Permission To Visually Admire Her Socks

 'Clean my boots, slave. And make sure you lick off all the dirt and grime, and that!’

‘Yes, pretty mistress. At once, pretty mistress madam miss. And, begging your female pardon and indulgence, miss, may I look up admiringly at your socks whilst I am lickshining your boots, madam, please don’t have me whipped for my impertinence, miss?’

‘You may, slave.’

‘Oh pray, miss! Oh thank you kindly, miss. God bless you, pretty miss! Oh your socks, miss!’

It just goes to prove - if you don't ask (even with a mouthful of mud) you don't get!

 'Clean my boots, slave. And make sure you lick off all the dirt and grime, and that!’

‘Yes, pretty mistress. At once, pretty mistress madam miss. And, begging your female pardon and indulgence, miss, may I look up admiringly at your socks, miss?'

The socks I am so keen to admire...

...thick, grey bootsocks...

...all creased around the customer-mistress's lovely leg

Not that my menial mind is focussed on her bare skin...

...it is very much focussed on the stitching in her socks!

I'm queer like that!

My customers' socks are my life...

...especially the socks of my pretty customers!

Her socks! Her socks!...Oh her SOCKS!

No wonder she is smiling triumphantly down at me. I am pathetically enamoured with her SOCKS!


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