Shop Slave
This young woman has chosen to avail herself of the opportunity to have her feet kissed by a public humble head during her weekly shop. And why not? That is, after all, what he’s there for!
Let’s just stop and ponder for a moment what it must be like to be a public humble head.
· So, you observe, from your low-lying position at ankle-level, a bright and beautiful, young blonde-haired woman in jeans and a tracksuit pushing her shopping trolley across the car park towards you. You can see that she is wearing grey and pink sneakers with blue socks.
· You brace yourself, for this young woman is, of course, not your girlfriend; nor even your friend. Right now, she is your customer-master, and she means you harm. Or, at the very least, she intends to humble you.
· From the contents of her trolley it looks like she’s preparing for a party. You are not invited. Instead, she parks it to one side and nonchalantly stretches out her right sneakered-foot on the dirty ground beneath your face for you to kiss.
· Your kiss to her dirty sneaker-toe, by law, must be humble and respectful. Not in any way lascivious or lustful – for you are just an impotent and immured footslave.
· You can smell the rubber and leather in her sneaker as you taste the common-or-garden streetdirt. You can also observe, this close up, the individual stitches and creases in the young woman’s bright blue sock. How humbling for you!
· She says nothing, for you are, in her pretty eyes, beneath contempt. And certainly beneath talking to.
· You must repeatedly kiss her foot until she decides to withdraw it from your face, replacing it with her left foot.
· That too you will kiss with humility and resignation, as befits a slave.
· When she is satisfied with your humbling, she turns to walk away from you, taciturn in her triumphalism, but feeling good about herself; respected; worshipped – albeit by a lowlife, public footslave.
· For your part, you silently breathe a sigh of relief. She has chosen not to hurt you; not to kick you in the face; nor to spit on you; nor to stand on you. She has merely left you with the taste of her everyday sneakerdirt on your lickspittle lips. You should be grateful. You are grateful, for you realise it is an honour and a privilege for the likes of you to touch any part of this superior, young woman with your menial, male mouth – even her dirty sneaker toes.
· And now, as you watch the backs of her sneakers and socks walking away from you, you must ponder who your next customer might be. Will she be as nice and kind to you as this blonde girl was? You are hopeful, but at the same time fearful. For, whosoever she is, you will most certainly be completely and utterly at her female mercy!
