Sockorific Stupor
Sockorific Stupor - The giddy state experienced by a slave when he is required to sniff his mistress’s sweaty socks. Often leading to sock hallucinations.
Regular customer-mistress Ms Mukta madam, and her husband master Simon sir, have kindly brought me a smelly gift – which they are oftentimes wont to do. On this occasion the ‘gift’ takes the form of a pair of Ms Mukta’s used, sweaty grey socks, which she is kindly holding up to my face so that I can breathe in their stinky aroma.
You will note that she has, in fact, draped one of her smelly socks over the top of my humble head, as a symbol of my subordination to her socks. With her gloved hand (gloved, because she naturally doesn’t wish to sully her bare hands with the stink from her socks) she then holds the other, scrunched-up sock up to my nose, and commands me to sniff it.
Master Simon sir, who is watching on from a safe distance, laughs at me and mocks me, as well he might since I am now reduced to being his lovely wife’s stinky socksniffer! He calls me a ‘stinkface’, and asks me how I am liking the smell? I respond to his question truthfully, and with all appropriate slavespeak submissiveness, by informing the master-sir that I like it, but not that much, if he would be so kind and understanding to a slave in his power and at his mercy, since the stale aroma of his wife’s sock is piquant, and not in a good way.
I then beseech his, and his wife’s, forgiveness and mercy for my impudence. However they both just laugh at me, with Ms Mukta madam, the owner of the dirty sock, declaring that the sock’s ‘piquancy’ can be explained by the fact that she was wearing it inside her sneaker all day yesterday, including during her 5 mile run, and so her foot would have excreted lots of sweat into it.
I thank the mistress kindly for her kind explanation in between my gasps for air, and in my sockorific stupor I notice that both Ms Mukta madam, and her husband master Simon sir, are wearing black socks inside their shoes today. The heady thought occurs to me that it would truly be an honour to sniff their socks on their feet right now, since they are the socks of my betters. But I refrain from asking them to remove their shoes from their feet just to indulge me in such a sock-selfish privilege, since I don’t wish to push my footslavish luck too far!
It is, you see, a great honour for the likes of me – a mere head-in-the-wall public footservant – to actually get to smell his customers’ socks, since they are nearly always hidden inside their shoes or boots. I am therefore very much reliant on the generosity and forethought of such kindly customer-mistresses as Ms Mukta madam to actually bring me their dirty, unwashed socks to sniff, and it is a kindness not many of my busy customers have the time to indulge me in.
I say ‘kindness’, but it is, of course, a bittersweet kindness, since the smell of sweaty, used sock is overwhelmingly unpleasant – or ‘piquant’ as I had so politely put it to the master and mistress. Indeed, I start to feel myself sinking in the sweaty fog of Ms Mukta’s sock, and momentarily fear I might even pass out!
But I survive to sniff another sock – and, thanks to Ms Mukta kindly rubbing her damp, grey sock all over my face before she leaves, my feckless face reeks of her very personal and unique, feminine sockstink, and I can thus smell the residual stinky odour for several hours thereafter before it seeps deeper into my facial pores.
