Inquisitiveness

An inquisitive customer-mistress from overseas casually quizzes me with pertinent questions in her broken English:

‘Why you are being a slave? You always are being a slave? You always are kissing feet?’

I must respond to her natural inquisitiveness with suitably slavish responses:’

‘Oh pray, pretty mistress, thank you for asking, pretty mistress madam. I have indeed been a slave all my life, mistress, if it so pleases you mistress and begging your female pardon and forgiveness, pretty mistress, and I have had to kiss feet all my life, pretty mistress madam, if again it would be so pleasing to you miss, thanking you for your kind questions, miss? Oh pray, miss, oh beg, may I kiss your feet, miss?’

She giggles in an Indian accent and obligingly stretches forth her right, sneakered foot to within reach of my menial mouth. I visually admire her beige brown sock as I lower my lips to her outstretched sneaker-toe. Indeed, I am just as inquisitive about her SOCKS as she is about my lowly lifestyle. But, unlike her, I am not free to ask (im)pertinent questions about her SOCKS, in order to satisfy my Indian-girl's SOCK inquisitiveness!

She's a happy bunny as she mockingly enquires as to my ultra-lowly status in life

She's also a kind bunny as she accedes to my humble request to be permitted to kiss her superior FEET!

She continues to laugh at me from on high as she feels my lowly lips on her SNEAKER-TOE

I am just as inquisitive about her SOCK as she is about my lowly life

I'm dying to know how long these SOCKS have been on her FEET, inside those SNEAKERS?

And are they good at absorbing her natural, feminine footsweat?

Oh to be a STITCH in those SOCKS, absorbing her Indian-girl foot juices deep into the very fibre of my being!

But I know I am not worthy to be a part of an Indian girl's SOCK!

The SOCKS know it too as they take it in turns to lord it over me!

Indeed, the inquisitive visitor from overseas switches her FEET several times in front of my feetkissing face!

Oh her SOCK!... Her SOCK!

What a humbling honour! What a lowly privilege, to be so close to her SOCK!

The SOCKS soon turn their backs on me and walk away...

...their pretty wearer's jubilant laughter still echoing around the yard!

Her curiosity has been sated...

...as I have confirmed to her my utter lowliness by kissing her FEET...

...whereas I still know next to nothing about her SOCKS!