Worship My Feet or Get Fired
Kiffa stood in the large kitchen, hands on her hips as she glared down at the man cowering under the table. He was her boss's step-son, and he was a sorry excuse for a human being. He was supposed to be helping her clean up after their last party, but instead, he was hiding like a scared little kid.
She couldn't believe he had the nerve to be a foot freak. It was one thing to have a dirty mind, but another thing entirely to act on those desires. And she wasn't about to let him get away with it.
"You better have a good reason for being under there, mister," she said, her accent thickening with anger. "And I better see some effort in cleaning up this mess or you're out on your ass."
The man, looking up at her with wide eyes, shook his head. "I can't... I just can't stop thinking about your feet," he stammered.
Kiffa rolled her eyes, disgusted by his confession. "Well, if you want to keep your job, you better start doing your job," she snapped. "And that includes getting those filthy hands of yours off my feet."
Reluctantly, the man crawled out from under the table, his face red with embarrassment. He tried to avoid looking at Kiffa's feet, but she made sure to keep them in his line of sight.
"You better start cleaning," she said, gesturing to the mess on the floor. "And if you try anything funny, I'll be more than happy to slap those dirty feet of yours."
As he began to clean, Kiffa couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. She could tell he was terrified of her, and she enjoyed every second of it.
Hours passed, and Kiffa watched as the man struggled to keep up with the cleaning. She had purposely left the worst mess for last, knowing it would be impossible for him to clean without touching her feet.
Finally, when she was satisfied that he had done enough, she pulled out a pair of brand new flip-flops from her bag. "These," she said, holding them up for him to see, "are for you. You're going to worship my feet before you leave."
The man nodded, his eyes wide with fear and anticipation. Kiffa took her time removing her dirty shoes, savoring the look of desperation on his face as he watched her every move.
"Get on your knees," she commanded. The man hesitated, but Kiffa's glare was enough to make him comply. She leaned over, placing one foot gently in his lap. "Now, tell me how sexy my feet are."
The man stammered out his reply, barely audible over the sound of Kiffa's heels tapping against the floor. She smiled, pleased with his response.
She took her time, making him worship each foot, rubbing and massaging them as she pleased. When she was finally satisfied, she stood up, stretching her arms above her head.
"Now," she said, smirking, "you can go. But remember, if you ever try anything like this again, you're out on your ass."
The man nodded, still on his knees, and began to crawl away. Kiffa watched him go, a satisfied smile on her face. She may have been cruel, but she wasn't stupid. She knew how to keep her job secure - by making sure those around her knew their place.
