Perfectionist

This stern, young, black businesswoman is a bit of a perfectionist – and she directs my humble lickshining of her black patent leather, office shoes with an angry voice, a wagging finger, and a goodly number of whip-stings to my bent-over back and shoulders.

Let’s be clear – she has every right to demand perfection in her footwear, for she herself is perfect; a perfect, young woman of the Gynarchy, with no faults or flaws, and thus fully deserving of the highest possible standards of shoe-cleaning from a lowlife, public footservant such as myself. Her shoes must reflect her glory, and any dirt or detritus which is soiling them belongs legally in my menial mouth.

She is so much better than me that I daren’t even touch her finest denier nylons.


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