Thai Bride

Tale no 16. – Thai Bride

‘Life as a public footslave in the central square of Barbaria is, of course, full of daily humiliations.

How else would it be, when you are compelled to kneel over a wooden footblock all day long, kissing and licking and smelling the dirty feet and footwear of often extremely arrogant and imperious young women?

But it can be even worse than that. For me, the biggest humiliation is when I am required to make another man look good in front of his female partner. Free men in the Gynarchy of Barbaria just love to ‘lord it over’ we humble, male footslaves as a way of impressing their girlfriends, and ‘lording it over’ us usually takes the form of directing exactly how we honour and obey their girlfriends’ or wives’ or fiancées’ feet and/or footwear as we carry out our public duties.

What puts me in mind of all this is an incident which occurred yesterday afternoon. It was a lovely, bright, hot and sunny day in the square – lovely and hot, that is, for the free women and men who were at liberty to mill around in the shade whenever they so desired.

For me – the hard-working public footslave, kneeling on the ground near the centre of the square with my bare, unprotected back fully exposed to the unrelenting rays of the hot burning sun – it was just another sweltering hot, working day in the capital.

But just as the sun was at its zenith in the sky, I espied a pair of pretty, red, open-toed, backless mules - worn, unusually for such a hot, summer’s day, with a matching pair of red and white, low-cut ankle socks - approaching my humble, wooden footblock.

From my kneeling position, with my head kept humbly bowed, I could just make out from the corner of my footslave-eye that the wearer of the socks was an exceptionally pretty and petite-looking, dark-haired oriental girl in her early twenties. She was wearing nothing else on her legs, being clad from the waist up in very short red shorts, and a white T shirt with some sort of squiggly writing on it above a picture of a sandy beach in some exotic, far-flung location.

My footslave-mouth, pathetically, started to salivate somewhat at the sight of the oriental girl’s fully exposed, pretty red and white ankle-socks – for in such hot weather I had been virtually starved of female sock all day; nothing but bare feet in strappy, open-toed sandals to attend to!

It is, of course, not unpleasant to have to kiss and lick dirty, leather sandal straps on soft, bare feminine feet, but a bit of colourful feminine sock thrown into the equation every now and then always brightens up the day – at least, that’s what I always find!

I was delighted to observe that the oriental girl with the red socks and red, open-toed mules was heading straight towards me, but, regrettably she was not alone. Some free male was accompanying her – arm in arm. Not only that – but the white man looked to be in his early sixties!

I jumped to conclusions – an elderly, West-European man with his Thai girlfriend? If so, this next few minutes would surely mean some serious humiliation heading my way, for in my footslave-experience the older the man, the greater his desire to impress his beautiful, young, female partner with his prowess and machismo.

I stole myself for the worst.

I could hear the happy couple already laughing at me – she giggling nervously, he guffawing mockingly – as the pretty, oriental girl’s red mules and socks walked right up to my footblock and stood directly on the dusty ground of the town square in front of my kneeling face.

Like all my customers, she didn’t seem quite so petite in stature now; indeed, she seemed to tower above me like some sort of red and white socked, oriental goddess.

The man was explaining to his bemused, oriental girlfriend exactly what I was:

‘Ha! Ha! This is one of them public footslaves I was telling you about, honey! Ha! Ha! Look at his gormless face! Ha! Ha! Can you see, honey? Can you see how the chains around his neck force him to look at that dirty, wooden footblock underneath his face? Ha! Ha!’

The oriental girl was giggling even more vigorously now as the very same chains the free man had been referring to did their job of obliging me to stare humbly and contritely at her pretty, oriental, red and white socks on her dainty, oriental feet.

She spoke with a strong, Asian accent in broken English:

‘Ha! Ha! Pranee like! Like see slave kneel humble on ground at Pranee feet! Ha! Ha! Slave-man look like fool. Ha! Ha! He not able to lift up head and look at Pranee face! Ha! Ha! Only look at Pranee feet! Ha! Ha!’

Miss ‘Pranee’s’ much older boyfriend laughed along with her at my enforced humility at his pretty, oriental girlfriend’s feet:

‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, honey...I’ll bet he wishes he could look at your pretty face, for you are my beautiful Thai bride!’

Flattery, it seemed, was getting him everywhere, for I observed the cotton material of the young woman’s red and white socks suddenly crease and fold in front of my face as she temporarily twisted her feet in order to reach up and kiss her elderly fiancé lovingly on the lips.

At least I was able to flatter myself that I was right about her being a Thai bride!

After they had snogged noisily above me, the white man – testosterone no doubt newly pulsing through his elderly veins - manfully took charge of the proceedings:

‘Pranee darling, let’s humiliate the slave with your pretty feet and socks! Ha! Ha! Let’s make this fool smell your feet and socks – here in public, in front of everyone in the town square! Ha! Ha!’

