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My Public Sex preferences
|What's your favorite public sex places?||I'm not after a sexual relationship.|
|Describe the riskiest place you have had a sexual encounter?||NA|
|Ethnicity||Caucasian / White|
|Height||5' 4" (163 cm)|
|Health Condition||No special condition|
Education & Employment
|I'm turned on by||Domination / Submission (D&S)|
|My role is||Submissive|
|I am seeking||A mistress|
|I enjoy||Femdom, Food play, Foot / shoe worship, Physical humiliation, Verbal humiliation|
|Open To Photos & Videos||Depends on the partner|
|Fetishes||Shoes / Boots, Trampling|
|I like to wear:||Casual straight wear, High heels and a business suit, Leather|
|Ultimate femdom fantasy:||He was huddled in the corner of the room, naked, head towards the wall, crouched in a fetal position. Only the sound of the occasional car could be heard on the road as he sat, waiting for Mistress. She had given him strict instructions not to move, she had told him to stay where she had left him until her return.|
He wasn't brave enough or stupid enough to disobey her orders. Mistress was a superior female, tall, beautiful, intelligent and he was just a mere male. If he were to move she would know. If he were to move she would punish him for disobeying her instructions. So despite the cold, despite the awkwardness of his position and despite his hunger and thirst he remained where he was. In the corner of a room, facing a wall.
Time passed. The silence of the room and the world beyond was broken by the sound of her car, Mistress's car pulling up. He pulled himself tighter into a ball and pushed his nose closer to the floor and wall. He heard the automated garage door open and close. Then he heard a car door open and the sound of her high heels on the concrete of the garage. He felt an immense wave of relief that Mistress, a superior female, was about to grace him with her presence, but at the same time he was fearful, what had she in store for him?
Her footsteps echoed on the wooden floors of her house. The door opened. He froze. He heard Mistress place her bag on a table and then her steps as she slowly walked towards him.
"Well, bitch - have you moved?" She questioned him.
He felt her rest one of her boots on his naked bottom. Her high heel bit into his pink, fleshy and unfortunately for him he instinctively squirmed.
"Fuck face, I asked you if you had moved, I didn't tell you to move? Can you understand English? Are you thick as shit?"
He was about to answer but Mistress began to grind her boot heel down his bottom. He yelped in pain and gritted his teeth.
"It would seem;" began Mistress, "That not only are you a moron, but you seem to think that you are a dog". He didn't see her smile as she spoke but he heard her giggle and he began to worry.
"Turn around and greet me, shit face." She commanded.
.He ignored the pain from Mistress's boot heel and from maintaining his fetal position for such a prolonged period of time. He turned round and saw Mistressfor the first time.
She was wearing elegantly dressed in a pair of suede over the knee boots, skinny jeans and a dark well fitted top. She was tall, much taller then him, slim and pretty with brown hair that seemed to tumble and move in the same way that hair on models in shampoo and hair care adverts on tv did. It struck him as it always did just lucky he was to be in the same room as her, because Mistress was just amazing.
"For fuck's sake, why are you staring at me like a fucking dog?" Mistress asked.
"Umm, err, umm.." He didn't know what to say.
Mistress leant over and with her left hand cupped under his chin tightly squeezed both cheeks together.
"Let me say hello then, shit for brains if you aren't able to."
She pursed her lips together and spat in his face. As her spit dribbled down his face she spat again and again.
"Now I've said hello, you need to show your gratitude and respect."
Mistress slapped the idiot creature around the side of his head and stepped back. She tilted her right boot back on her high heel and he knew what he was expected to do. With her spit dripping down his face and chin he pushed his head towards her boot and began to lick the dirt off the sole. When Mistress deemed that he had cleaned to her satisfaction she offered him her other boot. She looked down at him moving her foot as she saw fit, making it harder or easier for him to lick the dirt that was to be found there.
Mistress directed him, "Don't fucking slobber, watch your disgusting mouth around the bows on my boots. Carefully shit face, clean them. Show your respect and gratitude".
