Anyone for Tennis Socks?

My mistress Brianna is a very keen amateur sportswoman.

At 23 years of age, she is at her peak of physical beauty and fitness – unlike me, her flabby, ugly, middle-aged personal footslave. Indeed, free people are always commenting on the stark contrast between my mistress’s beauty and her footslave’s ugliness. But my mistress likes it that way – she likes the fact that even her somewhat bony feet, the humblest part of her beautiful body, are considered more appealing to look at than my ugly, male, slave face.

Right now my ugly, male, slave face is paying homage to her beautiful female feet by crawling behind and staring at her bony, feminine heels and ankles as she strides purposefully into the ladies’ tennis club. My mistress has not yet changed into her tennis gear, and so she is still wearing her casual ‘student’ clothes consisting of a pink T shirt and black, soft leather, ballet flats on bare feet underneath the frayed and turned-up hems of her favourite pair of blue denim jeans.

My sweet and kind young mistress deliberately wears her jeans with the inner, light-grey hems turned up so that I can see properly the chapped, pink and white skin on the backs of her bare heels above the backs of her black, leather ballet-flats as I crawl slavishly behind her feet on my hands and knees. How many other mistresses would be so considerate of their footslave’s feelings? I mean, the backs of her black, leather ballet flats in and of themselves should be good enough for my humble, footslave eyes! I am truly unworthy to be permitted the privilege of viewing her chapped and cracked, bare, pink heel-flesh as well!

Be that as it may, her bare heels will soon be hidden from my view as she enters the changing room of the tennis club and begins changing into her tennis outfit consisting of white tennis blouse; frilly, white tennis skirt with a pink frilly, trim which barely covers the tops of her pretty, feminine, thighs; matching pink and white tennis sneakers ; and white ankle socks with a pink, frilly trim.

When she is fully kitted out in her tennis whites my 23 year old, blonde-ponytailed mistress Brianna truly looks the business, and she knows it!

I, of course, as her footslave, must dress her feet in the dressing room. This involves me kneeling at her feet as she sits on the wooden changing bench after changing into her short, white tennis skirt, humbly removing her soft, black ballet flats from her soft, bare feet, and then rolling up her pink and white, ankle-length tennis socks onto those selfsame feet - making sure the socks are neat and even when my mistress places her two now freshly-socked feet side by side for comparison on the floor. I must smooth out any creases or wrinkles in the pretty, feminine white socks, and ensure the pink frilly hems at the tops fill out the tops of my mistress’s shapely, but rather bony, ankles - thereby beautifying her feet and ankles all the more - prior to lacing up my mistress’s matching pink and white tennis shoes on her superior, young-woman feet.

At each stage of the process I must, of course, kiss my superior mistress’s feet and footwear – as a mark of my humble, slavish respect for my female master and better; first the toes of her black ballet flats before I remove them from her feet; then her bare, pink-varnished toes; then her white and pink-frilly ankle socks before I smooth them onto her feet; then her freshly-socked toes; then the leather toes of her white tennis shoes before I pick them up off the ground; then, finally, the toes of her white tennis shoes again after I have laced them onto her feet.

My mistress Brianna has no need to verbally order me to kiss her feet or footwear at each stage of the process. She knows that I will do so automatically, as she has already trained me by means of the whip in how to respectfully don and doff a fit young lady’s footwear in a manner befitting a physically unfit, down-in-the-dirt, humble footslave.

And so, my mistress grabs her tennis racket and some furry, yellow tennis balls and, with me, her humble and physically unfit, semi-naked footslave in tow, heads gaily out of the changing room and down the corridor that leads out onto the tennis courts.

Today, my mistress is taking part in an amateur tennis tournament, so there is an official lady-umpire on court no. 1 where my mistress is drawn against her opponent and good friend, - her fellow college student at the Young Ladies’ College of Central Barbaria (YLCCB), the beautiful miss Chantelle.

Miss Chantelle is a young black woman, two years my mistress Brianna’s junior. I understand that even though she has youth on her side she is not expected to win today’s match against my slightly older mistress, as she lacks my mistress Brianna’s experience at tennis. Nevertheless, it will be a tough match for my mistress as mistress Brianna is every bit as fit as my own mistress – and certainly is a lot taller and physically stronger.

Miss Chantelle does not have a personal footslave of her own, and so, sadly, has had to dress her own feet for the tennis match. Like my own mistress she is wearing white tennis shoes, but with red rather than pink stripes down the sides, and a fetching pair of matching red and white, ankle-length, towelling socks – turned down neatly at the cuffs. I am impressed! Even a professional footslave like myself couldn’t have made her socks look any neater! The ‘red’ element in her towelling socks consists of 3 red hoops on each of the turned-down cuffs. They remind me of 6 red stripes on a white slave’s back. Rather like my own stripy, bare back.

