The suburban street corner footslave is very much an
all-weather footslave – never off duty; always kissing feet; the feet of his
betters – be they male or female; or non-binary; come rain, hail or shine!
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| A master-sir approaches me late at night in the pouring rain |
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| 'You just a damn slave! You kiss my feet, damn slave!' |
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| 'Yes, master sir. At once, master sir. I obey you, sir. Please don't hurt me, sir.' |
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| I place my lowly lips on the wet shoe-toe of the magnificent master-sir - a much better man than me |
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| 'And the other one, damn slave!' |
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| I pay equal slavish homage to the master-sir's presented left shoe-toe |
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| I am particularly impressed by the master-sir's creased sock |
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| This is what I do, day and night, and in all weathers - kiss feet and admire socks! |
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| The master-sir switches feet again in front of my pathetic, rain-drenched, feetkissing face |
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| How he must despise me - the weak and feeble slave at his feet! |
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| He moves off, satisfied with his manly humiliation of me |
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| All I can see is the side of his departing, fabulous SOCK! |
