Dating

Beautiful, regular customer-mistress miss Arabella madam, and her handsome boyfriend master Ian sir, have come to mock me.

Miss Arabella madam casually asks me how my love life is, and politely enquires as to whether I am ‘dating’ anyone at the moment? She knows full well, of course, that I am in no position to go out on a date, and am made impotent by virtue of being immured. But a head-in-the-wall footslave is equally in no position to ignore a superior customer-mistress’s mocking question, and is obliged by law to answer it with slavish sincerity and respect.

I therefore thank miss Arabella madam kindly for her question, and in the humblest of tones regret to inform her that I am not seeing anyone at the moment, since I am just a lowly head-in-the-wall footslave, with absolutely no prospects, and that therefore no woman would even look at me!

She laughs, and says that I shouldn’t give up hope so readily. She has noticed, for example, that I have taken a bit of a shine to her grey socks. What don’t I ask them out on a date, and see if they might not spend some time with me? If they were agreeable to such a proposal, she would be so kind as to take them off and leave them with me on my footblock for me to kiss and caress!

I overhear master Ian sir guffawing with laughter at this point, but in truth I am overwhelmed with excitement and awe at the thought of beautiful customer-mistress miss Arabella madam taking off her plain, grey anklesocks and leaving them here with me! And so I humbly woo her socks, and duly ask them out, as I have miss Arabella madam’s kind, female permission to do so. I use the humble language of slavespeak as miss Arabella plays along by graciously holding her right foot up to my face so that I might address her sock:

‘Oh pray, mistress Arabella’s socks, if it would be so pleasing to you, mistress Arabella’s socks, this slave begs the mistress’s socks’ indulgence, and humbly beseeches the socks to condescend to spend some time in the lowly company of the slave, if it would be so pleasing to the socks, mistresses the socks?’

Miss Arabella joins her manly boyfriend in his mocking laughter at me, and even the socks seem to crease up with laughter at my humble, not to say impertinent, proposal to a superior pair of girl’s socks.

Miss Arabella madam then assumes the role of interpreter for her socks. She says her socks are not offended by my offer (which is a great relief to me, as I take it that means miss Arabella is not intending to report me to the authorities for ‘soliciting’ her socks – a crime which would surely merit a severe public flogging here in the Gynarchy!). However, her socks are, unfortunately, busy this evening, as they will be going into the wash after she gets home. Besides, they do not feel that the slave is good enough for them, as they are superior female socks, and they don’t find him at all attractive. They would much rather remain on their wearer’s pretty feet and ankles, if that’s okay with the slave?

Miss Arabella madam then orders me to thank her socks for rejecting me, which, again in the language of humble slavespeak, I promptly do. I apologise to the socks for embarrassing them, and beg them not to have me whipped for my presumptuousness and impudence.

Master Ian sir feigns pity for me, and mockingly asks me if I am gay? And, if so, would I like to ask hissocks out on a date? I thank the master-sir kindly for his kind offer, but explain to the master that I am, in fact, heterosexual, even though I am an impotent, virginal and celibate heterosexual, begging the master sir’s forgiveness.

I then have the added indignity of observing miss Arabella’s grey socks turn their backs on me – the same socks that have just rejected my pathetic, weasel-worded advances – and walk away from me as miss Arabella madam gleefully discusses my failed sock-proposal with her manly boyfriend. I overhear her mockingly say to him that she can’t believe I could have been so stupid as to think that her socks might have the remotest interest in me since they are ‘way out of’ my league! Ha! Ha!

For his part, master Ian sir suggests that they should report me to the Gynarchy authorities for impertinence towards her socks, and have me whipped.  Miss Arabella says she will ‘fink’ about it.

So the threat of a public whipping is back on!

I deserve it. I mean, miss Arabella madam is quite right! What was I thinking?!














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