Observations of Sundry Personal Footslaves

Being observations of various, personal footslaves as they go about their humble, daily business!

Observation no. 1 – His Wife’s Full-Time Sockservant (i)

My new master-sir is addressing me in the privacy of his front room whilst his wife is having a lie down upstairs in the master bedroom. He is explaining to me just how my life as his wife’s personal sockservant will be from now on:

‘Dirty slave, I have purchased you to be my beautiful, young, Chinese wife’s full-time sockservant - or should that perhaps be ‘sock-savant’, since you will soon get to know everything about my wife’s socks from now on? Ha! Ha!

I have implanted, you see, a concentrator, electronic-chip device into your pathetic brain so that if your dirty, slave mind strays away from the subject of my wife’s socks for a continuous period of more than three seconds you shall experience extreme pain in your temples. I suggest, therefore, for your peace of mind, that you learn to think sock all of the time!

To help you, my pretty, Chinese wife tends to wear socks virtually all the time, as she is embarrassed by her feet and thinks they are ugly. Let me assure you, they are not! But you shall, nevertheless, pander to her fears and phobias by regularly reassuring her that her feet look nice in their socks, and by verbally praising and blessing her dainty, socked feet at every opportunity you get – morning, noon and night!

You shall kneel unobtrusively by her feet and study and admire her socked feet throughout the day. When she is bare-socked, you shall, of course, study the lowest parts of her socks – the reinforced sole, toe, instep, and heel areas of her socks. You shall look for any thinning and wearing in the stitching in these areas of her socks, and ponder how you might rectify any such defects in her socks, so that she may continue to wear them for as long as is humanly possible. I shall be sending you on a course which will teach you, for example, how to darn a beautiful, young woman’s socks – but other things you shall have to consider would be how to smooth out any unsightly bobbling in your mistress’s socks, either by nosing them or sucking on them, after she has taken them off her feet, of course – I don’t want you tickling my wife’s feet through her socks whilst she is still wearing them, and upsetting her!

Even if my wife is wearing her socks inside her shoe or sneakers, however, you will still be required to focus on her sweet socks throughout the day. So, for example, whilst she is walking along you shall crawl at a respectful distance of one foot behind her, and focus your attention on the backs of her socks – observing and studying any movement in the backs of her socks, such as creases and folds. Even if my pretty, Chinese wife has chosen to wear ultra-short sneaker-socks inside her shoes, so that her bare feels are fully exposed at the back, I would strongly advise you to focus your eyes on the elasticated tops of her socks along her insteps, rather than the bare tendons on the backs of her pretty, oriental heels, as the concentrator-device will soon kick in if your mind is not fully focused on sock.

Similarly, if my pretty, Chinese wife is wearing boots, such that her socks are not visible to your naked, footslave eye, you shall be obliged to at least imagine the state of your superior mistress’s inner socks inside her boots – otherwise you shall experience the agony of repeated, severe electrical shocks to your temples from the sock-concentrator device!

Ha! Ha! Don’t look so worried, slave – you shall, of course, be fully aware of the type of socks my wife has on inside her boots at all times, since you will have dressed her feet first thing in the morning, so, even if no-one else, myself included, knows, or cares, what colour or texture of socks my wife has on inside her boots, you will know! Ha! Ha!

Similarly, only you will get to know my wife’s intimate sock-smells, as you will be required to sniff them at the end of each long, hard day whenever my wife has kicked off her shoes and boots and is relaxing with her socked feet up on the end of the sofa, whilst she is lying with her pretty head resting on my groin. I shall relax her upper body at such times, whilst you concentrate on relaxing her sweaty-socked feet, by nose-massaging them, and vacuuming up her moist sock-aroma through your sockservant nostrils.

Needless to say, you shall simultaneously be required to inspect any damage to your mistress’s socks during the day, and to remove and dust and detritus from the outsides of my wife’s socks either by sniffing, or licking, it off! I want my wife’s socks to look their best for her at all times of the day and night, and any failure on your part to achieve that shall be ruthlessly punished with the whip!

Do I make myself clear, dirty slave?...’

