The concierge looked at the shoes left outside the motel-room door. He looked at them a long time. Did they need polishing? Cooking? Or—
That’s when he heard the voices from behind the door.
"—and they seemed all fine, strong bones, like you my love. Now bring that other…bone…over here."
And then long seconds later, a throaty, deep-voiced moan.
Right. Polishing it was then.
Wee fic: Atlin Merrick; Shoe: Naim Josefi + Souzan Youssouf