Scenes of a Soxual Nature
Scenes of a Soxual Nature (which some viewers of a sock-slavish disposition may find entertaining!)
1. The Sock-Fascinator
It's called a 'sock-fascinator' because that's exactly what it is - an ignominious headband made up of my stunningly beautiful, black mistress Aveline's stinky, worn socks which I must wear on my head in public, with the socks dangling down over my face.
It is, of course, aptly-named headgear for a personal footslave, who must constantly obsess over, and be fascinated by, his personal footmistress's socks! That's why I'm glad my mistress Aveline always makes sure to hang her dirty white sports-socks down onto my face from the front of the fascinator, for it means I can actually see the stinky, yellowy-brown sweat-stains in her socks dangling in front of my face (whereas if they were her dark-coloured socks - like the thick, black, bootsocks dangling from the back of the sock-fascinator, I would only be able to smell them!)
How everyone laughs at me whenever I am forced to wear my mistress Aveline's sock-fascinator! They ask me how I am liking having her dirty, used socks dangling over my face? Am I truly fascinated by her socks, and wouldn't I like to have to wear the sock-fascinator permanently, instead of just on special occasions - like the run-up to my next punishment whipping? Sometimes they even, if they are wearing protective gloves, kindly adjust the sock-fascinator for me, in order to make sure my mistress's grubby, white socks at the front are dangling not just over my eyes, but also around my nose!
Yes, free people are as fascinated by the smelly sock-fascinator as I am - though they are glad that they are not the ones having to wear it! For it is hardly an item of high fashion; it's demeaning in the extreme - a variation of the carrot dangling on a stick in front of a donkey's head!
Unfashionable millinery though it is, therefore, it is eminently suitable headgear for an asinine footslave like myself; a crown of dirty, feminine socks!
2. Go Fetch The Whip!
A Japanese mistress is angry that her black anklesocks are not straight.
Go Fetch the Whip!Animated Presentations - Powered by GoAnimate.
3. Unrequited Respect
I have tried doing everything I can to ingratiate myself with petite and comely, regular customer-mistress Kirsten – for she is a beautiful, blonde-haired, young woman on heat, who is perennially on the prowl for a male sexual partner.
Thus, whenever she is seated above me imperiously on the public-shoelick throne of power, I make sure to:
· Flatter and fawn towards her – reminding her (as if she needed reminding) of her great, feminine beauty, and, in particular, of the great beauty of her shiny, two-tone, black and white, low-heeled, court shoes on her tan-nylon-stockinged feet
· Gently nuzzle said finest-denier, tan office-nylons – ostensibly in order to iron out any small creases, but in actuality just for the cheap thrill of feeling the coarseness of the nylon on my sensitive, footslave nose-tip!
· Praise and bless her for honouring me with her divine, female presence
· Humbly invite her to beat me harshly with the public-use whipping stick if I fail to satisfy her or please her with my footwear-cleaning services
· Politely try to engage her in a conversation of unequals, by enquiring as to her health, wealth, and love-life (since I have none of those things)
But she remains stubbornly sit-offish towards me, refusing to interact with me – the contemptible and lowly public footslave who is, quite literally, beneath her as I kneel before her feet and tongue-attend to her dirty footwear – restricting herself to merely barking down her young-womanly orders at me, and verbally berating me for ‘missing a bit’.
She only has eyes, and a smile, for the arrogant free men who wolf-whistle at her, and tell her she’s gorgeous, as they walk past my shoelick-stand. Some of them even stop to woo her properly – and, invariably, she agrees to go off with them, presumably to have sexual intercourse with them, for, like I said earlier, she is a beautiful, young, blonde woman on heat; as a red-blooded male you can smell it – even from down below her shoeleather, where I am kneeling at her seated feet.
But her sexual lusts are not for me to satiate; if anything, I’m just the foreplay – as my humble foot-servitude towards her ignites in her still further her burning, inner desires and libidinous yearnings for a real man; a man who can not just worship and appreciate her from afar like me – but take her in his strong, manly arms and impregnate her.
