Fresh Brewed- foot fetish memory lane
One day a package arrived in the mail, A large cushioned mailing envelope from an unknown person, stuffed into my PO Box in Pittsburgh PA. This was not an usual occurrence, although usually the unexpected ones were off-putting at best. So here is this envelope, with what feels like a large stiff card, or folder inside of it and Im thinking “oh jeez, fat guy nude bondage pix package number 511”.
So I walked across the street back to my studio, casually opening the package with an eye for the nearest garbage can. What I saw stopped me dead in my tracks.
WOLFORD
Hellz yeah Wolfords, oh they’re so wonderful! They are my favourites, and these were the ultra sheer back seam french heeled…..DROOL
And with it, a very lovely hand written note on very pretty paper. The note said something like:
“Dear Madame Rothschild, beautiful Goddess,
Please accept this token as a tribute of my sincerity in worshiping at the altar of Your feet. I hope these are pleasing to You, and that You will wear them.
If you find My offer pleasing i am hoping that You will grant me the privilege of allowing me to serve You.
your humble servant,
XXXXXXXXXX”
Yes. You win. Well trained and mannered moves to the front of the line. So I replied to him immediately via email.
About a week later another package came in the mail:
with another letter:
Dear Madame Rothschild,
Thank You so much for responding to my tribute.
You asked me to tell you a foot fantasy I had never experienced as a reward .
I have sent you a french press, in the hopes that You will find my fantasy of interest to You. I humbly request that You wear the stockings I sent, while allowing me to serve You, and afterwards to remove Your stockings, press them, and force me to drink the brew.
your humble servant
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX”
ROTFL- Yes. Yes I will do this incredibly awesome thing you request, its hot and clever and yes.
And so W/we did just that. I let him come to my studio. And this very polite and attractive young man knelt at my feet, kissing and massaging my delightfully stockinged toes, careful to readjust the seam when it moved off of its place. I rubbed my feet on his face, and neck, rested them on his chest when resting, and let him carefully peel off the stockings and prepare the press for brewing. A steamy 5 minutes of steeping and very thoughtfully, he accepted the bowl with both hands, and slowly, a sip at a time, drank the entire thing down.
What a great memory. I wish I had foot slaves now that were as well behaved and trained. Oh well, at least I still have a delightful way to make my morning coffee:
today circa 1pm 🙂
Klawdya Rothschild's Vortex 