Kneel on the hard tile floor, 6 inches from My leather boots. Buttery from years of wear, they still crunch and crimp with an extra depth and richness. I don't have to say a word. I have you in space. Stare into it. Watch Me flex My ankles, so the leather squeaks. Watch Me bend My knees to bring My fishnet-covered ass forward, so the leather moans. Like you are. I can hear you. I suggest you stay silent, so you can clear your mind and open your mouth. I give you zero interaction. This is a rip-off. This is to keep the pressure on your forehead as your knees ache beneath My boots. you get nothing, and you will pay for every single second of awestruck worship until it hurts and you truly feel under My heel.