Lurker

This elderly master-sir likes to lurk around the sink-estate stairwell in order to watch me being humiliated at the feet of beautiful, young women. It’s how he gets his kicks – and the women don’t seem to mind. 

After the customer-mistress has gone, he crouches down to my imprisoned face and, whilst painfully pinching my left ear with his bony wizened old fingers, asks me how I had liked it – having to kiss a girl’s dirty sneakers whilst staring at her plain white anklesock? Don’t I feel shame at having to have my face so close to a girl’s sock – and especially while she is still wearing it? He points out to me that her sock, being white, will show up all the yellowy-brown sweat stains from the inside of her sneaker. I politely confirm to the inquisitive master-sir that I do indeed feel shame, and that I am deeply humbled by my need to look closely at my customer-mistress’s sock whilst kiss-respecting her outstretched sneaker toe, especially in the knowledge that her sock must be dirty inside her shoe. He then has me describe the visible area of her white sock to him in great detail – such as the pattern in the stitching and the number and location of any creases in the sock – before laughing out loud at me and calling me a ‘queer girls-socks fancier’. He then steps back to await the arrival of my next foot-customer.

I rather suspect that the elderly master-sir may himself have some sort of hankering for girls’ socks but, needless to say, I am in no position to accuse him of any such unseemly thing. And in any case, the master-sir is perfectly at liberty to live out his unmanly fantasies through watching me being humbled in real life by young women and their shoes and socks, rather than having to abase his good self before them. That’s because he’s a free man and a master-sir – not a slave. Unlike me, he should never be abased in public!