Coming home feels like stepping into a world crafted just for me, where every detail is tended to by a devoted servant eager to please. Today’s attendant is particularly meticulous, dropping to his knees to kiss my shoes the moment I enter. With swift efficiency, he gathers my scarf and coat as I undress, sensing my exhaustion. Collapsing onto the sofa, I sigh in relief as he joins me, ready to soothe my aching feet. With skilled hands, he removes my boots and begins a massage that melts the tension away—his touch is surprisingly adept. What starts as a massage soon shifts into worship as he lavishes attention on my feet, his adoration evident in every kiss and caress. I playfully tease his face, amused by his fervor, until his enthusiasm goes too far—he tears my pantyhose. His apology is immediate, but I’m furious, berating him as I slap him with my foot. Deciding the pantyhose are ruined, I remove them and loop them around his neck, pulling him closer to my feet. His punishment? To lick and suck each toe like a loyal puppy. Once his lesson is complete, I demand he replace the torn pantyhose immediately. Chasing him out of the house, I watch as he scurries away on all fours, the damaged hosiery still knotted around his neck—proof of his devotion and folly.