Because tennis is a very genteel and polite game I am, of course, required to kiss my mistress’s opponent’s sneakered and socked feet before the start of the match. My mistress Brianna specifically orders me to kiss each of the three red hoops on the tops of mistress Chantelle’s white, towelling socks three times, and then to respectfully nuzzle miss Chantelle’s socks affectionately like a lovesick puppy dog. She orders me to do this because it amuses both her and mistress Chantelle to see and hear me whimper and whine at the feet of a beautiful and powerful young black woman like a pathetic and downtrodden animal.

As I obediently nuzzle miss Chantelle’s soft, red and white towelling socks I slavishly admire the stark contrast between the snowy white of her socks and the rich brownness of her bare skin. I am also struck by how much bigger and broader mistress Chantelle’s feet are compared to my own mistress’s petite and somewhat skinny, white feet. Truly miss Chantelle should prove to be a worthy opponent to my mistress, even if she is considered the ‘underdog’

Right now, as I obediently kiss and nuzzle miss Chantelle’s socks, I am happily resigned to being the underdog’s underdog.

But all too soon my mistress orders me to stop nuzzling her opponent’s socks, and to crawl over to the base of the high chair on which the lady umpire is seated. I, of course, must now kiss the feet of the esteemed lady-official – a young, dark-haired, Latina woman in her early thirties who is wearing plain, black sneakers and light-grey tracksuit bottoms. Because the zips on the hems of her grey tracksuit bottoms are undone, I catch a satisfying glimpse of the sides of her white ankle socks whilst I am kissing the rather dusty toes of her plain, black sneakers. The lady-umpire’s white socks have some sort of red logo just below the elasticated tops, and an interesting spiral-pattern in the stitching.

As I kiss her dusty, black-sneaker toes, I am particularly enamoured by the tiny creases in the side of her left sock. I would dearly love to bury my nose in those creases and folds, and to nuzzle the young lady-umpire’s sock just as I had previously been ordered to nuzzle miss Chantelle’s socks - but sadly no such command is forthcoming either from the wearer of the sock, or from my own mistress. It is a reminder to me, if one were needed, that I am but the slave of young women’s white sports-socks, and that I am there to serve them and to do their bidding – not to satisfy my own selfish sock-lusts!

And so, surrounded by three, fit young women’s sporty sneakers and socks I crawl over to my kneeling position under my own mistress Brianna’s chair beside the umpire’s seat as my mistress sits down and unwraps her tennis racket. I can now see the lush green of the grass tennis court beyond the backs of my mistress Brianna’s crossed-over-at-the-ankles, sneakered and socked feet. It is a bright , sunny day with a nice, cooling breeze – perfect tennis weather – and I admire how the sunshine lights up the toes of my mistress’s bright, white sneakers as the breeze gently ruffles the frilly, pink trims of her soft, white, ankle socks directly in front of my face.

Socks, it has to be said, which will soon be collecting my mistress Brianna’s footsweat as she proceeds with her tennis match. That’s why I’m here – not for my own enjoyment as a spectator of the game, but as my mistress’s foot and tennis-sock slave. I shall be required to massage my mistress’s socked feet in between games in order to help relax her precious foot muscles, and to wipe away any excess sweat off the surface of her white sports socks and onto my slave hands or, if I am very lucky, directly onto my slave face.

As I said earlier, however, tennis is a polite and gentle-womanly game, and my mistress has already offered my sock-massaging services to her opponent, miss Chantelle, also. The latter, with equal politeness, has accepted my mistress’s kind offer – and so as the match progresses I shall not only be massaging the increasingly sweaty, frilly-hemmed, pink and white tennis socks of my mistress Brianna, but also the sweaty, red and white towelling socks of her esteemed opponent, miss Chantelle. It will be interesting for me to compare and contrast the sweaty sock smells of my two respective tennis-mistresses as their match progresses.

Suddenly my mistress unfolds her feet and strolls away from her chair towards the right hand side of the tennis court. I am momentarily left feeling somewhat bereft without the sight of the backs of my mistress Brianna’s socked and sneakered feet in front of my face, but at least I now get to kneel by the side of the 30 year old, Latina lady-umpire’s dusty, black-sneakered and white-socked feet as she sits high above me on her umpire’s chair. I have to do this because a footslave, such as myself, must never be left without a young woman’’s feet and/or footwear in front of his face.

