Picky

It’s late at night and, convinced she is not being watched by anyone (I don’t count, of course – I’m just a slave) this smartly dressed, young, blonde woman wantonly picks her nose as I kiss her dirty, white ballet flats. Fortunately, I’m not picky whosefeet I kiss in the dead of night – and, in actual fact, I’m much more interested in the pink, reinforced toe area of her white, cotton anklesock, directly beneath my own nose, than I am in her unhygienic habits high above me.

It’s only as she’s leaving, when she suddenly stoops down to rub the contents of her inner nose on my forehead, that I realise she was picking her nose for my benefit – so that I might have some of her precious DNA on my inferior, slave face. What a truly kind and thoughtful, young woman she is! What utter contempt she must hold me in!

I expect the feminine nasal mucus will drop off soon enough, but for now at least it is sticking to my forehead as I watch the backs of its originator’s pink and white anklesocks disappear into the night-time gloom…



















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