Changing The Subject

 A curious passer-by asks a seemingly innocent question of the prisoner-slave in the pillory:

‘Why are you being punished, slave?’

‘Oh pray, pretty mistress, if it pleases you pretty mistress madam, this slave neglected to clean his mistress’s boots properly with his tongue, miss, begging your female pardon and forgiveness please don’t hurt me miss?’

‘You deserve to be punished, slave! I hope you suffer!’

‘Yes, mistress. Thank you, mistress madam.'

She then changes the subject:

‘How do you like my socks, slave? Look at all the lovely creases in them, an’ that!’

‘Oh pray, pretty mistress, thanking you kindly for your kind question, mistress madam, this slave indeed admires your socks immensely, including your lovely sock creases, madam, begging your female pardon and understanding, miss?’

‘Don’t you wish you could kiss my socks, though, slave?’

‘Oh yes, miss! Oh madam! Oh pray! Oh my lips on your SOCKS, miss! Your SOCKS! The CREASES!’

‘Haha, too bad you’re confined in the pillory then, innit though?’

‘Yes, mistress. Indeed, mistress. Not being in a position to kiss your socks is a big part of my wholly deserved suffering and punishment, miss, if you will forgive me, miss? Your SOCKS, miss!... Your SOCKS!’

She laughs at the pilloried and helpless slave and moves off, leaving him to rot.

‘How do you like my socks, slave?... 

...Look at all the lovely creases in them, an’ that!’

‘Oh pray, pretty mistress, thanking you kindly for your kind question, mistress madam, this slave indeed admires your socks immensely, including your lovely sock creases, madam!'

My humbling view of the passer-by's SOCK...

...including the creases therein!

'Oh madam! Oh pray! Oh my lips on your SOCKS, miss! Your SOCKS! The CREASES!’

It truly would be an honour for me to bury my lips in those SOCKS!

But they are sadly unattainable. Out of reach!

They are safe in their buckled SHOES!

'Not being in a position to kiss your socks is a big part of my wholly deserved suffering and punishment, miss... 

...if you will forgive me, miss?’

'Your SOCKS, miss!... Your SOCKS!’

She turns her pretty back on me and walks away, her female laughter at me echoing around the alleyway

I am ignominiously left to ROT behind her SOCKS!

She is TRIUMPHANT!

JUBILANT!

Her SOCKS have humbled me!

Such is the POWER of a FEMALE SOCK!

SOCKS!

The mistress's SOCKS!

Her SOCKS!

SOCKS!

SOCKS!... SOCKS!... SOCKS!... SOCKS!... SOCKS!...

...SOCKS!

I am mad for her SOCKS!


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