It’s the law.

And so I have the great honour of observing close-up once again the intriguing little red logo and the creases in the side of the lady-umpire’s left, white, spiral-stitched, ankle sock underneath the unzipped hem of her light gey tracksuit bottom. Her dusty, black-sneakered, left foot is balancing directly in front of my kneeling face on a metal bar at the base of the chair, and as a result her foot is continuously flexing and moving causing the tiny creases and folds in the white, cotton fabric of her spiral-stitched sock to come and go as she calls out the scores.

I concentrate on the lady-umpire’s sock, rather than the match, as befits a footslave. Ladies’ socks is all I am fit to concentrate on, as I am a mere, unfit footslave. Such things as superior ladies’ tennis and sport are above me and beyond me. That’s precisely why the law wisely demands that I should have a pair of feminine feet to concentrate on at all times – otherwise my stupid, male-slave brain will be totally empty and will implode.

It must be the first break in the match as, after some 10 minutes or so of hitting tennis balls back over the net towards her opponent, my mistress heads back to her seat, grabs a towel and sits down once again on her chair beside the umpire’s raised chair. I immediately leave the lady-umpire’s sneakers and humbly kneel in front of my mistress Brianna with my head bowed expectantly over her superior pink and white sneakered feet with their matching pink and white frilly socks, as she takes a slug from her bottle of water and wipes dry the sweaty handle of her tennis racket. I must now humbly await my mistress’s orders as she may, or may not, wish me to massage her socked feet – with or without first removing her tennis sneakers – or, indeed, she may order me to attend to her opponent’s feet instead:

‘Nose the tops of my socks, slave!’

No, I am to attend to my mistress’s own feet on the occasion of this first rest-period in the match, and she wants me to simply ‘nose her socks’ – or run my nose across the tops of her warm socks, without, it seems on this occasion, removing her sneakers.

Nosing a young woman’s socks is not quite the same as nuzzling a young woman's socks. Nosing involves tracing ones slave-nose along the stitching of the sock, usually sniffing the sock whilst one does so, whereas nuzzling just means burying ones slave-nose admiringly in the fabric of the sock, usually whilst whining and whimpering like a dog.

My mistress often has me nose her socks during a tennis match. It is relaxing for her, and helps her to meditate and think about how to improve her game.

And so I gently and obediently lower my humble, slave nose to the upper part of her right, socked foot – just below the frilly, pink top of her soft, white cotton sock – and servilely run my nose across the soft, cotton fabric. Of course, I breathe in through my slave nose as I do so – anxious to catch any hint of sweaty foot odour from my mistress’s pretty, feminine sock – but it is still too early in the game for my mistress’s feet to be sweaty. Instead I must make do with the sweet perfume of fresh, pink and white sock and pink and white sneaker-leather.

I then repeat the process with my mistress’s left, socked foot.

As I do so I find myself wondering whether mistress Chantelle’s socks smell sweaty yet?

‘Time please ladies!’ declares the dark-haired, Latina lady-umpire, and my mistress’s socked foot is suddenly withdrawn from my nose as she stands up and walks back onto the tennis court to resume her match.

Likewise I resume my kneeling position to the left of the lady-umpire’s sneakered and socked feet. Oh how I would dearly love to ‘nose’ the side of the lady-umpire’s white sock – to trace the spiral pattern of the stitching with the sensitive tip of my nose – to breathe in her sock, just as I have breathed in my mistress Brianna’s socks!

But instead I must make do with kneeling and staring at the side of the lady-umpire’s left, white sock - once again concentrating on the ever-changing little creases and folds along the side of her shapely, socked ankle bone as she calls out the points. Excitingly, I can now even see a glimpse of her bare olive-toned, flesh above the elasticated top of her sock. I wonder what the Latina mistress’s face looks like, although she is seated way too high above me for me to be able to catch a proper glimpse of her superior, feminine face.

I’ll bet she’s pretty though – for in my experience pretty, feminine feet, ankles, shoes and socks invariably go with a pretty, feminine face.

I have absolutely no idea what the score is in the tennis match as I really am concentrating on the side of the lady-umpire’s, spiral-patterned white sock. What I do know is that whereas during the last game there were 4 clearly discernible creases in the side of her left sock below the tiny, red logo, now there are just 3! Pathetically, that is the only scorecard I am keeping!

Another break in the match. Once again I crawl humbly in front of my newly reseated mistress Brianna, ready to ‘nose’ her socks again or do whatever she asks – but this time, good to her word, she sends me over to the other side of the lady umpire’s chair where her opponent, mistress Chantelle, is seated and drying the handle of her tennis racket with a fluffy, white towel.

