Sense Of Triumph

A superb and intelligent young woman has me lickshine her loafer shoes late at night – a sense of triumph writ large all over her pretty face. And rightly so, for I am fit to look at her only in the SOCK. I’m just a sockieboy footslave!

The triumphant young woman has me lickshine her loafer shoes on a dark winter's night

Her pretty face is writ large with her innate superiority!

Not that I can see it

I am fit only to look her in the SOCK!

And a very fine SOCK it is too - grey, with immaculately neat STITCHING!

The SOCK of a superior being to me - a bright, young woman!

A SOCK whose air I am not fit to share!

Such a shapely, feminine, SOCKED HEEL!

And ANKLE!

I stare at the SOCK

I can't take my eyes off the SOCK...

...by LAW!

And the pretty, triumphant, SOCK-WEARER knows it!

She knows I must not look at her above the SOCK...

...or even think of her above the SOCK!

Her SOCK!... Her SOCK!... Her GLORIOUS SOCK!

SOCK!

Haha, that's right, sockieboy! Lick SHOE and admire SOCK - the SHOE and SOCK of your BETTER!


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