Fetch The Whip, Please!

‘Simon darling, would you fetch me the whip, please?’

‘Sure thing, honey!’

My master Simon sir gleefully goes to fetch the whip – a whip soon to be destined for my back – as I kiss his wife's feet and beg for mercy!

‘Simon darling, would you fetch me the whip, please?’

‘Sure thing, honey!’

I desperately kiss Ms Mukta's feet whilst her husband goes to fetch the WHIP!

'Oh mercy, Ms Mukta madam! Mercy! Oh pray, mistress - not the WHIP, madam!'

Kiss...kiss...kiss...kiss...

...kiss...kiss...kiss...kiss...

Ms Mukta switches feet in front of my feetkissing face...

...not that it's likely to do me any good!

'Mercy, mistress! Mercy!'

'Oh pray, mistress! Oh beg!'

'I kiss your feet, madam!'

'Here you are, honey - the WHIP!'

'Haha - you're going to be WHIPPED, slave!'

'The WHIP, I say...

...the WHIP!'


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