“Your tie,” she said, pointing with her chin. “It’s a Ferragamo. Very expensive. You wore it while you crushed the spirit of that young woman.”
She pressed down, just a fraction harder, and Ivan Volkov, the king of Moscow logistics, closed his eyes and surrendered completely to the beautiful, crushing weight of the Russian earth beneath his goddess’s feet. Femdom Foot Worship Russian Under Feet Added
“Good boy,” she whispered, and the two words were worth more than any corporate bonus, any signed contract, any victory he had ever won. “Your tie,” she said, pointing with her chin
The world narrowed to the feel of her sole against his lips, the pressure on his brow, the rhythmic sound of her breathing above him. He felt a lifetime of stress—the boardroom betrayals, the endless logistical nightmares, the weight of being “Ivan Volkov”—drain out of him, absorbed into the floor, replaced by a singular, focused reality: Anya’s foot. You wore it while you crushed the spirit of that young woman
He fumbled with the silk knot, his fingers clumsy with reverence and arousal. He folded the deep crimson tie into a precise square and placed it on the floor.