Hopelessly Addicted to Goddess' Feet (true stories from the life of a 24/7 Female-Ruled household)

Cordelia

Active Member
Mar 26, 2018
126
122
43
www.clips4sale.com
#1
A Message From the Author

Seldom do we see stories, anecdotes, and reflections from the perspective of the Woman whose feet rule the world of a man. Perhaps it is time to change this. Since I joined the forums at the recommendation of my loyal Steed, the MDFF community has been nothing short of kind, respectful, and welcoming.

I've also enjoyed the pleasure of interacting with many new fans of my studio, True Woman Worship, a Female-owned (i.e. mine) c4s store dedicated to bringing genuine, authentic FemDom media back into an arena that is being increasingly oversaturated with acting, pretending, and modeling. That is, we aspire to provide the many lovers of Female Domination the option to watch documentation of a real-life Female-Led household and FemDom lifestyle. Given the wonderful feedback and incredible success of TWW thus far, it's apparent to us that a lot of you find the authenticity of our videos refreshing and unique.

I am proud that my husband and I have achieved the practice of a 24/7 Female-Led, FemDom lifestyle. We have a very intimate and special bond as Goddess and Steed, and I wanted to share that with the world. Thus, I founded True Woman Worship with this intention.

That said, the MDFF community has been wonderful. I will always seek to give back to the community by sharing content, partaking in discussion, and - as a dominant Woman - being available to anyone in need of counsel or advice in regards to practicing FemDom in their own relationships...

Stories, Anecdotes, and Musings From the Perspective of a Goddess

On that note, it will bring me great pleasure and amusement to share some of the many stories and personal musings from my perspective as the powerful Woman who brought Steed to his knees and utterly conquered him with her feet. I will be regularly updating this thread with stories from and reflections on life as the God and Owner of a loyal, well-trained, submissive Steed.

See, Steed is hopelessly addicted to my feet, just like I trained him to be...He bows down and kisses my feet every day to thank me and them (yes, he answers to my feet as an extension of my jurisdiction over his mind and body - my feet are his masters) for allowing him to serve as my personal foot wipe and worshipper (among many other roles).

Stay tuned and follow this thread to discover how I took an alpha-male and put him in his place beneath my feet, converting him into my personal foot bitch; read about a typical day in the existence of a real-life foot servant and his many rituals and duties as a True Woman's personal foot worshipper; learn how I engineered (and continue to do so) Steed's fall into absolute submission to me by way of complex training and psychological conditioning; and read about some of the most intense and extreme instances of my using my feet to inspire complete subservience, unyielding loyalty, and often humiliating display of devotion and worship.

As always, feel free to ask questions about our lifestyle or whatever else; I don't bite (just a fair bit of trampling and smothering :p )!

<3 Cordelia <3

Note: I will be writing the first of many stories later this evening. I am thinking of accompanying the stories with photographs.
 

OneAuthor

Active Member
Jun 10, 2016
719
92
28
USA
#4
I cannot wait to read more, as the reality is always different (but much more effecting) compared to pure fantasy. Thank you in advance for providing any and all experiences and pictures.
 

Cordelia

Active Member
Mar 26, 2018
126
122
43
www.clips4sale.com
#6
Reminiscing: The Creation of My Sweaty Foot Addict

I flipped the page and fully extended my right knee, nearly kicking him in the face. My right foot grazed his nose as his head was pinned to the edge of the bed by its sinister. I almost forgot he was there, being punished by my feet.

By effectively being kept apart from them.

He was to be beneath my feet without being allowed to smell them. His nose would not be embraced by the invigorating scent of my toes; there would be no sock-lint to be garnered from between them. He would rest his head there, pondering the nature of his infraction and uncharacteristic dissidence, pinned beneath my foot - the sweat of which he could not lather his face in.

Punishment at its nadir.

Screen Shot 2018-04-26 at 12.04.34.png

Steed is a sweaty foot addict. It’s a truth we both know all too well and was bestowed upon him by design. In the early days of his training, he was exposed time and again to the pungent scent of my warm feet, fresh out of gym shoes for three consecutive months.

During this time, he was only allowed to masturbate - and moreover, experience an orgasm -with my sweaty feet pressed against his eager face, my pretty little toes wrapped around his nose. He’d profusely inhale while I laughed at him; he would grimace, try to wriggle away, and then stop himself, knowing the onslaught that would await him were he to actually attempt to liberate himself from the confines of my feet.

No, he would remain there and learn.

He was no libertine; there was no revolt, no contrarianism, no expression of will. Free will died the day he was brought to his knees, the day he willingly bowed his head and prostrated himself at my feet, gently kissing his pair of idols while cradling them in his hands like some divine artifact, committing himself to be trained as their devoted servant.

He thought he liked feet. He expressed it as a fetish, a love for the feminine beauty of a semiotically sexual object that was in the conscious minds of most others almost barren of sexual appeal. I suppose he never had a chance, having fallen in love with a Woman whose most comfortable disposition was one of absolute control and domination.

