Polishing My Face
Today sweet and kind, regular customer-mistress Ms Mukta madam has kindly brought along a small gift for me. It consists of a white paper tissue with black stains on it, and she explains that she had been using it to polish her husband Simon’s boots for him before he went out to work this morning. She further explains that she doesn’t mind polishing his boots, as he is a real man and she likes him to look smart.
She then goes on to say that the thought had subsequently occurred to her that I, a ‘non-man’, might like to have the privilege and honour of having a real man’s boot polish on my face? She therefore asks me if I would like her to smear the residual, black bootpolish from her husband Simon’s boots onto my face? I hastily thank Ms Mukta kindly for her kind offer and humbly beg her to do so, and she duly proceeds to wipe her husband’s excess boot polish into the very pores of my skin. As she does so she laughs at me, and says it is a ‘face cream fit for a public footslave', like me.
She then has me kiss her dirty sneakers from lots of different angles, by way of thanking her again for making my face ‘reek of her husband’s boots’. I am thrilled to note that she is wearing a pair of pink, white and green stripy socks as she manoeuvres her foot around my confined face.
As she subsequently turns to walk away from me, she drops the dirty, used tissue onto the wooden footblock beneath my face, so that I might ‘gaze upon the dirty boot polish of a realman’, and ‘contemplate how that man’s boot polish is now adorning my ugly face’. She also turns to give me the female victory sign. And rightly so.
Such a sweet and kind customer-mistress. So very thoughtful. If only there were more like her!
