My Mistress Awakes

When my mistress first awakes every morning she unthinkingly swings her socked feet around out of the bed and rests them on my upturned face. I, of course, am required to lie next to her bed all night in case she requires me – and in order to serve as her humble footrest first thing in the morning!

She doesn’t care if her sweaty, crumpled bedsocks on her feet are moist and smelly next to my nose. I’m just her slave. I’m not important. Indeed her very sock-stink is of more importance than me, so I should be honoured to be breathing it in!

Eventually, having yawned herself awake, she brusquely orders me to kiss the undersides of her socked toes – my first act of humble, slavish obeisance of the day. There will doubtless be many more!

I feel her sock crease under my lips as my menial mouth kisses its sweaty underside.

Satisfied with my slavish humility and submission to her, my still somewhat somnolent mistress casually puts on her slippers – which have been resting in readiness for her all night on my upturned stomach – and heads off to the bathroom. As she steps down from me, I get a superb slave’s-eye view of her creased sock beneath her pajama-bottom leg. The slovenly, grey bedsock of a goddess - soon to be replaced by a neat and tidy, daytime sock which I, no doubt, shall be required to apply to her freshly showered foot. Not because she’s incapable of putting on her own socks, but because she is lazy and a mistress.

I mean, why keep a slave and put your own socks on?

Stretching and yawning as she unthinkingly rests her sweaty-bedsocked feet on top of my face and torso

I must humbly breathe in the aroma of her night-time socks!

Such a superb sock! A superior sock. Superior to me, that is!

I should feel honoured to be even breathing in the same air as this sock!

I can see the individual stitches on the sole of the plain grey sock…

…creasing and folding as my pretty mistress stretches and yawns above me!

She takes a moment to think about her day ahead. It’s a workday, so she will soon have to get ready for the office!

That realisation seems to anger her as she brusquely orders me to kiss the underside of her sock – underneath the toes!

She then watches me, sleepily and disparagingly, as I humbly comply with her demeaning commandment!

She’s still yawning – and not politely covering her mouth in my presence. And why would she? Why should she give a damn if her stale, night-time breath adds to the stench of her sweaty bedsock inside my nostrils? I’m just a slave

She slips on her slippers and uses me as a human stepping-stone down from her bed

I must remain lying here until such time as she needs me again – probably when she requires me to put her office shoes and socks on her feet

I get a good slave’s-eye view of her temporarily departing, shapely-socked ankle…

…and the creases therein!

My mistress’s sock-creases are very important to me, for they remind me that this is the living, breathing sock of a bright and intelligent young woman; of my infinite better; my sock goddess!

Her sock! Oh, her sock!... Her SOCK!