The State-Sponsored Tormentress
I have been sentenced to 7 days in the town-square stocks followed by life in the hard-labour mines. I am just beginning my first day of punishment in the public stocks.
They are, of course, a deliberately humiliating, low-level set of wooden stocks – forcing me to kneel with my back bent and my head confined just a few inches off the ground. Forcing me also to look at the feet of my betters – the feet of the many female passers-by.
But they don’t all just pass-by; many stop. They stop to have their feet kissed by the humble and penitent, male prisoner in the kneeling stocks. Just a quick, respectful peck to each feminine boot or shoe, and then they proceed on their merry way – happy in the knowledge that female justice over the male is being seen to be done.
A few, however, do more than just stop. They stay. They bring along a chair, position it in front of me, take a seat, and stay a while.
These are the state-sponsored tormentresses – paid by the Female State to torment hapless prisoners like me in the stocks; to ridicule them; to tease them; to add to their sense of male shame and humiliation. They may stay for anything up to an hour at a time; after all, they are being paid for it, and it is money for old rope!
Day 1 – Light Grey, Woolly, Calf-Length Legwarmers
One such state-sponsored tormentress approaches me in the early afternoon of my first day in the stocks. She is an attractive and petite young woman of Indian origins; early to mid twenties; shiny, black, shoulder-length hair; fully gynarchised in her clothing and appearance – but she still speaks with a strong Indian accent as she unfolds her wooden chair, sits down in front of my kneeling and confined face, and proceeds to verbally torment me and mock me:
‘Ha! Ha! How are you being liking it in the stocks, slave? Ha! Ha! Are you being feeling comfortable down there?’
The Indian mistress must know full well that I am far from being comfortable, for already – after just a few hours of public confinement – my knees, back, neck, and shoulders are throbbing and aching from their cruel and unusual imprisonment.
But I must answer the young Indian woman politely and respectfully, as befits a male prisoner in the stocks. Being rude to a mistress is what got me here in the first place!
‘Oh pray mistress, if it pleases you mistress, this prisoner-slave is truly beginning to suffer in the terrible stocks, mistress, but is fully deserving of his agony, if you would be so kind to a helpless, male prisoner, most beautiful and superior female mistress.’
The young, Indian woman laughs as she casually stretches out her dainty feet in front of me. As I have indicated already, she is fully gynarchised in her appearance and is dressed as a typical Gynarchy student-girl in a cream-coloured anorak; tight, black denim jeans; black patent leather, spike-heeled, pointy-toed, zip-up, ankleboots; and a pair of light grey, calf-length, woolly leg-warmers which just cover the upper halves of her shiny, black ankleboots.
She looks cool, in a well-wrapped up, warm and cosy sort of way! And she does need to wrap up warm today, for there is a distinctly autumnal chill in the air, even though the bright, autumn sunshine causes her patent leather ankleboots to glisten most fetchingly beneath her light grey, woollen legwarmers.
I, of course, am stark-naked apart from my plain, white slave-shorts. Nobody gives a damn if I am feeling the cold. I am, after all, being punished!
‘Ha! Ha! Be kissing the toe of my boot, dirty prisoner.’
The Indian girl gaily lifts her shapely, skinny-jeans-covered, right leg up off the dusty ground until the pointy, somewhat scuffmarked toe of her right boot is brushing against my footslave lips. I respectfully obey the Indian mistress, who is now seated in a position of absolute power over me, and kiss her pointy boot-toe.
She then withdraws her right boot from my face and replaces it with her left:
‘And the other one!’ she demands in her high-pitched, and very feminine, Indian-girl voice.
I duly kiss the toe of the extended left boot, noticing as I do so that the light-grey, thick woolly legwarmer on her left, lower leg is slightly more scrunched over the top of her boot, meaning that even more shiny, black, feminine bootleather is shimmering under the autumn sunlight beneath my confined-in-wood and gormless male face.
All too soon, however, the second boot is withdrawn from my lips. The sweet and demure, Indian mistress hadn’t even penetrated my mouth with her boots. Such a sweet and gentle young woman, for I am totally at her mercy in that regard!
‘My name is being miss Sameena, dirty slave, and I will be coming here at this time every day to be keeping you company while you are being held in the stocks, isn’t it?...’
Keeping me company! Is that what it’s called?
Whatever miss Sameena likes to call it, I am, at any rate, extremely grateful that she is prepared to spend some of her precious, female time every day with a no-hope loser like me. For there will be no future to our relationship. In seven days’ time I shall be carted off to the slave-mines, where the female whip is never far from the male back, for a lifetime of unremitting, underground toil!
Miss Sameena will never see me again – but then, she already knows that. She’s not looking for a long-term relationship. She just wants to tease and torment me during my preliminary, 7-day punishment period in the town stocks. She does it to prisoners all the time; it supplements her student-girl income.
She continues with her self-introduction:
‘…I will be tormenting you with my boots and shoes during the next seven days, and will be wearing different shoes for you every day, isn’t it? Ha! Ha! This is so that you will be being reminded of what you will soon be missing, dirty slave. Ha! Ha! Soon you will be toiling in the mines and will be being far away from the feet and footwear of beautiful young women such as me! Forever! Ha! Ha!’
She again stretches out her shapely, jeans-clad legs beneath my helplessly confined face and this time coquettishly crosses her legwarmer-covered, booted feet over at the ankles. Her light grey woolly legwarmers look soft and inviting, all scrunched up and creased as they are over her shapely, Indian calves and anklebones.
My exotic, Indian tormentress seems to know what I am thinking:
‘Ha! Ha! Are you liking my grey, woolly legwarmers, slave? Are you wishing that I would be rubbing them up against your dirty face? Ha! Ha!’
It’s uncanny – for that is exactly what I would be liking her to do at this moment in time! I would very much like this sweet and kind, young Indian woman to comfort me with her thick, woolly legwarmers:
‘Oh pray mistress, if it pleases you mistress Sameena, this convicted prisoner-slave would indeed be honoured and privileged to feel your woolly legwarmers rubbing against the sides of his ugly face, if you would be so kind to a humble prisoner most beautiful and compassionate mistress Sameena!’
Mistress Sameena just laughs at me! She evidently has no intention of doing anything to comfort me in my wooden-stocks distress:
‘Ha! Ha! Foolish slave! What a queer fellow you are being! Ha! Ha! Are you really thinking that I would be dirtying my nice, clean legwarmers on your dirty, slave face? Ha! Ha! What kind of a girl do you think I am being? Ha! Ha!’
Clearly you are not such a compassionate young woman after all, mistress Sameena, is what I am thinking. But, of course, that’s not what I am in any position to say:
‘Oh pray, mistress. Pray forgive me for my presumptuousness, mistress Sameena. Please don’t have me whipped, mistress. I am at your mercy, mistress!’