Although I dare not look her in the eye, and keep my head suitably humbly bowed in front of her red and white, sneakered and socked feet, I can just sense that 21 year old, black mistress Chantelle is quite properly looking down at me - the white, middle-aged, male footslave - with utter contempt etched into her pretty, black features:

‘Take off my sneakers and nose my insteps, slave!’ she barks down at me.

My heart leaps with joy! I am to be permitted to take off miss Chantelle’s red and white tennis sneakers and nose her inner socks! But I must be quick. Each break between games only lasts some 3 minutes!

I hurriedly, but respectfully, undo the laces of both miss Chantelle’s sneakers and slip them off her feet. She wriggles her socked toes in the cool breeze whilst taking a swig of her refreshing water. Meanwhile I bury my footslave-nose, a nose made for female sock, into the white-socked instep of her large, broad right foot.

There is plenty of sock to nose and sniff, and the soft towelling material of the sock tickles the sensitive tip of my nose. Despite being out in the fresh air, I catch a delightful whiff of young woman, sweaty sock odour – the inevitable result of miss Chantelle’s exertions on the tennis court. She appears completely unabashed about having her opponent’s personal footslave sniffing her stinky, sweaty, white-socked instep however, as she merely continues to swig on her refreshing, cool bottle of water and dry the handle on her tennis racket with her towel.

Conscious of the time, I quickly turn my attentions to the socked instep on her other foot. Joy of joys I can see a small, greenish-black stain on the side of this otherwise pristine, white sock – just above the shoeline; a grass stain probably from the tennis court. This sock is therefore, officially, ‘dirty’. I am literally nosing and sniffing a beautiful, young black woman’s dirty white sports-sock!

I can’t resist placing my nose over the tiny grass stain, just to see if I can smell the grass. But mistress Chantelle is no fool – as she immediately senses that my slave nose is straying from its remit and is failing to concentrate on her instep, as it has been ordered to do.

She suddenly kicks me on the nose with the side of her outstretched, socked foot:

‘I said, nose my insteps, dirty, no-good slave!’ she screams.

Now I am in trouble. I hear my mistress shouting over to miss Chantelle from the other side of the lady-umpire’s chair:

‘Is everything alright, Chantelle sweetie?’

’No…I’m afraid your slave has been nosing the side of my sock instead of the instep!’

I hear my mistress tutting with annoyance and embarrassment:

‘I do apologise, Chantelle…trust me, he’ll pay for that indiscretion later. I shall punish him!’

Miss Chantelle appears grateful for her opponent’s apology:

‘Thanks, Brianna…It’s not your fault!’

Indeed it isn’t! It’s my fault – I have allowed my enthusiasm for a young, black woman’s dirty sock to get the better of me, and I know from the very tone of my mistress Brianna’s voice that I shall be sorely punished for it later after the match! For now, however, all I can do to make amends, is to lower my nose to mistress Chantelle’s white-socked instep and run my nose along its entire length – as I had been ordered to do in the first place!

‘Time ladies please’, declares the lady-umpire again, and I quickly have to put miss Chantelle’s red and white striped sneakers back onto her red and white striped towelling socks and lace them up.

I was right – the grass stain is just above the shoeline on her left foot!

As I resume my place to the left of the lady-umpire’s feet I can almost sense her white, spiral-stitched sock laughing at me – mocking me, as it knows I am going to be punished for taking liberties with a sister, white feminine sock. One of the creases in particular in the side of the lady-umpire’s left sock even resembles a sneering grin!

The lady-umpire’s sock is, of course, like the lady umpire herself, in a very powerful position over me. It is aware that I am not fit to kiss it, but only to look at it and admire it, for it graces the foot of the female official in charge of this tennis match, and I am just the lowly tennis-footboy.

During the next break I am ordered by my blonde mistress Brianna to remove her own pink and white tennis-sneakers, and to finger-massage her now hot and sweaty socked feet. This, no doubt, is part of my punishment for failing to nose miss Chantelle’s socked insteps correctly – for my mistress Brianna is now denying me the honour of nose-massaging her own sweaty-socked feet.

Be that as it may, it is still nice to be able to feel my mistress’s hot, sweaty-socked feet under my slave fingers, even if I cannot smell the socks close-up. I can feel some of the moisture coming off onto my fingers and hands – particularly as I manipulate the areas under my mistress’s socked toes. My mistress closes her eyes and rests her pretty, blonde head on the back of her chair as I gently rub her tired, socked feet. Her evident pleasure at my slavish touch thrills me – even though I know it will not be enough to persuade my righteous mistress to pardon me for my earlier indiscretion vis-à-vis her opponent, miss Chantelle’s, socked feet.

