A public footslave like me can't pick and choose whose feet he serves. I am at the mercy of all who happen my way and must show the same slavish respect for the feet and footwear of my unappealing customers as I do for those whom I admire!
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| A fat and sweaty man, wearing socks with sandals, approaches me on a hot and sunny day |
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| His socks and sandals stop directly outside my foothold-aperture, as if daring me to defy them! |
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| 'Kiss my foot, slave!' barks the master-sir's manly voice as his right, socked and sandalled foot is shoved towards my menial mouth. The sunlight highlights the bobbling on his black sock, thereby indicating that it is an oft-worn sock! |
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| Nevertheless, I ensure that my lowly lips show the same respect for the fat man-sock as they would for a slender lady-sock! |
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| the master-sir, as is his perfect right, switches his socked feet several times in front of my confined face |
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| At times, he appears disinterested in my humiliation at his man feet |
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| But then he leans down to mock me: 'Heehee, how do you like them puppies, sockieboy?' |
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| Still chortling at me, the master-sir then turns his back on me and starts to walk away |
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| I have to admit it - he's a magnificent man; and certainly a much bigger and better man than me! |
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| God bless this customer master-sir! |
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| I study his dirty sandal soles as he walks away from me. I just hope my next patron will be female! |
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