Mistress Sameena laughs even more heartily at me now:
‘Ha! Ha! Do not be worrying, slave! I am not being offended by your silly request! In fact, I am finding that you are quite sweet! Ha! Ha! I am thinking that you will not be surviving long in the terrible harshness of the slave mines! Ha! Ha! You are being so weak and feeble without the comfort of beautiful young women’s feet and socks, isn’t it?’
‘Yes mistress Sameena. Thank you mistress Sameena. God bless you mistress Sameena!’
Mistress Sameena has only known me for a few minutes – yet already she has identified my weakness for female hosiery; for their socks, tights and legwarmers; all items which will soon be denied to me for the rest of my miserable days in the slave mines, where no females ever tread – apart from the guard-taskmistresses. But they, reputedly, never wear hosiery – only black leather, knee-length boots on sweaty, bare feet!
What am I going to do?!
The evident distress on my face caused by her observations on my weakness and inability to cope with the hard labour and girlsock-denial of the slave-mines only seems to cause even more pleasure to miss Sameena, my State-sponsored tormentress. She laughs even more heartily.
The irony is that the harder she laughs, the more her light-grey, woolly legwarmers crease and fold beneath my eyes, making them yet more appealing and attractive to me. Oh to bury my nose and face in those soft, feminine, gynarchised-Indian-girl legwarmers!
But miss Sameena is an expert tease. She knows just how to torment a prisoner in the stocks – under the guise of being sympathetic to his plight:
‘Ha! Ha! Never mind, you the slave. At least for the next six days you will be seeing my nice soft socks, boots and shoes, isn’t it? Tomorrow I shall not be wearing my legwarmers, and shall instead be letting you look at my socks inside my boots, if you would be liking that slave?’
‘Oh yes mistress Sameena! Oh pray! Oh I beseech you mistress – this slave would like that very much indeed, most sweet and kind Indian mistress!’
I had, of course, secretly been wondering in the back of my mind about mistress Sameena’s socks inside her boots. Were they light grey in colour to match her legwarmers? Were they likewise woollen socks? Or cotton? Or nylon?
I knew she must be wearing socks of some description since her pretty, Indian feet are evidently feeling the cold – hence the need for legwarmers!
Whatever the truth, the Indian student-girl’s bootsocks are well and truly hidden from me right now by those selfsame, delightfully pretty, but obstructive legwarmers. Even if the elasticated tops of mistress Sameena’s bootsocks are peeking out over the tops of her patent leather ankleboots, they are currently concealed beneath the extra layer of thick, grey, woolly legwarmer!
But tomorrow, she has promised me, I shall get to see her socks – and a self-evidently sweet and kind mistress like mistress Sameena wouldn’t lie to a prisoner-slave, would she?’
Day 2 – Cream-Coloured Bootsocks
She didn’t.
The next day – day two of my public confinement in the stocks – mistress Sameena did me the huge honour of showing me the tops of her socks inside her boots as she sat triumphantly before me on her State-supplied, portable, wooden chair. She even went to the trouble of wearing a short skirt, and therefore of suffering cold, bare, brown legs, just so that my view down inside the tops of those same, student-girl, black patent leather, high-heeled, zip-up ankleboots would be unimpeded as I peered down inside her obligingly outstretched, Indian boots beneath my face.
And what a sight for sore footslave-eyes it was! The elasticated tops of thick, cream-coloured, woollen bootsocks – cream-coloured to match her seemingly ubiquitous, cream-coloured anorak. Not only that – but the boots had a bright purple, inner lining which contrasted so nicely with the creamy-white of the ankle-length bootsocks.
Mistress Sameena added to my joy, and torment, by kindly providing me with some more information about her socks:
‘Ha! Ha! These are being exactly the same socks that I was being wearing all day yesterday slave, isn’t it? Ha! Ha! Just think – these socks must be being wery smelly right now, yet you are not being able to take off my boots and smelling them as I am not permitting it to you! Ha! Ha! You may be looking but not smelling my dirty socks, dirty prisoner in the stocks, isn’t it? Ha! Ha!’
What a minx! An Indian sock-minx! Mistress Sameena knows full well that it is sheer purgatory for me to be so near to her stinky, sweaty, 2 day old, cream-coloured, woolly bootsocks – and yet so far!
And to think that this is only a foretaste of the sock-denial I shall soon be experiencing for the rest of my unnatural life in the slave-mines! Perhaps, when I am labouring over rocks in the underground mines, out of sight will mean ‘out of mind’; but I somehow doubt it. How could a slave like me ever get girls’ socks off his pathetic, footslave mind?!
I praise and bless mistress Sameena for at least showing me the tops of her socks inside her boots. It was, after all, nothing more nor less than what she had promised to do for me the day before.
Day 3 – Red and White Striped Sneakers; Red Sneaker-Socks
The next day it was all change – both for the weather and for mistress Sameena’s socks. The weather had turned damp, and miss Sameena’s cream-coloured bootsocks had evidently become too damp for wear, as she turned up at the public stocks in a pair of blue denim jeans; red and white striped, lace-up, leather sneakers; and plain red, ultra-short, sneaker-style, cotton socks.
This time when she sat down in front of me on her portable, wooden chair the somewhat scruffy and frayed hems of her Indian student-girl jeans rode up to reveal her short, red sneaker-socks in all their glory – or, at least, the elasticated tops of her sneaker-socks, for the rest of her red socks were, of course, hidden beneath the rims of her low-cut, red and white striped sneakers. Indeed, the socks had disappeared altogether down the backs of her somewhat wrinkly and chafed, Indian-girl heels.
But at least this meant that, as I dutifully kissed the flaky, rounded toes of miss Sameena’s lace-up, leather sneakers, I got to see the sheer shapeliness of her bare, brown, Indian heels and ankles for the first time. The tendons at the backs of her heels were really most appealing. Her brown ankles were quite narrow and thin, but looked oh so smooth in contrast to the wrinkly skin on the backs of her student-girl heels!
And the thin slither of red, cotton sock running along her shapely, brown-skinned insteps just showed off the shapeliness of her delicate, Indian anklebones all the more! These were undoubtedly the shapely ankles, and smooth, feminine ankleskin, of a truly beautiful, young woman. It would not be possible for such shapely, well-turned anklebones to belong to a plain or ugly girl! She was an Indian beauty from top to toe!
For the first time also mistress Sameena truly indulged me with her socks:
‘Ha! Ha! Today you may be rubbing your nose against the top of my sock while you are kissing the side of my sneaker, slave! But be making damn well sure you are not touching my bare flesh on my foot, isn’t it boy?’
‘Yes mistress Sameena. This slave hears and obeys the mistress. Thank you mistress! Oh thank you!’
