Hello feet people 😊. Here’s an excerpt from the book Under Jill’s Feet; hope you like it. I’ll post more if you do 😋😋😋😋

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As these instigations and maneuvers by Jill began to take effect, Brent’s confidence flagged, and he was occasionally terse with Jill. She understood he was in an adjustment phase now, and that pleased her, he was changing, becoming more malleable. She didn’t want it to be too easy, she thought. Give me some game Brent! I’ve got you, it’s checkmate, you’re just too stupid to realize it yet, but at least try to put up a bit of a fight. But she let him play out his resistance, not correcting him, accepting this stage as normal, in the course of things. He will come crawling to my feet when he’s feeling the stress, and I’m the one causing that stress. And he’s beginning to realize that now, exactly when I wanted him to. He will come crawling to the feet of his tormentor, knowing I’m his tormentor, and that’s submission, the end goal of this stage. Once he submits, accepts his place is on my floor, under my feet, whether they’re dirty, smelly, wearing shoes or boots, I have him. He’s humiliated before me, accepting he belongs under the feet of the person responsible for his anguish, his humiliation in front of, not just me, but my friends as well. And I’ll make sure he knows exactly that. I’ll tie that humiliation to him and turn it into sexual pleasure. Then the real fun can begin! He’ll be addicted to it, I’ll be the sole conduit for it, and he’ll do everything I want rather than risk losing it. Of course it will be subtle, at first, his slavery, but in the end, he’ll be my complete slave. And we’re already practically there, just a few more steps! She laughed at the double meaning of that. Yes, we’re practically already there.

Brent was already partly trained as a footstool, a toilet bowl, a slave, a dog, he even acknowledged it, went along with it when Jill wanted that. But there was a final, vital area that needed work before the end game, before she proposed the “agreement”, and began laying down the groundwork to make the agreement stick. Jill wanted him as her doormat. What could be more humiliating, to make one of his jobs for her to consist of licking the dirt from her daily footwear, top, bottom, sides, even inside her smelly hiking boots, even her seriously stinky Birkenstocks. Who knows, even footwear I borrow from friends, my sister. Training him to wash her socks and underwear in his mouth every day, cleaning her boots every single day. What better way to reinforce his place, break him? It was critical. And so she began the doormat training phase, ahead of the game already, knowing Brent was prepped and onside with that particular humiliation. Even better, he had ample experience.

Before meeting Jill, Brent, still too shy to reveal his foot fetish, took his sexual pleasure from used shoes and boots, creating fantasies around them. If they belonged to someone he knew, that added tremendously to the thrill, but it wasn’t a requirement, as his imagination was active and lively. At first, he avoided licking the soles, too disgusted, only pressing them against his face sometimes, occasionally lightly wiping them there. But the temptation, the sheer orgasmic humiliation of it, always seemed to peak when he licked the soles. And that always precipitated the orgasm. After a while, he would mount the shoes and boots on something over his head, like a shoe rack, and stare up at them from inches away, visualizing the wearer. His imagination would create a scenario, and the licking would commence, until he would finally explode all over his belly. 
One night, prompted by Jill to help her understand his desires, he told her all this. Jill digested it like a fine meal, finding an unexpected nugget of white truffle, an untouched veritable slab of blue fin tuna, laid out before her like a feast. He likes to lick the dirt off the soles of boots, she marvelled! Why not just go lay in front of my door right now, she thought, exulting. My doormat. Imagine. She stored this information away, not using it, saving it, for the right time. It was an escalation of Brent’s humiliation, a further degradation, but, like deciding not to shit on him (yet), she held that card for when it would best complete her hand. She knew once she threw that card on the table, Brent would fold like a stepped-on Dixie cup. 

“Take off my boots please Brent, I’ve been wearing them all day,” she told him one night, before bed. 

Read more here: https://www.amazon.com/Under-Jills-Feet-Running-Exactly-ebook/dp/B07Y5FZ6X8/ref=sr_1_1?qid=1570548382&refinements=p_27%3ASarah+Lash&s=digital-text&sr=1-1&text=Sarah+Lash