There are many ways to serve your Mistress—and almost as many places on her divine body to worship. Depending on her mood, she may instruct you to do so out of her own need for pleasure. Under different circumstances, she might be rewarding your good behavior by letting your hands (or mouth) make contact with her flawless flesh. Some submissives are preoccupied with big, beautiful tits, or excited by the thought of being smothered while worshipping their Mistress’ thick, juicy ass. Her legs, lips, pussy, and boots are all in the realm of possibilities and yet there will always be those who crave something else in particular—some-thing or two. Shall I just get to the bottom of it? To the sole of the matter? Why, what else could I be referring to but to my own pair of delicious, delicate feet? For the deepest of foot fetishists they can think of nothing else.
Feet, the unsung heroes of erogenous zones. The spaces that punctuate my body’s sexiest bits—or the gateways to a world of fetishes unknown. For some feet are just feet. Simple, sweaty, stable and sturdy. Smelly, calloused, and neglected. What more could they be? I beg to differ. Allow me to illuminate the shadows cast by the limitations of closed-minds. Feet, are not just feet. The creative foot freak knows that two is really twenty—for every toe is a pleasure point of its own. That a foot can take the shape of Woman herself with its dramatic curves of the sole, heel, and arches. That a foot’s scent can invoke the most vivid of sensual memories and carry with it traces of salt, cotton, rubber, and filth depending on where it’s been. Without them, for what connection would I have to shoes? The greatest shoe designers of the world are all containing their desire for feet in the practicality of their design. Christian Louboutin’s red-bottomed stiletto is enough to conjure the imagery of an ill-fated ass, blushing deeper with each stroke of a Mistress’ sharp palms.
Flat or flexed, they act like beasts of burden when they are trapped in my own patent leather thigh highs.They support me while I perform punishments in pumps and serve as carrots for those who ache for a reward. They are the platforms to my platforms and with just the slide of a shoehorn, I am elevated—ready to look even further down on my slaves.
I am seated in my throne and my submissive kneels at my feet with his face tilted towards the ground. I instruct him to keep his eyes closed while I taunt his face with the toe of my shoe—knowing it’s excruciating for him to hold his position with my delicious feet so near. What he wants is to taste, to smell, to feast his eyes upon my savory soles. What he will get is determined by his behavior. His stillness inspires a spark in me and I instruct him to massage my right foot and then my left. I can tell his mouth is watering and so I remind him to fix his gaze only on my feet (if his eyes wander so much as above my ankle he will have jeopardized everything). He obeys my instructions and is sure to give each foot a massage of identical quality. I can’t have one foot feeling neglected while the other is fully pampered. My foot subs know that maintaining symmetry in their touch is paramount to my approval.
Once I am satisfied with my massages, I allow him to sniff my shoes. He picks up my pumps, and one after the other, breathes in every scent attached to every bit of moisture produced by my pedis. Now he is allowed to use his mouth and, like the eager submissive he is, wastes no time. My toes become like hard candies with all the sucking and he’s so hungry to devour them that I have to remind him to slow down. He traces the outside of my toes, along my arches, and down to my heels with his tongue. When he reaches the heel I feel his teeth clamp down gently, only to nibble and to feel my soft yet firm soles filling his insatiable mouth. Bare or cloaked in nylon stockings—I know he is in heaven, and that my feet are heavenly. He thanks me over and over again for allowing him to worship me and I can tell by his ecstatic demeanor I am not only a divine goddess, but an extremely generous one.
And even then I know he wants more.
He wants to feel my arches pressed together creating the most perfect foot pussy. He wants the smooth underside of my feet to stroke and grip his cock, over and over again. That if he could, he’d fuck my feet until he blew a fat load all over my gorgeous pedicured toes. And maybe then, I’d make him clean up his mess with his mouth. His reward being that he’d get to suck my toes once more before we’re through, this time with the taste of his semen swirling with my sweet salty, sweat.
And my knowledge of this only gives me more power over him. The more access I have to his motivation only makes it easier for me to get what I want.
And I always get what I want.