As I sit upon my throne at Studio Atrium. It’s boot season!  The leaves are falling, the wind blowing. I can feel the power coursing through my veins My thigh-high leather boots, polished to perfection, gleam in the dim light, drawing all attention to my majestic presence. I am the wild untameable Goddess, and all who enter this sacred space will bow to my will.

You, my loyal subject, stand before me, your eyes fixed on the boots that seem to stretch up to the heavens. Your gaze is drawn to the way they hug my legs, the way the leather seems to shimmer in the light. You can almost smell the richness of the material, the scent of power and control that emanates from them.

"Kneel," I command, my voice low and husky.

You obey, your eyes never leaving the boots as you sink to your knees before me.

I raise my foot, and you instinctively reach out to touch the boot, to worship it. Your fingers graze the leather, and I can sense the desire coursing through you. You want to be closer, to feel the coolness of the material against your skin.

But I deny you. I pull my foot away, leaving you grasping at air. You look up at me, your eyes pleading, and I smile. This is just the beginning.

I lean forward, my boots creaking as I shift my weight. You can see the intricate stitching, the way the leather seems to mold to my legs. Your mouth waters at the thought of tasting the boot, of feeling the roughness of the material against your tongue.

Again, I deny you. I lean back, my boots remaining just out of reach. You can feel the frustration building, the desire to submit, to surrender to my whims.

But I will not relent. I will push you further, test your limits, and see how far you will go to please me.

I raise my foot once more, and this time, I place it on your shoulder.

You feel the weight of my dominance, the pressure of my boot on your skin. You can feel the power coursing through me, and you know that you are mine.

"Surrender," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "Give me your key, and become my personal plaything."

You hesitate, your eyes locked on mine. And then, with a sigh of defeat, you reach into your pocket and produce the key. You hand it to me, and I take it, feeling the weight of your submission.

You are mine now. Mine to play with, mine to tease, mine to deny. And as I look down at you, I know that you will do anything to please me, to earn the right to worship my boots once more.

The End

Writer:
Bizarrlady L'aDios