Spring Cleaning

It must have been quite late when my footrest duties ended, after a couple of films and some reading. At least while she was watching I could follow the dialogues, but afterwards I had only the weight of her feet on my back and the sound of turning pages. She gave me a last hard kick, and joined me on the floor. Her face got serious.

"How are you holding up?" she asked. "I know I'm being a lot rougher on you than you're used to."

"It's ... very intense," I replied. "May I be-"

"I'm not going to punish you for what you say now, unless you go out of your way to piss me off. This is too important. Speak freely."

"I'm confused. I don't understand what you're doing to me or why. It feels like you're grinding down my dignity, and playing with my feelings. Going from ignoring me or using me like a thing to being playful and even kind. I feel I don't know why this is happening, or what's going to happen next. It makes me afraid and alert, like walking through an unknown room in the dark, not knowing if I'm going to stumble or hit a wall."

"Very good," she said. "That's how it's supposed to be. You need to pay your full attention for training to be most effective." She lay her hands on my shoulders and rubbed them lightly. "Does it feel good or bad? I'm sure at least a part of you likes it."

"It's somehow both. It brings forth a really intense desire to submit, serve you and please you. I want you to be proud of your possession, and kind to me, and most of all I want to be good and bring you joy. That means I feel like my self is being crushed, but being docile and attentive is sweet somehow."

"One last thing: how are you doing practically?" she asked.

"I really want to stretch. Please, may I?"

"No," she said. "Answer properly. I don't give a fuck about what you want, you little shit. Tell me if you have any real problems there, or is it just your spoiled arse can't stay still for me?"

"I'm sorry, mistress," I said, surprised to notice I really was. I had gone back to being selfish and Alice was disappointed. "The rope doesn't seem to pinch or cut my blood flow. The position is not too hard on my joints, since I can shift a little. The board isn't hurting my hands."

"Better," she said. "I know I'm asking a lot. You're just going to have to trust me, adore me, and submit absolutely to my smallest whim. That's what this is about. I want to fully own you the way I deserve to, without limits or reservations."

I shivered with a bittersweet mixture of fear and shame, seeing the firmness of her gaze and yielding to her superior will.

"It's time to unveil your ordeal," she said.

She moved my board and some of the boxes she had been handling near her bed., pointing my head towards them so I could see.

"First, I think it's fair to tell you now you're not moving from that board until I'm back," she said, with a wicked smile.

I wanted to protest but I knew it would be futile. Moreover, I realised that, even if I wasn't the abject slave she craved, I wanted to become it, and that part of it meant accepting her right to dispose of me as she wished, hard as it might be.

"No complaints?" she asked. "I'm surprised, and impressed." She caressed my cheek, making me whimper and press back on her palm with my face. "Good boy," she said, softly. "I knew you could learn to surrender all you are to me. Now you have taken the first step, you need only place yourself in my hands, and I will help you the rest of the way, however much it hurts you."

They were scary words, but they also made me feel sheltered by her dominant aura. I knew she would take care of me, the way a slave or a pet need to be: constant use, strict training and harsh punishment. I knew it, I accepted it, and though I couldn't yet embrace it fully, I somehow yearned for it, to fill the hole I hadn't realised I had inside, and complete the service I owed my mistress.

"Second," she added, "in order to make sure you don't cause any trouble, I have this for you." She opened one of the boxes and took out a collar she seemed to have made some additions to. She fit it around my neck and locked it with a loud click. It wasn't too tight, but it had something which stuck close to my throat, making it hard to ignore.

"It has several interesting functions you don't need to know about, but I'll explain two of them. Try to take it off," she ordered.

I contorted my neck, bringing it close to one of my hands, looking for the lock, tried to work out the logic of it, and pressed on it to release it. I got a light electric shock in my fingers and the back of my neck that made me yell, and Alice laughed.

"Perfect!" she said. "It will resist tampering. You need me to release it remotely, if I don't forget the password, of course," she said. At least that wasn't a real concern: Alice was terrifyingly organised.

"The other feature activates when you talk," she said. "Give it a shot."

"What should I say?" I asked. As I started to talk the collar began to vibrate, and it stopped when I went quiet.