"Now follow me, I have a job for you to do." She turned and walked out of the room. He crawled after her on his hands and knees. Men were weaker, stupid, feeble and consequently not allowed the privilege of walking, therefore he had to crawl. As he crawled after Mistress he could hear her laugh at him, but then he was just a man and as such felt a very tiny amount of pride that he could provide Mistress with such amusement.
She was waiting for him in the cold garage.
"Unload the shopping from the car, take it to the kitchen and carefully, do you hear me, carefully, put it all away."
He crawled to the boot of the car and reached up for the boot release. Fear washed over him as seconds passed and he couldn't find it. He was not allowed to stand, therefore on his hands and knees he struggled to see the release let alone reach it. Mistress was still in the garage, watching.
"If I have to walk over there, you are going to be very fucking sorry. For the second time, - unload the shopping, take it to the kitchen and put it away."
His sweaty hands sided around on the cold metal surface of the car boot.
"10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5." Mistress started to countdown.
His hand felt the boot release.
It slipped and he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. His feeble mind trying and failing to block out the inevitable countdown of Mistress.
His hand touched the boot release and he tried to open it.
The boot swung open with a resounding click and he, who had been holding his breath, sighed with relief. He reached in and pulled out several bags. Not being able to walk meant that he had to carry the bags in his mouth, which meant it would take many trips from the garage to the kitchen to unload the shopping.
Mostly Mistress allowed the male slave to carry out his job unhindered, although while waiting for the kettle to boil as she made herself a hot drink she enjoyed standing in his way as he crawled along the corridor with a bag of shopping in his mouth. She made it impossible for him to pass by her so he had to wriggle like a worm under her and between her legs, and as he did so she would drench him in her spit.
Sometimes she would wait for him to pass only to kick him solidly from behind and laugh as he collapsed in a heap on the floor or make him lie prone on the floor only to stand full weight on his back with her high heeled boots, but her favorite was to stand on his hands with her high heels and urge him to hurry up and move knowing full well that he could not.
As he finished putting the last item away Mistress appeared at the kitchen door. She had eaten and he had not. He was tired, hungry and thirsty.
"Shit face, I've had my dinner but I think that it is time for your dinner." She said.
She was holding a dinner plate in her hands. She smiled at him and began to scrape the meager left overs from her plate into a dogs bowl on the kitchen work surface.
"Since you act like a dog, you can eat like a dog".
He was loathe to eat from a dog bowl but he simply didn't have any choice. Mistress was far more intelligent than him and anyway could easily overpower him should she wish to. He didn't have a choice, the superior Mistress had made it for him.
He crawled over to the bowl , which was at her booted feet. As he bowed his head to eat from it, she gave it a gentle kick and the bowl moved out of his reach, sliding easily on the smooth kitchen floor. All he could hear was her laughter.
"Come on dog, work for it, come and get your dinner". Mistress whistled as though she were communicating with an animal and beckoned him over. He crawled over to the bowl, but she did it again, and again and again. Finally on the fifth attempt Mistress refrained from kicking the dog bowl. Instead as he began to eat her left overs she drove her foot into the back of his head, squashing his face in to the mixture of cold baked beans, half chewed jacket potato and runny bean juice.
"Eat up, you loser. Get your face in there."
He felt her hand grab the back of his head and pull him back out of the bowl.
"How about a little desert?" The question was purely rhetorical.
Mistress had a tub of yoghurt in her hand which she tipped over her slave's head, she then proceeded to spit at his face and head. His face caked with food, dripping with yoghurt and spittle was then pushed back into the dog bowl. She replaced her suede boot onto the back of his head, applied pressure and her worthless male coughed and spluttered as food went up his nose. She lifted her cup of tea to her lips, took a sip, ignoring the moron's moans and pleas.
"Didn't anyone teach you any manners? It's fucking rude to talk with your mouth full."
Foot Fetish Preferences
|My interests:||Trampling, Face standing, Crushing, High heels, Boots, Kicking|
|Other activites:||Perhaps you would allow me to buy you leather high boots, or allow me the honour of eating from the bottom of your boot soles.|
|My foot turn ons:||Boots signify power and authority, they are the lowest part of a superior woman's body to the ground and therefore appropriate to worship and be at that level.|