As a household footslave, my demeaning role, whilst my mistress is seated at the breakfast table in her pyjamas having a heated conversation with her live-in boyfriend who is seated opposite her, is NOT to eavesdrop on the conversation of my betters high above me, but to humbly and discreetly kneel beneath my mistress's chair and study the backs of her socks. The household WHIP has taught me that!
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| I am NOT eavesdropping on my mistress's breakfast conversation with her boyfriend |
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| I am instead totally focussed on the back of her sock |
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| NOT the higher sock, mind you - the one hovering in the air and enjoying all the agitated, subliminal toe-action... |
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| ...but rather the ball of the heel on her lower sock, the one closest to the floor, since I am not considered worthy enough to raise my humble head up towards her higher sock! |
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| Indeed, the heel and sole of her lower sock are all I am deemed fit to look at! |
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| I must study the stitching in the thick, grey sock... |
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| ...and enviously imagine what it would be like to be one of those lucky, grey sock stitches, absorbing the mistress's footsweat! |
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| Sure, even the front toe area of her lower sock is bent and agile... |
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| ...but I must focus on the stationary heel at the back of the sock! |
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| The whole of the higher sock is way above my kneeling, humble head - out of my slavish sight, though not out of my menial mind! |
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| I live for my mistress's socks... |
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| ...especially when they have been on her feet in bed all night! |
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| Unlike the socks (or her boyfriend) I can never be good enough to share my mistress's bed! |
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| I am, literally, just a down-at-heel sockslave! |
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| Sock! Her sock!... Oh her sock! |
