Stupid things to say to a gorgeous woman with perfect feet: Yeah, tease and denial sounds good.
To be honest, I don't want to write this.
The reason for this is that the lady it concerns has quite simply taken my world by storm and I really would rather not advertise her presence to the rest of the community. Selfish perhaps, but real. However, I said I would and the amount of damage she could potentially inflict on me if I don't is unthinkable, so here's my account of my adventures in the world of Goddess Heather
First of all some words about her. Approach with caution. I refer to her as a lady with good reason. She oozes class and style and demands respect and the barest hint that you are not giving her that respect and she'll not even entertain the idea of replying to you. Frankly, even getting her attention is a minefield. I had to invent a new address and a new name and start over having started off on the wrong foot. My crime? Trying to put too much detail into the session. If you want a session with her, remember that she owns you. She will listen to what you want and take it on board, but on her own terms. You enter her appartment and that's where your choice ends. She'll do to you what she feels like doing. She's whatever the opposite is of Burger King in the world of Goddesses.
Her website www.divinemistress.co.uk is pretty comprehensive and tells you everything you need to know. Read it well. It doesn't, however, prepare you for meeting her in the flesh. She is far more beautiful than you will be expecting and whatever confidence you think you might have is going to take a kicking. Be warned.
The first time I met her, I'd unfortunately been out in London the night before with a good friend and got a bit carried away with the M&Ms (Mojitos and Margaritas. I agree with Brian Griffin - I don't think that a mojito is a gay drink). I arrived feeling somewhat tender.
However, this wasn't a problem as being the kind and loving lady she is, she brought me a glass of water and a couple of paracetemol and let me lie on the sofa with my head in her lap and she gently stroked my ear and whispered that everything was going to be OK.
Oh, I'm sorry, I think I might be getting confused between reality and what I was fantasising about whilst I was chained to a St. Andrew's Cross wearing nothing but nipple clamps and having Goddess Heather take potshots at my crotch with a riding crop. Worst. Hangover. Ever.
I'll point out that I don't like nipple torture and didn't ask for it. However, she does and she kind of had the upper hand given the hangover and the bondage and the me-happily-doing-anything-to-please-her angle. She also knows that I'd rather endure it and see her than not see her. So I'm pretty screwed. I'm fairly sure she doesn't have a complaints department.
To be fair however, she did reward my macho display of tolerance for pain (that's a complete lie - I screamed like a school girl and I'm 6 foot 2 and in my thirties) with letting me at her absolutely delectable feet - the soles of which are on a whole new plain of softness. Silk feels like sandpaper in comparison. I melt inwardly everytime I think of them.
Needless to say, I was hooked. Within a few days of the session I'd emailed her to say I would like to visit her again - thinking that maybe if I glued myself into a suit of armour, she'd leave my nipples alone. At this point, the mind games began. She's pretty good at emailing you quickly unless she knows that you are hanging on to her every word and waiting desperately for an email from her. I left myself wide open. The average schoolgirl can play hard to get, so think what it's like when a professional is doing it.
I did manage to convey though that what I really wanted to explore with her was tickling. She didn't object. A small but distinctive victory.
On the day I got myself to her area as quickly as I could and stopped in at her local Sainsbury's and had one of the best shops of my life. I bought: an electric toothbrush, a pot brush a pack of pens and some lube. Having been late and hungover the previous time, I made sure I was very sober and bang on time the second time.
She showed me in and we chatted. I think she'd deliberately got even more beautiful since my last visit just to mess with me. Now, she insists on nakedness (yours) which is a bit of a bummer. You'd like to feel a bit cool and confident when you're in the presence of such beauty and being naked doesn't give me either of those feelings. I suspect a Men's Health magazine cover model might feel a bit awkward in front of her and I ain't no model. I do go to the gym, but any confidence that that might have given me evaporated when she asked me on my first visit: 'What do you do in there? Sit in the sauna?' So FatJay is definitely not feeling like the Mack Daddy.
She made me kneel in her 'playroom' whilst I waited for her to change. Being the fool that I am, I started poking around and found a box behind the mirror with something that looked like a drill in it, but with metal flat heads. I decided I didn't want to know what it was for and that I would be very, very obedient.
She came in and sat down wearing a two piece latex outfit, stockings and some gorgeous red shoes that I happened to have mentioned. She oozes cool and doesn't rush anything and she simply fixed her eyes on me. I have a pretty responsible job and run projects with people around the world and yet I was damned if I could look her in the eye.
