Pretty Office-Worker
































The pretty office-worker from across the street plonks her dainty, ballet-flated foot down onto the wooden footblock beneath my confined face:

'Kiss my shoe, slave.'

'Yes, mistress. At once, mistress. I like your socks, miss.'

Being a 'sockieboy-slave' I am humiliatingly obliged, by law, to add in the sentence about my admiration for my customer's socks. The Law states I must do so whenever I speak to a customer. But the bright young woman is having none of it:

'Shut up, slave! Kiss my shoe. Kiss the buckle!'

I duly shut up and lower my lips to her decorative shoe-buckle! She then switches feet beneath me, before walking off in silence. The feel of her metal shoe buckle lingers on my lips. What a superb young woman!

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