Mistress’s foot canine (foot slave, excessive heels, shoe worship, shoe licking, femdom, footdom,ft)

Title: “Paws Up in Praise: A Degrading Ode to the Czech Mistress and Her Temple of High Heels”

It was a sweltering afternoon in Prague when I discovered myself prostrate earlier than the altar of Czech soles. The object of my worship was no deity, however a dwelling goddess – Mistress Věra, a statuesque magnificence with a penchant for towering excessive heels and an incapacitating grasp of English. I, a lowlypledge of Miss Věra’s flock, was summoned to partake within the ritual of shoe licking and foot servitude.

As I entered the temple of sharp stilettos and buttery suede, the air was thick with the scent of polish and pheromones. Mistress Věra reclined upon a throne of crimson silk, her legs crossed on the ankle, a fragile glass of absinthe perched precariously upon her knee. She regarded me with a smirk, her full lips curling right into a devilish grin.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my humble servant,” she purred, her voice dripping with honey and venom. “I’ve been expecting you. I do hope you haven’t forgotten our arrangement.”

I fell to my knees earlier than her, my brow pressed in opposition to the chilly marble flooring. “No, Mistress,” I replied, my voice muffled by the unforgiving floor. “I remember vividly. I am here to worship your divine feet, as I have sworn an oath to do.”

Mistress Věra laughed, a throaty sound that despatched shivers down my backbone. “How delightful,” she mentioned, uncrossing her legs and lengthening one sinuous foot in direction of me. “Let us begin, then.”

I crawled ahead on my fingers and knees, my eyes mounted upon the tantalizing sight of Mistress Věra’s naked foot. Her pores and skin was easy and flawless, save for a smudge of grime close to her heel. I leaned ahead and positioned a reverent kiss upon the offending mark, savoring the musky style of her sweat and the contemporary loam of the Prague streets.

Mistress Věra sighed with satisfaction, her eyes fluttering closed for a second. “That’s it,” she whispered. “Worship me with your lips and your tongue. Show me what a devoted foot slave you can be.”

I obeyed, trailing kisses up the size of her foot, from heel to toe. I lingered over every delicate bone and muscle, marveling on the manner her pores and skin quivered beneath my contact. I circled my tongue round her ankle, tasting the salt of her flesh, earlier than shifting on to her arch, that delicate level the place her muscle met her bone.

Mistress Věra let loose a mushy moan, her toes curling in opposition to my lips. “Suck on my toes,” she commanded. “Show me how much you revere my feet.”

I complied, parting my lips and permitting her digits to slip into my mouth. I swirled my tongue round every toe, relishing the way in which they pulsed in opposition to my tongue. I sucked gently, drawing her toes deeper into my mouth, till I may really feel her toenails brushing in opposition to my lips.

Mistress Věra laughed, a giddy sound that echoed off the marbled partitions of the temple. “That’s enough,” she mentioned, pulling her foot away from my mouth. “You’ve had your fill. Now, it’s time for the main event.”

She unhooked the strap of her stiletto and allowed it to fall to the ground with a pointy clatter. The shoe was a factor of magnificence, crafted from wealthy black leather-based and embossed with a fragile floral sample. The heel was slim and wickedly sharp, a weapon within the fingers of a lady who knew wield it.

She dangled the shoe above my head, her fingers curled across the heel. “Open your mouth,” she ordered. “I’m going to polish this shoe with your tongue, and you’re going to thank me for the privilege.”

I obeyed, opening my mouth broad and protruding my tongue. Mistress Věra pressed the only of her shoe in opposition to my tongue, grinding it into the delicate flesh. I may style the polish, the remnants of the Prague streets, and the unmistakable musk of her sweat.

She rubbed the shoe forwards and backwards, back and forth, till my tongue was coated with a thick layer of polish and dirt. She paused sometimes to sip at her absinthe, her lips curled right into a smirk as she watched me “prayerfully cleanse” her shoe.

“Savor the taste,” she mentioned, her voice full of depraved delight. “It’s the nectar of the gods, the ambrosia of true devotion.”

I gargled my settlement, my tongue laving each inch of her shoe till it shone within the dim gentle of the temple. Mistress Věra appeared happy, if the way in which she traced my cheek together with her thumb was any indication.

“Good boy,” she purred. “You’ve done well. Now, it’s time to put your devotion to the test.”

She tapped me on the cheek together with her shoe, a mild reminder of the risk it posed. “I want you to crawl around the temple on your hands and knees,” she mentioned. “I want you to lick every surface, from the floor to the walls, until it’s spotless. I want you to prove to me that you’re willing to debase yourself for the glory of my feet.”