‘Yes, master-sir! If it pleases you, master-sir!’

‘…Finally, you shall, of course, be responsible for the maintenance, laundering, and overall care of my wife’s socks after you have taken them off her feet at the end of the day. That means you must first sniff her discarded socks from tip to toe, before inserting her dirty socks into your mouth for an overnight cleansing. As a punishment, we may, a times, require you to sleep on your back, on the floor of our master bedroom, with my wife’s dirty socks resting over your ugly face and nose – but, ordinarily, you shall be permitted to retire to your ensuite slave-hole where you will mouthsoak your mistress’s dirty, used socks overnight.

In the morning you shall rise early in order to then properly handwash, breathe-dry, and finally iron my wife’s socks, ready for her to wear again that vey same day should she so choose to – although, given the vast amount of socks my wife owns I think it would normally be unlikely that she would wish to wear the same pair of socks two days in a row!  She would probably only ever do so to humiliate and degrade you! Ha! Ha!

So – you will now come with me to the master-bedroom where I intend to make love to my wife whilst you can make a start on studying the contents of her sock-drawer. And remember, slave – think sock, or feel pain! Ha! Ha! Her socks won’t bite - but the concentrator device, and her female whip, sure as hell will!’

 

Observation no. 2 - His Wife's Full-Time Sockservant (ii)

When we entered the master-bedroom I was somewhat surprised to observe that the master-sir's 'beautiful', Chinese wife - my new sockmistress - was actually quite plump, and had dyed-blonde hair; both most unusual traits in a young, oriental woman! But she was certainly still very pretty - in a fat, bleached-blonde sort of way!

More importantly, from my humble perspective as her new, personal sockslave, as she climbed off the top of the bed still fully clothed I observed that the elasticated tops of a pair of bright blue, cotton anklesocks were peeking out over her upper, black leather ankleboot-rims and covering the lower hems of her plain black, stretched-cotton leggings. A loose-fitting, maternity blouse completed the ensemble. She's pregnant! My new mistress is pregnant! No wonder the proud master-sir wishes her to be treated like a Chinese sock queen!

She runs over to embrace him above me, and as she stands on black-booted tiptoe in order to kiss him passionately on the lips, I get to observe her blue sock-tops creasing and folding most fetchingly right in front of my kneeling, footservant eyes. I remember the master-sir's sage words of advice, and focus all my attention on the bright blue slithers of female sock as the fat, blonde oriental mistress focuses all her attention on arousing her beloved husband - the manly father of her future offspring!

Ever-mindful of the cruel, concentrator device I contemplate my fat Chinese mistress's socks within her boots, and try to imagine how they might smell. It is early evening, and so I can only assume they have been on her feet all day, inside those chunky-heeled, round-toed, fully zipped-up ankleboots, and that they must, consequently smell of her tired feet.

Impressively, the clever and clearly well-educated master-sir is conversing with her in Chinese, and so I don't know whether the happy, about-to-make-love couple are taking about me, or just exchanging pre-coital, sweet nothings with one another, but whatever it is they are talking about seems to involve copious amounts of laughter and jollity.

Since I am not in on the joke, I find it relatively easy to continue with my serious study of my new mistress's blue sock tops, even whilst she sits down on the edge of the bed and starts to take off her purple blouse!

Suddenly, as the master-sir retires to the ensuite bathroom in order to freshen up, the young mistress-madam addresses me from on high in her broken Chinese-accent English:

'Slave take off Wei-Ying boots!'

That's it - my first order from my new mistress! No initial words of welcome or introduction; I suppose her husband had already said it all for her downstairs during his introductory speech!
At least I now know her pretty name:

'Yes, mistress Wei-Ying. At once, my personal sockmistress Wei-Ying! Your feet and socks are truly very beautiful, goddess-mistress Wei-Ying!'

I threw in that last line, mindful of the master-sir’s earlier stipulation that I am to reassure his young wife as to the innate beauty of her feet at every opportunity – ‘morning, noon and night’, he had said! They are, actually, quite podgy for Chinese-girl feet, but I nevertheless praise them with some degree of conviction in my trembling and fearful voice, since I do find them genuinely pleasing to behold!

