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