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