The late afternoon light falls straight onto the soles of her feet, and what appears is almost surreal: a white sole, smooth, perfect, as if it were made of porcelain. Every toe, every curve, every line of the sole shines under the sun, and the contrast with the gray, dirty sock beside it only makes everything more intense.

She is gothic, a witch, beautiful in a way that scares. Black tattoos climbing up her arm, long dark hair, black dress, and that smile of someone who knows exactly the power she holds. She extends her foot, makes me smell the sweaty sock, and while I bury my face in it, she starts speaking low, with contempt, humiliating me word by word. She says I’m a dog, that I live to smell her feet, that I don’t even deserve to look at her face.

I lose myself. The smell is strong, warm, and I breathe deep, unable to stop. Then she takes the sock off, and the white sole appears completely, shining in the sun. She orders me to lick. I lick the entire sole, slowly, while she keeps talking, calling me a slave, trash, a dog’s foot. And I only want more.

Her sole is white, soft, warm, and the sun hits it as if it were illuminating a trophy. I lick every inch, while she laughs and humiliates me