The Human Vacuum Cleaner
Tale no. 15 – The Human Vacuum Cleaner
‘I am the private footslave and general dogsbody of a rich Arab woman, Madam Abrar (40), and her daughter, miss Furat (20). Madam also employs an Indian maid, miss Sanvani (25), to supervise my work.
It is the only work miss Sanvani has to do – and she does it very well. She is, even if I have to admit it myself – a most excellent and diligent taskmistress and supervisor, who works me very hard on behalf of her two Arab mistresses.
This morning miss Sanvani is making me vacuum-clean miss Furat’s bedroom floor with my mouth. It is a task which I have to perform just once a week, but I always dread it. I am always left with a sore throat, caused by having to suck up and swallow all the dust and germs from the lavish, snowy-white carpet of miss Furat’s opulent bedroom floor.
In particular, I am required to look out for any little pieces of black sock-lint from the soles of miss Furat’s pretty, black ankle socks. Miss Furat likes to walk around her bedroom in her socked feet, but she dislikes seeing her nice, white bedroom carpet being soiled by little pieces of black sock lint from her black ankle socks.
Of course, I have to dispose of and remove (by swallowing) any lint from the soles of her white socks, or indeed from her many pairs of other-coloured socks, as well – but it is the black sock-lint in particular that tends to stand out on the snowy-white carpet of miss Furat’s bedroom floor, and therefore it is the black sock-lint that offends her the most.
Although I can’t see them, I am also, of course, simultaneously inhaling and ingesting the germs from miss Furat’s bare feet – for she doesn’t always walk around in her socked feet. Miss Furat does sometimes like to feel the fluffy, white carpet on the soles of her pretty, bare feet.
Moreover, sometimes she is still wearing her shoes, boots or sandals when she enters her bedroom, and so, mixed in with her bare-foot bacteria and her sock-lint, is the dirt and dust from the city streets – transferred onto her bedroom carpet on the soles of her feminine, outer footwear.
All of it must come off her bedroom carpet and go into my slave mouth and down my slave throat, for that is where my young mistress Furat’s sock-lint, foot-bacteria, and shoe-dirt belongs – in my footslave stomach.
At least, that is what miss Furat, her mother, Madam Abrar, and her maid, miss Sanvani – my overseer – all believe. And who am I - a mere humble, male footslave - to disagree with three such superior women?
As she towers over me, her short, stocky overseer’s whip known as a ‘bull’s-pizzle’ in hand, my Indian overseer miss Sanvani gives me my crystal-clear orders, albeit in her broken English and with her thick, Indian accent:
‘You, slave, will now be sucking miss Furat’s bedroom floor, isn’t it? Be making sure you are sucking up all the dirt and sock-lint from miss Furat’s carpet, or Sanvani will be beating you hard! Slave move! Begin! Work!’
And with that miss Sanvani moves to stand directly behind me as I kneel on the snowy, white carpet of miss Furat’s bedroom floor, ready to bring down the pizzle on my bare back as I dutifully lower my permanently-bowed head to the floor, purse my lips, and begin sucking on a patch of the carpet.
Out of the corner of my eye I can just see miss Sanvani’s feet and shoes. She is wearing a pair of tight-fitting, black denim jeans – the hems of which barely cover her soft, brown Indian ankles – and black, slip-on shoes on dark-blue sneaker socks with two white stripes along the elasticated tops. The sneaker socks are so short they too leave her shapely, Indian ankle bones exposed, and the elasticated tops of her socks disappear completely down the backs of her shoes at the heels. I can therefore admire the feminine shapeliness of the tendons at the backs of her heels as I suck carpet.
As I eagerly search out miss Furat’s black sock-lint in the bedroom floor, I find myself wishing I could detect also some navy-blue sock lint from the soles of miss Sanvani’s pretty blue and white sneaker-socks – but I know in my heart of hearts that there won’t be any. Miss Sanvani, the Indian maid, would not dream of being so disrespectful to her Arab employers as to wander around their house in her socked feet!
Nevertheless, I am conscious of the fact that there must surely be some dust and dirt from the soles of miss Sanvani’s black, slip-on shoes on miss Furat’s bedroom carpet – and that thought comforts me.
Miss Sanvani’s short, blue and white ankle-socks crease and fold inside her black slip-on shoes as she walks threateningly behind me around the room whilst I suck up the dirt and sock lint from miss Furat’s bedroom carpet. I suppose you could say I am always ‘sucking up’ to miss Furat, for in my humble experience if the spoilt and petulant, twenty year old miss Furat is happy with my work, then her mother, Madam Abrar will be happy; which in turn means miss Sanvani will be happy; which in turn means miss Sanvani won’t feel the need to beat me; which in turn means I shall be happy.
Not being beaten makes me happy. So, to cut a long story short, everyone is happy so long as I remember to suck up to my female betters and superiors.
