Mistress Vancouver Dominatrix, Fetish, Discipline, Domination

December 2011

Ecstatic Commitment

Toes perfectly lacquered with the most red of red to gain attention are, in spite of being veiled with silky stockings, part of feet and legs that serve the purpose of holding the weight of persona.

Feet and legs, the very pillars that touch the ground to keep the head high, connect with sky. Those who reach up there are divine, those at the level of ground serve the divine. Feet are mediators between worshippers and the gods.

He was stretched on the floor, his body freshly bathed as ordered, naked and muscular, obviously in a state of arousal. I was sitting cross-legged in my Victorian armchair. There was a glass of wine with a red lipstick mark on its edge on the table next to me. Reading and making notes, I lifted my eyes to make a comment on his erect organ. I told him to unlace my shiny high heel boots: one of them using his fingers, the other one just with his tongue. He pulled them off placing them in a close distance from his outstretched body. I let him caress my feet, my legs only up to the knees, to feel the softness of black stockings with all his senses: touch, smell and taste. I didn’t blindfold him, since he was meek, obedient, almost feminine in a way, wanting him to see the beauty of my slender ankles. And when it came to hearing, my orders and purrs were what I wanted him to perceive and focus on.

I stuck a tip of my toe in between his lips, my other foot took hold of his penis pressing it lightly first onto, then away from his belly. Having my legs apart this way I couldn’t help but notice his look. His eyes were affixed like two spot lights in the center of my lap, where my thighs meet. I could read his mind, what he wished to lick and suck while he nibbled at my toe.

It is such a comfort to recline, not having to worry about the time. It just stops. If you were to look close up through the key hole, you would see an image of absolute harmony: slender foot, tip toes touching the nose of the one who wants no more than tip toes touching his nose. The foot imposing the pressure is as light as feather. And yet: getting any higher demands heavy concentration, surrender and meaningful sacrifice.

I did, not even once, fondle his cock with my hand; neither had I given him an opportunity to pleasure himself. His painful erection was an expression of his precise aim, onto which I zoomed in by stepping on his shaven balls. Rolling and kneading them with both my feet, then moving them towards the tip of the penis, I observed on his face an ecstatic commitment to my feet: fetish.

I did, not even once, let my stockings become shiny-sticky soaked wet with his juice.


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