CC - Shoe washing slave
Like all women, Claudia enjoys strolling through the city center. Shop windows draw her in. The problem is the ground. The sidewalks are filthy: mud, cigarette butts, spit, black dust caked onto the paving stones. All that grime ends up on the soles of her white pumps. She refuses to bring that home with her. A clean house cannot tolerate the germs of the street.Fortunately, she has her machine.
Set into the floorboards, right in front of the entryway mat, is a narrow hatch. The slave is sealed inside. Only his mouth emerges, wedged beneath the floor. A discreet pedal waits for Claudia’s shoe.
She places one foot down. The white pump gleaming on the surface but already soiled underneath lowers onto the open mouth. The rough texture of the sole scrapes against the tongue. He tastes the metallic tang of the dirt, the gritty grain that catches and burns. Claudia presses the pedal; a cold jet of disinfectant sprays into his mouth. The slave swallows the filthy liquid splashing against the sole, yet the foot does not pull away. Claudia persists. She wants it clean. Truly clean.
His tongue, already raw, tears a little more with every pass. The rough soles gouge into it. The disinfectant seeps into the wounds. Tomorrow, he will speak less clearly. Claudia does not think about that.
When she stands up straight, her pumps are immaculate. The entryway smells clean. Beneath the floorboards, something sobs silently, its mouth still filled with the taste of the street and the burning chemical.