Mischievous Master-Sir

Shortly after Ms Mukta madam has left me, a master-sir in an equally mischievous mood comes over to crouch down before me and mock me with his words.

He asks me how I had liked it, having to ‘kow tow to that bird’s feet’? Didn’t I feel shame? Didn’t I feel humiliation? I respectfully and politely confirm to the magnificent master-sir that I did indeed feel shame and humiliation, but that that is par for the course for a down-in-the-dirt footslave like me, sir, begging his manly pardon and forgiveness, master-sir?

The man, quite rightly, laughs at me and then goes on to enquire as to whether I wasn’t disappointed by the ‘plain greyness’ of the girl’s SOCKS? Wouldn’t I have preferred it if she was wearing colourful, flowery-patterned feminine SOCKS, instead of plain old grey ones? I politely and respectfully explain to the master-sir that the choice of a customer’s SOCKS is entirely their choice, master sir, and that I am duty-bound by Law to respect and admire all my customers’ SOCKS, including his WHITE SOCKS, sir, if he would be so kind and understanding master-sir?

The man nonchalantly picks his nose during my sycophantic explanation, thereby ably demonstrating his contempt for me and that, in his eyes, I am a nothing and a nobody – something he can casually pick his nose in front of.

The man then stands up straight and presents me with his right foot for respect-kissing, warning me not to take my eyes off his SOCK while I am doing so. I humbly obey the mischievous master-sir, as befits a public footservant faced with such magnificence!

A mischievous master-sir crouches down to mock me to my face. I can smell his bad breath.

However, I must respond to the master-sir's mocking questions with suitably slavish politeness and respect...

...making sure to address him in the SOCK, as befits a lowly public footservant such as myself

The man, meanwhile, casually picks his nose above me as he listens to my obsequious response to his mockery

By picking his nose in front of me, he is subliminally demonstrating his utter manly contempt for me!

The man then stands up and orders me to kiss his foot, warning me only to look him in the SOCK!

It's not difficult to obediently look such a magnificent man in the SOCK...

...since he is, self-evidently, my infinite better!

And besides, his creamy-white SOCKS are CREASED around his manly ankles...

...so there is much to be studied and admired in his SOCKS!

I look up to the SOCKS, but not above the SOCKS

I know my place, and it is beneath this man's SOCKS!

Every CREASE in his SOCK is worth more than me!

His SOCKS! The master-sir's SOCKS!

Unlike Ms Mukta madam, this master-sir is not one of my regulars. So I don't know his sir-name.

All I do know is that his SOCK CREASES are worthy of my slavish attention since he is a much better man than me!