I told you to stay exactly where you were and wait for me to return, or you'd certainly suffer for it..and of course you listened. Why would you leave when you get to admire my nylon encased soles from down there? Small, unimportant, and wishing you could mean anything more than a bug at my feet to me. Wishing you could massage them, taste them, smell them...but in the end I get tired of you and stomp you. At least your last view is that of which you love the most.