Stinging Rebuke

Regular customer-mistress Ms Suzanna Madam always looks immaculately dressed – apart from the ingrained filth on her boots. That’s why she has me kiss and lick them vigorously every time she uses my mouth as her public boot cleaner, manoeuvring her dirty boots around my tongue in an effort to facilitate my frantic bootlicking efforts whilst her superior, dark grey bootsocks loom ominously over my humble head.

Of course, those efforts are never good enough, and on this occasion her righteous anger spills over and she crouches down to deliver a stinging slap to my face with her left hand as she calls me a useless, good-for-nothing, waste of space and questions what is the point of me?

I apologise profusely to customer-mistress Ms Suzanna Madam for my inadequacies, and bow my reddened face in shame as she walks away from me with still dirty boots. I fully deserved that stinging rebuke, for I am indeed a ‘waste of space’, and what, as she so succinctly put it, ‘is the point of me’ if I can’t even lickshine a young woman’s boots to a satisfactory standard?

Shame on me!