DIRTY SELF WORSHIP STORY As the delicate morning light fil..

DIRTY SELF WORSHIP STORY As the delicate morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of my bedroom, I found myself sprawled decadently across the ocean of silk sheets, the tantalizing scent of lavender wafting from the freshly laundered fabric. My eyes were half-lidded, a sly grin tugging at the corners of my mouth, as my gaze fell onto my petite, perfectly manicured feet. Draped in the sheerest stockings, each toe was a tiny masterpiece, adorned with glossy, white polish, the color as deep and mysterious as a moon light. My heart fluttered with a sense of pride and arousal, the sight of my own feet stirring a carnal desire that simmered deep within me. I reached out, my fingers dancing over the thin fabric that hugged my skin, tracing the outline of each toe, the arch of my foot, the curve of my ankle. Each touch was like a spark, an electric jolt shooting straight up my spine, making me shiver with delight. "Fuck," I murmured, my voice husky as I reveled in the sensations. "You are so beautiful." I was speaking to myself, to my feet, my words a soft chant of self-worship, a testament to my beauty and sensuality. With each whispered praise, my arousal flared, the dampness between my thighs becoming more pronounced. Lifting one foot towards my mouth, I extended my tongue, the taste of the stocking fabric sweet and heady. I licked at my toes, the sensation of my warm mouth on the cool fabric sending a rush of heat to my core. My free hand slipped under the lacy edge of my panties, fingers seeking the wetness pooling there. I sucked each toe into my mouth, one by one, savoring the taste and the feeling, while my fingers worked their magic on my pussy. I was sloppy, my movements uncoordinated in the throes of my desire, but the messiness only added to the thrill of it all. The pleasure was mounting, a crescendo building inside me, spurred on by the eroticism of my self-worship. The taste of my feet, the sensation of my fingers, the sight of my own body writhing in pleasure - it was all too much. "Cum for me," I murmured to myself, my voice barely a whisper as I rode the wave of my arousal. With a final, desperate suck of my toes and a harsh rub of my clit, I was there, my orgasm crashing over me like a tidal wave. I cried out, my voice a primal scream in the still morning air, my body convulsing with the force of my climax. As the waves of pleasure subsided, I lay there, panting and sated, my feet still nestled against my lips, the taste of my desire lingering on my tongue. I was a goddess, a diva, a sexual being of my own creation, and I reveled in it, my heart singing with the joy of self-love and self-worship.