A magnificent, Japanese customer master sir imposes his
socks on my face:
‘You kiss my feet, slave. Look only at sock!’
‘Yes, master sir. At once, master sir!’
It is, of course, right and proper that he should do so. I’m
not called a ‘sockieboy footslave’ for nothing. I am the slave of everyone’s
feet, shoes and socks!
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| A magnificent Japanese master-sir approaches me |
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| ‘You kiss my feet, slave. Look only at sock!’ |
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| ‘Yes, master sir. At once, master sir!’ |
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| It would be hard to avoid looking at the customer-master's sock, so magnificent is it! |
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| I am particularly impressed by the seemingly slovenly creases in the master-sir's socks! |
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| Yet he is otherwise tidily, if casually, dressed. I suspect the slovenliness of the socks is for my benefit... |
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| ...designed to add to my footslave humiliation! |
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| However the case may be, right now my nose is filled with the leathery-rubbery aroma of Japanese master-sir sneaker... |
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| ...and my eyes are assailed by his sock creases! |
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| The customer-master's SNEAKERS!...The customer-master's SOCKS!... |
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| ALL is SNEAKER and SOCK! |
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| The triumphant master-sir turns his back on me, leaving me to rot in the dirt and detritus behind him |
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| I remain humbly, and respectfully, focussed on his SOCKS |
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| I'm still observing the movements in his SOCK CREASES |
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| His SOCKS!... The master-sir's SOCKS!... The SOCKS!... |
