I must admit, I am a bit partial to a shiny, beige loafer in my face and on my mouth, especially when it is being worn by such a pretty customer mistress as this one!
As I kiss-respect her loafers, their pretty wearer suddenly barks angrily down at me:
'Look at my black sock, boy, and recite a poem about it! Praise my sock and tell it how beautiful it is!'
A slave like me must always obey a woman like this, however bizarre or mocking the request is, and so I instantly do my best to think on her feet:
Oh short black sock on pretty mistress's ankle
You are a subtle sign of elegance
Your mistress stands with confidence
Her style is simple yet refined,
But oh black sock on pretty mistress's ankle
You add such mystery and charm
You captivate with every glance
Though I must look at you askance*
She laughs at my feeble effort at literary genius:
'Haha, that was rubbish slave! It didn't even rhyme until the last couplet!... Kiss my other foot! It seems that kissing feet is all you're good for!'
I hang my head in shame and do what I undeniably do best - kiss feet.
I can still hear her chuckling as she turns and walks away from me - my sock love poem already forgotten by her and consigned to the dustbin of literary history!
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| A lovely pair of smart leather loafers heading my way |
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| I also catch a flash of bare ankleskin above an ultra-short black sock |
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| The shoes and socks come to rest in front of my face |
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| Then the right loafer shoe is silently shoved towards my menial mouth... |
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| ...swiftly followed by the left |
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| I now have a splendid view of the sock. I can see the soft, bare, feminine skin above the sock, but it is the sock that captures most of my attention! |
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| It is, after all, a female sock - and this a thing of great beauty! |
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| She must be a mind reader and able to 'hear' the sock thoughts going through my menial mind |
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| 'Look at my black sock, boy, and recite a poem about it! Praise my sock and tell it how beautiful it is!' |
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| I recite my impromptu poem in praise of her short, black sock |
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| 'Oh short black sock on pretty mistress's ankle... |
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.. you know the rest!
 | I think my poem amuses her...
|
|
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| ...but she nevertheless rubbishes it... |
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| ...and 'angrily' demands that I kiss her other foot! |
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| I hang my head in shame behind her departing loafers and socks |
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| What a waste of space I am - fit only to kiss my better's feet |
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| My only talent is for kissing feet, as the young woman had so correctly pointed out |
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| If only she had asked me to compose a poem praising her beige-brown leather loafers! |
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| I reckon I could have had a better stab at that! |
* NB: This is an ai-generated poem! More AI-generated fantasies on my dedicated AI blog
