Demure Smoker
A superb young woman - a demurely dressed smoker - heads confidently towards me across the yard late at night and unabashedly uses me to have her feet kiss-respected.
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Supremely confident, yet demure |
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Her smoker's sneakers and socks get ever closer to my confined face |
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They stop directly in front of me - no longer demure, but dominant! |
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I admire the young woman's green socks |
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She casually informs me that I am going to kiss her feet |
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And with that, her right sneakered foot is confidently presented to my menial mouth |
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She continues to smoke as I pay lowly lip-service to her demurely outstretched foot... |
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...and she looks down upon me female-triumphantly... |
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...as well she might, for she is the master and I am the slave! |
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She relaxes high above me with her cigarette, confident in the knowledge that she is being demurely dominant over me |
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Meanwhile, I continue to be in lowly awe of her socks... |
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...plain green, demure socks |
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The socks of a demurely-dressed goddess... |
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...of a winner! |
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Said winner continues to puff triumphantly on her cigarette as she walks away from me... |
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...leaving me behind in the dirt... |
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...where I belong! |
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I humbly watch the backs of her departing shoes and socks through the other weeds... |
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...especially her socks! |