CC - My carpet face
In the hushed silence of her walk-in closet, Claudia had installed a discreet trapdoor in the center of the parquet floor. Beneath the thick, velvety red carpeting, her slave lay stretched out in the darkness, his body entirely confined within a narrow box. Only his face remained exposed, perfectly framed by the carpet—a living slab intended to receive things no one else would ever touch.
That evening, she had decided to use him to the fullest.
She began with her black leather boots the ones with the stiletto heels she had worn all day. The soles were caked with grime and dust, embedded deep into every groove. Claudia placed one foot down, then the other, pressing slowly. The sole sank into the man’s face. To dislodge the stubborn debris, she rubbed the soles across his features, then crushed his extended tongue just as one might extinguish a cigarette butt. Each movement brought more filth to the surface; each press left a darker imprint.
Next, she moved on to her black suede pumps with their beige leather soles. Seated in an armchair, she rubbed them at first with a kind of nonchalance sliding them across his face and his offered tongue. But Claudia’s patience had its limits. She stood up, placed both feet on his face, and pressed down with her full weight. The soiled leather soles sank in; she trampled, twisted, and ground down his tongue until the leather was once again acceptably clean. Whatever remained on the slave’s face was of no further concern to her.
Then came the old red sandals she had slipped on to go down to the cellar. The dust there was thick, mixed with debris and the various odds and ends typically found in a cellar. Claudia took the time to thoroughly clean the repulsive soles, rubbing them against her slave’s tongue. She thrust her grimy heels straight into the man’s mouth, burying them until they had all but vanished from sight. She twisted them, pulled them out, and pushed them back in, demanding that every crevice be scoured clean by his tongue and saliva. The sandals emerged looking much cleaner; his face, however, bore the clear marks of the process.
She finished with her platform-soled shoes the filthiest of the lot. Dust, hair, dried earth, and unidentifiable grime nothing was missing. Claudia climbed entirely onto his face, balancing for a moment before she began to trample. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, grinding the broad soles across his features and crushing his tongue beneath the mass of rubber until the filth finally gave way.
For a moment, Claudia contemplated the face emerging from the red carpet soiled and trampled, ready for the next time.
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