Look at my designer sneakers—filthy from all my travels and busy days. Long hours, endless wear, and now they’re in desperate need of cleaning. Lucky for me, I have you, my filthy foot rag. Normally, I’d be kind enough to let you clean my dirty feet, but today? I’m not feeling generous. These shoes can’t stay like this, and that’s where your tongue comes in. You’ll lick every bit of grime and dirt clean, top to bottom, swallowing whatever I command. Your place is to serve—always—and you never question that. And no, you can’t touch yourself. Your reward? My satisfaction, my happiness.