My Fate In Their Stitches

Regular customer-mistress Ms Mukta madam is seated regally above me in the public shoelick-chair of absolute power, looking resplendent in her black leather loafers and plain white socks. As I lickshine her shoeleather, I imagine myself being at the mercy of her socks which are determining my fate.

In my pathetic and feverish, footslave imagination, her socks are minded to condemn me to the Gynarchy's underground slave-mines for the rest of my life, where I shall have to work hard under the constant sting of many taskmistresses' harsh whips. I therefore imagine myself pleading with her white socks for mercy, and begging them to permit me to remain in my current post, as I explain to them how much I appreciate the opportunity to serve my many customers' shoes, boots and socks in my demeaning role as a common, public shoelick! I also imagine myself humbly kissing customer-mistress Ms Mukta's white socks thousands of times as I plead for their sweet feminine compassion and mercy towards me!

Of course, none of this actually happens, as customer-mistress Ms Mukta madam, and her socks, largely ignore me whilst I get on with lickshining her black loafer shoes. But a slave can dream!

Dutifully lickshining regular customer-mistress Ms Mukta's black leather loafers

She largely ignores me as she is seated in the shoelick-chair of absolute power above me

This leaves me free to fantasise about her socks...

...about being in their power and at their mercy...

...as they are minded to condemn me to the underground slave-mines...

...where I will no longer be able to taste my many customers' shoes and boots and study their socks...

...and where the only 'taste' I shall experience is the taste of my taskmistresses' stinging whips on my back!

Truly, my fate is in the hands of Ms Mukta's sock stitches!

Mercy socks! Oh mercy! Oh pity pray, Ms Mukta's socks! Please don't have me sent to the slave mines!

Passers-by can surely have no idea of my fevered fear of my pretty customer's socks, as they cast their withering looks down towards my abject slavishness and humility at the leather-loafered feet of my infinite better!

 

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