I sensed the young and beautiful oriental girl put her hands up to her face in order to spare her blushes and stifle still more giggles:

‘Ha! Ha! You make public slave smell Pranee socks – while Pranee still wearing them?’ she asked her boyfriend, incredulously.

‘Sure, honey! Haven’t you ever had your socks worshipped in public before? Don’t they have public footslaves in Thailand? Ha! Ha!’

It was, of course, a rhetorical question on the part of the man. Even if he had never been to Thailand, and had chosen his Thai bride-to-be over the net or from a catalogue – he would know full well that the only county in the world to have public footslaves is the glorious Gynarchy of Barbaria in which we now found ourselves!

‘Ha! Ha! Pranee not want slave smell Pranee dirty socks! Pranee shy – socks stinky. Pranee wear socks since Tuesday…since leave Thailand! Ha! Ha!’

It was now Thursday.

The elderly man sought to reassure his bashful, Thai girlfriend that she had no need to feel diffident or embarrassed about having her dirty socks sniffed in public:

‘Ha! Ha! Don’t worry your pretty little head, honey – the stinkier your socks, the better! That’s precisely what these guys are here for – to smell young women’s stinky, sweaty socks and shoes. It’s like their punishment for something. They’re all convicted criminals!’

This last point just isn’t true. Not all public footslaves in the Gynarchy are convicted male criminals. Some of them - myself included – simply choose to become public footslaves at the age of 21.

But if it helps the Thai girl to feel more relaxed and less guilty about imposing her stinky-socked feet on me, then I am quite prepared to let her labour under the illusion that I am indeed a dirty, convicted, male criminal who deserves all that he gets!

She certainly seems to have been won over by her elderly fiancé’s assurances:

‘Ha! Ha! OK – Pranee let slave smell Pranee socks! Ha! Ha! What Pranee have to do?’

‘Just place your pretty foot up onto his wooden footblock, honey. I’ll make him do the rest!’

The beautiful, young Thai girl obediently and submissively stretched out her shapely, bare leg, placing her right foot directly beneath my kneeling face.

I now had an even closer view of her allegedly ‘stinky’ sock – not that my fully-honed footslave nose could detect any Thai-girl foot odour (more’s the pity!).

But what the sock lacked in smell, it certainly made up for in its aesthetic beauty – for it was truly a very feminine and pretty, short, sneaker-style, red and white patterned, cotton ankle-sock.

Her open toed and open-backed, single-strapped, red mule, with its fetching 3- inch heel, only seemed to accentuate the beauty of the sock beneath my face. The single, broad, red-leather strap across the top of the mule seemed to divide the all–white reinforced toe area of her short ankle sock from the main body of the sock which was bright red. Only the heel and the elasticated top of the short sock were also white – and I now noticed as I studied the Thai girl’s sock in more detail that there was an intriguing little logo of some sort on the instep consisting of squiggly, yellow writing. The squiggly writing seemed to match that which I had glimpsed earlier on the girl’s T shirt. Presumably it was something written in the beautiful Thai language.

I found myself longing to know what the logo on the side of the beautiful young woman’s sock actually said!

The young woman’s sock creased and folded again around her shapely, outer anklebone as she now adjusted her posture in order to make herself more comfortable whilst she stood with her right foot imperiously outstretched onto my wooden footblock, and also, it seemed, to ensure that she could now lean forward and get a good view of whatever her beloved fiancé was going to make me do next at her feet.

I even saw her pretty, Thai toes wriggling inside the reinforced, white toe-area of the equally pretty sock in eager anticipation of my impending humiliation at her pretty, socked feet.

The next thing I knew, the master had crouched down beside me - with his bad breath - in order to give me my instructions directly to my prone and vulnerable, kneeling face:

‘This here is my beautiful, young Thai bride - miss Pranee, boy, and you are gonna pay some homage to her feet and socks! You hear me, boy?’

Boy? I’m 40 years old! Still – I suppose I am but a boy in the eyes of a man in his sixties. And I am certainly a ‘boy’ as far as my male status goes – having never been a man.

Nor will I ever be a man – for I am just a foot-kissing footslave.

I assure the superior, real man that I do indeed hear and understand his words:

‘Yes master. God bless you master, and your beautiful fiancée miss Pranee, master. This slave will indeed be honoured to pay homage to the beautiful mistress’s socks and feet in whatever way the master sees fit, if it would be so pleasing to the master and mistress.’

Humility; submission; compliance. That’s what free men want to see and hear in a public footslave when they are about to make them attend to their female partners’ feet!

Miss Pranee – though she must surely have had some difficulty understanding my verbose and obsequious slave-speak – nevertheless clearly picked up on my ultra-submissive and fearful tone of slave-voice:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave sound scared! Slave frightened of Pranee and Peter! Ha! Ha! Peter make slave kiss Pranee sock! Make slave beg for mercy! Ha! Ha!’