His ‘liking’ feet would become this aforementioned addiction, by way of this proclivity for control I have for as long as I can remember wielded imperiously. I saw this fetish as an exploit, a vestibule of sorts for all the wonderful conquests I would have at his expense. I always wanted to break a strong man, and I knew I would enjoy an everlasting and exponential victory with such a foothold as this.

So when invited to render the transaction of fulfilling the meager desires of his self-proclaimed foot fetishism in return for my absolute control and management thereof, he eagerly fell to his knees and proclaimed me his new master.

Screen Shot 2018-05-01 at 05.19.47.png

Too bad his penchant for feet did not take into consideration their being wrapped in gym shoes sans socks for two hours, collecting dust and accumulating lint, along with a scent he was a bit more than adverse to. I furthermore didn’t care that he wasn’t “a fan” of the leathery scent of my wrinkled toes after having been encased in heels or knee-high boots for in excess of ten hours at my office.

He would learn to love these things, I explained. He doesn’t doubt me when I tell him this anymore. He would be my devoted little foot wipe, my toe-jam cleaner, my sweaty foot slave. All duties he initially wasn’t particularly fond of, but which now are by him held in the highest esteem.

The first phase was exposure. He would be exposed to my feet only after a long day in the office and/or after training at the gym. He would kneel before me at the foot of the bed, at the edge of the couch, before my reading chair (later to be supplanted by his face, but that’s another story) and ask permission to kiss my feet. I would explain to him that kissing my feet was an honor, that he was exceedingly fortunate to be vested with such a paramount opportunity.

He would therefore be required to thank me for every kiss as I slowly introduced him to the scent of my feet in their most natural state.

Screen Shot 2018-04-24 at 05.40.49.png

At first he would tentatively and cautiously kiss my soles and offer thanks, his hands shaking in embarrassment and humiliation as I sat above him, watching him with a cool gaze, only broken my by occasionally laughing at him or reminding him of what a loser he was for kissing my feet and thanking me for it. He knew to thank me for calling him names, too - I suppose this further compounded the embarrassment. He’d get over it.

After a few weeks, he was profusely kissing my feet, stealing whiffs from between my precious toes, thanking me without fail, and begging me to remain steadfast in expressing my cruel sentiments. He grew to love the humiliation, as he had associated it with my entirely contrived reward.

The second phase succeeded the exposure training. He was at this point accustomed to thanking me for the opportunity to kiss my feet; he furthermore knew that he would only be granted access to them if he was beneath me in some form - typically kneeling or bowing on the floor. The floor became the de facto domain of access, and I easily recognized how he had began to associate it - and prostration - with what I taught him was something to covet.

This second step was not merely to cross-associate his fetish with the pungent smell of my sweaty feet, but to take it a step further: he would cross-associate all pleasure with the pungent scent of my sweaty feet, with the warmth of soles freshly removed from a pair of old, smelly shoes, with the flavor of sweat and leather, in communion from a long day of wearing leather boots.

Screen Shot 2018-04-24 at 15.17.26.png

He was forbidden any and all sexual pleasure save for when he had my feet pressed against his face, wiping dirt and sweat across his nose as he struggled to fulfill his newly-found desire to kiss them and thank me for the opportunity to do so.

Almost two more months passed, and Steed was making noteworthy progress. He would bow down the moment I sat on the couch, lower his head and humbly ask to kiss my bare feet. He knew he would be rewarded with an orgasm so long as he used the gaps between my toes as a breathing apparatus and thus wasted no time in burrowing his nose between them, nestling his face into my warm, sweaty feet just minutes after a gym session.

The remarkable thing happened around week 12 of his training: I told him he would not be allowed to masturbate one morning, and he nevertheless begged me to allow him to smell my feet when I returned home from work. Fulfilled with a devious sense of conquest, I made him kiss the bottoms of my boots and beg for a good half hour before I would let him peel them off my feet and serve as my foot-wipe.

At this point, he had been trained such that he could only achieve an erection in response to me, and moreover could only orgasm to me…and the scent of my feet.

I can expound on the extensive details of his association training for hours, but I was immensely pleased when he failed to clean my work heels this weekend. I was pleased because the very nature of his punishment illuminated how effectively I had conquered him - he is now so addicted to the scent of my feet that it is a punishment to be kept apart from it. He tells me it is ‘enduring hell’ to be pinned beneath my foot and not be allowed to kiss its sole, to nestle his nose between my little toes, to clean the grime and dirt from between them. Still, he acknowledges that he is pinned beneath my foot.

And he expresses a muffled “Thank you, Goddess” for that.

Screen Shot 2018-04-20 at 17.53.28.png

<3 Cordelia <3
 

OneAuthor

Active Member
Jun 10, 2016
719
92
28
USA
#9
That was extremely well written. And unbelievably erotic. What an incredible combination! Along with those pictures you included, this was a magnificent pleasure to read. I am very much looking forward to the next installment.
 

Her_worm

New Member
Jan 29, 2018
20
5
3
45
Chicago
#12
Fantastic! This is so hot - and gives ideas! I often serve as a footwipe but have not been called that..labeled that. It's a title I might need to beg for. Thank You and I can't wait for more!