At My feet

You step out of the hot shower and wrap yourself in a towel, wondering what lies in store in the next room. You walk into the bedroom and you see them.

The unmistakable flash of red sole. My Louboutins clicking with intent across the room. That sharp stiletto silhouette and the arch sculpted to perfection. You’re already fixated and we haven’t even spoken yet.

You tell Me it's the heels that first caught your attention but I know it’s not just the shoes. It’s what they represent, the power, elegance and control. And you know your place is kneeling at My feet, with your eyes lowered and hands trembling slightly as you await permission to touch.

Foot worship is about more than sight. It involves all the senses including scent. The intoxicating aroma of high-gloss leather mingling with the warmth of skin. You press your face close to My shoe, inhaling deeply. The rich, feminine scent of worn Louboutin leather fills your lungs. It overwhelms you and reminds you of exactly who you belong to. You pause there, nose against the curve of the toe box with your eyes closed.

There’s something deeply intimate about foot worship, something reverent. You’re not just admiring an object, this is surrender. Every kiss, every breath against the soft seam of My stocking, every shiver as your lips trace the curve of My heel. This is devotion in its purest form.

I wear fully fashioned nylon stockings not just because they feel exquisite against my skin, but because I know what they do to you. The slow reveal of the back seam drawing a perfect line from heel to thigh has become a ritual. I watch your eyes follow it and your mind unraveling with each inch. There’s history in those nylons, a kind of vintage glamour that whispers of pin-up fantasies and elegant control. You’re not just indulging a fetish you’re stepping into a world built on discipline and aesthetic.

Sometimes you’ll ask to take them off. Sometimes you’ll beg Me to keep them on but most of the time I’ll decide for you. This is the dynamic and the structure of desire.

You love the weight of My heel pressing against your chest. Or the sting when it teases your skin. The feeling of being beneath something beautiful and knowing you belong there.

Foot worship isn't just about feet. It’s about longing and the complex power exchange that happens when you realise that down there, on your knees is exactly where you're meant to be.

And Me? I’m exactly where I belong: standing tall in red soles, silk seams and the full knowledge that your worship isn’t just wanted but it’s required.

Shall we begin?