A Superb Young Woman (And Her Socks)
This superb young black woman has me taste her dirty sneaker leather whilst she savours her cigarette high above me. Note how confidently she stands before me. Everything about her is superb – from her haircut to her Harrington-style jacket to her skinny jeans. But perhaps the most magnificent thing about her is her socks – plain, black socks which are right in my face as I lickshine her sneaker dirt. I am so close to them, I can even see the individual lines of stitching in her socks, and feel truly humbled in doing so. For a beautiful woman’s sock stitches should be of interest to no-one – other than a down-in-the-dirt, sexually impotent and mentally weak slave like myself! Even the fantastic wearer of the socks is oblivious to them. Her socks mean nothing to her – but everything to me, for my customer’s socks are my life!
And just think – those socks are free to accompany their mistress wherever she goes, whereas I cannot move! The socks are therefore better than me, enjoying a much more personal and intimate relationship with their mistress’s feet than I ever could! I admirethe socks. I envy the socks. I wish I could be one of this bright young woman’s plain, black socks! Or, failing that, I wish I could be this beautiful young black woman’s personal sockslave, and kneel with my nose buried in her discarded socks and sneakers whilst she makes love to a real man in her warm and comfortable bed high above me!
Perhaps, if I ask them nicely, the customer-mistress’s socks will agree to tell me all about their wonderful life on their owner’s feet? Oh I could talk to them all night, there is somuch about them I would like to know! And perhaps the socks will permit me to smell the very essence of their mistress’s feet-juices in their soft, cotton material? It would truly be a suitably humbling smell for a slave like me to have to sniff – the unwashed socks of a young woman; and a smoker, to boot!
But I dare not ask – for fear of offending the socks. Instead I must simply look on them enviously. I can look, but not touch, and must just be grateful that this superb black girl’s black socks have graced me with their presence. And, as she turns to walk away from me, ask yourself as you look at the last but one picture in this series, which is more important – my face or this young woman’s socks? The answer is clearly her socks. Even an alien from outer space would be able to discern that!