Now naked from the waist upwards - her pregnant bump clearly visible as she sits on the end of the bed – my new sockmistress Wei-Ying deftly crosses her right leg over her left in order to afford my shaking-with-fear, kneeling hands easier access to the outer side of her right ankleboot and her boot-zipper. I cautiously and respectfully pull down the zipper to reveal more of her cute, blue, mistressly anklesock, before slowly pulling the boot off her foot.

No need to speculate any more about how her socks may smell, as a warm aroma of vinegary air envelops my kneeling nostrils! Not unpleasant as such - but demeaning, as I am forced to breathe in the warm footair of another human being (albeit an infinitely superior one!)

She nonchalantly crosses her legs again beneath me:

'And now other one, slave.'

There is no warmth or affection towards me in her cold, oriental voice - just an expectation of instant, unquestioning obedience.

Which is exactly what she gets!

Once again my nostrils are invaded by her newly-liberated, blue sock-smell - but I am glad, for there is absolutely no danger of my forgetting to concentrate on her socks when I am surrounded by their cheesy, blue-mouldy smell!

She rests both her cheesy-socked feet down on the bedroom carpet:

'Now take off Wei-Ying dirty, blue socks; put in slave mouth.'

'Yes mistress Wei-Ying.'

She allows me to raise each socked foot a few inches up off the floor as I peel off each girlsweat-moistened, blue anklesock from the damp toe-ends. She does nothing to help me in my act of desocking her, nor does she move a foot-muscle to assist me in my humble task!

Having successfully divested her off her boot-sweaty, bright blue socks I promptly fold them up and place them inside my mouth, as per my orders. I can already tell that my new mistress is not a fat, young, Chinese woman to be trifled with!

I remain kneeling by the side of the bed - my mistress's divested socks in my mouth and her discarded boots lying on the floor beneath my humbly-bowed face - as she climbs into bed and readies herself to make love with the omnipotent master-sir!

I'm not sure what to do next? Do I remain kneeling by the side of the bed whilst my two masters and betters make love, or do I retire to the far corner of the bedroom and discreetly face the wall with my mistress's vinegary-tasting socks still in my mouth?

Fortunately the master-sir reminds me upon his return from the ensure bathroom - by means of a slippered kick up my kneeling backside - that I am to study the contents of his wife's sock-drawer whilst they make love, and so, after a muffled scream and apology into my mistress's blue socks, I scurry over on my hands and knees to the indicated, low-lying drawer in a nearby bedside cabinet, open it with my nose, and begin to silently count, and then study, the magnificent array of female socks contained within it.

So enthralled am I by my mistress Wei-Ying's wonderful collection of socks, I barely even notice the screams and moans of masterly and mistressly, lustful pleasure behind me! I am preoccupied with socks whilst they are preoccupied with sex, and I thank my lucky-slave stars that I have been enslaved by such a wonderful and dominant couple!

The sock-concentrator device still hasn't needed to kick in!

 

Observation no. 3 – Name-check

My new mistress – mistress Naheed – is having me professionally punished at her local house of correction because I got her name wrong (for some reason I addressed her as mistress Nahood!)

She is not in the first flush of youth – being in her mid forties – but she is still beautiful and worthy of my total footslavish respect, being Pakistani, dark-haired, dark-complexioned and slim.

I am currently secured face downwards over a wooden punishment trestle – about to be caned on my bare buttocks by a professional caner. My mistress Naheed has chosen a male caner to carry out the punishment, as she feels this will be even more painful and humiliating for me! It certainly is – as I hear the free man assure my new mistress of his intention to make me suffer the maximum amount of pain possible from the twenty strokes she has paid for.

My new mistress herself is seated in front of me on a comfortable, raised chair – her stylish, black leather, cowboy-style, calf-length boots with V-shaped upper rims, resting just inches in front of and below my bent-over face. She is wearing ankle-length, black cotton leggings, but I can see right down inside her boots to the elasticated tops of her plain black anklesocks – and very nice they look too.

I brace myself for the first stinging cane-stroke:

Swish…Crack!

