Satin Sheer Stocking Slave. wmv
As Goddess Cheyenne entered her home, she recalled the mail she had received the previous day. A custom request had been made, and she knew it was time to act. She summoned her slavegirl, who hurried into the room and immediately knelt before her.
"Bring me my phone," commanded Goddess Cheyenne. The slavegirl rushed to obey, returning with the device in her trembling hands. Goddess Cheyenne read through the piece of paper once more, nodding in satisfaction.
"My feet are hurting," she said, kicking off her shoes. "On your knees. Take off my shoes!"
The slavegirl hurried forward, her eyes glued to her mistress's feet. As she removed the shoes, she couldn't help but gasp at the powerful aroma that wafted upward.
"Your shoes smell so strong," she murmured, her voice filled with awe. "It's like a combination of footsweat and leather. It smells so beautiful to me."
Goddess Cheyenne raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Oh, Goddess what?" she teased. "You have to report in a proper way how my shoes smell!"
The slavegirl quickly composed herself. "You must wear your shoes all day, Mistress. Your shoes smell like you've been wearing them for hours, and it's a combination of sweat and leather that I find so irresistible."
Goddess Cheyenne nodded approvingly. "That's better," she said, lying back on the chair. "Kneel in front of me now. I need a footstool."
The slavegirl knelt obediently, her face mere inches from her mistress's feet. Goddess Cheyenne dialled a number on her phone, speaking quietly into the receiver. As she did so, she rested her feet on the back of her slavegirl, enjoying the intimate contact.
"Hello, this is Goddess Cheyenne," she said, her voice commanding. "Yes, you've mailed me your number to call you back. You've mailed me that you're willing to be my slave. So, what is your profession, and how much do you earn?"
She listened intently to the response, nodding in satisfaction. "You are unemployed?" she said, her voice cool. "That means you earn only a dole, but that also means you have a lot of free time to satisfy your Goddess too."
The conversation continued, and Goddess Cheyenne explained her unique proposition. She didn't have a job for a slave in her domicile but there was a place in her life for this man - as her stockingslave. He would have to buy all the stockings and pantyhose for her, using his dole. From him.
"And you have to do this to my instructions," she said, her voice low and threatening. "I wear stockings day by day, and you have to buy all the stockings and pantyhose for me, your Goddess. From your dole. And you have to do this even if it means going without yourself."
She paused, letting the gravity of her words sink in. "And what do you earn for that job?" she asked quietly. "You earn dole, and you have the permission to buy my worn stockings back... but double-billed! It's more expensive because it's soaked with the footsweat of your Goddess."
The slavegirl listened in awe as Goddess Cheyenne outlined the terms of their agreement. This was no ordinary job; this was a privilege, and one that would require complete submission. The man on the other end of the line would have to prove his worthiness before he could even dream of serving her in this way.
As the call ended, Goddess Cheyenne sat back in her chair, rubbing her feet together. The sound echoed through the room, a hypnotic rhythm that seemed to captivate everyone within earshot. Her slavegirl watched in rapt attention, her eyes fixed on the stockings that clung to her mistress's legs.
"Go and bring me a drink," commanded Goddess Cheyenne. "And bring me a small chair to lay my feet on."
The slavegirl scurried to obey, returning moments later with a glass of wine and a small stool. Goddess Cheyenne lifted her feet onto the stool, her stockinged toes wiggling in anticipation. She looked down at her slavegirl, who knelt before her, her head bowed in submission.
"Kneel down next to my feet," she said, her voice commanding.
The slavegirl did as she was told, her eyes darting up to meet Goddess Cheyenne's gaze. She could feel the heat emanating from her mistress's feet, the scent of sweat and leather filling the air. It was intoxicating, and she found herself growing wet between her legs just from the proximity.
"I'm so honored to smell the aroma of your sweaty feet, my Goddess," she murmured, her voice shaking with emotion. "Your footsweat smells like old cheese between your toes. It's making me wet between my legs."
Goddess Cheyenne smiled, her eyes glinting with amusement. "You'll make a fine stockingslave," she said, running her fingers through the slavegirl's hair. "Now go and find something to prepare my stockings to send to this guy. I'm sure he sent the money right away."
With a nod, the slavegirl rose to her feet, her heart pounding with excitement and anticipation. She hurried away to gather the necessary items, eager to prove herself worthy of serving her Goddess in this unique and intimate way.
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