And, let’s be honest, my work – though it is demeaning and laborious – is not exactly difficult: sucking the foot and shoe germs, and pieces of young Arab-woman sock lint, out of her bedroom carpet. Any old fool could do it!
And I am, without doubt, an old fool.
My mistress Sanvani suddenly orders me to stop when miss Furat unexpectedly enters her bedroom. She is, apparently, getting ready to go out to college and is looking for her white sneakers.
Miss Furat is already fully dressed (apart from her sneakers) in her traditional black headscarf; modest white blouse; matching white, denim jeans; and beloved black ankle socks. As she walks across to her bed, therefore, she is spreading yet more black sock-lint onto her bedroom floor – thereby causing more work for me to do.
And rightly so – for that is my job: to pick up and clean up after miss Furat.
Miss Furat sits on the edge of her bed with her somewhat tatty and well-worn, lace-up, greyish-white sneakers lying beside her socked feet on the floor. She can’t be bothered to put her sneakers on herself, and so asks her maid, miss Sanvani, to order me to put her sneakers on her feet for her.
Miss Sanvani is only too pleased to give the human vacuum-cleaner this extra, demeaning task:
‘Slave, you must be obeying your mistress Furat. Be crawling over to her feet this instant and be putting her sneakers onto her feet. Do not be touching your mistress’s socks with your dirty, slave hands while you are putting her sneakers onto her feet, or you will be being whipped! Obey now! Move!’
Miss Sanvani is still holding her beloved bull’s-pizzle in her pretty, Indian hands and so without any further ado I crawl over to my young, black-headscarfed, Arab mistress’s obligingly outstretched black-socked feet and begin the tricky process of putting her dirty, scuff-marked, white sneakers onto her socked feet without touching her precious socks with my dirty and worthless, slave hands.
I am, of course, permitted – indeed required – to kiss miss Furat’s socked feet with my slave lips prior to putting her tatty, old sneakers onto her pretty, Arab feet. That goes without saying! I must always demonstrate my respect for my superior, Arab mistress’s feet before attending to them!
However, not being allowed to touch her socks with my hands means I have to manoeuvre the as yet unlaced, greyish-white sneaker onto her obligingly outstretched right foot with my slave nose and face – a comical procedure to watch if you are the powerful, female owner of the sneakers; or, indeed, if you are the sneaker-owner’s maidservant; but not so comical if you are the unfortunate male footslave trying desperately not to touch the sneaker-owner’s socked feet whilst placing her sneakers onto her superior, young-womanly, Arab feet.
But, having said all that, I am now well-practised in the art of putting miss Furat’s sneakers onto her feet in this ultra-respectful and slavish manner, and it is therefore with a sense of relief at another job well-done that I can tie the dirty-grey laces of miss Furat’s well-worn sneakers after I have successfully placed them onto her feet without using my hands.
When miss Furat stands up the hems of her white, denim jeans reach right down to the upper rims of her off-white sneakers, leaving only a slither of black, feminine ankle sock still visible along her insteps – black, feminine sock to match her black, feminine headscarf.
I find myself aching – yearning - to be allowed to follow miss Furat to college on my hands and knees, crawling humbly to heel behind her sneakered and socked feet; perhaps catching the occasional, furtive glimpse of the backs of her superior, black ankle-socks as she walks along with her books tucked under her arm. I love that combination of girly, white sneakers and girly, black socks. The contrast is so nice!
But I am not considered worthy to accompany miss Furat to her college. I am her houseboy, and must remain behind in her bedroom sucking up her sock lint – including any fresh sock lint that may have just come off the soles of those same, black ankle socks which I have just been admiring inside her dirty, grey-white sneakers.
‘Be resuming your work, slave!’ barks miss Sanvani down at me after miss Furat has left the room – kicking me in the top of my kneeling thigh with the rounded toe of her black, leather slip-on shoe, and thereby reminding me that if I wish to admire a young woman’s socks whilst I suck on the bedroom carpet floor, it will have to be the short, navy-blue and white-striped socks of my Indian taskmistress.
It’s either that, or feel the bruising sting of the Indian overseer’s bull’s-pizzle on my bare back!
I therefore suck up young-arab-woman, black sock-lint, and admire young-indian-woman, blue and white sock, as I humbly obey my female superiors and betters. Truly I am not worthy to suck the ground on which they walk!’
From Footslave's Tales Volume 3
‘I am the private footslave and general dogsbody of a rich Arab woman, Madam Abrar (40), and her daughter, miss Furat (20). Madam also employs an Indian maid, miss Sanvani (25), to supervise my work.
It is the only work miss Sanvani has to do – and she does it very well. She is, even if I have to admit it myself – a most excellent and diligent taskmistress and supervisor, who works me very hard on behalf of her two Arab mistresses.
