Biker Master-Sir
A macho biker master-sir makes good use of a municipal footslave by having his biker boots thoroughly lickshined whilst catching up with his text messages
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| The manly master-sir is fixated on the contents of his phone as he approaches me late at night |
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| 'Lickshine my boots, boy!' |
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| 'Yes, master sir. At once, lord and master sir.' |
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| Satisfied with my slavish compliance, the master-sir refocuses on his text messages... |
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| ...whilst I humbly lick-taste his manly bootleather |
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| The man-boots taste, and smell, musty |
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| I wonder what sort of socks the master-sir may be wearing inside his boots? |
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| I'm pathetic like that! |
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| The magnificent lord and master-sir has better things to do than watch my humble tongue at work on his boots beneath him |
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| But he nonetheless inspects my slavish submissiveness towards his boots before he leaves |
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| When he does leave, it is without acknowledging me or my work |
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| And rightly so, for I am just a slave |
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| I keep my humble head bowed behind the mighty boots... |
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| ...Boots I have just licked! |
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| My humbling view of the biker master-sir's departing boots - boots of greatness! |