The man smiled up at his girlfriend, whose oriental inhibitions about the state of her socks were clearly fast deserting her, and he then addressed me again as he crouched beside me:

‘Well, you heard your mistress, boy – kiss her sock, and beg her for mercy! Kiss it on the toes!’

I needed no further encouragement from the master, whom I now knew to be called master Peter. His menacing tone of voice was more than enough to indicate that things would not bode at all well for me if I failed to please his delightful, Thai bride-to-be with my humble foot-homage.

I suspected that this attractive, young Thai-woman was a footkiss-virgin as I placed my slave-lips respectfully onto the reinforced, white cotton stitching of the sock area covering her big toenail, and gently kissed it.

My suspicions were instantly confirmed as, before I even had time to formally withdraw my lips from her sock and begin my verbal plea for mercy, she had pulled her foot off the wooden block in absolute hysterics of mocking, oriental laughter:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave’s mouth tickle Pranee! Ha! Ha! Slave’s dirty mouth tickle Pranee toes through sock!’

Yes – just as I thought! Clearly a footkiss-virgin – unused to the feel of a male-slave’s lips on her socked foot! To tell the truth I was just relieved that both she and master Peter, were still laughing. Causing discomfort of any kind to a superior mistress whilst kissing her feet is considered a serious criminal offence under the laws of the Gynarchy!

But this particular couple, mercifully, clearly found my footkissing ineptitude more amusing than criminal!

‘Ha! Ha! Don’t worry, honey. He can’t hurt you – put your foot back on the footblock. I’m going to make him put his nose down inside your sock now. Watch this!’… and with that the elderly, white man stood up again, put his arm around his ticklish fiancée, and gently guided her back over to the footblock where he held onto her by way of moral support as she somewhat gingerly extended her right foot once again onto the wooden board beneath my ticklish lips.

Once again the young Thai woman’s red and white socked foot creased and folded inside its red leather mule as she steadied herself above me.

‘Slave – you see that gap between my fiancée’s sock and her pretty, bare ankle bone?’

I did see the gap:

‘Yes master’

‘Well, you are now gonna put your ugly nose down into that gap and take a sniff! Ha! Ha! You’re gonna sniff my girl’s bare ankle-bone and sock at one and the same time! Ha! Ha! How do you like that, boy?’

If truth be told, I liked it very much – but I knew I had to at least pretend to the master that I found his ingenious idea humiliating and degrading, whilst at the same time being honoured to have my nose inside his beautiful fiancée’s sock:

‘Oh pray master, if it pleases you master and mistress, this slave would truly be honoured to place his nose down inside the mistress’s sock whilst she is still wearing it master – but not that much!’

It’s a standard response by professionally-trained public footslaves such as myself in such circumstances. We effectively inform our betters that we do like being humiliated – but not that much. Such a response always seems to please one’s betters, as it demonstrates a measure of respect mixed in with our suffering and humility:

‘Ha! Ha! Well then boy, get on with it! Get your nose down my girlfriend’s ankle sock and give it a good, hard sniff! Ha! Ha!’

The gap at the top of the sock which master Peter was referring to was caused purely by the slender tendons in the oriental mistress’s shapely, feminine ankles. It meant that there was a small gap between sock and skin – a gap just big enough for a footslave such as myself to slide his ‘ugly’ nose down inside it.

I felt and heard the Thai girl giggle as my no doubt ticklish nose entered the top of her short sock:

‘Ha! Ha! Pranee feel slave-nose inside sock on Pranee ankle! Ha! Ha! Nose tickle. Nose warm! Pranee like feel of footslave nose on ankle!’

‘Okay honey – now listen to him take a sniff!’

It was clearly my cue from the master.

I audibly sniffed the inside of the Thai girl’s red and white sock.

Nothing – no vinegary, sweaty aroma of stale foot odour; no sweaty-sock-fragranced stale air; just the delightful feel of soft sock and soft, Thai skin on the sensitive tip of my footslave nose!

I’m glad to say that the owner of the soft skin and the soft sock was evidently enjoying my humiliation and degradation at her socked feet every bit as much as I was:

‘Ha! Ha! Look Peter - slave sniff Pranee stinky sock and ankle! Ha! Ha! Look - slave nose buried inside Pranee dirty sock! Ha! Ha!’

By now a crowd of mainly female onlookers, foreign tourists most of them, had gathered around the scene, and I could hear the repeated clicks of camera phones as my humiliating pose – with my nose deep inside a Thai girl’s short red and white ankle sock – was photographed for inclusion in personal souvenir albums all over the world.

My humiliation and degradation were only complete, however, when I was obliged to keep my nose perfectly still inside the pretty, Thai bride-to-be’s ankle sock whilst she once again embraced and kissed her manly, elderly fiancé on the lips.