Giving Thanks





































‘This is the humble head I was telling you about, honey. He wants to kiss your feet and thank you for buying such a nice pair of socks for me!’

‘Ha! Ha! What a loser! Very well, slave, kiss my foot!’

‘Yes, master sir. God bless you, master sir. Thanking you kindly, master.’

‘Tell me, slave, what is it about my wife’s socks that you like?’

‘Oh pray master sir, if you will forgive my impertinence, master sir, this slave is most admiring of the way the diamond-patterned stitching in your beautiful wife’s grey socks permits the slave to see a glimpse of her divine, female ankleflesh underneath, master sir, if you would be so kind and understanding, master? Please don’t beat me, master. I’m pathetic!’

‘Ha! Ha! I hope you’re not lusting after my wife’s bare skin, pathetic slave? Your job is merely to study her socks while you are kissing her feet!’

‘Oh no, master sir! I mean, yes, master sir! Forgive me master, I’m stupid, master! Master, I only ever have eyes for your beautiful wife’s socks, master. Without her socks I am nothing, master!’

‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, boy, and don’t you forget it! Only I get to admire my wife’s naked flesh. I’m the man around here!'

‘Yes, master sir. Indeed, master sir. I kiss your feet, superior master sir!’

And with that, my regular customer-mistress Ms Mukta madam, and her manly husband master Simon sir, both winners in life, turn and walk away from me – a loser, who can only admire other men’s wives’ socks, and view their bare footflesh, through the stitching of those socks.

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