WORSHIP ME WHILE I IGNORE YOU VOL 3 FV
As you step into the majestic presence of the ebony goddess, her towering stature commands your attention. Her one foot is planted on the floor, the other hovering inches from your face, every wrinkle on her midnight sole etched like a map to your ruin. She is oiled to a bronze shimmer, and diamond toe rings flash like tiny warning beacons. Your gaze travels up her toned legs, admiring the perfection that dwarfs you, as she lies pinned to cold tile, arms splayed, his torso offered up like a human ottoman.
Her voice is like silk-wrapped steel as she purrs, "You pay for the privilege of being forgotten." She never looks down, a true deity doesn't acknowledge furniture; she merely sets her feet and expects them to stay. The only sound is the slow, wet glide of her tongue as she lazily paints her own toes, savoring the taste of perfection while your mouth waters for scraps.
You watch in awe and anticipation as she counts the bills with her toes, crinkling them like tissue paper beneath arches that could snap a man's will. Her soles lower, engulfing the submissive's entire face, nostrils sealed between heel and ball, mouth smothered under plush pads that smell of vanilla and power. Every wrinkle grinds across his lips like braille spelling 'submit'.
A single crimson toenail traces a vein in his neck, tap-tap-tapping in time with the dwindling balance in his bank account. She flexes so hard his cheeks puff out like a blowfish, drool pooling at the corner of his mouth only to be wiped clean by her heel, repurposed as shoe-shine. Between gulps of humid foot-air, he whimpers gratitude, voice muffled into vibrations that tickle her sole and earn a cruel giggle.
She dangles a stiletto from one toe, threatening to drop the sharp heel straight onto his chest if the next tribute isn't instant. He frantically thumbs his phone, screen lighting up with digits that drain his savings in real time. Each confirmed transfer buys another second of warm weight pressing his ribcage toward spine.
Finally, she grants him a moment of eye contact, burning hotter than candle wax. His answer is lost under her sudden pivot, both soles slapped across his cheeks in thunderous applause. The imprint of her wrinkles lingers like red graffiti reading "property of goddess."
Between smothers, she allows tiny sips of oxygen, only to seal him again before gratitude can form words. Her big toe hooks his lower lip, stretching it into a grotesque smile while coins rain into the bowl. She records every clink on her phone, zooming in on his desperate eyes for future blackmail reels.
Eventually, she grows bored and slides both feet down to his chest, crossing ankles as if settling in for a nap. His heartbeat hammers against her heel like a trapped bird; she times venomous insults between pulses. "You exist exactly as long as my soles stay moisturized," she murmurs, wiggling until his vision tunnels into two ebony crescents.
The session ends only when she feels the last drop of will trickle out with his final tribute, standing up without another glance, leaving him twitching in a puddle of spit and coins. Your eyes follow her every movement, admiring her beauty and power, knowing that you too could be under her feet if you weren't so captivated by her dominance.
