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Heels worship
I walk in high heels — delicate strappy sandals that command attention with every step. my new stockings shimmer against my skin like silk spun for worship. short leather gloves hug my hands, a subtle promise of control in every slow movement. you can’t think. you can’t breathe right. you just fall — deeper every minute, weaker every second. my power. my style. my presence… they tear your mind apart, strip you of identity, and remake you in full submission. you don’t resist. you can’t. because i am the addiction. and you were born to obey me.
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