Prisoner Of Her Socks

My master's pretty girlfriend mocks me as I lie on the floor serving as a footrest for her socked feet:

'Haha, how are you liking it down there, slave? How do you like being the prisoner of my socks? Do you like the smell of my stinky, sweaty socks on your face?'

The mistress is not lying about her socks! They are decidedly sweaty and stinky, having been inside her furry, leopard-print boots all day - boots which are now also resting on my whipped torso! But I must answer the pretty mistress's kind questions respectfully and truthfully, as she is the esteemed girlfriend of my master-sir, and therefore I must be pleasing to her:

'Oh pray, mistress-madam, if it pleases you and the master-sir, pretty mistress-madam, truly this slave is privileged to breathe in the aroma of your socked feet, miss, and regards it as a stinky honour, madam, begging your female pardon and forgiveness miss, please don't have the master-sir beat me miss?' 

The aforementioned master-sir chips in at this point:

'Haha, you wouldn't catch me lying on the dirty floor with your stinky socks on my face, darling! Haha, what a loser he is - a stinky-faced loser!'

The master-sir's pretty girlfriend looks lovingly towards him, and chuckles. She then looks back down at my sock-covered face again:

'Haha, do you hear that, slave? My boyfriend - your master - thinks you're a stinky-faced loser! What do you have to say to that, boy?'

'Oh pray, mistress-madam. God bless you, pretty mistress-madam. And God bless my handsome master-sir, miss. The master-sir is, as always, perfectly correct, miss. For he is a perfect, real man, miss, whereas I am just a socksniffing loser-slave, miss, begging both your and the master's pardons, miss?'

The happy couple laugh out loud at me.

'Haha, how are you liking it down there, slave? How do you like being the prisoner of my socks? Do you like the smell of my stinky, sweaty socks on your face?'

'Oh pray, mistress-madam, if it pleases you and the master-sir, pretty mistress-madam, truly this slave is privileged to breathe in the aroma of your socked feet, miss, and regards it as a stinky honour, madam...

...begging your female pardon and forgiveness miss, please don't have the master-sir beat me miss?' 

The pretty mistress's warm, freshly removed boots are also resting on my torso

The master-sir chips in, calling me a 'stinky-faced loser'

His pretty girlfriend looks lovingly at him and laughs at his witty comments

She then asks me if I agree with my master-sir, that I am a stinky-faced loser?

I humbly respond that the master-sir is right, and beg the superior couple's pardon for my lowliness and wretchedness

Meanwhile, she presses down one of her socks on my throat...

...thereby compelling me to breathe in even more deeply through my nose!

Truly I am indeed the prisoner of her socks - and at their mercy!

Her socks are my masters!


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