Lana's feet
Lana crossed her legs and casually swings her foot at my stomach. I am kneeling at his feet, almost naked, my hands handcuffed behind my back. Head down. My cheeks are still warm from the slaps she gave me, my nipples burn as she pinched and twisted them cruelly. To teach me not to speak without her giving me permission.
So I look at her pump, the tip of which regularly comes back to brush against my navel, as her foot swings. What will she do with me?
After a long moment of silence, Lana uncrosses her legs and places the heel of her shoe above the protrusion of my collarbone. I choose not to protest despite the pain and let her continue as she pleases. After ensuring that her shoe is secure, she arches her foot and takes off her shoes with a smooth movement. This time, the heel slides over my skin, which the pressure has caused to roll over the rounded bone and sc**** me hard. The shoe falls and bounces on my thigh, as Lana's bare, sweaty foot lands on my shoulder. I suppress the urge to glance furtively aside and already his other foot is resting, also naked, on my thigh.
I remain like that, head down, motionless, lustfully detailing the bare foot that Lana offers to my gaze. A conquering and distinguished foot, firm and graceful. A foot whose nicely proportioned toes leave their mark on my flesh. The sweat has caused the leather of the shoe to rub off on them and I can also see small red marks from overheating, which is normal at the end of the day. Her nails are pretty, a little long. They sometimes have particles of black leather accumulated in places or maybe dust, but I don't care. I find them beautiful, vigorous. I hope at this moment that Lana will allow me to clean them for her, that she will want me to take care of the comfort and beauty of her feet.
Lana wiggles her toes on my thigh, on my shoulder and sighs contentedly. Leaning comfortably on the deep sofa, she stretches the muscles of her leg leaning against my shoulder to relax. Then his foot slides towards my neck. His toes caress my jaw for a moment. With the tip of her foot, she makes me look up at her by lifting my chin. Finally, she gently moves her toes forward until her nails dig into my upper lip and curl it slightly. The smell of his foot is strong, almost intoxicating. I breathe it fearfully, without daring to show my desire.
“Do you want to lick my feet? »
She looks at me with a strange smile.
“I’m sure so…”
I lower my eyes humbly to indicate my desire, then, shyly, I part my mouth and I stick out my tongue to caress the delicate skin of Lana's foot. Oddly, she moves her foot back slightly, preventing me from reaching it. I move my head forward a little, balancing precariously on my knees. My wrists still tied hurt. She moves her foot back again. I stretch my neck even more, then my tongue, almost falling while trying to give even a fleeting lick, but quick as lightning, Lana places her two feet on top of my shoulders and makes me collapse face down on the ground...
It looks like I'm prostrated now. I really hurt myself when I hit the ground, even though I had time to turn my head. I am still kneeling, but in an uncomfortable position. Lana has placed a foot on my back and the pressure she puts on me hurts. His other foot crushes my head. And nothing more happens.
Lana used me as a footstool for what seemed like an eternity. The silence was only broken, from time to time, by the rustling of the pages of the magazine she was reading. We can't imagine how much pain we can suffer, immobile, crouched under a woman's feet. The weight of his leg on my back exhausted me, especially since my position forced me to contract my muscles, putting my physical resistance to the test. With my cheek pressed against the ground, I thought my head would eventually burst under the pressure of Lana's foot. His heel ended up crushing my temple, I could no longer even appreciate the contact of his warm foot resting on my cheek. I experienced only fleeting moments of respite, when she slightly shifted the position of her feet on me, relieving the sore area where her feet had rested.
When she finally stopped my torment, I was dizzy and felt drained of all energy. The cramps I felt in my arms and thighs prevented me from making any sudden movements. As for my back, it was nothing but aches...
It seems that I must learn to suffer for His pleasure, without worrying about my own desires. I’m in the probation phase, she explained to me. Until recently, she wondered what a man could be useful to her for. Intrigued by the ad that I had published on an Internet dating site and that she had discovered somewhat by chance, she admitted that my passion for female feet could fit perfectly with her long-standing desire to own a doormat. human.
She trampled me for a long time, without ever letting me go. Barefoot most often, but also with shoes. She seems to particularly enjoy stepping on my face or strangling me by pressing a foot across my throat. After this treatment, my voice remained hoarse for two days! I didn't have the right to lick his feet, as I wanted so badly "that will be my reward if I'm good". But she forced me to smell her feet until I was drunk. I was also able to kiss the soles of her feet when she stood on me or stomped on my face. To end this strange evening, she removed my handcuffs and granted me the privilege of having my hands crushed under magnificent gold strappy sandals that she had worn for the occasion. She took particular pleasure in crushing my fingers, putting all her weight on them and rotating her foot as if she wanted to reduce them to dust. I had to thank her, tell her how beautiful I found her despite the suffering she put me through, and kiss the foot that was crushing my hand.
It left me physically tested and bruised, prey to the bizarre feeling of having been used as a simple object. Strangely, I admire him for that. I am grateful to him for having been able to impose his will on me and for not having felt the slightest remorse for using me for his sole pleasure. Women like her fascinate me. I remember her greedy smile when she told me, her eyes shining, that next time she would dance on me. I know it will still hurt me and I might get nothing but more bruises. Yet I will still offer myself to her so that she may trample me underfoot. Whenever she wants. As much as she wants.
