Foot Worship? Leg Worship? Boot worship? All can be worshipped in my chambers. I am Miss K Stinger, a fetish Mistress based in Barnet London. The following story/fantasy gives an insight into one of my subs (Chris) fetishes. I indulge him.
Shiny High-Heeled Boots
It never works out the way you plan. She had been photographed in shiny, high-heeled boots, with spurs arching in a wicked upward curve, and carrying a riding crop. You felt she couldn’t allow herself to be involved in such stark, dramatic image-making without, in some way, having an interest herself. Even the everyday clothes she had changed back into carried overtones of the same theme: tight black dress, ultra-high heels. You had made a couple of leading remarks, but she had merely responded with a knowing smirk, sitting with her legs crossed. Finally she had said through deep red lipstick: “I am not going to pander to your fantasies….but there is something you can do for me.” She then picked up the riding crop and pointed down to her hanging foot.
Nylon Clad Ankle
Now you are on your knees before her, your lips brushing against the gentle swell of her nylon-clad ankle. You have fantasised all your life about the usual things, but never this. And it’s a revelation. Instead of the impact play craved by every pain slut, you find yourself suddenly experiencing the existential power of femininity - a power that is at once sensual and spiritual.
True Foot Worship Mistress
Her shoe dangles from her toes, leaving her heel exposed. She taps the inside with her riding crop motioning for you to remove it. Now you are in the full throes of true worship, kissing her languidly wriggling toes through the reinforced nylon then working along to the cuban heel. You twist your neck to take in the seams rising along her calf as she straightens out her leg, and you realise your private region is undergoing a monumental change. “Now the other side,” she says huskily. She crosses her legs and you catch a glimpse of the pale flesh above her stocking tops. It feels as though something downstairs is in danger of snapping off.
And you carry on… kissing, caressing, worshipping. Then you have an epiphany - you realise the ecstasy pouring through you emanates not from anything physical, but from the celestial superiority of a femininity that - unlike masculinity - has no need to prove itself; it simply expresses a glacial serenity that permeates the Universe. And as she puts her hands on your neck and, with knees apart, guides you towards the portal that is the hem of her skirt. You have your first glimpse of the future.
Is this you? Do you wish to kneel and worship at my altar of superior femininity? Your fantasy will come alive in my chambers. I am the foot worship Mistress you will come back to again and again. What is it to be? A simple high-heeled shoe, the shiny boots, the fully-fashioned black seamed stockings? Let me know.
Miss K Stinger