Dozy Footslave
I must have dozed off – even though it’s the middle of the day – for I am suddenly, and rudely, awakened by a female kick to the face! Mind you, if I have to be kicked awake in the face, I would always choose to be kicked by the very same sneakers doing the kicking – those of regular customer-mistress Ms Mukta madam. My favourite customer!
As soon as I have gathered my thoughts and apologised to the mistress, she crouches down to angrily shout in my freshly-kicked face:
‘WAKE UP, SLAVE, AND CLEAN MY FEET!’
By her ‘feet’ she of course means her sneakers. Customer-mistress Ms Mukta madam never has, and probably never will, permit me – a mere public footservant in the town square – to lickclean her precious bare feet (though what an honour that would be!). No, I have never known Ms Mukta not to be wearing shoes or boots with socks when utilising my humble head in the town square – and nine times out of ten she will be wearing these selfsame, grubby, red white and blue sneakers. That’s why I had recognised them so speedily on coming round from my slumbers!
Her socks today, however, appear new. At least, I cannot recall seeing such a bright blue pair of anklesocks on Ms Mukta’s feet before – and very fetching they look too on her shapely, feminine ankles. I tell her as much (regular customer-mistress Ms Mukta and I have an understanding that I am permitted to speak to her providing it’s to praise and glorify her shoes or socks), and she laughs and helpfully hitches up her jean hem to point out to me that her socks have a white, elasticated stripe at the top. She asks me if I like her white sock-stripe, and I, of course, inform the mistress that I like her white sock-top very much indeed, if she would be so kind and understanding, as it contrasts very nicely with her beautiful, brown legskin, if I may make so bold – please don’t beat me mistress if I have offended you mistress!
Always a bit risky for a slave to comment upon his customer-mistress’s bare flesh – even just her upper ankle flesh – but with Ms Mukta, sweet and kind soul that she is, I can just about get away with it! She laughs, and points out that the white sock-stripe also goes with the white in her sneaker (I haven’t the heart to tell her that there is virtually no comparison between the grubby white of her sneaker and the pure white of her sock – especially as, right now, I’m supposed to be licking her sneaker back to it’s original pristine condition; an impossible task in which I am doomed to failure!)
I compliment the mistress once again on her choice of sock (in between my licks to her sneaker) and she suddenly crouches down to my face again as she says she has had a good idea – she wants me to compose a poem to her blue and white socks, extolling their virtues. She laughingly says she will give me two days to come up with a decent poem, and that she will then return with her manly husband, master Simon sir, to hear me recite it. She warns me that if my poem is ‘rubbish’, or is not respectful enough towards her socks, her husband Simon will have me sorely whipped!
She then walks off, turning to mock me by ostensibly signalling that I have two days to come up with a sock poem, but in actuality so that she can give me the female victory sign, which is a bit rude!
This is the poem I eventually came up with:
Ode to Beautiful Customer-Mistress Ms Mukta Madam’s Bright Blue Socks
Oh pray Ms Mukta’s socks of blue,
I am not worthy to look at you,
As you warmly embrace your mistress’s feet,
It is truly my honour and privilege to meet,
Your blue cotton lines of vertical stitching,
To caress your creases my mouth is itching.
But my lips must remain respectfully aloof,
For I am but a footslave goof.
Oh pray Ms Mukta’s socks of blue,
I am not worthy to bewith you!
Unfortunately for me, but correctly so, Ms Mukta and her husband master Simon sir thought my poem was indeed rubbish, with master Simon sir even pointing out that his wife’s socks were blue and white (she was wearing the same socks on her feet again when they came to hear my recital two days later)¸ yet my pathetic attempt at a poem had not even mentioned the white stripe at the top of each sock. He asked me if I was blind as well as stupid?
Once again I found myself apologising to Ms Mukta and her socks, but my apologies did me no good. Master Simon sir arranged for the Gynarchy authorities to temporarily remove me from my footslave hole for a public whipping which he and his lovely wife, along with a sizeable crowd of onlookers, very much enjoyed witnessing. Afterwards, I was required to kiss her blue and white socks 1000 times each, promise to them that I would do better next time, and humbly beg their forgiveness.
The socks, I sensed, were just laughing at me.
