A relaxing weekend in my mountain home with my human doormat ready to be trampled on. Ive got some really sharp heels to try on his flesh and Im starting right away with these ankle boots. The slave is lying at the foot of the fireplace, which I use to help me climb onto him. The screams of pain are continuous and excruciating, justified by the marks my heels leave on his now punctured abdomen. Short breaks just to adore me and adore those same heels that are inflicting so much pain on him. Halfway through the shoe change, we switch from the ankle boots to these red shoes but the heels are equally sharp and will lead him to give in amidst cries: ironic, given that it was he who suggested me to buy these shoes?
