You belong down there. We both know that.
I am elegance and coldness rolled into one, and I need no words to make you feel small. A single glance is enough, and you’ll be lying where you belong: at my feet.
You kiss the soles of my feet as if your life and your very breath depended on it. You lick them until they’re spotless, and you thank me for every touch. And when I decide you deserve more, you obediently open your mouth for my golden shower – not because you’re thirsty, but because I want you to.
No pride. No will of your own. Just my tool, letting itself sink deeper and deeper. I enjoy it. You cry. And yet you come back anyway.
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