My magnificent master-sir utters the words I dread the most:
‘Slave, fetch the WHIP!’
I kiss his BOOTS, whilst fearfully acknowledging my slavish obedience
to his dreaded command!
‘Yes, master sir. At once, master sir. Please don’t beat
me, sir?’
His pretty girlfriend laughs and rubs her hands with
undisguised glee, for she knows how much my master-sir loves to whip me!
And she loves watching him whip me:
‘Don’t spare him, Harold. Whip him! He’s just our slave!
Show him who’s boss. Make him wear the STING of
your LASH!’
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| I grovel before my magnificent master-sir in the presence of his lovely girlfriend |
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| ‘Slave, fetch the WHIP!’ |
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| If there's one thing I've learnt as a slave, it's the importance of always kissing one's masters' BOOTS! |
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| ‘Don’t spare him, Harold. Whip him!... |
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...He’s just our slave!...
|
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...Show him who’s boss...
|
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| ...Make him wear the STING of your LASH!’ |
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| The mistress's BOOTS - creased up with excitement and laughter at me! |
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| The master-sir points to his beloved WHIP! |
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| The WHIP, I say!... The master's WHIP! |
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| Better to KISS BOOT, than FEEL WHIP! |
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| 'WHIP him, Harold!... WHIP him!... The WHIP!' |