Boy!? I must be nearly twice her age! I suppose what she means is that I shall never be having sex with a woman – having been sentenced to hard labour for life in the slave-mines – therefore she regards me as a ‘boy’, rather than a ‘man’; a workthing rather than a plaything or a sex object.
It may seem like a relatively small thing – to be allowed to run your nose along the elasticated top of a beautiful, young Indian woman’s bright red sneaker sock, whilst she is still wearing it inside her sneaker. But any prisoner-slave in my position would be eternally grateful for such small mercies, even if, in my heart of hearts, I wish I could untie miss Sameena’s grubby, white sneaker-laces, remove the beat-up, leather sneakers from her feet, and shower her bright red sneaker-socks with humble and respectful kisses – from reinforced, cotton toe to reinforced, cotton heel!
But mistress Sameena is no fool. I am the fool – and she is not here to fulfil my pathetic, slavish wishes. She is here to tease and torment me – giving me just enough red sneaker-sock to inflame me, and yet to then leave me feeling out in the cold!
Day 4 – Silvery-Grey Ballet-Flats; Black Socks; White Fluff
Any self-respecting, young student-woman in her twenties will have a pair of ballet-flats in her wardrobe, and miss Sameena, it seems, is no exception. On day 4 she appeared in a delightful pair of well-worn, slivery-grey-coloured ballet flats and black anklesocks to match the black jeans which made their first reappearance since day 1.
Still that ubiquitous, cream-coloured anorak though.
It was evident that miss Sameena had come straight from the lecture hall, as she had a number of books in her hands. In fact, as she sat down in front of me this time, rather than speaking to me, and observing my suffering at her feet, she just buried her pretty, Indian head into one of her textbooks.
The only words she uttered were her initial orders, spoken snappily down to me:
‘Slave, be staring at and admiring my ballet-flats and socks, but you are not to be touching them! I am thinking that I have been being much too kind to you during your punishment in the stocks – so today you may only be looking and not touching, isn’t it?’
It was a disappointment for me, of course. For those sweet, silvery ballet flats and plain, black, ankle-length, Indian girlsocks were just crying out to be worshipped and kissed! But the State-sponsored tormentress is quite right! I am not worthy to worship them, as I am being publicly punished. I must content myself with mentally worshipping them, as I shall have to get used to doing in the impending slave mines!
In the mines I shan’t even have the luxury of being able to look at a real-life pair of sweet, young-woman ballet flats and socks! I shall have to conjure up their image in my mind whilst I break underground rocks!
I decide, therefore, to study miss Sameena’s silver-coloured ballet flats and black anklesocks in great detail; to engross myself in them, just as she appears to be engrossed in her textbook above me, as I shall wish to remember this pleasing sight for many years to come.
The harder I look the more I see. What had appeared at first to be an unremarkable pair of plain, black, Indian-girl’s anklesocks now reveal a whole host of secrets; occasional little tears in the cotton stitching; numerous little pieces of foreign, white fluff stuck to the tops and the sides of the socks; tiny, almost imperceptible creases and folds in the sock material – creases and folds which are not static, but vibrant, as they come and go in tandem with mistress Sameena’s subconscious flexing of her pretty, Asian foot muscles.
I become so engrossed in her socks and muscle-flexes that I almost forget my own aching muscles, which are now constantly burning in my poor neck and shoulders thanks to my 4 long days of confinement in the public, kneeling stocks!
Mistress Sameena does not even permit me to kiss her socks or ballet flats goodbye on day 4. I wonder if I have done anything to upset her? Or is it just her time of the month to be moody and contemplative?
After she has gone, I contemplate what it would have been like to kiss her plain, black anklesocks inside her silvery ballet-flats (it is the first of many times I shall do so in my imagination over the remaining years of my slave-life).
Day 5 – Brown Leather, High-Heeled, Open-Toed Sandals; Brightly-Coloured, Cartoon-Print Socks
The next day, mistress Sameena is back in good form again. She is her ‘usual’, ebullient self – mercilessly mocking me and teasing me with her pretty socks and shoes as I kneel helplessly in the stocks at her feet.
Or, more accurately, teasing me with her socks and sandals on day 5 – for, even though the weather is not getting any warmer, she clearly wants me to see and appreciate her fun-themed, cartoon print ankle socks in all their girly glory today, and is consequently wearing a strappy pair of sock-revealing, high-heeled, brown leather, open-toed, slingback sandals on her pretty, besocked, Indian feet.
These funtime-socks are basically navy blue in colour, with a red and yellow cartoon character on the sides. I’m not sure who or what the character is meant to be, but it is some sort of cartoon animal with a manic expression on its face and spiky, yellow hair.
Whatever it is, I am ordered to respectfully kiss it by my mistress-tormentress Sameena who today, for the first time, remains standing whilst I pay homage to her outstretched, Indian foot:
‘Ha! Ha! Be kissing the animal on the side of my sock, slave, isn’t it? Be kissing it 50 times, and be praising and blessing it for gracing you with its presence! Ha! Ha!’
The whim of the tormentor-mistress is everything, and so I duly kiss the cartoon print on the side of her sock, whilst verbally cringing and fawning to it, whatever it is:
‘Oh pray mistress Sameena’s cartoon-sock animal. God bless you mistress Sameena’s cartoon-sock animal. Thank you for visiting me today, mistress Sameena’s cartoon-sock animal, and for brightening up my dull and monotonous life, mistress Sameena’s brightly-coloured, cartoon sock!’
The humbling thought occurs to me that I myself am now like a confined creature being visited in the zoo by a free and domesticated cartoon-animal on a girl’s sock! How the tables have turned! I am now a lesser creature than the creature portrayed on the side of sweet mistress Sameena’s novelty sock!
Because miss Sameena is wearing high-heeled sandals, her foot wobbles as I kiss the side of her sock fifty times, causing the cartoon animal to crease and fold as if it were moving and alive. It also seems to be laughing at me and mocking me. I think, on closer inspection, that it may be some sort of laughing hyena – a laughing, cartoon hyena.
And why shouldn’t it be laughing at me? After all, its owner is! She is laughing heartily down at me from on high. I have never seen mistress Sameena looking so tall and proud before, as normally she is seated above me, rather than standing, hands on dominant hips, as she is now – having the side of her mocking sock kissed.
Perhaps I am having the last laugh, though. For I do love to kiss female sock!
Day 6 – Black Leather, High-Heeled Pumps; Black Nylon, Knee-High Trouser Socks
On day 6 mistress Sameena, my State-sponsored tormentress, visits me with her boyfriend, a slightly older Indian man in his early thirties, whom I took to be one of her fellow students at university.
