Airing My Views

Please note this short story was inspired by a comment from regular reader 'Lowest of the low' on another post

Off-duty, local security-guard mistress, regular customer-mistress Ms Aneka madam, has kindly brought along a pair of her, and her husband’s, socks to ‘air’ on my face.

She graciously explains that the blue socks are her work socks (though I already knew that) and the brown socks are her husband Ravi’s office socks (master Ravinder sir to me, of course). She further explains that they can’t be bothered to pay to have the socks laundered, and so a good ‘airing’ on my face should sufficiently cleanse them of their sweat to make them wearable again for at least one more day. She urges me to sniff hard on them, as this will speed up the process of de-sweatifying the socks, but she stresses that she is in no hurry, and has even brought along a portable, plastic chair so that she can sit and observe me airing their dirty socks for as long as it takes.

About an hour or so into the humbling process she asks me which of the two pairs of socks I ‘fancy’ the most, and why? I am acutely aware, of course, as a slave, that these are trick questions posed by off-duty, security-guard mistress Aneka madam, for if I have to choose between the two pairs of dirty socks. I am not permitted, by law, to merely sit on the fence when a customer-mistress asks me a perfectly reasonable question. Yet just saying the obvious – which is that I fancy herblue socks the most – will not be good enough, for in that case she will undoubtedly feign offence on behalf of her beloved husband, and report me to him for disrespecting his manly, brown socks. It is then likely that master Ravinder sir will come round and beat me across the face with the public-use wall whip.

And I very much fear the wall whip!

At the same time, I mustn’t disrespect madam Aneka’s stinky, blue socks by appearing ungrateful, in her very presence, for the opportunity to serve them by airing them on my face. I must, therefore, give a complex and verbose reply to what are, fundamentally, two simple enough questions – a reply which balances my admiration for both pairs of stale, sweaty socks, but somehow gives the supremacy to Ms Aneka’s socks.

I therefore respond, fearfully and in the humblest of slavespeak, as follows:

‘Oh pray, customer-mistress Aneka madam, if it pleases you, most respected and beautiful customer-mistress Ms Aneka madam – please don’t beat me, mistress – this slave is truly honoured to have the socks of both his betters airing on his unworthy face, if you would be so kind and understanding to a helpless, head-in-the-wall footslave who is at your joint mistressly and masterly mercy, madam? But, although the stench from both pairs of socks is intoxicating for this unworthy slave, and smells to his pathetic slave-nose like the nectar of the gods,  this slave would have to opine that the mistress’s pretty blue socks just have the edge over the master’s plain brown socks when it comes to the piquancy of their aroma, due purely to the fact that the mistress-madam is such a diligent and hardworking young woman in her job as a security guard, and therefore undoubtedly builds up a significant sweat on her soft, feminine feet inside her black leather, uniform shoes, if you would be so kind and understanding towards a slave’s humble opinion, madam?  Not that this slave wishes to impugn in any way on the master’s hard work in his office, madam, for he is a truly magnificent man with magnificent socks, madam. It is just that the natureof the mistress’s work as a security-guard – meaning that she is often on her feet all day patrolling the brothel where she works safeguarding the precious prostitute-mistresses, lends itself to her feet becoming just that bit more sweaty inside her shoes than the master-sir’s, if you would forgive this dirty slave for his impertinence, most beautiful and respected female master madam? Therefore this slave would have to say, after all due thought and consideration such as his weak and feeble maleslave brain is capable of, madam, that it is the mistress’s socks he fancies the most, for the aforementioned reasons, if it would be so pleasing to you goddess-mistress regular customer-mistress Ms Aneka madam?’

Miss Aneka madam laughs out loud at me, and says it is the right answer. But she nevertheless warns me that she will have to convey my obsequious reply to her husband as he is sure to ask the same questions, and she cannot guarantee that he will not take offence at my ‘denigration’ of his socks, and thus come round and beat me. She goes on to inform me, however, that had I chosen her husband’s socks over hers she would have beaten me about the face anyway – so I have nothing to lose by ‘dissing’ her husband’s socks, since my beating from him might never happen.

I foolishly then plead with Ms Aneka madam to intercede on my behalf with the master-sir, but she angrily retorts that it is NOT her role to ‘spare a footslave’s blushes’ (a euphemism in the Gynarchy for sparing a slave from the red marks of the whip on his face!). Her mood suddenly changes and she orders me to shut up and resume sniff-cleaning their socks – and she further warns me not to concentrate solely on hersweaty blue socks just because I fancy them the most, but to afford equal sniffing time to her beloved husband’s socks. She reminds me, if reminding is needed, that whether I fancy them or not, they are the socks of a real man who is a much better man than me, so I should just shut my stupid, impudent mouth and breathe through my nose, that I might inhale the sweaty aroma of both pairs of superior socks equally.

I quickly apologise to the mistress and do as I am told.