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Goddess Grazi: foot dom femdom - The maid’s step-son couldn’t resist my feet

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Today Maria came to work and brought her adult step-son. I hadn’t seen him in years. He’s a grown man now. When she told me earlier, I already pictured the scene: me, at home, barefoot, letting my feet do the talking — just the way I like it. She knocks on the door. I open it with a warm smile, hug Maria, and over her shoulder, meet his eyes. He’s polite, shy, but I feel his curiosity drop straight to my feet. I was ready for that: dark, shiny toenails, soft skin. I casually cross one leg over the other, acting like I don’t notice — but I let him look. We go inside. Maria talks about her day, puts her bag down in the kitchen, and starts tidying up. I lean against the arm of the sofa and chat with her about the house and work… and as I speak, I stretch my legs out on the light ottoman, exposing my soles — relaxed, warm, inviting. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him sit beside me on the sofa, phone in hand, but locked on every movement of my toes. I play with his silence: I slowly flex my toes, brush the tip of my big toe against the sofa fabric, turn my ankle, and let the kitchen light dance on my polished nails. He lowers his phone without even noticing. His face says everything. That delicious heat of teasing starts to rise. He’s shy. But he’s still a man. Maria works around the house as I keep talking to her, but I never stop teasing him. I rest one foot on his lap naturally, like I’m just finding balance. His body stiffens for a second. I smile softly. My heel finds the denim of his shorts, then slides down until it meets the bare skin of his thigh. His breathing shifts, deepens. He’s shy. And that amuses me. Maria is only a few steps away with her back turned, and with the tips of my toes, I draw light lines on his thigh. First gentle, just to claim space. Then a little firmer — enough for him to feel every detail: the soft arch of my foot, the polished tips of my nails, the weight of my foot pressing against him. His gaze can’t hide anymore. Sometimes he meets my eyes, and when he does, I hold it — calm, in control, letting him know without a word that he can go further. He gathers his courage. One of his hands rests shyly on my ankle, like he’s asking permission. I don’t say a thing — I just let him. I sit up straighter and place both of my feet on his lap. Now he feels the full warmth of my skin, the faint scent of my feet blending with the clean air of the house. I move my toes slowly, and his hands follow, tracing every curve like a precious piece of art. “Maria, it’s not easy to keep a house spotless, you know?” I say out loud, looking at her with a smile — but my real message is for him. I arch a brow. She laughs from the sink, talking about chores, while I slide my foot down and rub it against him, controlling the rhythm like I own the room. With every movement, I control the pace: a touch, a little pressure, a soft pullback. And between each subtle move, I keep talking casually with Maria, who’s still cleaning, still smiling, completely unaware of the tension just a few feet away. He looks at me with a mix of surprise and desire. His hand now holds the curve of my arch firmly, sliding across the softness, learning every contour of my feet. I let him — because I love watching a man learn my feet with his hands, the right way. Time flows differently when I’m in charge. In this bright living room, with the kitchen behind us, every gesture becomes a tease. Every tease becomes a promise. He already knows the rules of my game: look into my eyes, follow my rhythm, and savor every second. And I enjoy every reaction, every heavier breath, every shiver held back — while Maria finishes her work, unaware that on my sofa, I’ve already made him mine… a new, eager admirer of my feet.

Date: January 15, 2026