Being the human floor mat beneath my office desk is a privilege, my tongue dedicated to keeping my chic black flats pristine. The scent of my superior feet, released when I pop my heel out, keeps my foot lover enslaved and longing. His excitement is palpable when my feet reek from being cooped up in non-ventilated flats.
The foot fetishist I keep beneath my desk finds the smell intoxicating, even going so far as to hump the floor in ecstasy. I flip him onto his back, using his eager tongue to clean and cool my sweaty soles. My feet are worshipped, and once properly adored, I use his face as a footstool while I complete my important work.
What transpires under my desk remains under my desk. He might have ejaculated in his pants, a mere loser, but I will deal with that as punishment later. The clip ends, but I keep my smelly feet on his face for an additional thirty minutes, laughing at his submission.