The pain fairly takes my breath away – but the second stroke, an overlay, fairly brings it back again as I howl into my mistress’s boots in acute agony!

Swish…Crack!

‘Aooww!....’

My mistress Naheed clearly relishes my pain:

‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, slave – scream loudly into my boots! I want to feel your pained breath on my socks, isn’t it? Ha! Ha!’

She then turns her attention to the caner:

‘Ha! Ha! Let him have it, caner! Cane him harder!’ she exhorts of him. I can already tell from the tone of her Pakistani-female voice that she quite fancies him as he rips apart my bare buttock skin!

But she could, if she wished, order the punishment to cease right now, for I have already learnt my lesson, after just two strokes of the stinging cane …mistress Naheed… mistress Naheed… mistress Naheed!

I won’t forget that name again in a hurry!

Swish…Crack!

‘Aaaaghh!...Mercy, sir!’

 

Observation no. 4 - Whipping-Boy

My still youthful-looking, 40 year old Indian mistress, mistress Paramjit ('Parmy' to her friends, but 'mistress Paramjit' to me), regularly uses me to relieve her day-to-day tensions and frustrations.

She doesn't need me to ease her sexual tensions - she has her husband to do that for her! Rather she uses me to release her pent up aggression after a long, hard day at the office.

She does this by keeping me permanently tethered, face downwards, over a wooden whipping-horse in the basement of her house, so that she can cane me on my bare buttocks every evening. It's a bit naughty of her really, as I am supposed to be her personal footslave - not her permanently-tethered, basement whipping-boy; but she gets away with it because she makes me worship her shoes and socks before, during and after my daily canings (so, technically, I am still her personal foot-worshipper; plus her husband, the master-sir, turns a blind eye to her unremitting cruelty towards me as it very much works to his benefit - as you shall see later!)

And very nice officewear-cum-caning shoes and socks they are too on my Indian mistress's 40 year old feet - black patent leather, lace-up, chunky-heeled, fancy-stitched, round-toed, office shoes with finely-stitched, almost nylonesque, black cotton anklesocks beneath the hems of her ubiquitous, black cotton, bootcut, office slacks. Sadly, my mistress Paramjit never takes her shoes off whilst she is caning me, so I never get to smell her inner, office socks - and I'm sure they must be unpleasantly ripe after being on her Indian-lady, office feet all day - but at least I get to observe the fine stitching in her black socks whenever she holds each foot up to my suffering face for respectful kissing during my 'punishment' session (not that I've done anything wrong, other than to be purchased as her personal slave to do with as she wills!)

And so, I have come to very much associate my mistress Paramjit's shoes and socks with pain - the pain of the cane. Like Pavlov's dog I flinch with fear everytime I hear the clip-clopping of her chunky heels coming down the basement-dungeon stairs, and by the time those same Indian-girl shoes come into view before me, I am salivating with fear - especially as they are accompanied by the sight of the cruel, rattan cane tip-tapping angrily against her lower, black cotton trouser leg.

Yes, a glimpse of her sheer-black socks whilst I'm kissing her shiny black shoes is my only consolation as I prepare myself for yet another beating by my Indian mistress in the privacy of her basement - where no-one, not even her husband, can hear me scream!

Prior to each beating, I kiss my Indian mistress on the black socks in the forlorn hope it may elicit some young-womanly compassion in her - but her need to cane is just too strong. And so I must suffer, and hope my suffering makes my Indian mistress feel better about herself; for we can't have her taking out her frustrations on her beloved husband. He too has done nothing wrong and, unlike me, he cannot be expected to submit to a female beating everyday!

Having kissed her socks for mercy, I am then reduced to observing her dusty, black, rounded shoe-toes as she stands behind me, smilingly positioning herself and sawing the whippy, rattan cane across my already bruised and blistered buttocks (from previous beatings) in preparation for the first, new cane-cut of the evening!

During each prolonged beating I respectfully observe my Indian mistress Paramjit's shoes and socks as they stand behind me, swinging the cane down onto my naked, raw backside! In particular I admire the way her bootcut trouser-hems flap in tandem with each stinging cut of the cane, thereby affording me an undeserved glimpse of black, office girlsock at the precise moment of each stinging cut.

