Day five, my l*ttle pay pig. Are you feeling the weight of my birthday month yet? I know your wallet is lighter, and your pathetic b*lls are heavier. That’s exactly how it should be. Every day of my birth month is a holy day of tribute, and you will worship me with your money and your depravity.

Today’s tribute is a sensory one. You sent your offering this morning like a good l*ttle ATM, but a Goddess needs more than just currency. I demand your devotion, your disgust, your entire being focused on me. These socks... I wore them for three hours of intense cardio. I made sure they were absolutely soaked with my divine sweat just for you. You should be thanking me for this gift.

Your task, worm, is to worship my scent. First, you will take a long, deep inhale from these socks. Press them right up against your pathetic face. Smell my power. Smell the effort I put into this body you’re so obsessed with. Do it now. Breathe me in. That’s the scent of a Goddess who deserves everything you have.

But you don’t get to just smell. You’re going to taste. Take the sock I’ve given you and press your tongue to the sole, right where the sweat has pooled the most. Suck the salt from the fabric. I want to see your eyes water as you taste my hard work. You’re cleaning my sock with your mouth. Tell me how grateful you are. Say, “Thank you, Goddess Gwen, for letting me taste your divine sweat.”

Good boy. Now, the findom element is never finished. While you suck my sweat from that sock, I want you to take out your pathetic l*ttle wallet. Open it up. Look at how empty it is because you’ve been such a devoted pay pig. Now, take the sock out of your mouth, and I want you to spit all that sock-sweat-saliva directly onto your credit card. Rub it in. Anoint your financial ruin with my essence. Your money is dirty, sl*ve. It’s filthy with your submission to me. Let’s make it physically filthy too.

Now, you’re turned on, aren’t you? I know you’re already hard. You’re pathetic. Take that erection out. You have permission to stroke yourself, but only with the hand that’s holding the sweaty sock. Use my sock as a rag. J*rk your worthless c*ck with the very fabric that soaked up my divine foot sweat. Imagine you’re nothing but a footstool, and the only pleasure you’ll ever get is the friction of my filth on your skin.

You want to c*m? You’ll pay for the privilege. Right now. I want you to send me another $50 tribute with the note “Happy Birthday, Goddess. Thank you for the sock.” Do it. I’ll wait. Once it’s sent, you may continue. Stroke faster. That’s it. F*ck your hand with my sock. You’re close, aren’t you? You’re going to c*m all over your own hand, making a disgusting mess of my sweat and your seed.

And when you do, your final act of worship is cleanup. You will l*ck every drop of your own c*m off that sock. You will taste your own pathetic release mixed with my divine sweat. L*ck it clean, sl*ve. Prove your absolute devotion to me. Happy birthday to me. Now, send that tribute and make your mess. Now.

Dirty Socks Financial Domination Foot Domination Birthday Sock Worship – Pay and Obey, Foot Sl*ve! with C4s.com