She introduced me to him as ‘the pathetic loser in the stocks who will soon be breaking rocks for the rest of his life in the slave mines, isn’t it?’
Is that really how mistress Sameena thinks of me – as a pathetic loser?
If so, she is very astute.
I’m guessing that miss Sameena and her boyfriend are going out on a date tonight for she is dressed to impress – a short, black miniskirt; sheer, black, nylon knee-high trouser socks; and smart, black, patent leather, high-heeled pumps. Even her cream-coloured anorak has been replaced by a stylish blue denim jacket over a crisp, white blouse.
For the second time this week she has dispensed with her foldaway chair, and today elects to sit on the wooden crossbeam directly over my confined head, wrapping her nylon popsocks around the sides of my confined face as her gleeful boyfriend takes a picture of me using his digital camcorder.
Although I am forced to observe the darker-coloured nylon material covering miss Sameena’s shapely, Indian anklebones as she sits on top of my head, I very much appreciate the feeling on my cheeks of the lighter-coloured, more stretched nylon material that covers her shapely, Indian calf-muscles up as far as her bare, brown knees – especially when, at the behest of her manly boyfriend, she rubs the sides of her nyloned legs up and down my cheeks so that he may film the humiliating (for me) scene!
When she does that, I swear I can even detect on my temples the colder, ultra dark, reinforced nylon material at the turned-over cuffs of her knee-high trouser socks – trouser socks being worn, somewhat provocatively, without trousers!
Such style! Such class! It is truly an honour to be rubbed up the wrong way by mistress Sameena’s knee-length nylons and her mocking boyfriend.
After she has climbed off me mistress Sameena’s Indian boyfriend has a few choice words to say to me:
‘Look slave, look what you have being done – my girlfriend’s socks are now all creased on her legs! Ignorant fool! Be straightening them this instant with your mouth, and do not be touching her bare skin or ripping the material of her nylons! Otherwise I shall be whipping you, isn’t it?’
‘Yes master sir. At once master sir. This slave apologises to the master and mistress for disturbing the mistress’s nylon popsocks with his face and will endeavour to straighten them this instant with his mouth, if you would be so kind and forgiving superior master and mistress?’
Mistress Sameena giggles (for the first time I realise she is slightly tipsy as I catch a whiff of alcohol on her breath) and moves over to stand directly in front of me, so that my confined mouth can gain purchase on the twisted, reinforced, black nylon top of the knee-high trouser sock on her right leg, and gently pull it up straight.
I then must do the same with her left leg.
It is torture for me as all I really want to do is kiss the dark rims on the tops of her knee-high, nylon socks. But it is awkward – and not just because of the confined position of my increasingly stiff head and neck in the wooden stocks, but also because of the presence of the mistress’s boyfriend. I mean, he might get jealous – seeing me kissing his girlfriend on the leg! If he’s a ‘leg man’ himself, that is, though – being a free man – he probably isn’t.
Her dark nylon trouser-socks duly straightened (nylon-by-mouth), mistress Sameena and her gentlemanly, Indian boyfriend happily stroll off arm in arm, watching a playback of my nylon-socked humiliation on their digital camcorder as they do so – and laughing out loud.
Day 7 – Yellow Keds; Yellow and White Tube Socks.
It’s day 7 – and my final day of relative freedom confined in the stocks.
Mistress Sameena is a bit later turning up to mock and torment me today. I sense that she has a bit of a hangover. She is wearing dark glasses, even though the sun isn’t shining, and she seems slightly subdued.
Though, it must be said, she also gives the impression of being fulfilled and satisfied. Put it this way – I can somehow sense that she had sex with her handsome, Indian boyfriend last night!
Clothing-wise, the cream-coloured anorak is back, but today, on her pretty Indian legs, she is wearing a pair of pale yellow shorts; white, cotton, knee-length tube socks with two yellow stripes at the tops; and a pair of rather scruffy looking yellow, lace-up keds that have certainly seen better days! They even appear to have one or two holes in them where the white, cotton sock material is peeping through!
Mistress Sameena’s fold-up chair is also back with her. The poor girl looks exhausted! It must have been some night!
She speaks rather softly today, so as not to exacerbate her headache:
‘Be kissing my keds, stupid slave. Be kissing each shoe on the toes until I am telling you to stop.’
‘Yes mistress Sameena. At once mistress Sameena.’
I hear her opening a flask and popping some sort of pill into a plastic cup of water which causes the water to fizz whilst I am dutifully and obediently kissing her feet – the yellow-keds-sneakered feet of a fun-loving and dissolute, gynarchised Indian girl!
Her knee-length, yellow and white tube socks seem to tower up her lower legs as I pay my respects to the toe areas of her outstretched, tatty, canvas sneakers.
The fizzy medicine repeats on her as I repeatedly kiss her feet, but it also seems to perk her up:
‘Ha! Ha! This is being your last day of freedom in the stocks before you are being sent to the slave-mines, isn’t it slave? Ha! Ha!’
‘Yes mistress Sameena. Thank you mistress Sameena. God bless you, mistress Sameena.’
‘Ha! Ha! I am betting that you are wishing for me to be rubbing my legs against your face one last time, isn’t it slave? Like I was doing yesterday, isn’t it? Ha! Ha! You are wishing to be feeling my nice, soft tube-socks against the side of your ugly face, isn’t it? Ha! Ha!’
The mistress is not wrong. The very thought of such a nice, soft pair of knee-length, cotton tubesocks rubbing against my cheeks is causing me to salivate over the scruffy toe-ends of my mistress Sameena’s soft, yellow keds!
She suddenly stands up – but not to move forwards, turn around, and then sit herself down on the crossbeam of the wooden stocks and wrap her shapely, lower legs around my confined face as she had done yesterday. Instead she folds up her chair and makes ready to leave:
‘Ha! Ha! Did you really be thinking that I would be rubbing my yellow and white socks against your face, you stupid slave? Ha! Ha! Your sock-rubbing days are being well and truly over! Ha! Ha! Soon you will be being taken away and chained up in the slave-mines! Ha! Ha! Damn you, slave! Damn you to hell! Ha! Ha!’
And with a pretty turn of her tube-socked ankles, mistress Sameena is gone – gone to collect her payment for volunteering to torment me over the past 7 days!
She deserves every Fem she gets, for I have to admit she has done a wonderful job! The Female State had sponsored her to torment me in the stocks, and she had done her civic duty.
I had, foolishly, begun to think that she had grown to like me over the seven days of my public torment, and that she even somewhat sympathised with my plight! But it had clearly all been an act on her part! As she herself has just made clear, she doesn’t give a damn about me, or my fate. I was just another meal-ticket for her, to supplement her student income.
As they turned and walked away from me, unkissed and uncaressed, miss Sameena’s yellow and white, knee-high tube socks – creasing and folding at the backs of the heels – were, I regret to say, my last ever female sock-sighting.