After each beating, I sobbingly kiss my mistress Paramjit's now dusty shoes and socks again, focussing wherever possible on any new creases in her black socks caused by her exertions with the cane, and humbly praise and bless her for using me as her punch-bag cum whipping-boy, before she triumphantly climbs back up the stairs, now fully relaxed and in the mood to make love with the expectant master-sir. He too will be moaning again tonight - but with pleasure rather than pain!

I self-indulgently sob myself to sleep over the punishment trestle, alone with my pain, and contemplate my next night's beating, and those wonderful socks!

 

Observation no. 5 – Our Dirty, Little Sock-Secret

My 26 year old, slim and petite, white-hijab wearing, Muslim-Indonesian mistress – miss Ratu – has come down to the punishment basement of her marital home to gloat over me in the kneeling stocks, following my latest, expert whipping from master-sir Tekle, her Ethiopian husband.

She is alone, and wearing diaphanous, yellow-silken trousers; lacy-white ankle socks, folded over at the cuffs; and a pair of high-heeled, open-toed, backless, yellow mules. Even though my back is still on fire from the whip, I am not too immersed in pain that I fail to appreciate the beauty of my beautiful, brown-skinned mistress’s pale yellow, Indonesian sandals and pure white socks.

Petite of stature and modestly-headscarfed though she is, she towers over me, and projects her right foot forwards on the dusty, bare wooden floorboards beneath my hangdog face:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave kiss toe of Ratu white sock, dirty, whipped slave. Slave kiss well, or Ratu have African husband whip slave hard again! Ha! Ha!’

‘Yes, mistress Ratu. At once, mistress Ratu. Please don’t have me whipped again, most beautiful and admired mistress Ratu. I am at your mercy, most respected Indonesian mistress!’

I lower my aching and whip-scarred, neck muscles to enable my dry and parched lips to make contact with the reinforced toe-area of her frilly, white, cotton anklesock. The sock feels soft, but her yellow-painted, big toenail feels hard underneath the cotton softness.

She giggles, and her delicate, Indonesian-girl ankle-muscle flexes inside the white sock in a pleasurable reaction to my pained footkiss, causing the white, latticed stitching in the sock to temporarily crease.

The outstretched, white-socked and yellow-muled, Muslim-girl foot remains in place – and so I lower my lips again and again to the same toe-area of married, Indonesian-girl, pure white sock, my bald, middle-aged head bobbing up and down pathetically beneath her young, smiling, far-eastern face.

No wonder she gathers up phlegm in her pretty, Indonesian mouth and spits on me as I dry-kiss her right sock, before she switches feet beneath me, and requires me to pay equal homage to her left sock.

I duly kiss her left sock as respectfully and worshipfully as her right, even though the left sock has a tiny tear in one of the lattice-stitches directly over her shapely, outer anklebone, and is therefore not as perfect as her right sock.

But, despite my demonstrable humility and eagerness to please, she still calls out for her husband in her piercing, oriental voice:

‘TEKLE!... TEKLE!... PLEASE COME AND WHIP THE SLAVE AGAIN FOR ME!... HE IS DISRESPECTING MY WHITE SOCKS, ISN’T IT?...’

‘Coming, my dear!…’ I hear a male, Ethiopian voice reply ominously from the upstairs living-room.

Miss Ratu now crouches down until her pretty, free, hijab-surrounded face is right next to my ugly, imprisoned, fully-exposed face – so close that I can smell her mixed-race, marital dinner on her breath – and whispers into my ear:

‘Ha! Ha! Now you will be for it, infidel slave! Ha! Ha! Soon my husband whips you hard over your old sores, isn’t it? Ha! Ha!’

For some reason, I whisper back, almost as if my being whipped for no good reason is our dirty, little secret:

‘Yes, mistress Ratu. Thank you, mistress Ratu! God bless you, mistress Ratu!’

