CC - Soles of filthy sandals
The camera frames a low, lidless crate resting directly on the floor. A man is trapped inside, submerged up to his shoulders; only his face remains visible livid and already slick with sweat. His wrists are bound behind his back, and his head is held fast by straps that prevent any movement. Claudia enters, wearing heeled sandals. Without so much as a glance at him, she places one foot onto his face and climbs up, her full weight bearing down on his nose and mouth, crushing the cartilage. She leans back to examine the soles of her sandals. The underside, beige in color, is coated in a thin layer of black grime, a mixture of street dust and even more unsavory residue . A crumpled scrap of paper clings to one of them. She wiggles her toes inside the sandal, causing the sole to grate against his skin, then presses the underside directly onto his extended tongue. The taste is atrocious grime, bitumen, something both sour and sweet. She rubs slowly up and down, then in circles crushing his tongue against his teeth to spread the filth more thoroughly. She then digs in her heels, scraping his teeth with the tips, the plastic screeching against his enamel; she pivots and presses down with her entire weight, making it clear that there is no escape. Alternating between her feet the other sole even more heavily caked in filth . His tongue scrapes desperately at every pass, trying to remove even the faintest trace, Claudia only stops when she deems the surface sufficiently clean. She keeps this routine up for a long time scrubbing, twisting, crushing ,leaving him gasping for air between each pass. His face is covered in filth, his nose red and soiled; he is now nothing more than a simple doormat.