Cleats

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She watched him trying to run away on the muddy field and laughed. It had rained last night and he was slipping and sliding the whole way.

"Ready or not, here I come," she taunted, laughing.

Her cleats tore into the muddy field as she sprinted after him. Being in great physical shape, she easily caught up to him. Grabbing him by the shoulders, she pulled him backwards and threw him down onto and especially muddy part of the field. He lay on his back staring up at her, trying to slide away from her. She planted her muddy cleat on his throat to keep him from moving away.

Her cleats stomped down on his hand. He screamed, something cracked. She twisted her cleats on his hand, grinding it into the muddy field. A different pair of soccer cleats jumped onto his chest. He could feel each stud digging into his ribs and chest.

Dave finished licking the tops of Claire's football boots. He smiled to himself, which made him cough and splutter, as a wedge of mud caught in his throat. He composed himself, swallowed it down and thought of what an honour it was to swallow what he was swallowing. To him, the mud from Claire's shoes really was like a meal in the best restaurant. Licking and eating mud from Claire's football boots, riding boots, DM shoes, court shoes, knee boots, loafers or trainers was like having a meal prepared by the best chefs in the world. He knew deep down that it sounded ludicrous to think it - it was mud after all - but it was special mud, mud that somehow had come into contact with Claire as she went about her daily business. Mud that had itself been honoured, and deserved some respect.

Dave stopped daydreaming for a moment as he felt a quite large stone that was wedged in a lump of mud he had chewed from her football boots slip down his throat and make him choke a little. He looked at the soles of the boots, studs all shining like they had been polished for days. He felt a real sense of achievement. Of course he knew that Claire thought nothing of his efforts - it merely was an arrangement that meant she had constantly clean boots and ones that she never had to clean herself! Though of course, she did get off on the fact that she had her own slave who considered himself worth less than the mud and grime she walked in.

Dave sat on the floor of his room at the hall of residence and opened the bag that Claire had given him earlier that day containing her football boots and socks. She played football twice a week, and thanks to Dave, she had the best kept boots of anyone in the girl's team. Those studs shone whenever she went onto the pitch.

Claire had handed Dave the bag during their session that afternoon. He would clean her boots and suck the sweat from her socks, before carefully washing and drying them, ready to return for her next match.