The Lucky Sock-Serf
40 year old Malcolm (or public footslave no. 549823CF to give him his proper name) was a full-time, public sock-attendant.
He had always been so – all his adult life, since choosing the path of footslavery at the age of 21. He had decided to specialise in socks as he thought it required a bit more technical expertise than being a mere street-shoelicker, or commoners’ bootlicker.
But slave Malcolm was deluding himself. He was only designated for public foot-service because he wasn’t good enough to become a private footslave in the first place. He may have thought, therefore, that he was doing a skilled job in attending to ladies’ dirty sockwear. But in reality his female customers had nothing but contempt for him – the slave of their socks; anonymous; ugly; thick; a no-hoper; beneath them in every possible way.
Malcolm carried out his ‘skilled labour’ in a private footbooth in a busy shopping mall – for even if he wasn’t good enough himself to deserve the honour of being a lady’s private sock-servant, his female customers deserved a bit of privacy when having their socks attended to. After all, having one’s socks sniffed, kissed, licked and nuzzled whilst they are still on one’s feet is a much more intimate service than having one’s outer boots licked.
And so each female customer was afforded the privacy of a sockslave-booth whenever she utilised such mundane, municipal services. She could lock the door of the private street-booth behind her, rather like she would in a toilet cubicle, before climbing up onto the comfortable, raised, black leather chair in front of the kneeling sockslave. The chair had to be ‘raised’ so that the ladies’ feet were resting level with the humble sockslave’s face on the two, leather covered footrests. After all, it was his female customers’ beautiful socked feet that the slave needed to look at, not their beautiful bodies and faces!
Not that the experienced sockslave no. 549823CF ever got to see his customers’ pretty faces. He had, however, become accustomed to observing their contemptuous and sneering faces as they looked down on him from on high, out of the furtive corner of his sockslave-eye, whilst they towered mistressfully above him in their seat of power imposing their superior, feminine socks on his wonderstruck and subservient, maleslave face.
It was for some reason important to him, you see, to know the facial characteristics of each customer-mistress he was serving – even though there was a strong likelihood he would never see the lady, or her socks, ever again. Sockslaves tended not to gather ‘groupies’ like public shoe and boot lickers sometimes did. Sockslaves were just considered to be so low and worthless!
But Malcolm needed to know about each and every customer: was she black, white, asian or latina? Was she tall or short? Young or middle-aged? Rich or poor? Pretty or plain? Slim or fat? Cruel or kind? He needed to know because each and every customer was different – an individual in her own right, with individual needs when it came to her sockwear. And slave Malcolm so much wanted to please each and every one of his female customers – partly because he feared the sting of the female lash; but also because he lived to serve women’s socks and feet.
Nature had made him that way!
Surreptitious glances to a lady’s physical features aside, you could, of course, also tell a lot about a young woman from her choice of socks! Plain white socks indicated a belief in feminine purity. Bright colours tended to indicate a bubbly and vivacious personality. Plain black socks suggested a more serious and businesslike approach to life and to living. And many young women in the Gynarchy chose to wear socks with specific messages written on them – messages for any sockslave, public or otherwise, who happened upon their socks!
Malcolm’s next customer was one such young woman – a girl with a message contained on her socks.
As she climbed up onto the seat before him he could tell instantly that she was black – a beautiful, shapely, sassy young black woman in her early to mid twenties!
He could tell she was ‘sassy’ because of the way she was dressed, in a pastel yellow and pink top; pink and white hotpants (complete with single-tailed, brown leather, cowhide whip dangling ominously from her slender waistbelt); pink and white, knee-high tubesocks; and high-top blue and white, lace-up, converse-style, canvas sneakers. Tatty sneakers it has to be said, but then her whole demeanour exhibited a laid back and lackadaisical attitude. She was noisily chewing gum, and her shoulder-length, black, permed hair framed a pretty, black face with superciliousness written all over it.
Here was a girl who knew that she was innately superior to the middle-aged sock-pervert kneeling humbly at her feet; here was a girl who was going to enjoy humiliating an older man with her dirty, pink and white tubesocks. She grinned smugly down at him (whilst continuing to slap noisily on her chewing-gum – being a superior, young woman she was perfectly capable of multitasking, of course!) as she witnessed the awestruck look on the ugly old slaveman’s face as he stared longingly and reverentially at her towering tubesock above his reverentially bowed head.
