Shine My Shoes, Slave Boy!

'Shine my shoes, slave boy!'

'Yes, pretty mistress. At once, pretty mistress-madam. Please don't beat me with the WHIP, madam!'

The pretty customer-mistress's brusque command eloquently demonstrates the contempt in which she holds me. To her, I'm nothing but a lowly, public shoeshine slave-boy!

Which indeed I am!

'Shine my shoes, slave boy!'

'Yes, pretty mistress. At once, pretty mistress-madam. Please don't beat me with the WHIP, madam!'

Her attention, thankfully for me, turns to the contents of her phone as I begin my degrading shoe-lickshining duties

I am just grateful to have such a splendid view of her socks!

As I taste where she has been, I study the sock in front of me...

...in particular, the trellised pattern in the stitching of the sock

Such a feminine, black sock!

Meanwhile, like most of my superiors, the pretty wearer of the sock remains preoccupied with her phone

Just like the passing master-sir

All my betters are perennially preoccupied with their phones nowadays...

...just as I am perenially preoccupied with their socks!

I don't have a phone. I'm just a slave.


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