I’m only good for licking her shoes, and making them nice and shiny for the superior Alpha-male whom she chooses to consort with for the evening.
I can only hope and fantasise that, if ever she settles down and decides to get married to one of these more powerful and attractive, free men, nymphomaniac miss Kirsten may at least deign to employ me as her personal, household footslave so that I may devote my sublimated sexual energy into the exclusive service of her bare feet and married footwear.
Ha! Ha! Dream on, slave! She hates me!
4. Easily Pleased!
It’s easy to please a pathetic sock-sniffer!
Easily Pleased
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5. The Incompetent Street Cleaner
I am a sink-estate pavement licker. My job (which I must do for 16 hours a day) is to perpetually lick clean the dirty pavements on which my superior, sink-estate mistresses must walk.
Some mistresses won’t even give me the time of day – they just walk on past me without giving me a second thought. Other, friendlier, young women, however, will kindly stop to mock or berate me, and even have me lickshine their dirty boots or sneakers, before they walk on by.
One such friendly mistress is 19 year old, blonde-ponytailed miss Chanelle, who recently gave birth and now is to be found perpetually pushing a pushchair in front of her whenever she walks along the sink-estate pavements.
Pushchair or not, miss Chanelle is always to be seen in her sink-estate shellsuit consisting of a pink and grey, hoodie-top (usually with the top pulled down in order to show off her fetching, blonde-ponytail); pink and grey bottoms (i.e. primarily grey, but with a beautiful, pink stripe down the sides) which are elasticated and have grey draw-strings at the ankles; pink or white socks (today they are pink); and pink and white, high-top, platform-soled, buffalo-style sneakers.
As she walks past me with her pushchair today she stops to berate me, as is her perfect young-womanly right (for she is a quintessentially perfect young woman):
‘Yo streetlick! F***ing lick them pavements harder, yeah? I’ve f***in’ just had to walk through somefing disgusting just now, yeah? And I’d like to know why it wasn’t on your tongue, instead of on the bottom of my shoe?! I mean, does you fink it’s alright for young women like me to have to walk through all the street-muck, an’ that?’
I immediately stop licking the dirty ground and move my street-roughened, but still smooth-talking, tongue over to miss Chenelle’s dirty sneakers and pink socks, in order to apologise to them:
‘Oh pray, miss Chanelle… sneaker-lick…sneaker-lick… if it pleases you, miss Chanelle….pink-sock-kiss…pink-sock-kiss… truly this dirty, indolent street-slave apologises most profusely to the mistress…sneaker-lick… pink-sock-kiss… for the muck through which the mistress has had to walk, miss… sneaker-lick…sneaker-lick…pink-sock-kiss…. If you would be so kind and forgiving to an incompetent pavement-licker, young mistress-madam?....pink-sock-kiss…pink-sock-kiss…pink-sock-kiss…. Please don’t have me beaten, miss Chanelle!... pink-sock-kiss…pink-sock-kiss…pink-sock-kiss…’
I am licking her on the scuffmarked, rounded, pink and white, high-top, leathery sneaker-toe, and kissing her over her exposed (thanks to the elasticated hems of her shellsuit bottoms) and shapely, pink-socked anklebone in an effort to elicit young-womanly compassion and mercy in her, but angry miss Chanelle has other ideas as to how I can make amends for making her walk through dirt:
‘Hah! Well, perhaps havin’ to lick the dirt off of the soles of my sneakers will teach you a lesson, yeah?...’
And with that she raises her right sneaker sole up behind her, using the pushchair in front of her to balance on, in a clear indication that the thick, white treads of her heavy, platformed sneaker-soles are to be thoroughly licked clean!
