Young, ripped, and relentlessly dominant. 20s, athletic build, cocky smirk, and size 12 feet that demand worship.
The Deal:
In public? I’m your hot, affectionate boyfriend. We hold hands, I kiss you in front of your friends, I show you off like the lucky boy you are. I’ll flex for your coworkers and let them envy the shredded stud you “caught.”
Behind closed doors? I own you completely.
You will be my 24/7 chastity slave. The second we walk through the door, your clothes come off and my key stays on my chain. Your cock stays locked tight in steel, no exceptions, no releases unless I decide you’ve earned it (and you won’t earn it often). You exist for my pleasure.
Your duties as my property:
- Feet on demand. The moment I snap my fingers or put my soles in your face, you drop. You’ll lick, suck, massage, and inhale my feet after the gym, after work, after I’ve been wearing the same socks for days. You’ll clean between my toes with your tongue while I scroll on my phone and ignore you.
- Total service. Cook, clean, massage my entire body, be my personal urinal, footstool, cum rag, whatever I want, whenever I want. Nothing is beneath you because you’re beneath me.
- Financial ownership. You keep your job. Every paycheck goes straight to me. I give you a small weekly allowance for essentials. The rest funds my life while you serve it.
- Shared life, unequal roles. We live together. We shower together (you wash me). We sleep together (you at my feet or caged against me). I use your holes whenever the urge hits. You’ll be collared at home, plugged when I feel like it, edged and denied for weeks at a time.
You are not my equal. You are my boyfriend in public and my eager, broken-in foot slave in private. I am the Master. You are the locked, obedient property.
If you’re a submissive guy who gets hard at the thought of handing over control, your money, your orgasms, and your dignity to a superior young dom with perfect feet and a body built for worship… message me.
Send pics, your stats, how long you’ve been fantasizing about this, and why you deserve to be mine.
I’m not looking for “equals.” I’m looking for my personal foot bitch who calls me “Sir” or “Master” the second the door closes.
Ready to sign your life (and your paycheck) over?
Apply now, boy. My feet aren’t going to worship themselves.