The whip's mighty sting lingers long into night,
As I lay in the stocks, subdued and contrite.
A lady appears, not to pity, but mock.
I kiss her grey sneaker and admire her black sock.
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| The stranger asks me how I am liking it? Is the sting to my liking? And have I learnt a valuable lesson? |
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| I kiss her feet, by way of demonstrating my humility and contrition, caused by the mighty WHIP! |
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| As I kiss-respect the lady's sneaker, I admire her sock |
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| For it is a sock of greatness, being the sock of a superior female - my infinite better! |
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| I am privileged even to breathe in the same night air as the female sock! |
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| I, literally, look up to the sock |
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| Meanwhile, the female wearer of the sock looks down on me with derision and contempt |
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She likes nothing more than having her feet kissed by a whipped and contrite slave
|
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Truly, there is much humility and contrition at the end of a WHIP!
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| She casually and uncaringly turns to walk away from me... |
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| ...content in her humiliation of me |
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| And rightly so! After all, she's not the one suffering the lingering, biting sting of the WHIP! |
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| I bow my head in contrition and shame behind the mocking lady's superior, departing feet |
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| Even her sock is higher than me - and in a lot less pain! |
