Office Footstool Fantasy

I’ve caught you staring, haven’t I? Not at my perky tits or my tight little pussy like most men, but at my perfect feet. I see you peeking at my soles through my sheer stockings, practically drooling over my arches while you pretend to work. Well, your secret’s out, and I’m putting you to use. From now on, you’re arriving ten minutes early every single day. You’ll crawl under my desk before anyone else gets here, positioning yourself as my personal footstool. I don’t care if someone catches you down there, your embarrassment isn’t my problem. You’ll wait silently while I sip my coffee, completely ignored, until I decide to acknowledge you. If you’re lucky and I’m running late, you might earn the privilege of having my stiletto-clad feet resting on your pathetic back. I’ll flex my toes against your spine, maybe even dig my heels in when I fidget. It’ll be uncomfortable, degrading, and absolutely perfect for a desperate little foot freak like you.