The End
They are, of course, a deliberately humiliating, low-level set of wooden stocks – forcing me to kneel with my back bent and my head confined just a few inches off the ground. Forcing me also to look at the feet of my betters – the feet of the many female passers-by.
But they don’t all just pass-by; many stop. They stop to have their feet kissed by the humble and penitent, male prisoner in the kneeling stocks. Just a quick, respectful peck to each feminine boot or shoe, and then they proceed on their merry way – happy in the knowledge that female justice over the male is being seen to be done.
A few, however, do more than just stop. They stay. They bring along a chair, position it in front of me, take a seat, and stay a while.
These are the state-sponsored tormentresses – paid by the Female State to torment hapless prisoners like me in the stocks; to ridicule them; to tease them; to add to their sense of male shame and humiliation. They may stay for anything up to an hour at a time; after all, they are being paid for it, and it is money for old rope!
Day 1 – Light Grey, Woolly, Calf-Length Legwarmers
One such state-sponsored tormentress approaches me in the early afternoon of my first day in the stocks. She is an attractive and petite young woman of Indian origins; early to mid twenties; shiny, black, shoulder-length hair; fully gynarchised in her clothing and appearance – but she still speaks with a strong Indian accent as she unfolds her wooden chair, sits down in front of my kneeling and confined face, and proceeds to verbally torment me and mock me:
‘Ha! Ha! How are you being liking it in the stocks, slave? Ha! Ha! Are you being feeling comfortable down there?’
The Indian mistress must know full well that I am far from being comfortable, for already – after just a few hours of public confinement – my knees, back, neck, and shoulders are throbbing and aching from their cruel and unusual imprisonment.
But I must answer the young Indian woman politely and respectfully, as befits a male prisoner in the stocks. Being rude to a mistress is what got me here in the first place!
‘Oh pray mistress, if it pleases you mistress, this prisoner-slave is truly beginning to suffer in the terrible stocks, mistress, but is fully deserving of his agony, if you would be so kind to a helpless, male prisoner, most beautiful and superior female mistress.’
The young, Indian woman laughs as she casually stretches out her dainty feet in front of me. As I have indicated already, she is fully gynarchised in her appearance and is dressed as a typical Gynarchy student-girl in a cream-coloured anorak; tight, black denim jeans; black patent leather, spike-heeled, pointy-toed, zip-up, ankleboots; and a pair of light grey, calf-length, woolly leg-warmers which just cover the upper halves of her shiny, black ankleboots.
She looks cool, in a well-wrapped up, warm and cosy sort of way! And she does need to wrap up warm today, for there is a distinctly autumnal chill in the air, even though the bright, autumn sunshine causes her patent leather ankleboots to glisten most fetchingly beneath her light grey, woollen legwarmers.
I, of course, am stark-naked apart from my plain, white slave-shorts. Nobody gives a damn if I am feeling the cold. I am, after all, being punished!
‘Ha! Ha! Be kissing the toe of my boot, dirty prisoner.’
The Indian girl gaily lifts her shapely, skinny-jeans-covered, right leg up off the dusty ground until the pointy, somewhat scuffmarked toe of her right boot is brushing against my footslave lips. I respectfully obey the Indian mistress, who is now seated in a position of absolute power over me, and kiss her pointy boot-toe.
She then withdraws her right boot from my face and replaces it with her left:
‘And the other one!’ she demands in her high-pitched, and very feminine, Indian-girl voice.
I duly kiss the toe of the extended left boot, noticing as I do so that the light-grey, thick woolly legwarmer on her left, lower leg is slightly more scrunched over the top of her boot, meaning that even more shiny, black, feminine bootleather is shimmering under the autumn sunlight beneath my confined-in-wood and gormless male face.
All too soon, however, the second boot is withdrawn from my lips. The sweet and demure, Indian mistress hadn’t even penetrated my mouth with her boots. Such a sweet and gentle young woman, for I am totally at her mercy in that regard!
‘My name is being miss Sameena, dirty slave, and I will be coming here at this time every day to be keeping you company while you are being held in the stocks, isn’t it?...’
Keeping me company! Is that what it’s called?
Whatever miss Sameena likes to call it, I am, at any rate, extremely grateful that she is prepared to spend some of her precious, female time every day with a no-hope loser like me. For there will be no future to our relationship. In seven days’ time I shall be carted off to the slave-mines, where the female whip is never far from the male back, for a lifetime of unremitting, underground toil!
Miss Sameena will never see me again – but then, she already knows that. She’s not looking for a long-term relationship. She just wants to tease and torment me during my preliminary, 7-day punishment period in the town stocks. She does it to prisoners all the time; it supplements her student-girl income.
She continues with her self-introduction:
‘…I will be tormenting you with my boots and shoes during the next seven days, and will be wearing different shoes for you every day, isn’t it? Ha! Ha! This is so that you will be being reminded of what you will soon be missing, dirty slave. Ha! Ha! Soon you will be toiling in the mines and will be being far away from the feet and footwear of beautiful young women such as me! Forever! Ha! Ha!’
She again stretches out her shapely, jeans-clad legs beneath my helplessly confined face and this time coquettishly crosses her legwarmer-covered, booted feet over at the ankles. Her light grey woolly legwarmers look soft and inviting, all scrunched up and creased as they are over her shapely, Indian calves and anklebones.
My exotic, Indian tormentress seems to know what I am thinking:
‘Ha! Ha! Are you liking my grey, woolly legwarmers, slave? Are you wishing that I would be rubbing them up against your dirty face? Ha! Ha!’
It’s uncanny – for that is exactly what I would be liking her to do at this moment in time! I would very much like this sweet and kind, young Indian woman to comfort me with her thick, woolly legwarmers:
‘Oh pray mistress, if it pleases you mistress Sameena, this convicted prisoner-slave would indeed be honoured and privileged to feel your woolly legwarmers rubbing against the sides of his ugly face, if you would be so kind to a humble prisoner most beautiful and compassionate mistress Sameena!’
Mistress Sameena just laughs at me! She evidently has no intention of doing anything to comfort me in my wooden-stocks distress:
‘Ha! Ha! Foolish slave! What a queer fellow you are being! Ha! Ha! Are you really thinking that I would be dirtying my nice, clean legwarmers on your dirty, slave face? Ha! Ha! What kind of a girl do you think I am being? Ha! Ha!’
Clearly you are not such a compassionate young woman after all, mistress Sameena, is what I am thinking. But, of course, that’s not what I am in any position to say:
‘Oh pray, mistress. Pray forgive me for my presumptuousness, mistress Sameena. Please don’t have me whipped, mistress. I am at your mercy, mistress!’
