My father's sadistic practices on my feet when I was a little gir

It all happened when I was a little girl, my father loved me very much, he always called me "princess", "wren", "little mouse", "ladybug" and other cute nicknames.
But around my eighth or ninth year of life there was the turning point that changed our father-daughter relationship. I'll just tell you that my father began to be obsessed with my little feet!

I don't know exactly how it happened and why, the fact is that when we were together he asked me more and more often to be barefoot: first when we were just playing and then also in everyday life at home.
Of course I didn't understand, I found it a little odd, but I soon got used to it; so much so that from that day onwards dad nicknamed me "gypsy girl".
Furthermore, I noticed that my father often stared at my bare feet for minutes on end. More and more often he began to tickle my soles for fun, but I didn't really feel any discomfort, and I had fun like a normal little girl playing with her dad.

Dad also pushed me to stay barefoot even outside the house, and I didn't mind, it was wonderful for me to run with bare soles on the grass in the parks or in the countryside; that with my father I lived like a barefooter girl.

But now we get to the slightly more... "scary part" I still had to turn 10, and my father wanted to take me camping for a bit, just me and him. Obviously, loving nature, I was very happy; I remained barefoot day and night.
One evening, however, Dad and I played Indians, and I played the captive squaw; I was having fun with him, and at one point he told me he was going to torture me. I obviously thought it would tickle my soles or something, but he started throwing more wood on the bonfire; I thought maybe he wanted to amuse me by performing a strange ritual dance, instead he began tapping the branches and stumps with a large stick until he reduced them to red burning embers on which he threw a bit of bark which burned immediately.

At that point, taking me by the hand, he told me I should "dance" on those embers with my bare feet. I still remember that, at that revelation, my heart went into my mouth and my blood ran cold.
I asked hopefully if he was joking, I tried to convince myself it was a joke, unfortunately he was very serious. I told him I was tired, that I didn't want to play anymore, but he told me that I didn't risk anything, that I wouldn't get burned.
I started begging him, telling him I was too scared, at that point he got impatient and began to forcefully tug me on the hot coals.
Needless to say, he managed to get me onto that burning ember, and I assure you that they were very hot for my delicate soles.
To all the time I was hopping on that kind of barbeque, I begged my father to make me stop, because I couldn't stand it anymore. Instead, he peremptorily told me that I would only remove myself from the coals when he wanted it.
To all the torture, he stared at my feet with a radiant look, it was clear that he enjoyed subjecting me to that ordeal.
When finally it was all over, and I was rolling on the ground with scalded feet (nothing serious, fortunately) dad came to me, and started cuddling and kissing my cooked soles.
It was terrible and incomprehensible to me, but I was unable to reveal anything to anyone out of shame, and my father took advantage of it to subject me to other similar tortures until I was almost 17. On one occasion, he even tied me to the trunk of a tree and then lit a fire at my bare feet, that time I seriously feared that he would burn me to death.