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My feet, a masterpiece he longs to adore, are the key to his chastity. As he kneels, I command, "Worship." His tongue traces my arches, his breath hot on my skin. I smirk, knowing his cock aches, but I won't free it. I step on his cage, feeling his desperation. I'm the artist, he's my canvas, and my feet, the brush. I paint my desires on his body, his pleasure my masterpiece.