A Footslave’s Holiday

My sweet and kind Vietnamese mistress, miss Bich (her name means ‘Jade’ in Vietnamese), is getting ready to go away on holiday with her Vietnamese husband.

I am already confined in the kneeling stocks on the wooden floor of her dark and dingy basement and, even though I have only been confined thusly for some three, measly hours, my poor neck and shoulders are already beginning to throb and ache uncontrollably. My understanding (and my understanding of my fate is often limited since my master and mistress speak only pidgin English) is that I am to be confined in the wooden kneeling stocks for 7 days – throughout the whole of my mistress’s happy holiday abroad with her beloved husband.

The mere thought of it sends me into sharp spasms of neck and shoulder agony!

And yet, as I have already indicated, my petite and dark-haired, Vietnamese mistress is nothing if not sweet and kind by oriental nature, and I hear the door to the basement open and the familiar clip-clop of her anklebooted heels descending down the wooden staircase as she takes time out from her busy packing schedule to come and say goodbye to me.

She begins by laughing at me in my helpless bondage in her stocks:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave happy? Feel nice in Bich stocks? Ha! Ha!’

She is now standing directly in front of me, her anklebooted feet resting on the dusty, wooden floorboards right beneath my kneeling face. Even though the basement itself is quite gloomy, a single, bare light-bulb hanging directly from the ceiling illuminates both me and the area of the floor beneath me, so the detail on my Vietnamese mistress’s delicate and stylish, black leather, spike-heeled, zip-up ankleboots, beneath the hems of her equally stylish, half-mast trouser-legs, is clearly visible to me.

I can observe in full the somewhat dusty zipper-tracks on the sides of her black, leather boots; the pretty scuffmarks on the pointy, leather toes; the areas of dust and street-grime along the dainty, shapely insteps; I can even distinguish a blade of dead, blackened grass stuck on the bottom of the spiked-heel of my superior mistress’s left boot.

But I must answer my mistress’s compassionate question – she wishes to know if I am comfortable in my bondage in her basement stocks. Because I wouldn’t want her to worry about the fact that I am already in great discomfort (since a mistress should never have to give a second thought for a mere slave, and especially not when she is about to go off on her well-earned holiday), I confirm to the mistress that I am feeling okay:

‘Oh pray mistress…God bless you mistress…this slave is truly blessed and honoured to be confined in the mistress’s stocks, if it would be so pleasing to you most respected mistress Bich.’

Mistress Bich squeals with delight. She loves it when I talk all slavey:

‘Ha! Ha! Good! I glad – you stay here whole week while I go on holiday with husband! Ha! Ha! You not move whole week! Ha! Ha! You my prisoner! Ha! Ha!’

‘Yes mistress Bich. As it pleases you mistress Bich.’

Mistress Bich then holds her right, booted foot up a few inches off the dusty floorboards in order to position the pointy toe of the black, leather boot onto my restrained lips:

‘Ha! Ha! You kiss Bich dirty boot. You a dirty slave! Ha! Ha!’

‘Yes mistress Bich.’

I pucker my lips around the dusty, scuffmarked, black leather toe-area of the proffered, Vietnamese ankleboot. As usual, it tastes divine.

‘And other one!’ barks my mistress from not too high above me (she is a very petite, young oriental woman) as she changes feet on the floor beneath me.

Her left boot-toe tastes even dustier and better, if that’s possible.

Jubilant at my humble demonstration of complete, maleslave submission to her absolute female power over me, mistress Bich proceeds to demonstrate her sweet feminine kind-heartedness towards me:

‘Ha! Ha! I not make you work while I away. You stay here in stocks. Have rest. You have holiday too, slave! Ha! Ha!’

Now my mistress Bich really is being sweet and kind to me, for she and her Vietnamese husband could easily board me in one of the many slave-kennels whilst they are away.