Mistress Sameena laughs even more heartily at me now:
‘Ha! Ha! Do not be worrying, slave! I am not being offended by your silly request! In fact, I am finding that you are quite sweet! Ha! Ha! I am thinking that you will not be surviving long in the terrible harshness of the slave mines! Ha! Ha! You are being so weak and feeble without the comfort of beautiful young women’s feet and socks, isn’t it?’
‘Yes mistress Sameena. Thank you mistress Sameena. God bless you mistress Sameena!’
Mistress Sameena has only known me for a few minutes – yet already she has identified my weakness for female hosiery; for their socks, tights and legwarmers; all items which will soon be denied to me for the rest of my miserable days in the slave mines, where no females ever tread – apart from the guard-taskmistresses. But they, reputedly, never wear hosiery – only black leather, knee-length boots on sweaty, bare feet!
What am I going to do?!
The evident distress on my face caused by her observations on my weakness and inability to cope with the hard labour and girlsock-denial of the slave-mines only seems to cause even more pleasure to miss Sameena, my State-sponsored tormentress. She laughs even more heartily.
The irony is that the harder she laughs, the more her light-grey, woolly legwarmers crease and fold beneath my eyes, making them yet more appealing and attractive to me. Oh to bury my nose and face in those soft, feminine, gynarchised-Indian-girl legwarmers!
But miss Sameena is an expert tease. She knows just how to torment a prisoner in the stocks – under the guise of being sympathetic to his plight:
‘Ha! Ha! Never mind, you the slave. At least for the next six days you will be seeing my nice soft socks, boots and shoes, isn’t it? Tomorrow I shall not be wearing my legwarmers, and shall instead be letting you look at my socks inside my boots, if you would be liking that slave?’
‘Oh yes mistress Sameena! Oh pray! Oh I beseech you mistress – this slave would like that very much indeed, most sweet and kind Indian mistress!’
I had, of course, secretly been wondering in the back of my mind about mistress Sameena’s socks inside her boots. Were they light grey in colour to match her legwarmers? Were they likewise woollen socks? Or cotton? Or nylon?
I knew she must be wearing socks of some description since her pretty, Indian feet are evidently feeling the cold – hence the need for legwarmers!
Whatever the truth, the Indian student-girl’s bootsocks are well and truly hidden from me right now by those selfsame, delightfully pretty, but obstructive legwarmers. Even if the elasticated tops of mistress Sameena’s bootsocks are peeking out over the tops of her patent leather ankleboots, they are currently concealed beneath the extra layer of thick, grey, woolly legwarmer!
But tomorrow, she has promised me, I shall get to see her socks – and a self-evidently sweet and kind mistress like mistress Sameena wouldn’t lie to a prisoner-slave, would she?’
Day 2 – Cream-Coloured Bootsocks
She didn’t.
The next day – day two of my public confinement in the stocks – mistress Sameena did me the huge honour of showing me the tops of her socks inside her boots as she sat triumphantly before me on her State-supplied, portable, wooden chair. She even went to the trouble of wearing a short skirt, and therefore of suffering cold, bare, brown legs, just so that my view down inside the tops of those same, student-girl, black patent leather, high-heeled, zip-up ankleboots would be unimpeded as I peered down inside her obligingly outstretched, Indian boots beneath my face.
And what a sight for sore footslave-eyes it was! The elasticated tops of thick, cream-coloured, woollen bootsocks – cream-coloured to match her seemingly ubiquitous, cream-coloured anorak. Not only that – but the boots had a bright purple, inner lining which contrasted so nicely with the creamy-white of the ankle-length bootsocks.
Mistress Sameena added to my joy, and torment, by kindly providing me with some more information about her socks:
‘Ha! Ha! These are being exactly the same socks that I was being wearing all day yesterday slave, isn’t it? Ha! Ha! Just think – these socks must be being wery smelly right now, yet you are not being able to take off my boots and smelling them as I am not permitting it to you! Ha! Ha! You may be looking but not smelling my dirty socks, dirty prisoner in the stocks, isn’t it? Ha! Ha!’
What a minx! An Indian sock-minx! Mistress Sameena knows full well that it is sheer purgatory for me to be so near to her stinky, sweaty, 2 day old, cream-coloured, woolly bootsocks – and yet so far!
And to think that this is only a foretaste of the sock-denial I shall soon be experiencing for the rest of my unnatural life in the slave-mines! Perhaps, when I am labouring over rocks in the underground mines, out of sight will mean ‘out of mind’; but I somehow doubt it. How could a slave like me ever get girls’ socks off his pathetic, footslave mind?!
I praise and bless mistress Sameena for at least showing me the tops of her socks inside her boots. It was, after all, nothing more nor less than what she had promised to do for me the day before.
Day 3 – Red and White Striped Sneakers; Red Sneaker-Socks
The next day it was all change – both for the weather and for mistress Sameena’s socks. The weather had turned damp, and miss Sameena’s cream-coloured bootsocks had evidently become too damp for wear, as she turned up at the public stocks in a pair of blue denim jeans; red and white striped, lace-up, leather sneakers; and plain red, ultra-short, sneaker-style, cotton socks.
This time when she sat down in front of me on her portable, wooden chair the somewhat scruffy and frayed hems of her Indian student-girl jeans rode up to reveal her short, red sneaker-socks in all their glory – or, at least, the elasticated tops of her sneaker-socks, for the rest of her red socks were, of course, hidden beneath the rims of her low-cut, red and white striped sneakers. Indeed, the socks had disappeared altogether down the backs of her somewhat wrinkly and chafed, Indian-girl heels.
But at least this meant that, as I dutifully kissed the flaky, rounded toes of miss Sameena’s lace-up, leather sneakers, I got to see the sheer shapeliness of her bare, brown, Indian heels and ankles for the first time. The tendons at the backs of her heels were really most appealing. Her brown ankles were quite narrow and thin, but looked oh so smooth in contrast to the wrinkly skin on the backs of her student-girl heels!
And the thin slither of red, cotton sock running along her shapely, brown-skinned insteps just showed off the shapeliness of her delicate, Indian anklebones all the more! These were undoubtedly the shapely ankles, and smooth, feminine ankleskin, of a truly beautiful, young woman. It would not be possible for such shapely, well-turned anklebones to belong to a plain or ugly girl! She was an Indian beauty from top to toe!
For the first time also mistress Sameena truly indulged me with her socks:
‘Ha! Ha! Today you may be rubbing your nose against the top of my sock while you are kissing the side of my sneaker, slave! But be making damn well sure you are not touching my bare flesh on my foot, isn’t it boy?’
‘Yes mistress Sameena. This slave hears and obeys the mistress. Thank you mistress! Oh thank you!’
