I told the Korean foot submissive to kneel beneath the umbrellas. I held them low, creating a hidden sanctuary amidst Shanghai’s bustling night. To the world, he disappeared. To me, he was exposed — utterly present. My black boots, sleek and glistening in the rain, waited just beyond the hem of my coat.
No words were necessary. This ritual was well-rehearsed.
The first kiss landed softly on my toes — tentative, reverent. Then another, slower, lingering. He inhaled the scent of polished leather, the earthy rain, the electric anticipation in the air. A faint moan escaped him. I remained silent, guiding him with the smallest shift in my stance. He followed without hesitation, every gesture dictated by my quiet command.
Around us, life went on. Tourists passed with selfie sticks. Couples laughed under the city lights. No one noticed us.
That’s the allure of it — power in discretion, passion beneath restraint.
Beneath the soft glow of the umbrellas, I saw his fingers tremble. Not from fear of being seen, but from the ache to be understood. That’s what drives him: the careful mask of control hiding a storm of yearning.
The rain began to fall steadily again, a rhythmic murmur against the umbrellas, syncing with the heartbeat of Shanghai’s night. It felt timeless.
When I was satisfied, I stepped away. He remained kneeling, motionless — bound by the invisible thread of my will.
“Well done,” I whispered, my voice his only reward.
Shanghai Dominatrix Alessandra's Feet
Then we slipped away into the city’s embrace — no evidence left behind but the soft echo of my heels and a secret now embedded in the soul of The Bund.