They are actually more prisons than kennels, for they invariably keep slaves occupied through hard, nugatory labour such as turning the treadmill; or the crank; or breaking rocks. But my considerate master and mistress have instead elected to give me a break and to let me ‘relax’ in the privacy of their home-basement stocks for 7 whole days whilst they sun themselves on a beach somewhere in southern Spain.

They really are too kind to me (then again, they probably don’t want the expense of having to pay the slave-kennel fees!)

Whatever their motivation – cruel or kind – I must thank my mistress for allowing me a week’s ‘holiday’ in the wooden stocks:

‘Oh mistress... oh thank you mistress! God bless you mistress Bich for permitting me to desist from my footslave-labours for a whole week. Truly the master and mistress are kind and compassionate towards this dirty, undeserving slave!’

My mistress, with no hint of any irony, continues to explain to me exactly how my ‘holiday’ is going to be:

‘Ha! Ha! I not leave you alone – I leave you my dirty boots and socks; keep you company! Ha! Ha!... I take off boots and leave underneath your face so you have nice view inside boots from slave wooden window! Ha! Ha!...Then I take off dirty, stinky socks and put in dirty slave mouth – give you taste of mistress stinky sock-bugs while I gone! Ha! Ha!...You thank miss Bich for think of slave; for leave dirty, stinky boots and socks with slave! You thank now, or I beat!’

Miss Bich can be quite temperamental – fly off the handle at the drop of a hat! And so, as I can tell by the tone of her voice that she may be nearing another of her frequent psychotic episodes, I move swiftly to obey her and thank her for her kind offer to leave her dirty boots and socks with me. Perhaps ‘move’ is the wrong word to use in this context – since I am completely immobilized in the heavy, wooden kneeling stocks:

‘Oh pray mistress Bich…oh pray…oh bless you, mistress Bich, for such a kind and generous gesture mistress… truly it will be an honour for your slave to have your dirty socks in his mouth and your dirty boots beneath his face for the duration of his sojourn in the stocks, if you would be so kind most beautiful and respected mistress Bich.’

Placated by my self-evident humility and gratitude mistress Bich reaches down to the top of her right ankle boot and deftly unzips it, before pulling it off her black-socked foot. I feel a twinge of footslavish frustration as she does so, for this would normally be my job – divesting my mistress of her warm and sweaty ankleboots at the end of a long, hard day. But with my arms and hands being confined as they are in the wooden stocks I can only watch and admire as my mistress’s black-socked ankle comes into view.

The sock is creased and folded in several places, and looks suitably dampened and sweaty. I shall be tasting salt during the next seven days – Vietnamese-girl footsalt! The bottom of the greying-black sock is now also rather dusty as my mistress rests her right, socked foot on the dusty, wooden floorboards directly beneath my set of kneeling stocks.

Then the bare basement echoes to the sound of her left boot being unzipped, and there is another whoosh of warm, Vietnamese-girl footair up my nostrils as mistress Bich pulls off her left, spike-heeled ankleboot to reveal an equally sweat-dampened, left sock.

I can’t wait to have those sweet, cotton, ankle-length socks deep inside my mouth, but my mistress Bich decides to prolong the agony a bit. She rests her left foot on the dusty ground and positions the sweaty, socked toes of her right foot directly up to my helplessly confined nose:

‘Ha! Ha! You smell! You smell stink of miss Bich sweaty sock! Ha! Ha! You a slave! You smell stink before taste stink! Ha! Ha!’

‘Yes mistress Bich. At once mistress Bich.’

She wriggles her dainty, oriental toes inside her black sock in order to release more of the stink as I audibly sniff the outside of said sock. Ah the familiar, fragrant aroma of my Vietnamese mistress’s personal and unique foot-odour. I would recognise it anywhere – even through her sock!

I feel quite heady!

My mistress laughs at me, and abruptly ends my ecstasy as she doesn’t want me to derive too much enjoyment from my humble, slave activities! She swiftly peels off both her sweaty, black anklesocks and stuffs them unceremoniously into my mouth. I am now, effectively, gagged with her dirty socks, her salty sock-sweat dribbling down my throat as I am forced to breathe in the stink of her hot and sweaty, only recently liberated from boots, bare, oriental feet beneath my kneeling face.

