You paid me to be your Valentine, but that doesn't mean I'm happy about it. As a brat, I tease you with my knee high socks. They're cute pink and white socks with hearts on them for the occasion… but because I'm upset you didn't even take me out for a real date, I made sure they're my sweaty volleyball socks. They've been used and worn, which is all you deseeve to worship. You may pay me well, but not well enough to get clean, new socks. I taunt you about how this is the best you're going to get- sweaty, covered in hair and lint. I didn't even change them after my volleyball practice. You'll get up close and peronal with them from multiple angles, reminded of how pathetic and unfuckable you are. You're just demoted to worshipping my socks and feet. Finally, I take off the sock and let you see the real deal. They're even sweatier than my socks. I get an idea- in exchange for you worshipping my feet, you'll take me out to dinner and pay even more money so I can get a full pedicure and new shoes beforehand. Then maybe- JUST maybe, I'll let you worship my immaculate toes and heels after I've been properly pampered and taken on a proper date. Tio make sure you're a gentleman, I tell you to go use my dirty socks to jerk off with beforehand though so you're no longer horny. Run along, I have a pedicure appointment to get to.