I have arrived at my slave training camp and my boot bitch is waiting for me, kneeling on the concrete floor. His sole task is to clean my black leather boots with his tongue. But he needs to feel the crop on his ass in order for him to find the right rhythm. Being in the sun all day has made him too slow. So I inspect his actions and the state of my boots closely. He must do a perfect job or he gets corrected by the crop.
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