‘How do you like it, whipped slave – kissing the feet of
your betters?’
‘Oh pray sir, have mercy master-sir. Sir, I like it sir,
but not that much sir, begging your masterful mercy and forgiveness, sir. Sir,
you and your wife are my masters, sir. I kiss your wife’s feet, sir.’
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| The slave's master-sir mocks him as he grovels at the feet of his master's wife |
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| ‘How do you like it, whipped slave... |
 |
| ...kissing the feet of your betters?’ |
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| The master-sir's magnificent, ornate boots... |
 |
| ...themselves ripe for kissing! |
 |
| I'll wager those masculine boots have been, and will be, kiss-respected many times by the slave's menial mouth! |
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| But, for now, his lowly lips must concentrate on embracing his mistress's delicate, feminine shoe-toe... |
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| ...so close to her soft, bare footskin! |
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| He puckers his pathetic lips over the decorative, religious shoe buckle... |
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| ...thereby kiss-respecting her superior foot... |
 |
| ...the foot of his better |
 |
| Truly this slave is in the presence of his gods and masters! |
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| They relish lording it over him |
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| And rightly so... |
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| ...for they are his infinite betters, entitled to look down on him! |
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| He kisses feet under the STING of the WHIP! |
 |
| He's pathetic like that! |