Strangely, my only concern is that my Vietnamese mistress should not get a skelf in the delicate soles of her dainty, oriental feet from the bare, wooden floorboards!

She laughs at me as I kneel impotently in the stocks, with the greying edges of her recently discarded, black cotton anklesocks poking out from my mouth:

‘Ha! Ha! Now you gagged and stuffed! Ha! Ha! You stuffed with mistress Bich socks! Ha! Ha! You a queer! You a queer sock-sucker! Ha! Ha! I laugh at you! Ha! Ha!’

I am, of course, no longer able to verbally acknowledge the veracity of my Vietnamese mistress’s statements since I am, indeed, well and truly stuffed – sock stuffed! But I nonetheless endeavour to mumble my maleslave gratitude through the smelly, oriental girlsocks.

Still not sated, my mistress Bich continues with her humiliation of me:

‘Ha! Ha! Now I place Bich boots beneath slave face. Ha! Ha! I give you nice view of inside of boots. Ha! Ha! You study stinky lining while I away! You worship superior, Vietnamese mistress boots! You a dog! You a whore! You a dirty pig!’

‘Yeth mithtreth. I obeyth youth mithtreth,’ is what I try to say with my mouth full of sock, even though it would normally be considered the height of rudeness for a slave to speak to his mistress with his mouth full!

True to her word, my mistress Bich has left me with a truly wonderful view of the insides of her black leather, pointy-toed, spike-heeled ankleboots, for she has positioned them side by side with the open tops uppermost directly beneath my kneeling nose. The insides of the boots are manifestly warm and stinky, and I can see that the beige-coloured inner lining is very worn and thin looking in places. I know for a fact that these are a much-favoured pair of Vietnamese-girl boots – worn practically every working day by her here in the Gynarchy. But my mistress Bich clearly won’t be needing them during her summer holiday on the sandy beaches of southern Spain. She need only take her pale pink flip-flops with her, I should think!

My mistress has some final kindly words of parting for me as she leaves the dank and dingy basement for her holiday in the bright, Spanish sunshine:

‘Ha! Ha! You enjoy slave! You suck on socks and smell on boots! I see you in one week time! Ha! Ha! You a loser – I a winner. You stuck; I free! Ha! Ha! I better than you!’

I would love to wish my mistress a safe and pleasant journey, but am prevented from doing so by the salty socks filling my footslave mouth. If I could wish her well, however, it would go something like this:

‘Oh pray mistress Bich, if it pleases you mistress Bich, truly this slave is honoured to be left behind in the wooden stocks as you go away for your well-earned summer break with your manly husband, my master-sir, the taste of your dirty socks filling up my mouth and the aroma of your warm and sweaty boots wafting up my nostrils. Truly you are my female master and better, and it will be an honour for me to kneel here impotently in your basement stocks, tasting your salty, feminine footsweat, and studying the inner lining of your female ankleboots, whilst you relax in the sunshine with your virile and handsome husband. Oh pray mistress, if you will forgive me mistress, I am just an ugly, down-in-the-dirt footslave – fit only to taste the bacteria from your divine, Vietnamese feet, if you would be so kind and understanding mistress. God speed mistress! And God bless you and your husband! May you have a wonderful time together mistress. Oh pray mistress Bich! Oh pray! God bless you mistress!’

But I am able to say none of that as my mistress climbs gingerly up the wooden staircase in her bare, Vietnamese feet and locks the door to the basement above me, laughing merrily as she goes.

I am now left alone for 7 whole days, with no food or drink for sustenance – other than my mistress’s precious, Vietnamese-girl toejam and dead footskin from the insides of her black, cotton anklesocks.

At least I can admire the view – the view of the beige-lined insides of her black leather ankleboots.

