Mutiny, in slinky red dress, black heels and glasses, looks the seductive schoolgirl ingnue. But within lurks the heart and soul of an as in French she talks about her thighs, caressing them - ready to feed them. And she does, asking her doltish victim as he approaches, "Are you sure you are ready for those legs?" No one could be, and Mutiny's hungry thighs devour him in the first of many cranium-cracking scissors, his fat head lost in the majestic meat of her thighs, a slow squeeze resulting in a quick tap. The French isnt done by a long shot, devouring his head from behind, laying thundering...

Mutiny, in slinky red dress, black heels and glasses, looks the seductive schoolgirl ingnue. But within lurks the heart and soul of an as in French she talks about her thighs, caressing them - ready to feed them. And she does, asking her doltish victim as he approaches, "Are you sure you are ready for those legs?" No one could be, and Mutiny's hungry thighs devour him in the first of many cranium-cracking scissors, his fat head lost in the majestic meat of her thighs, a slow squeeze resulting in a quick tap. The French isnt done by a long shot, devouring his head from behind, laying thundering thighs to him and locking up for the big squeeze, cooing "just holding you there to show you how powerful my legs are!" Slave's fat face is an agonized mask of submission, Mutiny crushing him to make him "squeal like the little bitch you are." Her lethal legs linger on his scissored skull, thighs fleshy yet hard, squeezing with punishing pressure, cooing, "I'm gonna get you in my strongest scissors!" which would be ALL of Mutinys scissors! Her reverse buries his face in her thighs, booty flexing, and she torments him in French, and the universal language of leg. This isnt a beatdown, its an her scissoring savagery measured and and the last, lingering reverse puts him out, despite his frantic tapping. She stands to admire her thighs of mass destruction, contemplating her next assignment.

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