My chattel has been mummified in a tight nylon body bag, his limbs bound in leather straps, completely immobilised, completely silent. That’s how I like him: silent, still, and waiting. And since he behaved so well, I’ve decided to give him a reward. As he’s a true footboy, what could be more thrilling than the scent of My sweaty feet?
At first, he’s helpless, unable even to use his tongue. But I’m a generous Matriarch. I cut a small hole in the bodybag, just big enough to release his tongue, his only tool for worship. I place My feet firmly on his face, first in My sweaty nylon socks, then bare. I let him breathe Me in, lick, suck, and show his total devotion. I speak softly yet powerfully, reminding him that every time he is bound and helpless in his bag, he can only hope that I will arrive and press My feet to his face again.
This is worship under My rules. Your hope is the highest privilege I allow you. And sometimes, I reward it.
Will you earn My sweaty soles next?
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