Madame Rottenmeier stretched out on the sofa, her long legs draped over the armrest. She had been busy all day running her business, and now she wanted to relax by watching some videos on her smartphone. The only problem was her foot slave, who lay at her feet, his face buried in the soft fabric of her couch.
Ignoring him completely, she scrolled through the videos on her device, occasionally stopping to click play when something caught her eye. As she did so, her high heels dug into the poor slave's cheeks, eliciting muffled groans of pain from beneath them.
The footrest beneath her feet went ignored as she shifted her weight from one foot to another, grinding her stilettos into his flesh. She felt the warmth of his breath on her toes, and a small smile curled at the corner of her mouth. This was power, pure and simple.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity to the suffering foot slave, she lifted her legs off the couch and stood up. He immediately rolled over onto his back, gasping for air and wincing at the stinging pain in his face. Madame Rottenmeier grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling him closer to her.
"You are such a pathetic little foot slave," she said, her voice dripping with contempt. "But I must admit, you do have one redeeming quality."
With that, she bent down and brought her face close to his, her breath hot on his skin. Slowly, she slipped one foot out of her heel and placed it gently on his chest.
"You worship my feet," she whispered, her voice a sultry purr. "And that, my little loser, is something I can use."
She stood up straight again, this time leaving him lying there with her foot resting on his chest. A small, hopeful smile began to appear on his swollen face. Maybe there was a chance for him after all.