…………………………………………………………………………

I am quite weakened by the time my mistress returns from her holiday; weak, hungry and thirsty, for the salty sweat from her now well and truly saliva-soaked socks has done nothing to quench my footslave-thirst.

I hear my mistress’s pale pink, Vietnamese flip-flops flip-flopping down the wooden staircase as she once again descends the rickety, wooden stairwell into her basement dungeon.

As soon as she stands in front of me in her flip-flopped feet I can see that her foot and ankleskin looks tanned and refreshed. She has clearly had a good time, and is keen to share her happy memories with me – and yet, selfless and considerate young woman that she is, she first enquires after my own ‘holiday’, confined in her basement stocks:

‘Ha! Ha! How you feel, slave? Ha! Ha! You have a nice rest? Bich sock-bugs keep slave company? Ha! Ha! Wriggle in slave dirty mouth? Ha! Ha!’

She then laughs as she realizes I no longer have the energy even to mumble through her saliva-sodden socks, and so kindly bends down to pull the manky, wet socks out of my aching mouth. Oh the relief not to have a Vietnamese girl’s dirty socks in my mouth! My mouth actually feels quite dry – which surprises me, given the copious amounts of my mistress’s footsweat which must be lining it!

‘Ha! Ha! You ready work hard again for miss Bich, slave? Serve miss Bich stinky feet?’

At least I am now free to respond to my mistress’s many polite questions:

‘Oh pray mistress…oh pray…welcome back mistress! Oh pray! Truly this slave has enjoyed his week’s holiday in the stocks, thanks to the generosity and kindness of the sweet and considerate mistress in leaving him with her warm socks in his mouth and her prized boots in his face, if it pleases you most respected mistress Bich. Oh pray mistress…this slave is indeed now fully sated on his kind mistress’s stinky sock-bacteria, and is now fully rested and yearning to serve the mistress and her bare feet once again! Oh pray mistress…oh pray!’

Mistress Bich appears highly amused at my slavish enthusiasm for her return, but why wouldn’t I be glad to see her? Do I not rely on her to feed and water me after a long and lonely week of sucking on her salty socks and surviving on her vinegary footsweat and toejam? I am genuinely anxious to get out of this basement keep and to start earning my keep again by serving at my suntanned, Vietnamese mistress’s feet.

She appears to be in no hurry to release me, however, as she nonchalantly kicks aside the dirty ankleboots beneath my face and raises her right, flip-flopped holiday-foot up to where my mouth is:

‘Ha! Ha! You kiss miss Bich bare foot! You beg miss Bich for let slave out of stocks. You beg! You beg like dog! Whine! Grovel! Ha! Ha! You in my power. I your master! Ha! Ha!’

I kiss the freshly-tanned, unpainted, big toe of her proffered foot and I do beg for release from the confines of the stocks – and heartily so, for the thought of having to spend even one more hour in these unforgiving, wooden stocks is enough to break me body and soul:

‘Oh pray mistress…oh pray…please release me from my wooden bonds that I may serve the mistress and her feet properly once more! Oh pray mistress Bich, truly this slave yearns for release – but only that he may serve the mistress, and be obedient unto her, for she is indeed his female better and master, and he submits most humbly and contritely to her absolute power and authority over him. Oh pray mistress, oh pray…I beg you not to deny me the honour of servicing the superior mistress’s feet any longer. Without your feet I am nothing, most beautiful and kind mistress Bich!’

Mistress Bich laughs, and stretches forth her left, Vietnamese, flip-flopped foot for me to kiss. Her dainty, suntanned toes smell disappointingly bland; no aroma of sweat at all, even though I’m convinced I can see some residual grains of Spanish sand stuck underneath her not so big, big toenail.

But, sadly for me, she does not seem to be in any hurry to release me from my wooden bondage, and instead insists on spending the next hour or so gaily showing me videos, and still photos, via her smartphone of her happy, holiday experiences with her manly husband in sunny Spain.

I suppose I am what you would call ‘a captive audience’!

The End