Socks Airer
Regular customer-mistress, Ms Mukta madam, has decided to be the first to take advantage of my new ‘socks airing’ services. She has brought along with her a pair of her unwashed, fancy-patterned bootsocks which, she kindly explains, are still damp from her footsweat, having been worn inside her black leather ankleboots all day yesterday. She wants them to air and dry out on the side of my face before she wears them again.
As she painfully pegs them to my ears she smilingly warns me not to move my head too vigorously throughout the day in case the socks fall off onto the dirty ground – in which case she will have me whipped. She then advises me, whilst I am kiss-respecting her dirty, black leather ankleboots, that she has better things to do with her time than watch her sweaty socks dry, and so she will come back later in the day to test them and collect them.
She then leaves me as her sock-dryer with her female laughter ringing in my ears, and her female socks stinging my ears due to the tightness of the clothes pegs.
Shortly afterwards master Ian sir, one of my regular customer-masters, comes to have his shoes shined. He laughs out loud at the sight of the female socks hanging down from each side of my face like two droopy, sweaty ears, and asks me if I don’t feel shame having a girl’s dirty, flowery socks airing on either side of my ugly head? I confirm to the master-sir that I do indeed feel shame, though it is at the same time a great honour for the likes of me to have a young woman’s flowery socks pinned to my ears and to be of service to them by airing them.
He laughs at me again and asks whether I wouldn’t prefer to have a pair of his manly, grey socks airing next to my face? I assure the master-sir that that too would be a great honour for me, and beg him to kindly consider humiliating me in that way. Master Ian sir laughs and says he will have a look in his dirty laundry basket at home and see what he can do. I humbly thank the master sir and kiss his feet.
I then spend the rest of the day surrounded by the vinegary aroma of stale bootsock and watching the crusty toe-ends of my customer-mistress Ms Mukta’s flowery-patterned socks gradually dry beneath my nose, in between kiss-respecting and tongueshining my other numerous customer-masters’ and mistresses’ footwear. Many of them mock me mercilessly, calling me ‘sock ears’ and ‘stink face’, and saying they think it would be a good idea for them to air their dirty socks too on the sides of my humble head. They opine that airing sweaty, damp, worn socks is all my ugly face is good for – that, and kissing their dirty shoes and boots, of course!
