Bought For The Night – A Lesbian Foot Worship & Domination Erotica

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A poor condition book can still make a good reading copy but is generally not collectible unless the item is very scarce. In the paleness of the early morning, in that nebulous land between full sleep and being truly awake, my mind wanders to unbidden images of Holly and Frank.

A beautiful woman who spurned the advances of someone skilled in magic (although some tales say a god, and some say it was a jealous Circe).

And I can smile to myself, as I unlock my front door and step inside my home after a tiresome, but fulfilling day as a lab technician, that I’ve earned all of this. But if there’s any at the mall right now, I bet they’d be hanging around the shoe racks I’m currently browsing myself. I refresh my feed obsessively, and eventually navigate to her fetish profile, browsing the gallery I’ve gained such an intimate familiarity with at this point.

Depending on how grand the wish was, the poor girl may wind up shrinking smaller, or for a longer period of time, than normal. I’m tempted to finish my pleasure session, but… in truth, I’m scared of what I might do once close to the edge.

I practice while waiting for my Sole Monarch, standing demurely by the side of the table, curtsying humbly, fetching things back and forth. If this really is her, finally delivering after being subjected to a full week of teasing… god, that’s going to fill so damn good. Her red hair frames her clever green eyes like a royal crown, and where I first saw a slightly chubby girl, I now see a sculptor's work of elegant curves and wiry strength. I throw myself at her boot like a drowning woman clutching at a straw, in the middle of a sea in storm. I also like the idea of a couple that shrinks themselves on purpose to go explore someones house without them knowing, and the house could belong to friends or strangers.

I might be drunk with weakness and subservience, but I’m not stupid – I recognise the words for what they are. I get as close as I dare, close enough that I can smell the soft scent of his hair – and then pounce, tickling his shoulders. Holly uses his head as a footrest, placing her soles on his neck, the back of his head, his forehead… his lips, I notice with a blush that nearly makes me look away. Unable to take anymore, I slip the phone in a pocket of my jeans, and get up to rush to the bathroom.My head in the clouds, I leave my bag on a chair in the kitchen, and then peek inside the living room. They’re rough to the touch, somewhat misshapen in places, worn out in others, and even at arm’s length, they reek of foot sweat. I mean, I know mine do in similar situations… what I’m really asking is, do they have someone taking care of them? How many crappy romcoms about love triangles, how many tropes about bitchy female rivalries have slowly filtered into my brain, to the point that I would identify submission to Holly as a fundamental admission that I have failed as a woman?