IsabellaSommers

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                                                                                              IsabellaSommers 

I remember the first time he asked me to wear those red heels that he liked so much. They were tall, thin, and echoed with every step he took across the room. The sound seemed to spark something in him, and I noticed it from the first moment he saw me enter. 

 

 

 

 

My feet, always delicate and cared for, were his weakness. I used to notice how his eyes followed every movement I made with them, from how I slid my heels off, to how I moved my fingers slowly, teasingly. I knew what he liked, and I loved playing with that obsession.

 

 

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I want you to put on those heels and walk towards me," he told me that night, his voice thick with desire, but also with a firm tone that left me no option to refuse. And I loved to obey. Submission had always been part of me, since I discovered this world, every order, every gesture, every look connected me more with my role. It was a mixture of pleasure, control, and dedication.

As she walked towards him, each step became heavier, more intentional. He knew that the tension in the atmosphere was growing. I couldn't help but smile as I felt how my body responded to that control, to the way his eyes devoured me from head to toe. I felt his gaze as if he were touching me. And when I got to him, he asked me to take off my heels slowly, while still looking at him. That part was her favorite, the moment when she slid her heels, as if removing a layer of mystery. I sat in front of him, my feet within reach, knowing exactly what was coming.

We often joked about how my ability to read people mixed with my submissive nature. But with him, everything was different. There was no room for jokes, just that intense connection that came when we were both on the same page. His fetish for my feet was only part of what we shared. There was something about the way he took control, how he looked at me without saying a word, and knew exactly what to do.

 

 

 

 

 He leaned me towards him and slid his hands over my ankles, caressing every inch of skin with devotion as his fingers traced the contours of my feet. The feeling of being admired in that way, with a mixture of adoration and desire, was incomparable. What turned me on the most was not just the act itself, but the way he handled the situation, as if his every gesture was calculated to provoke a reaction in me.

Sometimes we talked about our most hidden fetishes. He adored every part of me, from my hair, which he pulled gently at just the right moments, to how I knew how to obey without him having to ask twice. I, on the other hand, let myself be carried away by that mix between control and vulnerability, a subtle dance between those who rule and those who surrender. At the end of that night, I realized that I had not only indulged his fantasies, but mine as well. Every moment we spent together was an opportunity to discover something new, both about him and about myself. And that, for me, was the most exciting thing of all.

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