Slave Malcolm didn’t often get to serve calf-hugging tubesocks; his life was mainly dominated by young women’s ankle socks – be they full-length ankle socks, or short ‘footie’ style socks which left the customer’s bare ankles deliciously exposed. It was mainly young, oriental women who wore knee-high socks in slave Malcolm’s humble experience – often with matching, knee-length boots. So to have a sassy, young, twenty-something, gum-chewing black woman wear knee-high socks in his humble presence was a real rarity and a treat!
The higher up the shapely socks he dared to looked, the more he began to slave-salivate. The vertical, cotton stitching of the socks was quite thick, and ribbed. Certainly each line of stitching was wide enough for the tip of his sockslave-nose to fit into, should the young woman wish her socks to be ‘nosed’ from top to bottom. But what really caught his eye were the half-hidden (by her sneakers) tops of several, pink, heart-shaped logos on each sock – pink to match the three, pink, horizontal hoops near the stretched, elasticated tops of her socks.
Those blue and white, high-top, canvas sneakers must be hiding a whole series of pink hearts on the lower parts of the socks!
Very girly! Very feminine!
So what did these socks tell slave Malcolm about this sassy, gum-chewing, black customer-mistress – who still hadn’t uttered a perfunctory word to him?
Well, according to his own sock-theories, the fact that they were predominantly white socks indicated that the young woman thought of herself as pure (though slave Malcolm would have been amazed if she was still a virgin in those hotpants!). On the other hand, the pink heart-logos and matching pink hoops at the tops of her socks suggested a mixture of flirtatiousness and sportiness to her feminine character. This was a black girl who knew how to have innocent fun – perhaps at the expense of others; certainly at the expense of humble, male sockslaves!
Slave Malcolm could hardly wait to be used and abused by this bratty, young black woman. His only slavish regret was that her manly boyfriend – for such a physically-appealing young woman was sure to have a man in her life – wasn’t here to witness the slave’s impending humiliation at his girlfriend’s feet and socks.
‘Take off my sneakers and smell my socks!’ barked the young, black goddess down at him, in between slapping and sucking on her mint-flavoured, chewing gum (he knew it was mint-flavoured as he could smell it!)
Two things surprised slave Malcolm on hearing the young, black woman’s voice for the first time:
1. She spoke with a heavy, West African accent; Ghanaian probably. Exactly why this should have been so strange to slave Malcolm isn’t clear – but perhaps he just associated tubesocks with
2. Although curt and dismissive in her orders towards him, she had not addressed him by his title of ‘slave’. On initial impressions this wasn’t so good, for slave Malcolm always liked to be reminded of his lowly, anonymous status. He loved to hear soft, feminine voices barking the word ‘slave’ down at him with utter disdain in their tone. Some mistresses even went further, calling him by some deliberately disparaging slave-nickname, such as ‘sockboy’ – reminding him that he was a 40 year old ‘boy’, rather than a real man; or ‘dirty-sock sniffer’ – reminding him that he was defined by his most common task, that of sniffing girls’ dirty socks; or ‘sockslut’ – reminding him that he was nothing more than a slut to girls' slutty socks!
But this particular, gum-chewing African mistress had not deigned to call him anything! Perhaps she was just too happy-go-lucky, lazy even, to be bothered? Perhaps her English was not yet good enough to make up disparaging nicknames for a public sock-servant? Whatever her reasons, the effect was actually quite demeaning, and the more he thought about it whilst the mistress slapped noisily on her chewing gum, the more slave Malcolm came to admire and respect the tubesocked African girl seated above him.
After all, she appeared to have no inhibitions about baring her smelly socks to him! ‘Take off my sneakers and smell my socks!’ she had ordered. She did not appear to wish her socks to be ‘serviced’ as such i.e. to be mouth-cleaned, or kissed, or worshipped, or straightened; or even just nuzzled. She wanted them overtly sniffed! That was all he had to do – untie her laces, remove her high-top sneakers, and smell her socks in the privacy of the public sock-booth!
He indicated his compliance with the pure, but fun-loving, African girl’s wishes immediately:
‘Yes mistress! At once most beautiful and respected, black-African goddess-mistress!’
He didn’t know her name, of course, otherwise he would have addressed her as goddess-mistress………., for she deserved to be addressed by name, so superior a young woman was she; so much higher up the Gynarchial social scale than sockslave no. 549823CF could ever hope to be – even if she was just an impecunious, visiting, overseas student; or a female asylum-seeker; or an economic migrant to the Gynarchy; which she might well be. She certainly seems to like living the high-life, in the sense that she clearly likes being seated in a comfortable chair high above him!
