The Lightning of Fetishism

by D. Katarina

Slowly opening the door I tuck myself behind it to lengthen his anticipation of finally seeing me. He hesitantly steps in, where nothing stands between us anymore, where we can passionately indulge, each from a different hierarchical perspective, in a mutual fetish.

While closing the door and opening the scene, our eyes meet and without any sentiment I order him on his knees to kiss my feet. He drops down and I have to correct his absurd enthusiasm: “I said kiss, not lick!” and purposely step on one of his hands.

He reverts to the appropriate manner that allows him to appreciate the exquisite shoes on my feet. I hear him sniffing and inhaling the scent of leather and my sweat mixed together. His moves are now more composed. He tenderly holds and worships my elegantly encased feet, his eyes are closed, his lips sealed and his cheek is polishing the tip of my shoe.
This gentle vulnerability gives him a streak of absolute devotion, which in turn empowers me. An electrifying sensation runs through my body, I feel the sparks under the mesh of my stockings, the very tips of my breasts are struck with the lightning of my own fetishism.

I catch him looking up from between my slightly spread legs; his gaze travels up my thighs, then stops at the level of significant body parts, working its way to my face. I put my gloved hands on my hips, shift the weight on to my left leg and with the other one I press his head properly on my leather shoe: “Pay attention, slave, I did not allow you to stop! Only when I tell you directly you may look up from where you are now!” Then I walk away and let him remain on his hands and knees for a few more seconds.

Now he is ordered to undress, which he does calmly, but quickly, revealing smooth shaven heavy-hanging balls and erect penis.
I sit down and lead him to my armchair with my voice: “On your knees, slave, crawl to me without raising your eyes from my shoes!” Then I cross my legs, commanding: “Now suck the heel!” and like the juiciest lollipop it really disappears in between his o-shaped lips.
(The sweetest juice of a peach, the drippy lip of a moist mussel, sizzling snail or octopus, slippery snake, dizzying whirlpool of thoughts in my head, persistent, hard pressure on a soft spot creates an urge to pee…)

Worship and Vulgarity as an epilogue.
To further implement and vulgarize my control over his sexual adoration, his worshiping my shoe as the brain masturbation, I move my foot and my heel, sensuously, in and out of his mouth. As I do so, his cock, a subject of waves of arousal, is now reduced to an object of my whim (mercy) to either step on or caress it gently anytime I please with my free foot.