Foot Fetish

This morning, while waiting for coffee, I saw myself again on my knees over the freshly polished floor, legs numb and eyes down, waiting for a single order from him.

I’d gone days without hearing from her, dreaming of her orders. That afternoon I walked through a door I shouldn’t have and discovered how far I was willing to go.

She ordered me to get on all fours in the back room and, while her fingers explored me, I realized she had just uncovered something I’d hidden for years.

I had worn the belt for months and she promised to take it off that night. She didn’t tell me what I’d have to do first to deserve it.

I walked through that door convinced I knew my limits. Three hours later I realized I was only just beginning to discover them, trembling between fear and a hunger I couldn’t name.

When Bárbara let the sandal dangle from her fingertips, I knew I’d obey her right there in the entrance hall, no matter who walked in.

Renata had been putting up with the second-floor neighbor’s looks for weeks. That afternoon she decided he and his wife would finally learn who ruled the building.

When she lowered her eyes to those white, sweaty sneakers, she knew she would obey anything that girl asked of her. And that was only the beginning.

Tonight I’m sleeping on the floor, and I brought it on myself. The paradox of asking your Dom to order you around, then finding there’s no turning back.

He was almost forty, lived door to door, and one day invited me for a drink. That night I stopped being the girl on the landing and became his desire.

I accepted the date out of curiosity: to be the object my boss lends his friends. But what his partner wanted from me that night, I never could have imagined.

I went up to the third floor in my fishnet stockings and white heels, left the door ajar, and waited for the sound of my steps to wake the hunger in the men in the hallway.