you booked this session thinking it would help you. That talking about your little boot obsession, unpacking your addiction, might somehow fix you. You came here looking for control, hoping for a way out. But deep down, even as you sat across from Me, even as I crossed My legs and adjusted My perfect, gleaming boots, you knew… this was a mistake.

I start off professional, My tone soft, measured—like I’m here to help. I ask about your addiction, about how boots affect you, about the moments where you lose yourself to them. And you try—really try—to answer without letting your eyes drift down. Without focusing on the way My boots flex with every shift, the way the patent leather shines under the light.

I pretend not to notice at first. I continue speaking, offering clinical explanations, nodding like I’m taking you seriously. But I do notice. I see every tiny movement, every flicker of weakness, every struggle not to let your gaze sink. Then I flick My heel up, extend My boot....

your breath catches.

I pause. I let the moment stretch. I glance down at My own boot, then back at you. And now you feel it—that heavy, creeping realization that you’re not in control. That this session is not what you thought it would be.

you came here for help. But the longer you sit there, the deeper you sink. you don’t know if this is part of the therapy or if something else is happening. Am I testing you? Am I waiting for you to break? you have no idea what’s coming next.

And that’s the best part.

Because by the time this session is over, one thing will be clear—you never had a way out.

Boot fetish therapy

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