Sock Concentrator Device

Magnificent Ms Mukta madam has now had her personal footslave fitted with a sock-concentrator device, meaning that her slave now has no option but to think only about his mistress’s socks, her whole socks, and nothing but her socks.

Here we see Ms Mukta enjoying a movie at the cinema cuddled up beside her husband, master Simon sir – a man who, unlike the slave, is a real man, and certainly not preoccupied with a girl’s socks! Note that the slave is having to kneel in front of his mistress, with his back to the cinema screen and his face hovering over his mistress’s outstretched, sneakered and socked, right foot. That’s because he is not permitted to watch the film, or even listen to the soundtrack, since the sock-concentrator device blocks out all external noise, and the eye holes in the front of the sock-concentrator mask are only just large enough for him to see out in order to study sock. You will note also that the mask has holes over his nose to enable him to breathe in the aroma of sock, but no hole for his mouth, so that he is prevented not only from speaking, but also, frustratingly for him, from kissing or licking his mistress’s sock!

Instead of the soundtrack to the film, all the stupid slave can hear – thanks to the earphones contained in the sock-concentrator device – is the constant repetition of the word ‘socks’ in a whispered, female voice – a constant reminder to him of his lowly station in life, which is that of a young woman’s sock-observer and studier. The only other sound he may hear from time to time, but which he strenuously tries to avoid, is the fake sound of a whip cracking across his back, combined with the replicated burning sting of a whip, which the clever sock-concentrator device will inflict upon him via its nerve stimulators if it detects that his menial mind is wandering away from his mistress’s socks. The sharp, electronic whip pain is in addition to the sharp electric shock delivered to his temples by the concentrator device by way of a punishment for his wandering thoughts. The combined pain to his brain and back soon jolts him back to his humble reality, and he will once again find himself focussing on the sock in front of his face! It’s a most efficient device!

Fortunately for the slave, today his mistress is wearing patterned, fancy socks – pink in colour, with elaborate trellised stitching and little pink loveheart logos as part of the design – so there is plenty for the sockslave to concentrate on.

A snapshot of his humble, sock-obsessed thoughts would be as follows:

·     This is the sock of my mistress Mukta, a goddess

·     It is therefore the sock of my better, and, by extension, the sock itself is better than me, being my better’s sock

·     I must focus on the sock and study it and get to know it. Otherwise I shall be whipped!

·     I know that this pair of socks currently on my mistress’s feet were purchased for her as a gift by her magnificent husband, master Simon sir, who is seated comfortably next to her. Truly I am indebted to the master-sir for buying my mistress, his wife, such a nice pair of socks. Her socks are my life.

·     Whilst my mistress is enjoying both the movie and her husband’s manly company, I must study every subliminal movement in her sock – the multitudinous creases and folds that come and go with every subconscious twisting and flexing of her sweet feminine ankle muscles

·     And when her angular ankle is at rest, I must study the individual lines of stitching in her sock. Not her bare ankleskin underneath, mind! I am not worthy to think about my mistress Mukta’s bare ankle and foot flesh; only her cotton sock covering it!

·     My mistress’s ankles are, you will notice, quite shapely, but skinny, which is why they are enhanced and beautified by her socks. The socks help to ‘fill them out’, as it were.

·     I only wish I could smell my mistress’s sock right now, as it has been on her foot inside that selfsame sneaker all day, and must truly reek of her. Oh well, maybe later, when I am divesting her of her sneakers and socks prior to her making love with the master-sir in the warmth and privacy of their apartment?

·     In the meantime I shall just have to make do with the sight of her sock! And, thinking of lovemaking, I am reminded of my mistress Mukta’s love and adoration for her husband by those little lovehearts covering her sock. I expect, when he bought them for her, master Simon sir was equally thinking of his love for her. One thing’s for sure – the lovehearts are no sign of affection for me. I’m just an impotent, ugly slave – so ugly that my mistress requires me to wear this cruel mask in order to hide my ugly slave-face from her sensitive, female sight!

·     But enough of such non-sock thoughts! I am risking a fake blow from the whip and a sharp shock to my temples! I must refocus on my mistress’s sock, as befits a personal sockslave who is wearing a sock-concentrator device. I have no business thinking of anything other than my mistress’s socks!

·     Socks…socks…socks…socks…socks…socks…socks…socks…socks…socks…