her tone brooking no defiance. Humiliated, he starts rubbing himself with our piss, his hands shaking as he tries to please his mistresses. We settle onto our black leather couch, regal and untouchable, watching him degrade himself under our gaze. “Pathetic,” I scoff, laughing. “You still reek, but now you know who’s in charge.”“We’re not done,” I add, standing with an air of superiority. “Next time, show up clean, or you’ll regret being born.” We walk away, leaving him a drenched, trembling wreck in his puddle, our laughter echoing behind us. The filming day has just begun, and we are the undisputed queens.