She picked up the pot brush and started gently dragging it down my side making me jiggle and giggle. She pointed out that it was an odd choice as it could be quite abrasive too. I knew I'd screwed up at that point. She continued to drag the brush over my chest and over my nipples and couldn't resist giving them a pinch and pressing the bristles of the brush into them. Annoyingly it made me slightly erect furthering her assumption that I actually enjoy it. I'd probably slap anyone else that touched them, but I'll put up with anything for her. After teasing me with the brush for a while, she decided that I was moving too much and it was back to the St Andrew's Cross for me.
Once chained into place, she continued with using the pot brush on me for a while and the fact that I was unable to move made it a lot worse and the heavy, rib aching laughter begin. She ran the brush all over my body. she'd run it down my side making me arch my back and then she'd take advantage by tickling my bum and back with it. Once again, I was a mess in minutes. And that was before the toothbruish came out. God knows what made me buy that. She switched it on and took it to my nipples. Laughter poured out of me. She then worked me over with it and I'm sure I don't need to describe the effect that an electric toothbrush can have on your cock. I may as well have been on a hot plate. I was complete putty in her hands. At one point she just looked at me and switched the brush off. I sighed and relaxed and she switched it on again making me tense up. She just teased me with it switching it off and on in front of my face before finally switching it on and taking it down to my genitals. They have never ever felt anything like that before.
Afterwards she sat down and looked at me. I was naked and sweating and having a cool, beautiful woman regarding you with an amused look does little for one's confidence about what's going to happen next. She went over to her cupboard.
Now, this is a good example of how she is difficult to predict. I was watching her move. Her body looked fantastic in her top and skirt and I was just thinking of what a perfect example of femininity she was when she threatened to analy rape me with a massive dildo. I think I said ' please, no' but it may have just been a whimper. Thankfully, she didn't. She's lovely like that.
What she did produce was a metal wheel, kind of like a riding spur. Of course only she could find something that tickles like hell and yet borders on pain too. She proceeded to work me over with that, deliberately trapping my nipple in the spikes at one point and making me yell. She also flicked my nipples from time to time just to make sure I wasn't getting too lost in the orgasmic pleasure of being tickled.
After some time, she let me off the cross and made me kneel at her feet again. To give me a break she let me kiss her shoes which I was really ready for. I'm actually a bit more a socks and high heels kind of guy, but I've given up trying to dictate what she wears. It's pointless as she may or may not listen and, short of stuffing her feet in a dead animal (and maybe even then) anything she wore would be mind-blowing, especially when you have seen the feet that are inside them.
A little attention to her shoes and she said 'enough'. Her party wasn't over. She made me lay back and chained my hands to the foot of the cross and inserted a leg spreader between my feet. I was pretty exposed.
She then came across and sat on my stomach. She's the perfect weight, heavy enough to pin me down, but light enough so I could easily breathe. She decided to try out the pens I'd brought her. Then she set about drawing on me. Of course, my nipples got it the worst and I can't tell you the sounds she got out of me by drawing a cat on my left nipple, but I probably sounded a bit like a castrated cat. She was relentless - the toothbrush came back and with my new position I was even more vulnerable. My feet got it, my balls got it, my head got it ( I have a ticklish head!! I didn't even know that until she took the toothbrush to it), my ears got it, my stomach got it. At one point her ankles were clamped against my head and I was just hoping she'd kick off her shoes and plant her feet on my face just to give me a rest. Didn't happen. She tickled me so much that after bucking her up and down like she was riding some wild horse for a while, I lost my energy entirely and was forced to lie there and take it unable to offer any resistance whatsoever.
I was knackered, horny and completely in love with my tormentor.
Then she did her swan song. Finally letting me up, she let me remove her shoes. I'd lost all concept of time. For ten minutes or so, she teased me with her stocking feet. Letting me kiss them, but pulling them away from me so I had to work to get at them, only to have her slap my face lightly with her sole. I kissed her stockinged feet all over, relishing every moment and anticipating the moment when she would remove them and let me touch those soles that I'd been dreaming about. Then came the words '10 more kisses on each foot'. My heart sank as I realised the session was coming to an end and I wasn't going to be allowed access to her soles. I savoured each of my twenty kisses, but really felt gutted. The session was over and as it stands I can't see her until next year. The mental torment that this has caused was only just beginning.
I showered again and we talked in her front room. I was actually just as happy talking to her there as I was being driven to extremes of sensation by her in the playroom. By then she'd changed back into her purple dress and lounged on the sofa with her bare feet resting on the edge. I tried hard to look at her rather than at her feet and I think I did a reasonable job. She's breathtaking whichever part of her you look at.
Then as I left, she stopped at the front door and commanded me to kiss her bare feet. I didn't need telling twice.