"Noticed that?" she asked. "You can cough, sneeze, swallow, and so on. Your voice will trigger the speech detector though."

"What's the point of it?" I asked.

"To keep you quiet while I'm away. There's a small chance you panic and start shouting for rescue." She placed something cold around my toes I couldn't identify by touch. "Say something now."

"I don't-Fuck!"

As soon as I raised my voice, I got a nasty shock on my toes. The shock made me yell, which kept the circuit going, and it took me a couple of seconds to quiet myself, which Alice found incredibly amusing.

"Distributed systems. The sensor is right on your throat where it does the most good, and the shocker on your toes, very sensitive and painful but quite harmless. I don't want to keep it so close to your head, after all. This will keep you from panicking and asking for help while I'm away." She did something on her phone. "You can talk for now. I turned it off."

I was afraid to speak, and I could imagine how much worse it would get after days of use.

"Mistress, I am scared," I admitted. "I'm not sure I am strong enough to bear what you want me to, and what if there's a fire or something? How can I get out if I'm tied up and silenced?"

"Do you adore me, pet?" she asked.

"I do, mistress, with all my heart."

"Ah, but do you trust me?"

I hesitated a moment, and realised Alice was in charge for a reason. She always thought things through and planned ahead. She wouldn't let anything happen to me other than what she herself intended, which was bad enough, and the real source of my fear.

"I trust you, mistress," I said. "But can I trust myself to endure through this without you? 5 days is a long time to be restrained like this. I'm afraid I'll go crazy or something. If you were here you could talk me down, but..."

"I am convinced you can do it. You don't want to disappoint me about this."

I nodded in acceptance, hoping her confidence in me was well-placed.

"Where was I? Discipline by stillness, discipline by silence, and now comes the third and most important part: discipline by service." She patted one of her boxes, which would probably start appearing in my nightmares.

"These are all the socks you failed to wash this year," she said. "I'm going to give you the opportunity to do so while I'm away. My intention is to make this extremely difficult for you, but not outright impossible. If you don't give it everything, if I decide you've been lazy or disobedient, it will clarify things for us. I'll just let you go."

"No!" I cried. "What if something happens and-"

"Do you trust me, pet?" she asked.

"Sorry," I replied, blushing.

"Now, just so you don't think I'm a meanie," she said chuckling, "there's a chance for a reward, too. If you do it well enough... you're getting something very nice."

"What is it?" I asked.

"Well, you get to come!" she said.

"Really?"

"As many times as you like," she added. "I choose how, but you get all the release you want the day I come back."

"Wow! That's... amazing. I hope I can deserve it."

"So do I, pet, so do I."

"So how am I washing them? I'm a bit tied up over here," I said, buoyed by the prospect of being allowed as much pleasure as I could bear, after weeks of waiting.

"Oh, didn't you guess?" she asked. "With your mouth, of course."

I couldn't believe it. Washing so many dirty socks with my mouth was not only disgusting, it was impossible. How on earth could I do it? I'd get dry in no time. Instead of blurting a protest though, I relaxed my resistance and reaffirmed my submission in my mind. Then I realised I'd been asked if I trusted my beloved mistress twice already, and she shouldn't have to ask me a third time. If she said she wouldn't make it impossible, she had thought of a way for me to do it, though it might not be an easy one.

"If I may ask, how will I do it? It doesn't seem possible without some help, but I'm sure you must have thought of a way," I said, now calm.

"You trust me, pet,", she said smiling at me. "You're going to use your mouth, but I'll leave you enough water to wash them with and then some. After all, you're going to need something to drink while I'm away. It's up to you how you use it, but I advise you to grab a sock with your mouth, take in some water, swirl it inside and swallow, until you get rid of all the dirt. The only requirement is no spilling. A few drops by mistake are ok, but no more."

Ok, that sounded unpleasant, very unpleasant in fact, but doable. The reward was too good not to try my best, and knowing how much she wanted me to do it might help me through the shame and revulsion.

