Sink-Estate Siren
A sink-estate siren stops by me for a routine kiss-respecting of her superior, filthy sneakers
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The filthy-sneakered siren approaches |
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She stops in front of me, relishing her sink-estate power and authority over me |
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Then she shoves her street-soiled, right sneaker underneath my nose for respect-kissing |
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Swiftly followed by her equally filthy left sneaker! |
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All I can taste and smell right now is rubbery, white sneaker! |
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Though I am equally conscious, of course, of the customer-mistress's creased SOCKS! |
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Her siren-sneakered feet are calling to me... |
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...having me do their bidding! |
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Meanwhile, the pretty wearer of the sneakers is quite nonchalant about the whole experience |
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She's used to being treated with respect by the sink-estate footslave! |
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'Haha, you're my feet slavey!' |
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Oh would that I were! |
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It's as if this sneakered siren is urging me to follow her to sneakered heel! |
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But she must know I can't move! |
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Not even to crawl to heel behind her SOCKS! |
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I look longingly at the siren SNEAKERS and SOCKS! |
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But I realise I am not worthy to follow them on my hands and knees and to serve them all my days! |
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I'm just a public footslave, here on the sink-estate. I must patiently wait for the sultry siren-mistress to stop by me again! |