It Wasn’t Food Until She Stepped In It
“Do you know why this is food? Because I touched it. Because I stepped in it.” I didn’t forget
Underfoot
Explorations of power beneath the soles—where submission becomes geography. These are stories of vanishing into floor, shadow, and silence. You don’t kneel here. You disappear. Her steps become scripture. Her weight becomes your center of gravity. You aren’t beneath her by accident. You’re there by design—flattened, stilled, and finally correct.
7 stories
This Seat Wasn’t Made for You—But She Was
“You don’t make a very good chair. But you’re learning.” She didn’t tell him she was going
What’s Beneath Her Is Yours to Swallow
“Swallow slowly. I want you to taste the difference between what you deserve and what you’ll never have.” I
Speak Only When Her Feet Allow It
“You breathe when I lift my foot. Not before.” He thought silence was safety. He thought if he didn’t
The Longer She Stands, The Less You Are
“Every second I stand here, there’s less of you.” He didn’t know the table had a mirrored underside.
Kneel Without Being Told
“If you need instructions to kneel, you’re already worthless.” You are not here by accident. You clicked. You opened.
What's Left of You is Beneath Her
"DIG!" She said, pointing to a patch of sand near the dunes. The morning began with fog and