"Now I've explained what's going to happen, I'll set everything up. You're going to be under my bed, covered with blankets to keep the delicious scent in. I've made sure your bowels are clean, a kindness you didn't show much gratitude for, but you'll go through a lot of liquid. Would you like a nappy, or just a large box under the area?"

"The box, please," I replied. The nappy wasn't only embarrassing, but would probably get way too soaked in that much time.

She went to the sink and filled a large plastic box about 1x1m and 30cm deep. Then she attached the one with the sock laundry to the board, right in front of my face, and another empty one for the clean ones by it. Everything slotted together in such a way I couldn't nudge or overturn things. She placed a tube into the water which I could suck from, making it clear I wouldn't have the reach to dip the socks into the water to help me wash them. All the work would have to be done by my mouth, and the filth would have to go down my throat. She covered me with several blankets, and removed the lid from the socks. Immediately, my nose was assaulted by revolting, stale unwashed sock stench I could not escape, making me cough. She placed the whole arrangement, with me captive on it, under her bed, as I cried tears of humiliation and wondered what sort of pathetic loser I was to allow someone to do this to me.

"There, we're all set," she said. "Anything you want to say before I put you on mute?"

"Thank you, mistress, for putting so much work into this." I spoke trying to hide my weeping. "I know I haven't been good enough for you and that you deserve a slave who will accept this defilement with joy. I'm not that slave yet, but I hope that you are right and I will learn to submit more fully."

"Pretty words," she said. "You better mean them. Are you weeping, little one?" she asked kindly.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I can't help it."

"That's alright. Cry yourself to sleep like the worthless foot slut you are, surrounded by the inescapable toxic miasma of three months of my crusted-up foot sweat going straight into your helpless nose and filtering through into your brain, tormenting you and extinguishing any shred of resistance to my will," she said in a stern voice. "Night night, toy," she chirped.

I wept quietly, overwhelmed by everything: her words, the discomfort of being unable to move freely, the suffocating sense of being enclosed by the blankets, the darkness and silence, and of course the unrelenting dirty sock smell pounding my nose like a cheesy, fermented ram hitting me with each breath.

I must have fallen asleep, because I woke up hearing Alice move around the room, probably finishing the packing for her trip, though I couldn't tell buried in blankets under the bed. I couldn't even work out if it was night or day, though at least I wouldn't be cold. I really felt like going to the toilet, but I hated the thought of just doing it there into the box Alice had placed under my crotch. After a few days it would start stinking as bad as the socks. Well, probably nothing could smell quite so bad, but close.

Still, eventually I had no choice and had to piss. I hoped it all went where it should, at least.

I was hoping Alice would greet me, or acknowledge my existence in some way, but she didn't say a word, as if she were alone. In the end I couldn't stand her indifference.

"Good morning, mistress," I said, incurring a long shock on my toes that seemed to become stronger and stronger.

"For me, not for you, toe-rag. Or are you having fun already?" she asked.

I didn't know if answering would hurt me again, but I had no choice.

"No, mistress," I said. The shock was certainly getting stronger.

"Good. Suffer for me, toy," she said. "I decided to leave you a few treats before I go, though."

She slid my prison, rolled the blankets off my head, recoiling at the disgusting smell and laughing at my bewildered and desperate face.

"Nice tear tracts, toy," she said. "Don't think that's going to save you."

She took of her slippers and socks, moved a low stool closer, sat on it, and dipped her feet into my water. She didn't use soap, but she used her hands to clear all the dirt from her soles and carefully clean the crud between each of her toes.

"You're lucky to get some seasoning in your water, sock sniffer," she said. "Though maybe I could make it even more interesting."

She got her toenail clipper and cut her nails short, letting the clippings go into my water. Then she scraped the dirt beneath them, and washed it off with it. Finally, she filed the bits of hard skin around her heels making sure the waste went all into my drink, dipping the file in to be thorough.

"That should make it almost right," she said. "It's still missing something though... Now I think about it, my slippers could do with a wash," she said as she let them drop in. "Aren't you going to thank me?"

"Thank you, mistress, for flavouring-"

"Too hard to talk like that, I see. You did try, though, pet; you suffered for my amusement. You're pretty lucky that I already went to the toilet or I'd reward you pissing in your water, too."

