Masochistic Musings Vol 2

Musing No. 1 - Corporate Footslave

In the corporate lounge the corporate footslave must service the mature businesslady’s boots underneath the table whilst she checks her stocks and shares above him on her tablet PC

Musing No. 2 - The Cangued Footfool

It’s true what they say – ‘There’s no fool, like a cangued fool!’

See how the boisterous, young couple mercilessly mock the cangued footslave and the disparaging words written on his heavy, wooden collar.

Clearly the word ‘love’, handwritten written on the young lady’s sneaker, is NOT directed at the fool!

Musing No. 3 - Mistress Sharon’s Personal Sockslave

I am my mistress Sharon's personal sockslave.

She is 35 years old; blonde and quite stocky; pretty; and happily married to a much better (though much older) man than me. Her husband takes care of all her sexual needs, therefore she has no interest in me sexually. Being a celibate slave, I find my mistress Sharon to be very alluring, but it is not my place to list after her. I am merely the custodian of her socks, and so I sublimate my filthy, sexual yearnings into slavish devotion towards her socks.

Today, for example, she is wearing her thick, greyish-white, well-used, ankle-length towelling socks inside her black leather, zip-up, blocky-heeled and round-toed, office ankleboots, and right now I am kneeling on the floor with my head respectfully buried in her open boot-top, my nose gently resting against her soft and creased, upper sock material. She requires me to discreetly sniff her sock tops - something I am only too honoured to do, since they are the socks of a superior, and sexually active, young woman, whilst I am just a frustrated and sexually inactive sock-servant.

Her socks smell nice this high up her shapely, young-womanly ankles, though I know from past (and no doubt future) bitter experience that they will smell moist and vinegary deeper inside her boots, especially around the reinforced toe-areas where her thick, cotton socks can't breathe (hence the yellowy perma-sweat stains on the currently hidden toe-areas of her supposedly all-white bootsocks).

I have to pay attention to the details of my mistress Sharon's socks, largely because she will inform on me to her husband if I do not - and he will then whip me for her delectation (my mistress Sharon is not at all squeamish, and loves to watch, and hear, me being whipped - though she often gags me with her dirty socks so as not to disturb the neighbours, especially if her husband is chastising me late at night!)

And so I try to think about nothing else other than my mistress's socks as I observe and nose them inside her boots, whilst she carries on with her superior office work above me.

My mistress Sharon only ever addresses me in connection with her socks - for example by ordering me to sniff, nose, massage, or straighten her socks - and she (and/or her husband) always introduce me to other free persons as 'Sharon's sockslave'. They even have the words tattooed on my forehead, so that even strangers can see that I am a mere sockslave to a superior, young woman!

Sometimes her husband (my master) will quiz me on his wife's socks. He may enquire of me, for example, how many creases I observed in her socks during the day - and woe betide me if I don't have a straight answer for him! That's because, as I have already explained, it is my slave-business to know all about his beautiful wife's socks, and he wants to make damn sure I am performing my sock-duties diligently!

Everyone, quite rightly, laughs at me, and my obsession with my mistress Sharon's socks - but they aren't the ones to be whipped if her socks are neglected in any way. And so, for the wellbeing of my back, I continue to nose my mistress Sharon's grey-white, bootsock tops inside her office ankleboots with infinite humility and respect, since they are the socks of my better - and the socks of a young woman with a whip-wielding and over-protective husband!

Musing No. 4 - The Ornamental Footfool

My greasy-haired and loud-mouthed new owner – mistress-madam Felicity – has just installed me, for the rest of my natural life, as a complimentary, ornamental footkissing-fool in one of the public lavatories she and her family operate.

She is explaining to the lavatory cleaner-mistress how she wants me treated. Namely:

• That she (the cleaner) may mop the floor beneath my face, but not my face itself – since I am just a dirty slave and not worthy to have my face mopped
• That she (the cleaner) may make use of me herself at any time she so desires
• That she (the cleaner) should in fact introduce me to her feet right now – which the cleaner-mistress promptly does, and with some degree of glee

And so begins my humble life down amongst the shoes and socks of my female betters – unable, from this point forwards, to look them in the eye; only ever in the foot!

Musing No. 5 - Princess Tahira

20 year old Princess Tahira seems to really enjoy having me, the palace footslave, kissing her feet. She will often spend hours seated in the throne-room having me kiss-worship her pastel-pink, harem slippers – albeit under the watchful eye and whip of her burly bodyguard!

Musing No. 6 - The Feetwasher (i)

The slave must wash his master’s feet in the presence of the master’s delighted and bemused girlfriend

The Feetwasher (ii)

‘Slave, clean my feet!’

'Yes, master sir. At once, master sir. Please don't beat me, master!'

Musing no. 7 - Drubbing

It’s a Saturday night. But, rather than go out clubbing, my diminutive, but powerful, mistress Filomena prefers to stay in and give her slave a drubbing, in her purpose-built dungeon!

Musing No. 8 - Young Woman with a Whip

She is someone to be feared – for she is a young woman with a whip. And she’s looking right at you!

Musing No. 9 - Madam & Her Maid

Madam and her maid certainly know how to treat a male slave

Musing No. 10 - To Be Whipped

This slave is about to be whipped, and the onlookers can’t wait! They can’t wait to see whether he will beg and scream for mercy; whether he will cry; whether he will dance and writhe on the end of the whipping rope!

But, of course, for the about-to-be-whipped slave the real agony comes from not being able to see the onlookers’ feet!