BDSM

I went downstairs to the bathroom with a simple urge and found her there, soaped up and smiling, already knowing the order I was about to give her.

Every time her sister turned away, she slipped off her sandals and left her feet on display, knowing exactly what she was doing to me and savoring every second of my torment.

She took off her shoe in the car, slid her foot to my crotch, and whispered, “Is your first time going to be obeying me? Better for both of us.”

I woke up tied to the leather bench, naked and gagged, and understood that the session wasn’t meant to cure me: it was meant for them to have their fun with me.

At one in the morning she slipped off her heels to provoke, as always. She had no idea that night someone would turn her whim into an order.

For weeks I’d been admiring her feet from the back row. The day she slipped off her sandals and pinned me with her gaze, I knew there was no turning back.

She came back from training still in uniform, looked down at me from above, and I understood that afternoon that something between us was going to change forever.

It took three months of patience to reach Mariana’s sofa, slowly remove her shoes, and discover whether she really minded that I couldn’t stop staring at her feet.

I told her I liked her feet and she laughed. She had no idea that that afternoon, while she looked after her nieces, I was on my knees in front of her bed with her sneakers in my hands.

I learned to count the hours until she fell asleep. Only then, in the darkness of the bunk bed, were her sandals mine and no one could see what I did with them.

I went to her house for a school assignment and found her in flip-flops. From that moment on, I could never look at her without thinking of her feet.

I’d spent years pretending I didn’t stare at her feet. That night, barefoot on the bed, she ordered me to kneel—and there was no turning back.

I turned my back to the camera, moved my hips slowly, and waited. I only wanted a stranger to tell me what to do with my own body.

On weekends I don’t go to the movies for the film. I go to sit in back and wait for unknown feet to settle on me and decide how much I can take.

It was exactly midnight when I crossed the patio barefoot. Her pink flip-flops were still there, warm, with the imprint of every one of her toes waiting for me in the dark.

I started graduate school not knowing anyone. It only took one look at her crossing her legs and slipping off a sandal for me to stop paying attention to anything else.

The moment the gathering loosens up and no one is looking, I slip into the bathroom. I know exactly what I’m going to find in the hamper, and I know perfectly well what I’m going to do with it.

It had been two weeks since anyone had used me the way I needed, so I put on the easiest dress to remove and went to the only place where no one would ever say no to me.

When she came out of the bedroom wrapped in that black latex, ponytail pulled tight and high heels on, I knew we weren’t going to sleep early that night.

That afternoon, she walked through the curtain into the back room knowing she would obey every order, however degrading, without anyone forcing her to.