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You’re not afraid to surrender. You’re afraid of what happens after. The rush. The drop. The craving to do it again. You’re already mine.

They stare. You hide. But you’d still get that film developed, wouldn’t you? Just to relive what it’s like being beneath me. Knowing no one else will ever see those shots. Just you… and the poor soul who has to print them.

Let’s see who’s still trying to impress me today. Say nothing if you’re scared.

Toe Player will be worshiping these socks real soon. You don’t even get to see them. Just my stinky shoes. Fresh off the court. Still warm. Still damp. Who’s brave enough to claim the next pair?

If watching me feels this good… what would it feel like to be chosen? To serve? To give in, and finally feel right? You’re already imagining it. That’s step one.

Still on the throne. Not surprised. Most of you aren’t built to fund a goddess. But I’m always watching for the one who is.

Birks were handled. Now I’m wondering what more he’s capable of.

That morning coffee you send? It’s not just a tribute. It’s proof you know your place and that you want to be allowed in my day. Start there.

They want to be seen. To be chosen. Remembered. But I only notice the ones who spoil me. Everyone else just… blends into the floor.

These old tennis shoes will be up for rehoming once my new ones arrive. Also sitting on smelly 4-day-old socks that need a good worshiping. Tick tock.