I am thanking her not because she is so cruelly about to have me re-whipped, but because her act of crouching down on her haunches has caused her lacy, white, Indonesian anklesocks to crease and fold even more beneath my despondent, doom-laden eyes; and because I can now see a small, black dirt-mark on the white-socked ball of her left heel inside her open-backed, yellow mules.

Now that is our dirty, little sock-secret, for master Tekle sir will be much too busy whipping me to notice a tiny, black stain on his gorgeous, Indonesian wife’s, otherwise pure, white sock-sole!

 

Observation no. 6 - Whip! Whip! Hooray!

My white mistress and black master are inseparable, and love to do everything together as a mixed-race couple. That includes whipping me - the mistress's personal footservant!

And so, whenever I am to be punished for some footslavish misdemeanour or other - such as failing to lick my mistress's blue leather, pixie boots to a satisfactory shine; or failing to fold over her pink socktops inside her boots neatly and properly - both my master and mistress stand behind me in the dust of their back yard with their respective whips, and jointly castigate me on either side of my naked, penitent back.

They also cheer in unison after each double whip-blow, so it's very much a case of:

Whip!...Whip!...Hooray!...

Whip!...Whip!...Hooray!...

Whip!...Whip!...Hooray!...

as I endure my agonizing, doublesided punishment.

I only ever look at my mistress's blue pixie-booted and pink anklesocked feet on the dusty ground behind me whilst I am being whipped, however, since they are the ones I have sinned against, and also because each crease of her bootleather, and each wrinkling of her socks, is a demonstration of the supreme, young-womanly effort she is graciously putting into my physical correction. She is determined to match her black boyfriend in strength and power!

Furthermore, I shall diligently kiss those dusty, creased boots and socks after my punishment is over, by way of congratulating my mistress on her feminine energy and authority, and for her undeniable success in - together with her beloved, male partner - reducing me to a gibbering wreck of a whipped slave.

I shall kiss each female boot and sock in turn - several times - as the master and mistress once again triumphantly cheer my brokenness and submission:

Lip!...Lip!...Hooray!...

Lip!...Lip!...Hooray!...

Lip!...Lip!...Hooray!...

 

Observation no. 7 - Colour-Blind

'Slave, be fetching me my purple bootsocks and be putting them on my feet this instant!'

The fat and lazy, upper-caste, Indian mistress orders her brand new slave in an abrupt and unfriendly manner.

The newly branded, white slave immediately scurries off on his scrawny hands and knees to his new mistress's sock-drawer, returning with a pair of navy-blue bootsocks. He kneels before his fat mistress's bare legs and makes to then roll them up onto her feet and ankles.

But he is suddenly kicked in the face by his Indian mistress's scrunched-up, purple-painted toenails:

'YOU DAMNED, STUPID IMBECILE! WHY ARE YOU BRINGING ME MY BLUE SOCKS WHEN I AM COMMANDING YOU TO BE BRINGING ME MY PURPLE SOCKS, ISN'T IT? ARE YOU BEING A BLIND FOOL, OR SOMETHING?', she shouts down at him, entirely legitimately, for her earlier command to him could not have been clearer!

The fool begs for forgiveness and mercy:

'Oh pray madam! Pray forgive me my imbecilic mistake, madam! But this slave regrets that he is indeed colour-blind, if you would be do kind and merciful to a lowly, male slave most beautiful and respected, fat Indian goddess-mistress?'

His mistress is having none of it. She reaches down this time to slap him hard across the face with the fleshy palm of her fat hand:

'BE SILENT, SLAVE! HOW DARE YOU BE ANSWERING ME BACK - YOUR MISTRESS! YOU ARE BEING A MOST IMPERTINENT AND INCOMPETENT SLAVE, AND I SHALL BE HAVING YOU SORELY WHIPPED FOR YOUR INSOLENCE!  ...HUSBAND!... HUSBAND!... BE COMING HERE THIS INSTANT WITH THE BROWN LEATHER PUNISHMENT WHIP! I AM REQUIRING YOU TO BE DISCIPLINING MY INDOLENT SLAVE!'

The divine, Indian mistress is too lazy to fetch the whip herself, and there would be little point in sending her handicapped slave to fetch the whip for his own back; after all, being colour-blind, he would probably end up fetching the black leather whip in error!

