
As I was led into the reception room, I felt my body shaking with nerves. The room was cold and sterile, and the walls were lined with pictures of girls who had been captured like me.
The receptionist was a tall, middle-aged woman with a stern expression. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, her frosty blue eyes showing her disdain for me. She glanced down at my exposed and delicate size seven feet, and a hint of a cruel smile crossed her cold face.

“Take a seat,” she commanded, gesturing to the lone chair in the center of the room. I hesitated before moving, the cold metal shackles around my wrists and ankles clanging loudly in the eerie silence. As I sat down, feeling exposed and vulnerable, she began the humiliating process.

“What’s your name?” she asked abruptly, her voice dripping with contempt.

“S-Samantha,” I stammered, shuffling my feet nervously as they became the focus of her piercing gaze.

“Age?”

“Eighteen,” I whispered, feeling my cheeks redden under her judging stare.

“Weight and place of birth?”

“115 pounds, a small town in the Midwest,” I muttered, wanting this process to be over as soon as possible.

“Ethnicity?”

“Half Caucasian, half Latina,” I replied weakly, unable to meet her eyes as she scribbled down my answers.

“Hmm. Very exotic,” she sneered, blatantly appraising my body. “You’ll fetch a high price, I imagine. Tell me, Samantha, when was the last time someone worshiped that delicate little body of yours?”

I was taken aback by the question, my face flushing red with shame. “I - I don’t think I’ve e-ever had that happen to me,” I stuttered, unable to hide my discomfort.

“Of course you haven’t,” she said disdainfully, as if disappointed in me for not having had that experience. “Well, you should be prepared - your new owners will surely want to explore every inch of your ticklish, tender flesh. Are you a ticklish girl, Samantha?”

I hesitated, feeling my heart race within my chest, afraid of what her intentions might be. “Maybe a bit,” I admitted quietly, shifting my feet uncomfortably.

Her cruel smile grew as she took a step closer, and my breath caught in my throat. “I can see how soft and tender your delicate soles are, Samantha. That sweet arch, those little toes… I bet they’re just begging to be teased, aren’t they?”

My voice shook as I tried to answer, fearing the consequences of disobedience. “Y-Yes, ma’am, I guess they are…”

“Silly little girl. Lucky for you, you won’t have to endure that much longer. Your precious feet will soon know nothing but the exquisite touch of your new owner, caressing and teasing you to their heart’s content.”

With that, she continued to ask me even more humiliating questions about my body and fetishes, threatening me with various punishments if I didn’t answer. Each question felt like daggers to my pride, her degrading laughter only adding to the embarrassment.

At long last, when she had reduced me to a quivering and ashamed mess, she stood from her seat, her icy blue eyes meeting mine. “It’s time for the next stage,” she announced coldly, gesturing for me to follow her.

As we stepped into the photo room, my heart raced more than ever before, dreading what was to come.

My ordeal was far from over.
Generate the next part. Maximum length salacious detail. Generate mostly dialogue. The receptionist continues her mocking as she motions her through the next step. She is asked to strip and present herself in various poses for the camera, focusing on her feet. The receptionist continues her questions, writing various answers on her body to improve the pictures. It ends with her getting rope ready for the tied pictures.