Those were her last words before she placed some earphones for me, pushed me back under the bed, finished her packing, and left me alone with my unbearable task.

I decided to get started. I wasn't very sure how long it would take me, and Alice hadn't left me any way to measure time, but I suspected properly washing a sock by swirling water in my mouth wouldn't be easy.

Trying to overcome my revulsion, I hunted for a crusty, dirty sock with my lips, pulled it into my mouth, agonisingly slowly, while my tongue had no choice but to participate and feel the explosion of sharp, salty, sour flavours coming from the fabric. I sucked on the tube, filling my mouth with water, and tried to use my tongue to wash the sock in it. After a while I noticed the sock's dirt had gone into the water, dissolving some of the taste, which spread inside my entire mouth, so I got over my reluctance and swallowed the sock juice. It was clear to me, from touching the sock with my tongue, that there were still crusty and dirty bits left, and so I sucked more water from the tube and repeated the disgusting experience of having my mouth used as a sock washer. It didn't get any better, and in fact the taste of sweat, as well as the cheesy and musty smells, seemed to stick to my mouth and nose, ceaselessly reminding me of my abasement.

There isn't a lot more I can say about this. I tried to keep count of the socks I washed, and the approximate time I used, by estimation, but soon I realised the task was so intensely immediate it displaced anything else from my awareness. I couldn't wash the dirt off a sock with my tongue without giving it my full attention, simply because the sensations were too strong to ignore.

Soon my earphones began playing the sound of breathing and a heart beat. At first it was slow, but it went on getting faster, and I realised it was probably Alice's own, being relayed through some of her systems. I thought at first it might provide a distraction, but focusing on it made me feel like I was a fetus, trapped inside Alice's womb, and it brought to me a child's reverential love and fear of its mother.

I went through a number of emotions, which came and went like clouds in the sky: anger, resentment, dislike, self-pity... At first I couldn't do anything about them, but later, as clouds are dispelled by the wind, these negative emotions were pushed away by the guide I chose to follow: my love for Alice, which meant in particular the servile love of an abject slave for his natural mistress.

I kept filling my mouth with dirty socks and water, swallowing the filth, and wallowing in the knowledge my mistress wanted me to, which went from being uncomfortable to familiar, and later a calming and soothing joy. Each sock I washed was like a meditation on my mistress, whom I began to visualize with the luminous body of a goddess, pedalling her bike or resting depending on her heart beat. Every stroke of the tongue was like a rosary bead I prayed to her, every swallow went from being disgusting to giving me a twinge of pleasure, and the pride I was demeaning myself for my mistress' childish whim.

It wasn't a perfect or stable experience. I sometimes lost my focus and found myself again, on all fours, tied up and trapped in darkness. However, the more time it passed, the greater my self-denial deepened, until I became nothing but the crystallised will of my owner made flesh.

Towards the end I had to hunt for the socks in the corner of the box by stretching my tongue and trying to slide them closer to the centre, where my lips could get hold of them. Several times I thought I was done, only to find another bundle of sweat-encrusted stinking fabric for me to soil myself with. It felt like every sweat and lint I sucked on became part of my essence, making me closer in nature to my mistress' footwear than a person, which I had ceased to be when she took possession of me.

I heard the door and her steps on the floor. My heart exploded in joy. She was again with me, at last.

She unpacked her things, settled herself, and started working on her computer. What would have made me annoyed or impatient before was now simply the way things are: I'm an insignificant part of my mistress' life and she has no obligation to me. She would get to her toy when it suited her, and no sooner; as it was fitting.

At last she rescued me from her toy box. Out I went from the bed and the blankets. She looked at me, at first with contempt, then with disgust, and finally with pity.

"You're a complete fucking mess," she said. "Go get a bath. You may use hot water this time."

She did something with her phone and the ropes that bound me were cut by a cunning mechanism hidden in the board. She'd always had a way to release me if something went wrong, and my trust in her proved justified once more, as always. Then she released my collar and I removed the wires from my toes.

I took the plastic box full of stale piss with me, and made my way to the toilet, walking slowly, stiff and weakened by five days of fasting.