Bought For The Night – A Lesbian Foot Worship & Domination Erotica

Product Information

Admittedly I’ve only seen Holly a handful of times, but God knows I’d never be able to tell this account belongs to her, if not for Frank explicitly telling me. This is nominally my apartment, but I'm not allowed in the bedroom anymore, except to clean it when they aren't around. If any one has any de-drmed copies they can send me hit me up, would be willing to pay for it, PayPal purchase protection of course. Sitting before me, one leg crossed over the other, one socked foot dangling in the air, an elegant ankle boot in hand, is Holly.

Her eyes sparkle with sadistic amusement, so evidently cocky and superior that it sends a spasm through my body and straight to the heart of my growing arousal. A lot of people wonder if they are weird or perverted for having a foot fetish, but I can tell you it's actually quite common," Aviva says. I’ve only gotten the one opportunity to act out my submissiveness with her, back at the mall, and I know so much more about myself now. She's as beautiful as she is imperious, sporting a leather jacket that communicates confidence and toughness.

The speed of my own downfall is so shocking I can barely process it, and Holly must be thinking along similar lines, because she’s muttering to herself. But once all the chores are done, all the food is cooked, and all the tasks for the upcoming work week have been listed and organised, the dreaded emptiness becomes an experience of pure agony. Basing myself on the classical idea that D/s is fundamentally a theatrical fantasy, I believe it is a feeling shared in the "community", but anyway, it works for me.

Sorry I'll flood the thread just once but I've seen many commenting very precisely and I think this story deserves that, at least. The message I send along with the money is as clear as I can make it, more paper trail and documentation of my complete destruction.All that set in a foot fetish story is simply astonishing, and it comes up without being forced, which is, simply, art: getting reflection through emotion. I need to think, so of course I do what any sane, logical person would do: I fish Holly’s worn sandals out of the secure hiding spot in the boxes under my bed, and I cradle the sandals like they’re some kind of relic. I plant my knees better on the ground, like I really am a trick-turning whore about to deepthroat a guy, and I flex slightly under Holly's right foot, to give myself the space I need to give her a good show. No, Holly has laid the trap for me, weaved her design all around me, readied it to snare me at my first move.

I marvel at the softness of the sole, the unyielding strength of her heel, the way her toes flex and curl as I apply my massage. Before I know it, I’m rubbing my face against every inch of them like a cat, except I’m not marking them with my scent – they’re marking me with Holly’s. I lie flat on the ground, pretending Holly is standing above me and pressing her sandals into my face.During the day, she rampages, causing earthquakes with every footfall, eating villages in her path, and killing anything and everything that approaches. I don’t want Jenna to be just another orbiter, interchangeable with all the other simps that support my lifestyle.