Lord Protector



































Regular customer-mistress Ms Linda madam, who normally wears strappy, high-heeled, open-toed sandals on her pedicured bare feet, is today instead wearing sneakers and socks as she has me kiss-respect her feminine footwear. She asks me how I am liking it - having to kiss her feet in sneakers rather than her bare, painted toenails? I humbly and respectfully reply that it is an honour and a privilege for the likes of me to kiss her feet whatever she is wearing on them, since they are the feet of a goddess, thanking her kindly for her kind question.

She laughs at me and says that's just as well, as I shall be seeing a lot more of her sneakers and socks in future. She explains that she has just secured a job at the local sports shop, and that all the staff working at the shop are expected to wear sneakers as part of their work outfit. Hence the sneakers I see before me now!

I humbly kiss her outstretched sneaker-toe with renewed vigour as I obsequiously congratulate the customer-mistress on her new job and repeat my slavish reassurances that her feet are fantastic, whether they are adorned in high heels or flat sneakers, if she will forgive my impertinence in saying so?

At this juncture her husband - master Phillip sir - who is her lord protector, interjects to point out that, as a public footslave, I have no choice but to respect and admire the feet and footwear of all my betters, whatever they are wearing on their feet! He goes on to describe me as a piece of filth, and orders me to praise and bless his wife's feet, threatening me with a beating should I fail to sufficiently fawn over them. I immediately apologise to the master-sir for my lack of candour in praising his wife's feet, and foolishly offer to kiss her on the sock as a demonstration of my humility and sense of awe vis-a-vis her sporty footwear. However he reprimands me for even suggesting that my lowly lips could possibly be worthy enough to touch his wife's socks, and angrily leaves to get a cudgel with which to beat me about my humble head.

Meanwhile Ms Linda madam laughs at me and informs me that I am about to suffer a lot of pain at the hands of her mighty and strong husband - whom she emphasises is a real man. I, of course, agree wholeheartedly with her that master Phillip sir is a truly magnificent man, and I humbly confess that I fully deserve to be beaten up by him for my impudent suggestion that I should kiss his beautiful wife on the sock. I further suggest that master Phillip sir will soon teach me respect for his wife's socks! Ms Linda madam tells me to shut up and to keep kissing her outstretched sneaker, which I do - whilst focussing my fearful eyes on the forbidden stitching in her white sock.

As I do so, I can't help wondering whether Ms Linda madam's toenails are still pedicured even though they are now hidden deep within the confines of her sweaty white sock?

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