He desperately kisses her angry, purple-painted toenails in a vain attempt to elicit his unsympathetic mistress's non-existent mercy and compassion for his unfortunate affliction - unfortunate in a lady's sockslave, that is!

Or are they blue-painted toenails?

I can't see the ignorant fool lasting long in this job, can you?

 

Observation no. 8 - Capricious, Young-Womanly Authority

My new mistress seems nice. Not only did she look nice as I observed her from the auction block: slim; blonde-ponytailed; smartly-dressed and businesslike - in a two-piece, grey-pinstriped,  trouser suit with chunky-heeled, round-toed, patent black leather, slip-on shoes and black socks; she also has a kindly face, if somewhat warped by an enigmatic smile.

And above all, now that she has me in the privacy of her front room, she appears to be very complimentary of my shoe and sock kissing efforts (for a newly-purchased slave must always pay his respects to his new mistress by enthusiastically and repeatedly kissing her feet when she first gets him home):

‘Ha! Ha! That’s a good slave - kissing my feet so enthusiastically! Ha! Ha! Do you like my dirty shoes and stinky socks, slave?’

It’s a blonde question, really! How could I possibly not like them - the chunky, black, patent leather, slip-on shoes and matt black socks of a beautiful, young, blonde woman? And they don’t appear to be all that dirty and smelly to me - just a few mud traces on the shiny, black insteps of the shoes, and one or two dust particles stuck to the sides of the socks!

I exude footslavish unctuousness as I continue to pay unstinting, labial homage to said shoes and socks, greatly facilitated by my new mistress kindly stretching forth her right foot onto the area of carpet beneath where I am kneeling with my face suitably bowed, and helpfully hitching up the bootcut-hem of her right, grey-pinstriped, trouser leg.

‘Oh pray mistress!...shoe-kiss...shoe-kiss...shoe-kiss...Oh yes, mistress!... sock-kiss... sock-kiss... sock-kiss... If it pleases you, blonde mistress? ...shoe-kiss...sock-kiss...shoe-kiss...sock-kiss...’

She giggles at my cringing obsequiousness - as well she might, a fully-clothed, 23 year-old girl having a semi-naked, 45 year old man grovelling at her feet!

‘Ha! Ha! Well, slave, it does indeed please me that you can take pleasure in kissing my dirty shoes and socks! And because you are kissing them in such a lovely way...’

her tone suddenly darkens,

‘... I’m going to give you 500 strokes of the cane across the backs of your bare legs!’

My humble, blonde-girl, black-shoe-and-sock-kissing is stopped in its tracks!

Did I just hear her right? Did my sweet, blonde-ponytailed mistress just threaten to cane me 500 times?!  And after we seemed to be getting on so well together as new mistress and slave? Surely I must have misheard her?!

500 strokes of the cane! I mean, that’s impossible - surely? It must be some sort of mistressly joke?

But – blonde mistress isn’t laughing! Not any more! Instead her shoes and socks temporarily turn their backs on me in order to walk over to a nearby cabinet, and then swiftly return with a swishy, rattan cane being lovingly fondled through their blonde-ponytailed mistress’s fair, feminine hands!

‘Bend over the punishment block, slave!’

Her tone is still sombre - deadly serious!

What punishment block? Where?

It is only now that I espy an unforgiving-looking, wooden trestle over in the far corner of the living room. How could I not have noticed that before? (because I had only had eyes for my new mistress’s shoes and socks - that’s how!)

She kicks me in the gobsmacked face with the recently-kissed, rounded toe of her right, shiny black, slip-on shoe:

‘I said get your sorry ass over the punishment trestle, slave! Do it now!’

Blonde mistress is not joking! This is serious!

In shock, I scurry over to the indicated punishment block and prostrate myself over it - head down and buttocks up in the air. As the mistress had indicated, the backs of my bare thighs and legs are now frighteningly exposed beneath the raised hems of my standard-issue, plain white slave-shorts!

