Not All Trainers
It's not all trainers in the leisure centre where I am employed as a corridor footslave. Sometimes I get to kiss-respect the boots of the pretty receptionist.
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| Her boots clip-clop down the empty corridor towards me | 
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| She turns to face me... | 
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| ...and, rightly, looks down on me with the female contempt I deserve! | 
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| She then, silently, shoves her booted foot towards my menial mouth for routine respect-kissing... | 
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| ...swiftly followed by her other boot | 
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| This is a young woman who knows my proper place - and it's at her feet kissing her boots! | 
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| I admire the top of her blue bootsock | 
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| I dare not contemplate her bare leg skin above the sock! | 
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| Her boots and socks are my only legitimate interest! | 
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| She watches me from on high to make sure I keep my dirty gaze low | 
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| I am lower than her socks! | 
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| Again, she switches her booted feet in front of my face for a repeat performance on my humble part... | 
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| ...before turning to leave me to rot | 
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| Her socks have the enviable freedom to accompany her boots wherever they are going | 
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| But I mean nothing to her... | 
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| ...left behind in the dirt | 
 
 
