Ms Mukta's New Flowery-Themed White Socks

Today regular customer-mistress Ms Mukta Madam is feeling in a happy and kind mood, and so she is kindly showing off her new flowery white socks to me. She knows that a public footslave like me is obsessed by his customers’ socks – and especially hers, since she knows I am deeply enamoured by her.

She begins by asking me if I like them, and I, of course, confirm that I very much do. Indeed I make so bold as to congratulate customer-mistress Ms Mukta Madam on her choice of sock, at which point she informs me that it is her boyfriend Simon (masterSimon to me) that I should be congratulating as he was the one who had actually purchased the white, flowery socks as a gift for her. I humbly beseech Ms Mukta Madam to convey my congratulations and gratitude to the master-sir for brightening up my day with his girlfriend’s new socks!

Ms Mukta laughs at me and promises to pass on my message to him. She then orders me to describe the flowery pattern in her socks in more detail. I therefore describe how I can see that the flower motif is comprised of four different colours – green, yellow, blue and purple – if she would be so kind and understanding? I also explain that the green and yellows depict the leaves on the outside of the flower, whilst the flower itself is composed of blue and purple petals; 3 blue and 2 purple, to be precise – though I hasten to add that the very centre of the flower, as well as the stalk, are yellow. Ms Mukta, quite properly, berates me at this point for not knowing that the centre of a flower is called a ‘stigma’, and is one of the female parts. I hastily apologise to the clever mistress for my ignorance, before continuing with my unrehearsed and clumsy description of her flowery sock-motif.

I humbly inform her that, whereas the blue petals appear to have 20 individual sock stitches in them, the purple ones appear to be smaller with only 12 stitches. Ms Mukta says she will check that later and if I’m wrong she will tell her boyfriend Simon who will doubtless have me whipped for insolence and lack of attention to detail when it comes to studying his girlfriend’s socks. I apologise in advance to Ms Mukta for any error on my part and implore her not to have me whipped, assuring her of my utmost devotion and respect towards her socks.

She tells me to shut up and ‘put my mouth where my moaning is’ – in other words she is ordering me to kiss her on the flowery sock. I make sure to kiss the very centre of the sock flower – the ‘stigma’ as I now know it to be called – and hope that the feel of my weak and trembling lips on her socked ankle will elicit some sweet feminine compassion and mercy in her, for I really don’t want to be whipped by her boyfriend!

Having graciously permitted me to kiss her sock motif several dozen times, Ms Mukta then orders me to sniff the flower, and to describe its fragrance to her. I obey her and to be perfectly honest, the sock smells of little more than fresh cotton – not the demeaning, stinky sweat she was perhaps hoping for. I expect any sweaty aroma would be confined to the sneaker-enclosed toe areas of her sock, given that these are brand new socks on her feet for the first time. But, clearly, I can’t tell kind, but volatile, Ms Mukta Madam that her sock flower smells of nothing but fresh cotton, and so I slavishly embellish the truth somewhat, describing the aroma of her sock as ‘like sweet smelling roses against a backdrop of fresh, spring meadow’.

Fortunately for me, she laughs, and takes my downright hyperbole in the spirit in which it was intended, which is to be highly respectful towards both her, and her sock.

Having made me describe, kiss and sniff her flowery-themed, white sock Ms Mukta Madam then crouches down in order to mock me to my face and call me a pathetic girls’ sock-sniffer. She then gives me the feminine victory sign before turning to walk away from me. As I watch her flowery-patterned socks slowly disappear from view beneath her blue denim jean-hems, I feel a sense of foolish pride in the knowledge that no-one else will be compelled to sniff that flower motif on her right sock today. Especially not her manly boyfriend, master Simon sir, who is a much better man than me and whom, as a consequence, she would never dream of making kiss or sniff her socks! I dohope I get to see her flowery-themed white socks again some time, though it is clearly not my place to dictate to a customer-mistress which socks she should wear on her feet! My place is to admire my customers’ socks, whatever their textures, colours or themes.