I shall have no choice but to take my punishment like a slave – whatever it is; to moan, whine and wail; to beg pathetically for my mistress’s forgiveness and mercy; to cringe and blubber as she inflicts pain on me – for the one thing I can be certain of is that my mistress’s punishment of me will involve some element of physical pain. My mistress Brianna, like most young women, is a great believer in both the punitive and purifying properties of physical pain.

All too soon I must put my mistress’s tennis sneakers back on her pretty, socked feet, adjust the pink, lacy frills at the tops of her ankle socks once again to ensure they look nice and even on her shapely, but bony, ankles, and then, with my hands smelling of her residual sock-sweat, resume my position of slavish awe and wonderment by the side of the Latina lady-umpire’s black-sneakered and white socked left foot.

During the next break in the match I am once again selflessly despatched to service the increasingly tired and aching feet of my mistress’s opponent, miss Chantelle. This time, despite my earlier indiscretion, miss Chantelle orders me to go one step further, as it were, in attending to her sweaty, black feet:

‘Slave, take off my sneakers and socks and suck on my bare toes. Soothe them with your dirty tongue, and suck away any pieces of toe-jam!’

Miss Chantelle really is too generous for words! After I have showed such disrespect towards both her and her socks, she is actually prepared to let me suck clean her bare toes and swallow her personal, sweaty toe-jam! Women are such merciful and magnanimous creatures! In all honesty, we male footslaves just do not deserve them!

I am absolutely delighted to observe some tiny pieces of white sock lint mixed in with mistress Chantelle’s cheesy, black toe-jam. It seems only right and proper to me that I should have to ingest some of the sock material that I had so arrogantly offended earlier on. I can only hope that some of the sock lint might relate to the grass-stained area of sock I had earlier sought to sniff, for at least I would then be helping to make amends by removing some of the dirty stain from the side of the superior young black woman’s white sock.

Her ebony toes feel quite large and fleshy inside my mouth – certainly larger than my own mistress Brianna’s somewhat thin and bony toes. I can also taste plenty of salt from miss Chantelle’s footsweat. It is making me thirsty as she quenches her own thirst by nonchalantly taking yet another swig of her bottled water. But the contrast in the tastes now swirling around the respective mouths of black mistress and white slave is quite right and proper. It is right that mistress Chantelle should be enjoying the cool, refreshing taste of the pure, still mineral water, whilst I taste the salty minerals contained in her precious footsweat and toe-jam.

‘Time ladies please!’

I hurriedly wipe my disgusting slave-saliva off mistress Chantelle’s pure, soft, black toes and feet with my slave hair, and pull her socks and sneakers back onto her feet, making sure to turn over the red-hooped cuffs of her socks as neatly and professionally as she herself had done before.

To my shame and horror, however, the play during the next crucial game has to be interrupted to allow miss Chantelle to retie her shoe laces. In my haste I mustn’t have tied them up properly! I can sense my mistress Brianna adding more pain to my forthcoming punishment for such wanton and dangerous incompetence on my part! What if mistress Chantelle had tripped and fallen over one of her untied shoelaces? It just doesn’t bear thinking about!

Once again the Latina lady-umpire’s left, white sock appears to be laughing at my distress as her flexing foot muscles cause the ‘grinning’ crease in the side of her sock to move up and down.

Suddenly it’s all over! The match appears to be finished – and I gather that my mistress Brianna, as expected, has won, as mistress Chantelle is sportingly kissing her on the cheek and congratulating her. I stare at the backs of my mistress Brianna’s frilly pink and white socked ankles once again as she reaches up to shake hands with the lady-umpire.

Then I crawl humbly after my mistress Brianna’s, and her defeated opponent’s, sneakered and socked heels as they walk side by side back towards the changing room – a changing room which I know will soon be doubling up as my punishment room. For I must be punished both for nosing the wrong part of miss Chantelle’s socked foot and for failing to tie her shoe laces properly.

Back in the changing room, the two hot and sweaty young women deliberate in giggling, whispered tones on an appropriate punishment for their recalcitrant footslave.

I am suddenly ordered to kneel in front of them with my head bowed, and my legs spread apart.

My mistress Brianna then, without warning, kicks me hard in the groin with the toe of her pink-and-white-sneakered foot, followed swiftly by miss Chantelle with the toe of her red-and-white-sneakered foot.

I double up in pain.

Game, set and match to misses Brianna and Chantelle.

New balls please!

The End