Boy!? I must be nearly twice her age! I suppose what she means is that I shall never be having sex with a woman – having been sentenced to hard labour for life in the slave-mines – therefore she regards me as a ‘boy’, rather than a ‘man’; a workthing rather than a plaything or a sex object.
It may seem like a relatively small thing – to be allowed to run your nose along the elasticated top of a beautiful, young Indian woman’s bright red sneaker sock, whilst she is still wearing it inside her sneaker. But any prisoner-slave in my position would be eternally grateful for such small mercies, even if, in my heart of hearts, I wish I could untie miss Sameena’s grubby, white sneaker-laces, remove the beat-up, leather sneakers from her feet, and shower her bright red sneaker-socks with humble and respectful kisses – from reinforced, cotton toe to reinforced, cotton heel!
But mistress Sameena is no fool. I am the fool – and she is not here to fulfil my pathetic, slavish wishes. She is here to tease and torment me – giving me just enough red sneaker-sock to inflame me, and yet to then leave me feeling out in the cold!
Day 4 – Silvery-Grey Ballet-Flats; Black Socks; White Fluff
Any self-respecting, young student-woman in her twenties will have a pair of ballet-flats in her wardrobe, and miss Sameena, it seems, is no exception. On day 4 she appeared in a delightful pair of well-worn, slivery-grey-coloured ballet flats and black anklesocks to match the black jeans which made their first reappearance since day 1.
Still that ubiquitous, cream-coloured anorak though.
It was evident that miss Sameena had come straight from the lecture hall, as she had a number of books in her hands. In fact, as she sat down in front of me this time, rather than speaking to me, and observing my suffering at her feet, she just buried her pretty, Indian head into one of her textbooks.
The only words she uttered were her initial orders, spoken snappily down to me:
‘Slave, be staring at and admiring my ballet-flats and socks, but you are not to be touching them! I am thinking that I have been being much too kind to you during your punishment in the stocks – so today you may only be looking and not touching, isn’t it?’
It was a disappointment for me, of course. For those sweet, silvery ballet flats and plain, black, ankle-length, Indian girlsocks were just crying out to be worshipped and kissed! But the State-sponsored tormentress is quite right! I am not worthy to worship them, as I am being publicly punished. I must content myself with mentally worshipping them, as I shall have to get used to doing in the impending slave mines!
In the mines I shan’t even have the luxury of being able to look at a real-life pair of sweet, young-woman ballet flats and socks! I shall have to conjure up their image in my mind whilst I break underground rocks!
I decide, therefore, to study miss Sameena’s silver-coloured ballet flats and black anklesocks in great detail; to engross myself in them, just as she appears to be engrossed in her textbook above me, as I shall wish to remember this pleasing sight for many years to come.
The harder I look the more I see. What had appeared at first to be an unremarkable pair of plain, black, Indian-girl’s anklesocks now reveal a whole host of secrets; occasional little tears in the cotton stitching; numerous little pieces of foreign, white fluff stuck to the tops and the sides of the socks; tiny, almost imperceptible creases and folds in the sock material – creases and folds which are not static, but vibrant, as they come and go in tandem with mistress Sameena’s subconscious flexing of her pretty, Asian foot muscles.
I become so engrossed in her socks and muscle-flexes that I almost forget my own aching muscles, which are now constantly burning in my poor neck and shoulders thanks to my 4 long days of confinement in the public, kneeling stocks!
Mistress Sameena does not even permit me to kiss her socks or ballet flats goodbye on day 4. I wonder if I have done anything to upset her? Or is it just her time of the month to be moody and contemplative?
After she has gone, I contemplate what it would have been like to kiss her plain, black anklesocks inside her silvery ballet-flats (it is the first of many times I shall do so in my imagination over the remaining years of my slave-life).
Day 5 – Brown Leather, High-Heeled, Open-Toed Sandals; Brightly-Coloured, Cartoon-Print Socks
The next day, mistress Sameena is back in good form again. She is her ‘usual’, ebullient self – mercilessly mocking me and teasing me with her pretty socks and shoes as I kneel helplessly in the stocks at her feet.
Or, more accurately, teasing me with her socks and sandals on day 5 – for, even though the weather is not getting any warmer, she clearly wants me to see and appreciate her fun-themed, cartoon print ankle socks in all their girly glory today, and is consequently wearing a strappy pair of sock-revealing, high-heeled, brown leather, open-toed, slingback sandals on her pretty, besocked, Indian feet.
These funtime-socks are basically navy blue in colour, with a red and yellow cartoon character on the sides. I’m not sure who or what the character is meant to be, but it is some sort of cartoon animal with a manic expression on its face and spiky, yellow hair.
Whatever it is, I am ordered to respectfully kiss it by my mistress-tormentress Sameena who today, for the first time, remains standing whilst I pay homage to her outstretched, Indian foot:
‘Ha! Ha! Be kissing the animal on the side of my sock, slave, isn’t it? Be kissing it 50 times, and be praising and blessing it for gracing you with its presence! Ha! Ha!’
The whim of the tormentor-mistress is everything, and so I duly kiss the cartoon print on the side of her sock, whilst verbally cringing and fawning to it, whatever it is:
‘Oh pray mistress Sameena’s cartoon-sock animal. God bless you mistress Sameena’s cartoon-sock animal. Thank you for visiting me today, mistress Sameena’s cartoon-sock animal, and for brightening up my dull and monotonous life, mistress Sameena’s brightly-coloured, cartoon sock!’
The humbling thought occurs to me that I myself am now like a confined creature being visited in the zoo by a free and domesticated cartoon-animal on a girl’s sock! How the tables have turned! I am now a lesser creature than the creature portrayed on the side of sweet mistress Sameena’s novelty sock!
Because miss Sameena is wearing high-heeled sandals, her foot wobbles as I kiss the side of her sock fifty times, causing the cartoon animal to crease and fold as if it were moving and alive. It also seems to be laughing at me and mocking me. I think, on closer inspection, that it may be some sort of laughing hyena – a laughing, cartoon hyena.
And why shouldn’t it be laughing at me? After all, its owner is! She is laughing heartily down at me from on high. I have never seen mistress Sameena looking so tall and proud before, as normally she is seated above me, rather than standing, hands on dominant hips, as she is now – having the side of her mocking sock kissed.
Perhaps I am having the last laugh, though. For I do love to kiss female sock!
Day 6 – Black Leather, High-Heeled Pumps; Black Nylon, Knee-High Trouser Socks
On day 6 mistress Sameena, my State-sponsored tormentress, visits me with her boyfriend, a slightly older Indian man in his early thirties, whom I took to be one of her fellow students at university.
She introduced me to him as ‘the pathetic loser in the stocks who will soon be breaking rocks for the rest of his life in the slave mines, isn’t it?’
