My lover, a distinguished college professor twice my age, prefers me dressed in sophistication while my peers don for casual campus attire. I indulge him, donning stockings, heels, and garter belts, as he appreciates the sight. Some might assume he holds the reins, but I’m well aware of my influence. A mere bend, a peek at my silken legs or pert rear, and he’s putty in my hands. His sharp intake of breath, his hungry gaze, betray his prim exterior.
Though he may dictate my wardrobe, I wear it with such allure that he’s powerless to resist. I’ve him trained to meet my every whim, from foot baths to fetching popcorn on all fours. He’s a raging leg and foot pervert, losing control at the mere sight of my inner thighs. And I, his willing accomplice, his ‘foot slut,’ revel in his devotion, indulging in trinkets and his unwavering attention.
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