Trembling, my Liege, I long for thy touch.
How thy words move me to be thy servant.

I am thy maiden, my Lord, ready to be at every beckoning call from thee. To serve thee is my training. To be thy slave. Command me and thou shall have thy feet washed with the purest of oils and warmest waters.

Then, my Master, shall I kneel before thee and dry thy feet with thine own hair and hands. If you would just look in my direction I will feed thee. Allowing only the finest foods and sweetest fruits to touch thy lips.

When thou art full, my Lover, I shall service thee, giving you full pleasure from the use of thy body for the joy of yours. I shall touch thee in the softest places making them firm with flowing succulence.

Thy mouth shall talk to thee, my Enticer, in ways that no words can be understood.

To make thee smille, thy King, is thy jesterly duty. For thy happiness is thine joy.

I am your servant and your love. I honor thee for the man that you are.