Announcement Beijing Foot Fetish: Smelly Feet Turn The Spanish Expat On

[shanghaidomme]

The Spanish expat in Beijing has a strong fetish for stinky feet. My feet sweat often so it is easy for them to produce stinky smell.
“Look at me,” I said, my voice low and velvety, dripping with authority. My eyes lock onto his, a smirk playing on my lips as I slowly uncross my legs. “You've been waiting for this, haven’t you?” I lift one foot, hovering it just inches from his face, the arch glistening faintly with a sheen of sweat from a long day of ruling my domain. The scent hits him—a heady mix of musk and warmth, earthy and unapologetic, the raw essence of my power.
“Goddess Alessandra's feet don't wait,” I tease, wiggling my toes slightly, the nails painted a deep crimson that catches the light. “Show me his devotion.” My tone is both a command and an invitation, daring him to prove himself worthy.
He leans in, his breath catching as the aroma grows stronger—stinky, yes, but irresistibly divine. He presses his lips softly to the ball of my foot, tasting the salt of my skin, feeling the heat radiate from me. I sigh, a sound that sends a shiver down his spine, and tilt my head back slightly, savoring his worship. “That's it,” I murmur, “every inch of me is sacred.”
His hands tremble as he cradles my foot, tracing the curve of my arch with his fingertips, then kissing the heel where the skin is tougher, marked by my strength. The scent is overwhelming now, a potent mix of my natural musk and the day’s exertions, and it pulls him deeper into my spell. He moves to my toes, taking one gently between his lips, tasting the faint bitterness, the raw intimacy of it all. I giggle softly, a sound that’s both playful and wicked, flexing my toes against his tongue.
“Good pet,” I whisper, my other foot now resting on his shoulder, the weight of it a delicious reminder of my dominance. “You live for this, don’t you? The stink, the sweat, the goddess before you.” I lean forward, my gaze piercing, and run a finger under his chin, tilting his head up to meet my eyes. “Tell me how much you love it.”
He stammers, lost in the haze of my stinky, perfect feet, and I laugh—a sound like music—before pressing both soles against his face, enveloping him in my scent, my warmth, my world. “Breathe me in,” I command, and he does, surrendering completely to the sensual, overwhelming worship of me, Goddess Alessandra.

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