My Mate She 'Aint!
















The pretty customer-mistress towers over me in the shoelick seat of absolute female power as I lickshine her dirty kneeboots. My only regret is that I have no way of knowing what type of socks, if any, she is wearing inside those powerful boots.

Foolishly, I decide to try engaging her in a conversation of unequals:

'Oh pray, pretty mistress, if you will forgive the intrusion, pretty mistress, this slave trusts that the mistress is feeling well today, madam, please don't have me beaten madam?'

'Shut the f*** up, slave! I 'aint your mate that you can just talk to, an' that! Put your tongue to the purpose it was intended for, and lickshine my boots! Tch!'

'Yes mistress! At once mistress! Begging your pardon, madam.'

When will I ever learn? My customers, as the pretty mistress has so succinctly put it, are not my 'mates'! They are my superiors, deserving of my respect and admiration. And I have a job to do - I must clean her boots!

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