Mistress Karen’s Devoted Bootsock-Servant

Truly, I am privileged to be the personal bootsock-servant of such a beautiful and magnificent young woman as my mistress Karen.

From the moment she awakes, and I must smooth her fresh, dark grey cotton, officewear bootsocks onto her soft, fleshy feet following her morning shower, to the end of the long, working day when I must nose-massage her now sweaty and moist socks whilst she is still wearing them on her feet, I am obsessed by them – as, indeed, the cruel concentrator device implanted in my brain compels me to be. It is a non pain-giving version of the device, but my mistress Karen, quite rightly, makes sure to analyse the results of the device on her smartphone every evening, and delivers one stinging, burning lash to my bare back for every second the device has recorded my mind as wandering off her socks.

For most of the day I can only get to physically see the elasticated tops of her thick, grey, cotton bootsocks – above her upper, blue leather, office-ankleboot rims; but I can, and do, of course internally visualise all the various creases and folds in her ‘hidden’ sock areas inside her boots as she goes about her business throughout the day:

· Whilst she is walking to her car

· As she drives into work, and manoeuvres the pedals with her booted and socked feet

· As she is seated at her desk. Mercifully, my mistress Karen’s black pinstriped, office trouser-hems tend to ‘ride up’ above her bootrims whilst she is seated at her desk, thereby affording me a view of her increasingly twisted and uneven, elasticated sock uppers. I’m sure he kindly hitches up her trouser-hems deliberately – for, although she likes to whip, my bootsock-mistress Karen is, generally speaking, a compassionate and thoughtful mistress!

· Whist she is eating with her office colleagues in the staff canteen. I resolutely refuse at such times to allow myself to be distracted by the pretty shoes, boots and socks of her female co-workers at such times – even by those bright red sneaker socks and white leather ballet-flats seated opposite my mistress at lunchtime – partly through fear of the concentrator device and the whip; but mainly out of admiration and respect for my own mistress’s boots and socks

· Beneath her office desk again after lunch

· On the drive home again in her car

· The driveway and into the front porch, where I must unlace her chunky, blue leather ankleboots, and follow her inside to bare-socked heel

· Beneath the kitchen table where she dines with her husband (my master-sir)

· At the end of the sofa, where she puts her socked feet up into my face whilst cuddling into the manly arms of her husband

As I indicated earlier, my bootsock-mistress Karen always analyses my concentration-levels on her bootsocks through an app on her phone – and today, it seems, I lapsed from focussing on her socks for a full six seconds! I can only think it must have been whilst I caught a glimpse of those pretty, red sneaker-socks and white ballet-flats seated opposite us at lunchtime! Shame on me! I implore the mistress to beat me with the whip – and I soon get my wish: six, harsh lashes of the burning, leather whip across my bare, kneeling back to add to my ignominious collection – one cut of the whip for every second my mind had wandered onto another young woman’s socks.

Immediately following my chastisement, I kiss my mistress’s socks all over – 600 times – before she finally permits me to remove her sweaty and moist socks from her feet, and place them over my upturned face. For, every night, I must sleep at the foot of the master bed with my face covered in my mistress’s smelly socks – as befits a bright and beautiful young woman’s devoted, personal bootsock-servant with a freshly whipped back!

clip_image001

 

clip_image002

 

clip_image003

 

clip_image004

 

clip_image005

 

clip_image006

 

clip_image007

 

clip_image008

 

clip_image009

Slideshow

...

Popular posts from this blog

Between The Toes

Image
A Gynarchy slave must wash his magnificent master’s bare feet whilst his master’s equally magnificent girlfriend watches on in her sneakers and socks. The old slave man has already removed his magnificent master-sir's shoes and socks from his feet... ...and must now hand-wash the master's feet in the presence of the master's pretty girlfriend... ...with his humble, slave head right next to the young woman's sneakers and socks! Oh how the slave must be yearning  to remove those female shoes and socks and wash the soft, feminine feet that were within them? But instead it is manly  feet that he must touch and wash... ...sweaty and hairy, male feet! 'Make sure you clean in between the toes, slave!' barks the master-sir down at him 'Get out all the grime and dirt from between my toes. Remove the toejam, slave!' The master's pretty girlfriend giggles How she despises the slave kneeling at her boyfriend's feet! Her own sneakered and socked foot, meanwhi...
Read more

My Job

Image
‘Slave, fetch a basin of warm water. You’re going to wash my feet!’ ‘Yes, mistress Jean madam. At once, mistress Jean madam.’ When I return to the living room with the basin, my mistress Jean madam is sitting on the couch having removed her coat, but not her shoes and socks. That’s my job! ‘Massage my socks before you take them off, slave!’ ‘Yes, mistress madam. I obey you, mistress Jean madam.’ I was expecting this. My mistress Jean often has me massage her sweaty-socked feet before washing them!  ‘Slave, fetch a basin of warm water. You’re going to wash my feet!’ ‘Massage my socks before you take them off, slave!’ I perform my demeaning task of gently massaging my mistress's sweaty-socked feet The socks feel, and smell, moist 'Don't touch my bare ankles while you're massaging my socks, slave, and look only at the socks!' 'Yes, mistress Jean madam. I hear and obey you, mistress Jean madam.' I focus on her sweaty sock... ...as I knead it with my ...
Read more