After getting caught eye-fucking your teacher’s legs and jerking off under the desk like a filthy little perv, you’re sent to the one woman who can fix you – Dr. Waltrude Ductress, the school’s ruthless behavioral therapist. She’s seen your kind before – perverted little foot freaks who can’t keep their hands out of their pants when they catch a glimpse of silky nylons and towering heels. Expulsion is on the table, but she has a better idea… Hypnosis.
The session begins, and before you know it, you’re sinking into trance, your mind softening with every word she speaks. You need to be on your knees – where else would a desperate footslut belong? As she guides you down an entrancing staircase, your cock twitches in your pants as she rewires your filthy little brain, guiding you deeper into obsession. Those heels – so tall, so sleek. Those soles – so soft, so perfect. Her scent – fuck, you’d do anything for just a taste.
She knows exactly what you crave, and she wants to hear you admit it. What do you masturbate to when you’re alone? Focus on the good Doctor’s legs and really imagine what it’s like to be there, lying in your bed, touching yourself. You like a woman who knows how to use her feet, don’t you?
Do you ever fantasize about sniffing your teacher’s shoes during class? Or use her sweaty nylons like a fleshlight? Do you taste them, in your fantasies? Confess how. Good, very good boy! Dr. Waltrude makes you share every filthy thought before rewarding your obedience with the ultimate test: worship.
She sees the way you stare, drool pooling on your tongue as she dangles a heel from her toes. You don’t even need to think anymore; you just obey. She has you begging like a desperate little foot whore, nose pressed to her toes, breathing in the warm scent of leather, nylon, sweat, and power. You’d hump the fucking floor if she told you to.
Her arch glides across your face, tracing over your lips, your chin, your trembling throat. She presses down, smirking as your hips jerk forward, pathetically hard and leaking in your pants. This is what you were meant for, isn’t it? A mindless little shoe-licking, nylon-sniffing, cock-throbbing mess. You worship. You worship like your life depends on it. Her toes slip into your mouth, stretching your lips, pressing against your tongue. You slurp, suck, drool like a broken fucktoy, mind blank, body trembling. She controls you now, every filthy little thought, every aching throb of your cock, every desperate whimper as she teases you closer and closer to the edge.
But you know the rules. Good boys don’t get to cum without permission. And Dr. Waltrude? She loves making you wait. She teases, denies, laughs as you whimper, rubbing your swollen cock against the floor like a filthy little animal. You’ll get your release, but only after you’ve earned it – only when she’s turned you into a desperate, mindfucked, foot-obsessed mess who will never recover from this session.
By the time she’s finished with you, there won’t be a single thought left in that empty little head of yours – just the aching need to serve, to lick, to worship. And the best part? You’ll be back. Because once you’ve tasted true submission, once you’ve fallen this deep… there’s no escaping her feet now.
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Worship Waltrude 
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