Wooing Her Socks

Regular visitor to the public stocks likes to sit over me and force me  to have a conversation with her socks, for her semi-drunken amusement. She demands that I ‘woo’ her socks, speaking to them in the most admiring, respectful and fearful of tones. It then tickles her to have her socks reject my slavish advances (she, of course, is the sole spokesperson for her socks), leaving me feeling rejected, humiliated and bereft.

However, I know in my heart of hearts I can never be good enough for her socks. Her socks are the socks of a beautiful and powerful young woman, and I am just a humble prisoner-slave in the public stocks!

A drunken Ms Mukta demands that I woo her socks!

'Oh pray Ms Mukta's socks, if it pleases you Ms Mukta's beautiful socks, please may I be your personal slave, socks?'

'Oh pity pray, please may I love you and care for you and, forsaking all other socks, keep myself unto you, Ms Mukta's beautiful socks?'

'Oh socks, truly you are the most beautiful things I have ever seen...

...being the socks of Ms Mukta on her feet, madams!'

'I look up to you, socks...

...and yearn to spend all my time with you, socks!'

'You are my gods, socks, and to humbly serve you both would be the greatest honour of any slave's life, mistresses!'

Ms Mukta drunkenly giggles high above me...

...as I continue to fervently woo her socks

But she, I and her socks all know that my advances are in vain

For I could never be good enough to be Ms Mukta's personal sockslave! I'm garbage!


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