I say ‘white treads’, but they are only nominally white; they are actually quite black with dirt – and I can see the fresh brown of the muck she is referring to, stuck to the treads near the backs of her heels. Fortunately, it is just mud – presumably from a muddy puddle I must have missed further down the pavement. And so I dutifully tuck in – tuck in to a blonde girl’s sneakersole-muck as a ‘punishment’ for not licking it off the ground before she had inadvertently walked in it.
This is the irony, of course – my punishment not only fits the crime; it betters the crime – for not only is the muck now flavoured with blonde-girl sneaker-leather; I also get to simultaneously see the bobbled stitching in her creased, pink anklesock as I tuck into my meal of muck. It’s almost as if I had deliberately left that pool of dirty muck on the pavement when I saw miss Chanelle walking towards me from a distance!
Almost! But not quite – for I do very much fear the sting of a blonde-ponytailed, sink-estate mistress’s female whip; and miss Chanelle’s whip is forever dangling beside her pink and grey shellsuit-bottoms – except when it’s being loosened from her belt, ready for action; as now!
The pink stripes down the sides of her grey shellsuit bottoms soon won’t be the only pink stripes in evidence on this estate!
6. The Sock-Freak
A kindly, young Japanese woman offers her sweaty, black socks as a gift to the public sock-slave!
The Sock-Freak
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7. Sock Flexes
They are called ‘sock flexes’ – the creases and folds in the backs of a mistress’s socks as she walks along – and they are of absolutely no interest to anyone, other than her personal footslave (though to him, bizarrely, they are the most interesting view of her socks, as it’s as if she is turning her back on him!)
I have been enslaved to my personal footmistress Olga for over 20 years now; and how many sock-flexes have I been forced to observe, and admire, in the backs of her shapely socks during the course of all those years? Millions!
3,763,821 – to be precise! For, by law, I must diligently count them!
Oh – my mistress is on the move again! That’s 3,763,822 sock flexes; 3,763, 823; 3,763,824… and counting!
8. A Sock-Fancier’s Comeuppance
A household footslave gets his just deserts for ogling his pretty mistress’s beautiful, red and white tube socks without her explicit, young-womanly permission!
A Sock-Fancier's Comeuppance
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9. Fear & Trepidation
I’m excited; excited, and full of fear and trepidation!
For my erstwhile regular, footbooth customer-mistress – thin and wiry goddess-mistress Charlotte – has informed me, via slave-text (a method by which customer-mistresses can book appointments with their footbooth slaves in advance; mine is no mere ‘walk-in’ footbooth!) that she will be coming to see me in two hours’ time.
It’s been a while since I last served her – since she herself has been away for a while; in female prison! Embezzlement and fraud, I believe?
Whatever, my excitement comes from remembering what a privilege it always was for me to lickshine either her knee-high, or ankle-high, black leather ankleboots (depending on her sartorial mood on the day). I hope she’s in an ankleboot mood today – for they come with the added bonus of sneaky sock-top above her upper bootrims and below her hitched-up, black-pinstriped, trouser hems; her kneeboots invariably used to come with dark, nylon stockings below her smart, knee-length, grey-pinstriped, office skirt, but, being a footslave, of course, I was rarely permitted to look her in the nylon-stocking above the knee. Indeed, the heavy chains around my neck make it virtually impossible for my face to reach the top of a pair of ladies’ kneeboots – an inherent design-flaw on the part of my footbooth owners, I always think!
On reflection, of course, she may have changed following her lengthy (3 year) spell inside! Her crime of fraud must have been well and truly serious for her – a female – to be sent to prison in the Gynarchy, even if Female Prisons are all ‘open’, and by all accounts more like holiday camps! Nevertheless, she probably won’t be allowed to resume her employment in the female banking sector; and since there is no ‘male’ banking sector in the Gynarchy, she is probably now out of a job; so, for all I know, she may not come dressed in one of her former, pinstriped business-suits when she pops in to see me later this morning. She may be wearing her ex-jailbird sneakers and tracksuit bottoms!
