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! |


















