Without Malice Aforethought



































Chatty, regular customer-mistress Ms Mukta madam, without any vindictiveness or malice aforethought (I think), is busily telling me all about how wonderful her life has become since her mighty husband, master Simon sir, has received a pay rise at his place of work and about how, as a result, they are about to go off on a two week vacation to the sunny Seychelles. She says she can’t wait to get away from the gloomy, depressing weather here in the Gynarchy, and that she and her husband are even contemplating buying some property over there in the form of a holiday home. Naturally, I congratulate Ms Mukta most heartily on her good fortune.

She then, as an afterthought, whilst I am lickshining her beige-brown, suede leather ankleboots, asks me if I am going anywhere nice for the winter, and I must politely, but firmly, remind her that I am just a slave, and that I am therefore barred from going anywhere as I must work all my life here in this dingy, back-street alleyway shining shoes. She laughs at me and faux-apologises, saying she had ‘forgotten’ that I never went anywhere and couldn’t go anywhere, since I am just a dirty slave. She then says ‘never mind’ and suggests that by lickshining her dirty boots I can at least ‘taste’ some of her success and freedom, and that I also have the compensation of observing her fancy-patterned socks close up. She then asks me whether I like her socks, to which I reply that I do indeed – very much so – thanking her kindly for her kind question. 

She then equally kindly gives me her gracious female permission to study her socks in detail whilst I am humbly lickshining the outsides of her foul-tasting boots, and I praise and bless her for such a selfless gesture of great feminine kindness on her part, whilst availing myself of the opportunity to duly look up to her socks –  though I am also ever conscious of the whip in her pretty left hand which is hovering threateningly over my back and ready to strike at a moment’s notice should my eyes inadvertently stray onto her soft, bare, feminine legskin above the socks beneath her blue denim jean-hem! 

Such pretty socks – it would be a shame to be beaten for allowing my eyes to stray from them! Ms Mukta is right – her socks are a slavish compensation for my not being able to go anywhere or have a vacation in some tropical clime. The look almost Christmassy in their pattern, though I don’t believe they are formally a pair of Christmas-themed socks. I mean, Christmas is still over a month away! Whatever, her socks are undoubtedly my life and must now be the sole focus of my ocular attention – being the socks of a happy and successful, superior young woman! And Ms Mukta knows it, and revels in that fact as she looks down on me! I’m just her pathetic, public bootlicker and sock admirer. And unlike her, and her socks, I’m going nowhere!

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