I watch her own, much more masculine-looking, grey-pinstriped, trouser hems flap around her black-socked ankles as she walks around me, surveying her prey, and then crouches down in order to secure my hands and ankles to the cold, metal restraints at the base of the wooden trestle - presumably so that I can’t escape from the caning onslaught that’s about to come my way!

I’m sweating profusely now, and start to feel physically sick as I observe my blonde-ponytailed mistress’s black shoes and socks moving behind me, and then feel the smooth, whippy, rattan cane sawing gently across the backs of my hairy thighs as she prepares to deliver the first cut - the first of 500, if she is to be believed!

And why wouldn’t I believe her? As I indicated before - her tone and her mood is now deadly serious; and dark:

‘Brace yourself, slave! Stroke coming...’

I feel the cane momentarily leave the backs of my thighs as it raises up into the air, and watch behind me as my blonde mistress’s chunky, right shoe-heel twists upwards off the ground, causing the exposed area of her black anklesock to crease and fold most ominously.

In desperation, I interrupt the first stroke:

‘Oh pray, mistress!...sob...sob... Oh mercy mistress!...sob...sob... Pray tell me, mistress, what have I done wrong, mistress?... sob...sob...’

The cane descends - but slowly, and not onto my legs - as the mistress is forced to readjust her caning posture thanks to my snivelling outburst.

She’s laughing out loud again now - but it is an eminently cruel laugh:

‘Ha! Ha! Done wrong? Ha! Ha! You’ve not done anything wrong, slave!...Ha! Ha!...I just feel like caning you and hurting you, that’s all!...Ha! Ha!... Now shut up, and prepare yourself for the pain!’

I obey my blonde mistress, and shut up  - for you have to admire and respect such capricious, young-womanly authority, don’t you? (as well as the creasing in her right sock!)

Swish...Crack!

‘Aaooow!’

One! ...

 

Observation no. 9 – Hot & Sweaty

Her feet are hot and sweaty!

How do I know that? For two reasons:

1) As my ultra-fit, brunette mistress Tabitha sits on the end of the pier, in her tight, pink top and equally tight, black-lycra, knee-length, cycling shorts, smiling sweetly into the camera lens for her would-be-photographer boyfriend, she is cooling her bare feet and ankles in the warm and sultry waters of the Mediterranean;

2) I, meanwhile, in my capacity as her personal footslave, am obliged to kneel on the wooden floorboards of the pier just a few feet away from her, with my nose and face buried in her discarded, hot and dusty, black sneakers and grey and white socks – as befits a slave. And boy do they smell! They smell of vinegar and ammonia.

That’s how I know!

 

Observation no. 10 - On a bicycle built for three

After my mistress Tabitha's olive-toned, Mediterranean-washed feet have dried in the sun, I must gently, and respectfully (for I am doing so in the presence of her boyfriend), put her still sweaty, grey and white cotton, sports anklesocks, and plain black, lace-up, low-top sneakers, back onto her feet.

I must then crawl into the pedal-level, footslave-sidecar of the tandem bike she shares with her boyfriend (the master-sir leading at the front whilst the mistress and I take up the rear) so that I may observe her sports sneakers and socks whilst she pedals along - or, more specifically, her left sneaker and sock, her suntanned, repeatedly rotating left leg being the one closest to my sidecar-confined face!

I try to focus in on the tiny grey area of exposed sock-heel on each rapid descent of her cycling, sneakered foot, as I am fully aware of my unworthiness to lust after her suntanned legskin above the ribbed top of her white anklesock - especially behind her boyfriend's back! But I have to admit that each fleeting moment of sock-admiration goes in tandem with a brutish desire to kiss my mistress's bare, cyclical legskin as it shimmers with fresh, feminine sweat in the baking heat of the day!

Suffice it to say, such delights of the superior-female flesh shall be cruelly denied me, for I am her slave - not her lover. The best I can hope for is the taste of her stale sock-sweat later in the day when she has finished her cycle-ride, and has kindly given me her vinegary socks to mouthwash whilst she relaxes in the arms of her manly boyfriend on the sofa above me, in preparation for her next, intimate ride; with him - in bed!

Lucky master-sir!