Smouldering Smirk

No wonder this bright and intelligent customer-mistress is smirking at me. She knows that I may not touch her socks, however much I might yearn to, as I lickshine the everyday street-dirt and grime off her plain, black loafers. I mean, just look at her socks – there is so much to admire in them! Each individual circle in the fancy pattern of her socks is alone worthy of 1000 hours of kiss-worshipping by the likes of me. And yet, I am not worthy of the sock, for it is in direct contact with the customer-mistress's footskin.

And so I must confine myself to her outer footwear - to licking shoe.

Yes, the wearer of these shoes and socks is truly in a position of absolute power over me, and she knows it. See how her smouldering smirk is matched by her smouldering cigarette which is raised, almost phallic-like, in total triumph above me. There is nothing I can do but lick shoe, and think of sock; and what might have been!
















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