Is that really how mistress Sameena thinks of me – as a pathetic loser?
If so, she is very astute.
I’m guessing that miss Sameena and her boyfriend are going out on a date tonight for she is dressed to impress – a short, black miniskirt; sheer, black, nylon knee-high trouser socks; and smart, black, patent leather, high-heeled pumps. Even her cream-coloured anorak has been replaced by a stylish blue denim jacket over a crisp, white blouse.
For the second time this week she has dispensed with her foldaway chair, and today elects to sit on the wooden crossbeam directly over my confined head, wrapping her nylon popsocks around the sides of my confined face as her gleeful boyfriend takes a picture of me using his digital camcorder.
Although I am forced to observe the darker-coloured nylon material covering miss Sameena’s shapely, Indian anklebones as she sits on top of my head, I very much appreciate the feeling on my cheeks of the lighter-coloured, more stretched nylon material that covers her shapely, Indian calf-muscles up as far as her bare, brown knees – especially when, at the behest of her manly boyfriend, she rubs the sides of her nyloned legs up and down my cheeks so that he may film the humiliating (for me) scene!
When she does that, I swear I can even detect on my temples the colder, ultra dark, reinforced nylon material at the turned-over cuffs of her knee-high trouser socks – trouser socks being worn, somewhat provocatively, without trousers!
Such style! Such class! It is truly an honour to be rubbed up the wrong way by mistress Sameena’s knee-length nylons and her mocking boyfriend.
After she has climbed off me mistress Sameena’s Indian boyfriend has a few choice words to say to me:
‘Look slave, look what you have being done – my girlfriend’s socks are now all creased on her legs! Ignorant fool! Be straightening them this instant with your mouth, and do not be touching her bare skin or ripping the material of her nylons! Otherwise I shall be whipping you, isn’t it?’
‘Yes master sir. At once master sir. This slave apologises to the master and mistress for disturbing the mistress’s nylon popsocks with his face and will endeavour to straighten them this instant with his mouth, if you would be so kind and forgiving superior master and mistress?’
Mistress Sameena giggles (for the first time I realise she is slightly tipsy as I catch a whiff of alcohol on her breath) and moves over to stand directly in front of me, so that my confined mouth can gain purchase on the twisted, reinforced, black nylon top of the knee-high trouser sock on her right leg, and gently pull it up straight.
I then must do the same with her left leg.
It is torture for me as all I really want to do is kiss the dark rims on the tops of her knee-high, nylon socks. But it is awkward – and not just because of the confined position of my increasingly stiff head and neck in the wooden stocks, but also because of the presence of the mistress’s boyfriend. I mean, he might get jealous – seeing me kissing his girlfriend on the leg! If he’s a ‘leg man’ himself, that is, though – being a free man – he probably isn’t.
Her dark nylon trouser-socks duly straightened (nylon-by-mouth), mistress Sameena and her gentlemanly, Indian boyfriend happily stroll off arm in arm, watching a playback of my nylon-socked humiliation on their digital camcorder as they do so – and laughing out loud.
Day 7 – Yellow Keds; Yellow and White Tube Socks.
It’s day 7 – and my final day of relative freedom confined in the stocks.
Mistress Sameena is a bit later turning up to mock and torment me today. I sense that she has a bit of a hangover. She is wearing dark glasses, even though the sun isn’t shining, and she seems slightly subdued.
Though, it must be said, she also gives the impression of being fulfilled and satisfied. Put it this way – I can somehow sense that she had sex with her handsome, Indian boyfriend last night!
Clothing-wise, the cream-coloured anorak is back, but today, on her pretty Indian legs, she is wearing a pair of pale yellow shorts; white, cotton, knee-length tube socks with two yellow stripes at the tops; and a pair of rather scruffy looking yellow, lace-up keds that have certainly seen better days! They even appear to have one or two holes in them where the white, cotton sock material is peeping through!
Mistress Sameena’s fold-up chair is also back with her. The poor girl looks exhausted! It must have been some night!
She speaks rather softly today, so as not to exacerbate her headache:
‘Be kissing my keds, stupid slave. Be kissing each shoe on the toes until I am telling you to stop.’
‘Yes mistress Sameena. At once mistress Sameena.’
I hear her opening a flask and popping some sort of pill into a plastic cup of water which causes the water to fizz whilst I am dutifully and obediently kissing her feet – the yellow-keds-sneakered feet of a fun-loving and dissolute, gynarchised Indian girl!
Her knee-length, yellow and white tube socks seem to tower up her lower legs as I pay my respects to the toe areas of her outstretched, tatty, canvas sneakers.
The fizzy medicine repeats on her as I repeatedly kiss her feet, but it also seems to perk her up:
‘Ha! Ha! This is being your last day of freedom in the stocks before you are being sent to the slave-mines, isn’t it slave? Ha! Ha!’
‘Yes mistress Sameena. Thank you mistress Sameena. God bless you, mistress Sameena.’
‘Ha! Ha! I am betting that you are wishing for me to be rubbing my legs against your face one last time, isn’t it slave? Like I was doing yesterday, isn’t it? Ha! Ha! You are wishing to be feeling my nice, soft tube-socks against the side of your ugly face, isn’t it? Ha! Ha!’
The mistress is not wrong. The very thought of such a nice, soft pair of knee-length, cotton tubesocks rubbing against my cheeks is causing me to salivate over the scruffy toe-ends of my mistress Sameena’s soft, yellow keds!
She suddenly stands up – but not to move forwards, turn around, and then sit herself down on the crossbeam of the wooden stocks and wrap her shapely, lower legs around my confined face as she had done yesterday. Instead she folds up her chair and makes ready to leave:
‘Ha! Ha! Did you really be thinking that I would be rubbing my yellow and white socks against your face, you stupid slave? Ha! Ha! Your sock-rubbing days are being well and truly over! Ha! Ha! Soon you will be being taken away and chained up in the slave-mines! Ha! Ha! Damn you, slave! Damn you to hell! Ha! Ha!’
And with a pretty turn of her tube-socked ankles, mistress Sameena is gone – gone to collect her payment for volunteering to torment me over the past 7 days!
She deserves every Fem she gets, for I have to admit she has done a wonderful job! The Female State had sponsored her to torment me in the stocks, and she had done her civic duty.
I had, foolishly, begun to think that she had grown to like me over the seven days of my public torment, and that she even somewhat sympathised with my plight! But it had clearly all been an act on her part! As she herself has just made clear, she doesn’t give a damn about me, or my fate. I was just another meal-ticket for her, to supplement her student income.
As they turned and walked away from me, unkissed and uncaressed, miss Sameena’s yellow and white, knee-high tube socks – creasing and folding at the backs of the heels – were, I regret to say, my last ever female sock-sighting.
The End
