You kneel before me, eyes fixed on my feet. The air in the room is thick with anticipation, every movement and sound amplified in the silence. I extend my legs, letting my toes wiggle slightly, a small but deliberate act to capture your attention fully.
“Do you like what you see, loser?” I ask, my voice cold and mocking. You shiver, the words sinking deep. “I want to see just how much you worship them.”
Your hands twitch, instinctively moving toward your own desire, but I raise my hand, stopping you. “No. Not yet. You have to earn it first.” You freeze, hands dropping to your sides, your eyes never leaving my feet.
“Start by kissing them,” I command, lifting one foot closer to your face. You lean in, placing tentative kisses along the top of my foot. Each touch of your lips is soft, hesitant, and I can feel your breath, warm and shaky against my skin.
“That’s right. Kiss every inch, and don’t miss a spot,” I continue, my tone filled with derision. “I want to feel your devotion with every touch of your lips.”
You move slowly, kissing each part of my foot with a reverence that borders on desperation. Your eyes are half-closed, lost in the act, and I can’t help but smirk at the sight of you, so eager to please.
“Look at you,” I say, shaking my head slightly. “A pathetic beta, doing exactly what you’re told. Does it make you feel special? Important?”
You pause, unsure if you’re allowed to respond. I enjoy the brief moment of confusion on your face before you resume your task, lips brushing over the arch of my foot.
“Use your tongue,” I instruct, watching as your eyes widen slightly. “I want to feel it, every little bit of worship you can offer.”
You obey, your tongue tentatively flicking out to taste my skin. The sensation is different, more intense, and I can see how much effort you’re putting into it. You’re completely focused, lost in your submission.
“Good,” I murmur, more to myself than to you. “Now, start from the bottom and work your way up. I want you to be thorough.”
You nod slightly, starting at my heel and moving upward, each kiss and lick a testament to your devotion. I can see the strain in your posture, the effort it takes to maintain this level of focus and obedience.
“You’re doing well,” I say, a rare moment of acknowledgment. “But don’t get too comfortable. You still have a long way to go.”
Your eyes meet mine briefly, a mix of gratitude and fear flashing across your face. You redouble your efforts, determined to meet my expectations.
“Now the toes,” I direct, spreading them slightly to give you better access. “I want you to kiss each one. Slowly.”
You take each toe into your mouth one by one, your tongue and lips working diligently. I can see the concentration on your face, the determination to please me.
“Such a good little beta,” I say softly, almost to myself. “So eager to serve. But remember, this is just the beginning. There will always be more to prove, more to show.”
As you finish with my toes, you hesitantly move one hand to your own need, looking up at me for permission. “Go ahead,” I say with a smirk. “Touch yourself while you worship me.”
Your hand wraps around your own length, and you begin to pleasure yourself, your movements mirroring the reverence with which you treat my feet. The combination of your touch on yourself and your lips on my skin creates a unique tension in the room.
“That’s it,” I purr, watching you intently. “Show me how much you enjoy this. How much you need this. Stroke nice and slow.”
You continue, the rhythm of your hand matching the gentle kisses and licks you bestow upon my feet. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, each one a testament to your growing desperation.
“Does it feel good, loser?” I taunt. “Do you like being at my feet, pleasuring yourself like the pathetic beta you are? Stroke nice and slow.”
You nod, unable to form words, your entire focus consumed by the dual sensations. The sight of you, lost in your submission, brings a satisfied smile to my face.
“Remember, this is where you belong,” I say softly, but firmly. “At my feet, showing me just how far you’re willing to go. Keep going, loser. Show me everything. Stroke nice and slow.”
Your response is immediate, a renewed intensity in your actions. You kiss and lick with more fervor, your hand moving faster, desperate to prove your devotion. The air is thick with the sounds of your submission, a symphony of your need and my control.
As you reach the edge of your endurance, I watch with satisfaction, knowing that this moment is just the beginning of your journey at my feet.
“I can tell you’re close,” I say, my voice a soft purr. “When you finish, make sure you don’t waste a drop. I want you to clean up after yourself. Understand?”
Your eyes meet mine, filled with a mix of gratitude and desperation. You nod, unable to stop yourself now, driven by the need to obey and please.
“Good,” I say, leaning back slightly to enjoy the view. “Go on, loser. Finish for me.”
Your movements become frantic, your hand a blur as you reach the peak of your desire. With a final, desperate gasp, you release, the evidence of your submission spilling onto my feet.
“That’s right,” I say softly. “Now, lick it off. Clean my feet with your tongue.”
You hesitate for only a moment before leaning in, your tongue darting out to clean the mess you made. Each stroke of your tongue is filled with a mix of shame and devotion, and I watch with a satisfied smile.
“Such a good little beta,” I say, my voice filled with mocking affection. “This is where you belong. At my feet, cleaning up after yourself. Remember that.”
As you finish, you look up at me, eyes wide and filled with a mix of emotions. I nod in approval, knowing that this is just the beginning of your journey at my feet.
