Detective Work
The public footslave must lickshine the lady detective’s boots whilst her male colleague has a well-earned cigarette break. The slave would dearly love to be able to find out about the provenance of his customer-mistress’s red socks, but, unlike her, he doesn’t have the intelligence to be able to do the necessary detective work. Indeed, there is more intelligence in the droplets of sweat which seep out from the customer-mistress’s soft, feminine footpores onto the inner surfaces of her red socks deep inside her boots, than there is in the whole of the footslave’s humble head!
He’s stupid.