To be honest, I don't want to write this.
The reason for this is that the lady it concerns has quite simply taken my world by storm and I really would rather not advertise her presence to the rest of the community. Selfish perhaps, but real. However, I said I would and the amount of damage she could potentially inflict on me if I don't is unthinkable, so here's my account of my adventures in the world of Goddess Heather
First of all some words about her. Approach with caution. I refer to her as a lady with good reason. She oozes class and style and demands respect and the barest hint that you are not giving her that respect and she'll not even entertain the idea of replying to you. Frankly, even getting her attention is a minefield. I had to invent a new address and a new name and start over having started off on the wrong foot. My crime? Trying to put too much detail into the session. If you want a session with her, remember that she owns you. She will listen to what you want and take it on board, but on her own terms. You enter her appartment and that's where your choice ends. She'll do to you what she feels like doing. She's whatever the opposite is of Burger King in the world of Goddesses.
Her website www.divinemistress.co.uk is pretty comprehensive and tells you everything you need to know. Read it well. It doesn't, however, prepare you for meeting her in the flesh. She is far more beautiful than you will be expecting and whatever confidence you think you might have is going to take a kicking. Be warned.
The first time I met her, I'd unfortunately been out in London the night before with a good friend and got a bit carried away with the M&Ms (Mojitos and Margaritas. I agree with Brian Griffin - I don't think that a mojito is a gay drink). I arrived feeling somewhat tender.
However, this wasn't a problem as being the kind and loving lady she is, she brought me a glass of water and a couple of paracetemol and let me lie on the sofa with my head in her lap and she gently stroked my ear and whispered that everything was going to be OK.
Oh, I'm sorry, I think I might be getting confused between reality and what I was fantasising about whilst I was chained to a St. Andrew's Cross wearing nothing but nipple clamps and having Goddess Heather take potshots at my crotch with a riding crop. Worst. Hangover. Ever.
I'll point out that I don't like nipple torture and didn't ask for it. However, she does and she kind of had the upper hand given the hangover and the bondage and the me-happily-doing-anything-to-please-her angle. She also knows that I'd rather endure it and see her than not see her. So I'm pretty screwed. I'm fairly sure she doesn't have a complaints department.
To be fair however, she did reward my macho display of tolerance for pain (that's a complete lie - I screamed like a school girl and I'm 6 foot 2 and in my thirties) with letting me at her absolutely delectable feet - the soles of which are on a whole new plain of softness. Silk feels like sandpaper in comparison. I melt inwardly everytime I think of them.
Needless to say, I was hooked. Within a few days of the session I'd emailed her to say I would like to visit her again - thinking that maybe if I glued myself into a suit of armour, she'd leave my nipples alone. At this point, the mind games began. She's pretty good at emailing you quickly unless she knows that you are hanging on to her every word and waiting desperately for an email from her. I left myself wide open. The average schoolgirl can play hard to get, so think what it's like when a professional is doing it.
I did manage to convey though that what I really wanted to explore with her was tickling. She didn't object. A small but distinctive victory.
On the day I got myself to her area as quickly as I could and stopped in at her local Sainsbury's and had one of the best shops of my life. I bought: an electric toothbrush, a pot brush a pack of pens and some lube. Having been late and hungover the previous time, I made sure I was very sober and bang on time the second time.
She showed me in and we chatted. I think she'd deliberately got even more beautiful since my last visit just to mess with me. Now, she insists on nakedness (yours) which is a bit of a bummer. You'd like to feel a bit cool and confident when you're in the presence of such beauty and being naked doesn't give me either of those feelings. I suspect a Men's Health magazine cover model might feel a bit awkward in front of her and I ain't no model. I do go to the gym, but any confidence that that might have given me evaporated when she asked me on my first visit: 'What do you do in there? Sit in the sauna?' So FatJay is definitely not feeling like the Mack Daddy.
She made me kneel in her 'playroom' whilst I waited for her to change. Being the fool that I am, I started poking around and found a box behind the mirror with something that looked like a drill in it, but with metal flat heads. I decided I didn't want to know what it was for and that I would be very, very obedient.
She came in and sat down wearing a two piece latex outfit, stockings and some gorgeous red shoes that I happened to have mentioned. She oozes cool and doesn't rush anything and she simply fixed her eyes on me. I have a pretty responsible job and run projects with people around the world and yet I was damned if I could look her in the eye.
