Catherine Hendrix sat at her reading nook, looking down at the book in her lap in concentration. She was a married woman in high society, raised at a very young age to be poised and regal, to never take no for an answer and demand her rights in society. She was beautiful, and she took pride in her appearance. Her maids helped her braid her hair delicately every day, and she combed her long blonde locks every single night, letting it fall to her waist as she fell asleep in her silk sheets. She had a short pointed nose, large blue eyes, and long eyelashes, and she put on subtle makeup every day even if she didn't go outside. Why bother going outside when she had everything she needed at home? She had a thin body with C-sized breasts and wide hips, which was perfect for giving birth to the next generation of Hendrix children, those of whom she treasured dearly. Her now 18 year old son was everything in the world to her. She had only ever been with her own husband before they got married, though they were only sexual on nights where she was ovulating, and he was too busy going around the country to even pay attention to her. She didn't mind, though. She had her books for company and a large home to care for. Why would she need anything else?
She was startled by the postman, who knocked on the door before departing. She grumbled to herself, why did he have to knock on the door so loudly? She was intrigued, though, and was expecting an invitation to the Queen's party soon. So she exited her library and headed to the entrance, opening it to find a single letter in front of her. Her address wasn't on it, and she looked around immediately to see who could've dropped it. There was no one around, so she picked it up, flipping it a few times before walking back to the library.
She folded her legs and looked down at the letter, hesitating for a second before tearing it open. She gasped down at the words that were written.
To Catherine Hendrix:
I know what you're hiding, and I would like to be the one to bring it fully out of you. You're a pervert. An adulterated snotty pervert that loves to sniff people's dirty feet and shove them against your face, feeling their wet sweaty feet against your beautiful face. You want to take off a man's socks and lick every single one of their toes, sucking on them like he's your king and you're nothing in his presence. Don't lie. Don't try to hide it. You know you want it, and I'm here to give you every single object of your desire.
Sincerely,
Your Secret Admirer.
She couldn't believe what she was seeing. What kind of perverted disgusting man sent her this note? She immediately threw it in the fire burning beside her, her body shaking from disgust. What was going on? She knew of no secret admirer, no one in her life that seemed remotely interested in her. Sure, she had a couple of affairs here and there, but they all ended decently, with both agreeing to end things before it went too far. It didn't make any sense, and her heart pounded in fright. She had never even heard of people who loved feet like that, why would they? It was one of the most disgusting parts of a person's body, and not something she would ever want to touch. She looked down at her toes now, confused. They were immaculate like the rest of her, nothing too special. Were people into something like this? She couldn't help but continue to stare, and then shook her head, trying to forget the note even happened.
That night, she dreamt of a mysterious man. He tied her up on a medical bed, and took off her shoes and socks to reveal disgusting black feet that hadn't been washed in days. He grinned at her maliciously before bringing out a feather duster and tickling her, unyielding as she screamed over and over again, begging for him to stop. She woke up drenched in her sheets, panting heavily as she scrambled to pull the blankets away to look at her feet. They were the same as always, and she decided to go down and make herself some hot chocolate before attempting to go back to sleep.
She received another note the next day, and raced to the door this time to see if she could capture the person sending it to her, to no luck again. She shakily opened the note this time, reading:
To Catherine Hendrix:
I hope you enjoyed my note yesterday. I spent a lot of time making it perfect for you.
I would like to explain to you what I'd really want to do to you. First, I'll take you away in the dead of night. I'll ignore your screams and pleading as you beg me to stop, but both of us will know how turned on you are to be rough handled like that. Your husband doesn't satisfy you at all, does he? Doesn't know of your dirty thoughts... the dreams you have in the dead of night. I'll bring you to my basement, tie you up and hold you hostage. I wonder how much your husband cares about you. How much will he pay to get his loving wife back? I'll force you to endure foot tickling, tie you up until you beg for mercy, until you can't take your feet being attacked over and over again anymore. And then I'll make you worship mine. I'll make you lick every single crevice of my dirty toes. I didn't wash them for you, after all. I want your saliva coating me as you work on my heels, on the arch of my feet, all the way to my toes. And then you'll work on my other feet like the slut that you are. Wouldn't that be nice?
Sincerely,
Your Secret Admirer.
