Upon my return from a park stroll with companions, I find my slave obediently positioned as a human doormat. I express my need for a mat to clean my mud-caked shoes, the real and gritty kind. I ascend onto him, casually scraping my shoes to remove some dirt, staining his chest brown. I find delight in this act and continue pacing back and forth, relishing the crunchy sound of mud beneath my soles and against his skin. I even trample his face, leaving behind muddy imprints on his cheeks. My satisfaction is not yet fulfilled, so I command him to clean my shoes with his tongue, desiring to see it coated and tainted brown.