The supercilious, beautiful, young, Ghanaian woman does nothing to help slave Malcolm as he fumblingly starts to unlace her right sneaker first. And correctly so – for slave Malcolm always prefers to be unaided by a mistress when he is attending to her shoes and socks! The mistress’s job is to sit back, relax, and watch the slave attending to her footwear. She is not meant to help him; and not helping the slave seems to come naturally to this indolent, young black woman.
The only sounds in the private sockslave-cubicle are of the young woman’s mouth continuously slapping on her chewing gum, and the whoosh of warm foot-air as slave Malcolm manages to loosen the thick, grey-white laces on her right sneaker and gently pull it off her tubesocked, West African foot!
The sight, and smell, that greets him is a humble sock-sniffer’s dream – the smell of raw, feminine foot-odour emanating from well-worn, almost holey, pink and white socks!
It wasn’t that the stink was overwhelming; it was sweet feminine stink after all! But it was the aroma of a living, breathing, female foot – an African female foot – covered by thinning and sweat-stained, white cotton and pink-logoed tubesock.
It was the area around the toes that really caught sockslave Malcolm’s eye – for here, although the stitching over the African toe-area was nominally reinforced, it was actually the most worn and thinning – so much so that slave Malcolm could clearly see the pink toenail-paint on the young woman’s wriggling, black toes underneath the sock.
Pink toenail paint to match the pink hearts that were located slightly higher up the sock and along the insteps all the way up to her shapely, upper anklebone. There must have been at least nine lovely pink hearts on the body of the sock, and slave Malcolm was, pathetically, already very much looking forward to sniffing, and perhaps, if he was very lucky, even kissing them separately, and trying to determine whether they smelt or tasted any differently from the rest of the African girl’s knee-length sock – particularly from the matching, pink hoops at the very top of the sock.
It was on the sole of the sock that he got his greatest cheap-thrill, however! For there – in amongst the grey, yellow and brown sweat stains and other inner-sneaker detritus – were the words, emblazoned in bold, pink letters:
‘Have a nice day, sock-serf!’
It was a hidden message to him from the female manufacturers of the sock – and, of course, by extension, from the wearer of the sock! Have a nice day! Enjoy!
They were all laughing at him of course – the female manufacturers of the socks; the gum-chewing wearer of the socks; and socks themselves. They were mocking him; mocking the very fact that he was having to look at, and sniff, the sweat-stained soles of a black African girl’s dirty, white tubesocks; but he still felt flattered that this beautiful and exotic, young woman had chosen to wear such a delightful pair of dominant socks for him.
He was actually proud to be her ‘sock-serf’, about to surf her socks with his nose!
The left sock looked, and smelt, almost identical to the right one, once he had managed to remove her left, blue and white, high-top sneaker, though if anything the left sock appeared to be even holier than the right; it was certainly more creased around the sole – the sole with the same pink-worded, derogatory message.
Slave Malcolm, almost stupefied in awe though he was, was impatient to get down to some nose-on sock-sniffing.
So too, it seemed, was the African goddess-mistress, for she now momentarily interrupted her slutty gum-chewing to deliver her second, more specific, command:
‘Start with the area around my toes. I want to feel your nose on my toes. Sniff my sock-stink!’
‘Yes goddess-mistress. This slave obeys the mistress, most sweet and kind, black African goddess-mistress.’
Never has a slave nose enjoyed sniffing sock-stink as much as slave Malcolm’s nose did at that very moment. He started with her right foot, and he didn’t just casually sniff the socked toes; he immersed himself in them – nose first. He breathed in deeply – through his nose, hoovering up all the excess stink from the African girl’s sweaty, right sock.
For her part, the black goddess just continued to chew on her mint-gum, although she did manage a wry smile on her pretty, African features as she witnessed the slave sniffing at her socks with seeming abandonment. She almost felt sorry for him – having to sniff her sweaty, unwashed socks and feet. After all, she’d been partying in those sneakers and socks all last night!
Phew! She could smell her own sock-stink even from where she was! How could the poor slave-man stand it with his nose and face being so close to her socks?
But it was pity which soon turned to disgust and contempt – contempt for a man who had let himself become enslaved to women’s dirty socks. Not like her boyfriend Kwame – a real man; a Ghanaian man. He would never allow his handsome, manly face to become sullied by a woman’s dirty socks!