Whatever – I shall still respect them; and her – for ex-con or not, she is still my infinite better! I mean, she has served her time and been released back to freedom; I, as a male slave, shall never be freed from my public-footbooth service!
……………………………………………………………………
When she does enter my booth, it’s the same old footmistress Charlotte that I remember – still in her smart business-suit (though it’s the one with the grey-pinstriped skirt and chunky-heeled, round-toed, black leather, zip-up kneeboots and dark nylons!)
To her great amusement I festoon her boots with face-hugs and kisses – just as soon as she has sat herself down in front of and above me on the bootlick-throne of female power in the private footbooth:
‘Ha! Ha! Have you missed my boots, slave?’
It must surely be a rhetorical question, but I gush forth the requisite, footslavish response:
‘Oh yes, mistress! Oh pray, goddess-mistress Charlotte! Welcome back, most esteemed and feared goddess-mistress!’
I always did have a soft spot for customer goddess-mistress Charlotte – and not just because of her fine, ladylike boots and dirty-blonde hair done up in a bun; but because she was never averse to applying the footbooth whipping-stick to my bare back and shoulders should I ever fail to please her with my bootwear-tongueshining efforts!
I find myself, pathetically, hoping against hope that she has come to inform me that she is being rehabilitated back into polite female society; that she has been given her old job back; that she will, once again, be a regular visitor to my humble, city-centre footbooth!
But, actually, her message is quite different:
‘Ha! Ha! I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you, slave! As the final part of my sentence for embezzlement I am to receive 50 harsh lashes of the female whip – and I’ve nominated you to be my public whipping-boy! Ha! Ha! You will be receiving the lashes in the town square on my behalf, whilst I am seated in front of you. So, at least you’ll get to see my boots whilst you’re being whipped! Ha! Ha! Won’t that be nice, slave – getting out from this stinking, dirty footbooth for a change into the fresh air of the town square? Ha! Ha!’
Stinking?! My footbooth doesn’t stink! It’s actually quite clean, thank you very much! I’m not some lowly footoire-slave!
But goddess-mistress Charlotte is right – it will, nevertheless, be nice to go somewhere different for a change, even if it is only the nearby town-square, and even if it is to be sorely whipped!
I praise and bless her for choosing me, and shower her black leather kneeboots with yet more bootkisses – as high as my neck chains will allow me to:
‘Oh pray, goddess-mistress Charlotte madam!...Oh thank you, goddess-mistress Charlotte!… God bless you, madam!...’
She laughs at me.
……………………………………………………………………………………..
Two days later I found myself secured on my hands and knees in front of her booted feet on a raised podium in the town square. The crowd of female onlookers was mainly composed of her friends and admirers – all of whom had come to offer her their support, and to jeer and taunt me:
‘Ha! Ha! Try not to cry out too much, slave! Bear the terrible sting of the lash like a man, if you can!’
‘Ha! Ha! Like a man? Ha! Ha! He’s no man! He’s a mouse – and I’ll bet he’ll squeak like a mouse with every agonising stroke! Squeak into Charlotte’s boots! Ha! Ha!’
‘Ha! Ha! You’ve heard of the mouse that roared? I reckon he’ll scream and holler, more like? Never could take his pain, that one!’
‘Ha! Ha! Don’t spare him, Charlotte! Ask the female-police whipper to really lay it on hard on him! Really make him suffer for you, babe! You’ve earned it! Ha! Ha!’
Meanwhile, goddess customer-mistress Charlotte, seated loftily above me, is loving all the attention! She won’t feel a thing – not even pity – for the whipping-boy being whipped on her behalf at her dusty, booted feet!
At least those boots are her ankleboots today – which means that throughout my beating I get to observe her cheeky, black and red, polka-dotted anklesocks; I remember them from the days before her incarceration…
10. The Party Non-Invitation
The personal footslaves are most definitely not invited to the party!
Party Non-Invitation
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