Even under your tight little ass, I smirk as you cry out, your thong rammed up into your body, hopefully rubbing up against your spleen, or lungs, or whatever. The result is that you look like you're bottomless, which while it may delight the audience, only means there's more of those curvy cheeks pressing down on my face. But, it's worth it, because it distracts you, allowing me to grab a fistful of your cheap bra, twist it, and haul you down just enough so I can lift my legs and trap your neck in my thighs. I yank my legs back down, locking my ankles, which pulls you off my face and stretches your body forward, on mine. Immediately you start slapping at my thighs as I gulp in a lungful of fresh air, and then roll to my right side, dragging your struggling body along, so that we are on our sides, body to body, almost 69-ish, with your head trapped between my legs.
I am so aware that you could do the same to me, but you're thinking defense, turning your slaps into punches now, pounding my thigh as I tighten my hold, legs beginning to tremble from the force. Your all-but-exposed crotch brushes against my face as you writhe in the scissors, and I slide my right arm out, trying to grab your left ankle, and if I can, bend your leg up behind you, pushing it, trying to press your left foot against your ass. My right hand nonchalantly alights on your hips and gently pulls the long tie on the side of your bikini bottoms. My face scrunches in pain with each slam of your fist into my flexed thigh, and I'm hoping that trying to pretzel your left leg like this will force you to stop!