The thought of being separated from her boyfriend, who was currently back in Ghana still awaiting the outcome of his ‘Free male accompanying Female Student’ visa (Female Student visas were much quicker and easier to get than male dependant visas!) made the African girl quite angry, and so, naturally she took out that anger on the helpless, male slave at her feet.
She clicked her teeth in annoyance at the fact that the disobedient slave was now moving his nose down to the moist sole of her right sock – without her express, female permission. Simultaneously she withdrew her sock from his face – though only to enable her to swiftly return it to his disobedient face almost immediately in the form of a facial sock-kick:
‘Tch! Remember what I said, dirty slave! Concentrate first on the toe areas of my socks. You have not yet sniffed the toe area of my left sock! Dirty, no-good fathead! Do you not listen to my orders?’
It was a good, hurtful kick to the face. Slave Malcolm even wondered if the girl played socker!
He realised instantly that he had been justifiably kicked and rebuked, and apologised unreservedly to both the African girl and her socks:
‘Oh pray goddess-mistress, if it pleases you sweet and kind African goddess-mistress, this slave humbly apologises for his impertinence, and fears that it was his admiration for the mistress’s superior sock-smell that drove him to sniff the moist and warm sole of the mistress’s beautiful, right sock before he had finished sniffing the sweaty toe-areas of both her socks, if you would be so kind and understanding to an incompetent and meek sockslave, African goddess-mistress? However it won’t happen again, mistress, for this slave is an obedient and dutiful sock-servant, if it is pleasing to you most gracious, African mistress?’
Slave Malcolm was right. It didn’t happen again – not until he had thoroughly sniffed the socked toes on the African mistress’s left foot, and had then been given her express, young-black-womanly permission to move on to the soiled bottoms of her cute, pink and white tubesocks.
But the best was yet to come, for having eventually sniffed her socks from top to bottom, he was at last granted his heart’s desire:
‘Now start kissing the hearts on my socks, slave-boy. Kiss each pink heart shape 1,000 times, and make sure your dirty lips don’t touch any of the white areas of my socks!’
‘Yes mistress. At once goddess-mistress. This slave obeys his most beautiful and kind, African goddess-Mistress!’
1,000 times per heart. 9 hearts on each sock. That’s 18,000 kisses to this African girl’s socks. She certainly knew the way to a sock-serf’s heart!
You may wish to make yourself a cup of tea now – for 18,000 heartfelt kisses to a girl’s socks is going to take some time!
He started with the lowest, pink heart on her right sock:
One…two…three…four…five...six…seven…eight…nine…
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…seventeen thousand, nine hundred and ninety five…seventeen thousand, nine hundred and ninety six…seventeen thousand nine hundred and ninety seven…seventeen thousand, nine hundred and ninety eight…seventeen thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine….eighteen thousand!
One hour later and slave Malcolm’s now tenderised lips made their final contact with the final, pink heart on the young woman’s left tubesock.
You might think that she would have been bored by now (as you probably are!), but quite the opposite. She may have given him her hearts, but now she wanted to give him some lines – specifically the three, pink lines at the tops of each of her knee-length tubesocks!
Still chewing gum, she delivered her final orders:
‘Now nose the pink lines at the tops of my socks, slave lackey-boy. Run your nose along the pink hoops right the way round, and don’t touch the white areas in between or I will be forced to whip you!’
Forced to whip him – against her will, of course! Slave Malcolm was grateful to the West-African mistress for being such a sweet and kind young, black woman, but was, for the first time, nervous about his ability to fulfil the black mistress’s clear and unambiguous orders without invoking the sting of her brown leather, African, cowhide lash!
Tracing his nose along the pink hoops on the front of her socks without straying onto the surrounding white cotton material will be easy enough; but around the back of her legs?!
He braced himself for some near-inevitable, physical pain as he began his mission near-impossible.
He did fail. Of course he did! For he was a male failure.
And the West African girl did have to whip him. Of course she did! For she was a female whippersnapper.
But when, eventually, he was ordered to slip the supercilious, gum-chewing, African mistress’s pink-and-white-tubesocked feet back into her tatty, blue and white, lace-up, converse, high-top sneakers, he was reminded in his heart of hearts that he was, in spite of his now stinging back, a very lucky sock-serf, who was having a very nice day indeed!
