Under My Feet

Under My Feet: A Fetishistic Feast for the Senses

Tucked away in a nondescript building on a quiet street, the Sassy Strut was a secret haven for those with a certain predilection. It was here that the Mistress and her lucky supplicants would gather, each clutching a hidden fantasy in their hearts. And today’s fantasy was a foot fetish extraordinaire.

As the sun’s rays crept through the windows, casting fragmented light across the hardwood floor, the Mistress stood center stage. Her black stilettos clicked authoritatively with each purposeful step. The come-hither glint in her eyes sent shivers down the spines of her eager disciples.

Amidst the smoky ambiance, one man found himself magnetically drawn, like a moth to flame. He sank to his knees, face level with the tantalizing arches that demanded his undivided attention. With a single nod from the Mistress, he began his reverent worship.

He began by planting delicate kisses along the curve of her instep. The delicate fragrance of jasmine and lavender filled his nostrils, making his head swim. His hands explored the silky skin with a touch that was both reverent and hungry.

Slowly, he made his way to her toes, each one an object of fascination. He took the first one into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the digit, tasting the salt and sweat that had accumulated over the course of the day. The second toe followed, and then the third, each one savored like a delicate morsel.

As he moved to the fourth toe, he heard a faint giggle escape from the Mistress’s lips. The sound sent a jolt of electricity through his body, stoking the fires of his desire. His movements became more urgency, more fervent. He became a man possessed, his world narrowed to the slick of her sole against his tongue.

The Mistress leaned back, her body melting into the plush cushions of the seat. Her eyes fluttered closed, a small moan of pleasure escaping as he worshipped her feet with oral eloquence. Her toes curled in delight, the cramp of her arousal evident through the sheen of sweat on her body.

Just as he reached the fifth toe, the Mistress caressed his cheek with the arch of her foot. The delicate contact sent a lightning bolt of pleasure through him, his manhood throbbing with a pulse that matched the frenzied pace of his heart.

She leaned down, her voice a sultry whisper in his ear. ” Change of pace,” she cooed. “Get comfortable.” Her command was a sibilant breath against his skin.

With the grace of a man enraptured, he reclined against the padded bench, his body a supine offering. The Mistress’s feet made a slow descent, her heels finding purchase on either side of his head. The scent of her arousal mingled with the musk of his worship, a potent perfume that threatened to consume them both.

She began to move her feet in slow, sensuous circles. The pressure of her soles against his temples sent blood rushing to every nerve ending, every erogenous zone. He felt the flutter of her pulse through the delicate bones of her feet, the rhythm a siren’s song that demanded surrender.

As the Mistress increased the tempo, the pleasure bordered on pain. The ache in his temples became an electric current, zipping down his spine, settling in the taut muscles of his groin. His cock throbbed with a need so profound it verged on agony.

Just when he thought he could take no more, the Mistress withdrew her feet. The sudden release of pressure left him gasping, his chest heaving with the effort to breathe. He opened his eyes, only to find himself staring directly into hers. The deep pools of brown seemed to hold the secrets of the universe, the answers to every question he’d ever had.

She held his gaze as she brought her feet to her face. With a slow, practiced movement, she extended her tongue, tracing the length of her sole from heel to toe. The wet, glistening trail left in her wake was the most erotic thing he’d ever witnessed.

She repeated the action with her other foot, savoring the taste of her own skin. The musky flavors did nothing to sate his hunger; instead, they only intensified his desire. He needed to be the one worshipping those feet, to be the one lavishing them with the attention they so richly deserved.

As if reading his mind, the Mistress extend her leg, her toes poised mere inches from his face. “Well, my dear supplicant,” she said, her voice a velvet caress. “Aren’t you going to show me what you can do?”

And with those words, a new chapter in their shared journey began, a tale of worship, pleasure and all the sweet, dirty delights in between. As the Mistress’s soles caressed his face, her sweet musk filled his nostrils, he knew he was home.