She picked up the pot brush and started gently dragging it down my side making me jiggle and giggle. She pointed out that it was an odd choice as it could be quite abrasive too. I knew I'd screwed up at that point. She continued to drag the brush over my chest and over my nipples and couldn't resist giving them a pinch and pressing the bristles of the brush into them. Annoyingly it made me slightly erect furthering her assumption that I actually enjoy it. I'd probably slap anyone else that touched them, but I'll put up with anything for her. After teasing me with the brush for a while, she decided that I was moving too much and it was back to the St Andrew's Cross for me.
Once chained into place, she continued with using the pot brush on me for a while and the fact that I was unable to move made it a lot worse and the heavy, rib aching laughter begin. She ran the brush all over my body. she'd run it down my side making me arch my back and then she'd take advantage by tickling my bum and back with it. Once again, I was a mess in minutes. And that was before the toothbruish came out. God knows what made me buy that. She switched it on and took it to my nipples. Laughter poured out of me. She then worked me over with it and I'm sure I don't need to describe the effect that an electric toothbrush can have on your cock. I may as well have been on a hot plate. I was complete putty in her hands. At one point she just looked at me and switched the brush off. I sighed and relaxed and she switched it on again making me tense up. She just teased me with it switching it off and on in front of my face before finally switching it on and taking it down to my genitals. They have never ever felt anything like that before.
Afterwards she sat down and looked at me. I was naked and sweating and having a cool, beautiful woman regarding you with an amused look does little for one's confidence about what's going to happen next. She went over to her cupboard.
Now, this is a good example of how she is difficult to predict. I was watching her move. Her body looked fantastic in her top and skirt and I was just thinking of what a perfect example of femininity she was when she threatened to analy rape me with a massive dildo. I think I said ' please, no' but it may have just been a whimper. Thankfully, she didn't. She's lovely like that.
What she did produce was a metal wheel, kind of like a riding spur. Of course only she could find something that tickles like hell and yet borders on pain too. She proceeded to work me over with that, deliberately trapping my nipple in the spikes at one point and making me yell. She also flicked my nipples from time to time just to make sure I wasn't getting too lost in the orgasmic pleasure of being tickled.
After some time, she let me off the cross and made me kneel at her feet again. To give me a break she let me kiss her shoes which I was really ready for. I'm actually a bit more a socks and high heels kind of guy, but I've given up trying to dictate what she wears. It's pointless as she may or may not listen and, short of stuffing her feet in a dead animal (and maybe even then) anything she wore would be mind-blowing, especially when you have seen the feet that are inside them.
A little attention to her shoes and she said 'enough'. Her party wasn't over. She made me lay back and chained my hands to the foot of the cross and inserted a leg spreader between my feet. I was pretty exposed.
She then came across and sat on my stomach. She's the perfect weight, heavy enough to pin me down, but light enough so I could easily breathe. She decided to try out the pens I'd brought her. Then she set about drawing on me. Of course, my nipples got it the worst and I can't tell you the sounds she got out of me by drawing a cat on my left nipple, but I probably sounded a bit like a castrated cat. She was relentless - the toothbrush came back and with my new position I was even more vulnerable. My feet got it, my balls got it, my head got it ( I have a ticklish head!! I didn't even know that until she took the toothbrush to it), my ears got it, my stomach got it. At one point her ankles were clamped against my head and I was just hoping she'd kick off her shoes and plant her feet on my face just to give me a rest. Didn't happen. She tickled me so much that after bucking her up and down like she was riding some wild horse for a while, I lost my energy entirely and was forced to lie there and take it unable to offer any resistance whatsoever.
I was knackered, horny and completely in love with my tormentor.
Then she did her swan song. Finally letting me up, she let me remove her shoes. I'd lost all concept of time. For ten minutes or so, she teased me with her stocking feet. Letting me kiss them, but pulling them away from me so I had to work to get at them, only to have her slap my face lightly with her sole. I kissed her stockinged feet all over, relishing every moment and anticipating the moment when she would remove them and let me touch those soles that I'd been dreaming about. Then came the words '10 more kisses on each foot'. My heart sank as I realised the session was coming to an end and I wasn't going to be allowed access to her soles. I savoured each of my twenty kisses, but really felt gutted. The session was over and as it stands I can't see her until next year. The mental torment that this has caused was only just beginning.
I showered again and we talked in her front room. I was actually just as happy talking to her there as I was being driven to extremes of sensation by her in the playroom. By then she'd changed back into her purple dress and lounged on the sofa with her bare feet resting on the edge. I tried hard to look at her rather than at her feet and I think I did a reasonable job. She's breathtaking whichever part of her you look at.
Then as I left, she stopped at the front door and commanded me to kiss her bare feet. I didn't need telling twice.
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