Kissing Her Socks

The slave desperately kisses his mistress’s sock and begs for mercy:

‘Oh pray, pretty mistress, please don’t beat me today, pretty mistress! I will be a good slave to you and your socks today, mistress! Oh pray, mistress! I am frightened of you, pretty mistress!’




































Indeed he will be a good slave to his mistress’s socks throughout the day. He shall follow her to sneakered and socked heel on his hands and knees, looking only at the backs or the sides of her socks as she goes about her daily business – on the train into work; in the office; in the staff canteen at lunchtime (when he doesn’t get to eat but he has the honour of kneeling beneath the table next to his mistress’s feet and watching her sneakers and socks whilst she eats); whilst she goes shopping after work; during her train journey home; whilst she is eating her evening meal seated opposite her manly husband; and finally whilst she is relaxing with her sneakers off and her now sweaty-socked feet up on the edge of the sofa. All the time he shall be studying her socks – the patterns in the stitching; the creases and folds as they come and go; the little pink heart logos; the specks of household dirt and fluff attached to the outer surfaces of her socks. And, whenever he can, he shall breathe in the aroma of her socks, so that his footslave senses are truly immersed in his mistress’s socked feet.

Of course, none of this guarantees that he shan’t be whipped, and the slave does well to live in fear of his pink-socked mistress!

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