A re-post from 2016:
Returning home from My pedicure, My soft soles swaddled in the woollen wall of My new Uggs, I feel as if I am walking on cotton wool. On silk woven kisses, on warm, cotton candy clouds. With every step, My freshly stimulated pedestal nerves shoot pleasure across My body. And one area in particular!
Who can fail to appreciate the art of reflexology when there are thrills like this one – the sensations after a great manipulation of ones sexiest and most intimate body part: yes, that one – the stand, the support, the sole, the soul.
Hamlet, himself, is heard to say:
What, my young lady and mistress! By ‘r Lady, your ladyship is nearer to heaven than when I saw you last, by the altitude of a chopine.
For the virgin enthusiasts, a “chopine” looked like this:
It is widely regarded to have been the very first raised shoe, created for vanity, stature and sexual allure.
It is still around today, in fact it recently saw a comeback with the popular, if impractical (who needs functionality?) heelless shoe.*
No devotee could deny the beauty here. But My fetish has always been…the heel. The heel, the heel……oh, that heel. Admire as I will, a heelless base is like taking a wagyu steak well done: Sure you can do it, and maybe you have to, but you have clearly lost all joy from your soul.
Anyway, enough of my toe-tangent. The point is that My pedicure is prepared and I’m perfectly primed for some pedi-prostration.
Squash you soon, slaves.