So I look at her pump, the tip of which regularly comes back to brush against my navel, as her foot swings. What will she do with me?
After a long moment of silence, Lana uncrosses her legs and places the heel of her shoe above the protrusion of my collarbone. I choose not to protest despite the pain and let her continue as she pleases. After ensuring that her shoe is secure, she arches her foot and takes off her shoes with a smooth movement. This time, the heel slides over my skin, which the pressure has caused to roll over the rounded bone and sc**** me hard. The shoe falls and bounces on my thigh, as Lana's bare, sweaty foot lands on my shoulder. I suppress the urge to glance furtively aside and already his other foot is resting, also naked, on my thigh.
I remain like that, head down, motionless, lustfully detailing the bare foot that Lana offers to my gaze. A conquering and distinguished foot, firm and graceful. A foot whose nicely proportioned toes leave their mark on my flesh. The sweat has caused the leather of the shoe to rub off on them and I can also see small red marks from overheating, which is normal at the end of the day. Her nails are pretty, a little long. They sometimes have particles of black leather accumulated in places or maybe dust, but I don't care. I find them beautiful, vigorous. I hope at this moment that Lana will allow me to clean them for her, that she will want me to take care of the comfort and beauty of her feet.
Lana wiggles her toes on my thigh, on my shoulder and sighs contentedly. Leaning comfortably on the deep sofa, she stretches the muscles of her leg leaning against my shoulder to relax. Then his foot slides towards my neck. His toes caress my jaw for a moment. With the tip of her foot, she makes me look up at her by lifting my chin. Finally, she gently moves her toes forward until her nails dig into my upper lip and curl it slightly. The smell of his foot is strong, almost intoxicating. I breathe it fearfully, without daring to show my desire.
“Do you want to lick my feet? »
She looks at me with a strange smile.
“I’m sure so…”
I lower my eyes humbly to indicate my desire, then, shyly, I part my mouth and I stick out my tongue to caress the delicate skin of Lana's foot. Oddly, she moves her foot back slightly, preventing me from reaching it. I move my head forward a little, balancing precariously on my knees. My wrists still tied hurt. She moves her foot back again. I stretch my neck even more, then my tongue, almost falling while trying to give even a fleeting lick, but quick as lightning, Lana places her two feet on top of my shoulders and makes me collapse face down on the ground...
It looks like I'm prostrated now. I really hurt myself when I hit the ground, even though I had time to turn my head. I am still kneeling, but in an uncomfortable position. Lana has placed a foot on my back and the pressure she puts on me hurts. His other foot crushes my head. And nothing more happens.
Lana used me as a footstool for what seemed like an eternity. The silence was only broken, from time to time, by the rustling of the pages of the magazine she was reading. We can't imagine how much pain we can suffer, immobile, crouched under a woman's feet. The weight of his leg on my back exhausted me, especially since my position forced me to contract my muscles, putting my physical resistance to the test. With my cheek pressed against the ground, I thought my head would eventually burst under the pressure of Lana's foot. His heel ended up crushing my temple, I could no longer even appreciate the contact of his warm foot resting on my cheek. I experienced only fleeting moments of respite, when she slightly shifted the position of her feet on me, relieving the sore area where her feet had rested.
When she finally stopped my torment, I was dizzy and felt drained of all energy. The cramps I felt in my arms and thighs prevented me from making any sudden movements. As for my back, it was nothing but aches...
It seems that I must learn to suffer for His pleasure, without worrying about my own desires. I’m in the probation phase, she explained to me. Until recently, she wondered what a man could be useful to her for. Intrigued by the ad that I had published on an Internet dating site and that she had discovered somewhat by chance, she admitted that my passion for female feet could fit perfectly with her long-standing desire to own a doormat. human.
She trampled me for a long time, without ever letting me go. Barefoot most often, but also with shoes. She seems to particularly enjoy stepping on my face or strangling me by pressing a foot across my throat. After this treatment, my voice remained hoarse for two days! I didn't have the right to lick his feet, as I wanted so badly "that will be my reward if I'm good". But she forced me to smell her feet until I was drunk. I was also able to kiss the soles of her feet when she stood on me or stomped on my face. To end this strange evening, she removed my handcuffs and granted me the privilege of having my hands crushed under magnificent gold strappy sandals that she had worn for the occasion. She took particular pleasure in crushing my fingers, putting all her weight on them and rotating her foot as if she wanted to reduce them to dust. I had to thank her, tell her how beautiful I found her despite the suffering she put me through, and kiss the foot that was crushing my hand.
It left me physically tested and bruised, prey to the bizarre feeling of having been used as a simple object. Strangely, I admire him for that. I am grateful to him for having been able to impose his will on me and for not having felt the slightest remorse for using me for his sole pleasure. Women like her fascinate me. I remember her greedy smile when she told me, her eyes shining, that next time she would dance on me. I know it will still hurt me and I might get nothing but more bruises. Yet I will still offer myself to her so that she may trample me underfoot. Whenever she wants. As much as she wants.
11 months ago