His Mouth, Her Shoes
“I lift my heel from your face, not to spare you—only to make you kiss it properly.” You’re
Sessions are not fantasies—they’re rehearsals of your undoing. Each one a private immersion into her methods: a hand at your throat, a whisper that rewires, a stare that leaves you trembling. These are one-on-one encounters—crafted, controlled, and cruel in the most exquisite ways. You won’t remember if you begged or simply obeyed. All you’ll remember… is that you never wanted it to stop.
“I lift my heel from your face, not to spare you—only to make you kiss it properly.” You’re
“You’re not kissing. You’re not licking. You’re supporting.” Brunch was your idea. Cute, really. You wanted to
“Look at yourself. That’s who you are now. Say thank you.” You’re not bound. Not yet. I want