This morning miss Sanvani is making me vacuum-clean miss Furat’s bedroom floor with my mouth. It is a task which I have to perform just once a week, but I always dread it. I am always left with a sore throat, caused by having to suck up and swallow all the dust and germs from the lavish, snowy-white carpet of miss Furat’s opulent bedroom floor.
In particular, I am required to look out for any little pieces of black sock-lint from the soles of miss Furat’s pretty, black ankle socks. Miss Furat likes to walk around her bedroom in her socked feet, but she dislikes seeing her nice, white bedroom carpet being soiled by little pieces of black sock lint from her black ankle socks.
Of course, I have to dispose of and remove (by swallowing) any lint from the soles of her white socks, or indeed from her many pairs of other-coloured socks, as well – but it is the black sock-lint in particular that tends to stand out on the snowy-white carpet of miss Furat’s bedroom floor, and therefore it is the black sock-lint that offends her the most.
Although I can’t see them, I am also, of course, simultaneously inhaling and ingesting the germs from miss Furat’s bare feet – for she doesn’t always walk around in her socked feet. Miss Furat does sometimes like to feel the fluffy, white carpet on the soles of her pretty, bare feet.
Moreover, sometimes she is still wearing her shoes, boots or sandals when she enters her bedroom, and so, mixed in with her bare-foot bacteria and her sock-lint, is the dirt and dust from the city streets – transferred onto her bedroom carpet on the soles of her feminine, outer footwear.
All of it must come off her bedroom carpet and go into my slave mouth and down my slave throat, for that is where my young mistress Furat’s sock-lint, foot-bacteria, and shoe-dirt belongs – in my footslave stomach.
At least, that is what miss Furat, her mother, Madam Abrar, and her maid, miss Sanvani – my overseer – all believe. And who am I - a mere humble, male footslave - to disagree with three such superior women?
As she towers over me, her short, stocky overseer’s whip known as a ‘bull’s-pizzle’ in hand, my Indian overseer miss Sanvani gives me my crystal-clear orders, albeit in her broken English and with her thick, Indian accent:
‘You, slave, will now be sucking miss Furat’s bedroom floor, isn’t it? Be making sure you are sucking up all the dirt and sock-lint from miss Furat’s carpet, or Sanvani will be beating you hard! Slave move! Begin! Work!’
And with that miss Sanvani moves to stand directly behind me as I kneel on the snowy, white carpet of miss Furat’s bedroom floor, ready to bring down the pizzle on my bare back as I dutifully lower my permanently-bowed head to the floor, purse my lips, and begin sucking on a patch of the carpet.
Out of the corner of my eye I can just see miss Sanvani’s feet and shoes. She is wearing a pair of tight-fitting, black denim jeans – the hems of which barely cover her soft, brown Indian ankles – and black, slip-on shoes on dark-blue sneaker socks with two white stripes along the elasticated tops. The sneaker socks are so short they too leave her shapely, Indian ankle bones exposed, and the elasticated tops of her socks disappear completely down the backs of her shoes at the heels. I can therefore admire the feminine shapeliness of the tendons at the backs of her heels as I suck carpet.
As I eagerly search out miss Furat’s black sock-lint in the bedroom floor, I find myself wishing I could detect also some navy-blue sock lint from the soles of miss Sanvani’s pretty blue and white sneaker-socks – but I know in my heart of hearts that there won’t be any. Miss Sanvani, the Indian maid, would not dream of being so disrespectful to her Arab employers as to wander around their house in her socked feet!
Nevertheless, I am conscious of the fact that there must surely be some dust and dirt from the soles of miss Sanvani’s black, slip-on shoes on miss Furat’s bedroom carpet – and that thought comforts me.
Miss Sanvani’s short, blue and white ankle-socks crease and fold inside her black slip-on shoes as she walks threateningly behind me around the room whilst I suck up the dirt and sock lint from miss Furat’s bedroom carpet. I suppose you could say I am always ‘sucking up’ to miss Furat, for in my humble experience if the spoilt and petulant, twenty year old miss Furat is happy with my work, then her mother, Madam Abrar will be happy; which in turn means miss Sanvani will be happy; which in turn means miss Sanvani won’t feel the need to beat me; which in turn means I shall be happy.
Not being beaten makes me happy. So, to cut a long story short, everyone is happy so long as I remember to suck up to my female betters and superiors.
And, let’s be honest, my work – though it is demeaning and laborious – is not exactly difficult: sucking the foot and shoe germs, and pieces of young Arab-woman sock lint, out of her bedroom carpet. Any old fool could do it!
And I am, without doubt, an old fool.
My mistress Sanvani suddenly orders me to stop when miss Furat unexpectedly enters her bedroom. She is, apparently, getting ready to go out to college and is looking for her white sneakers.
Miss Furat is already fully dressed (apart from her sneakers) in her traditional black headscarf; modest white blouse; matching white, denim jeans; and beloved black ankle socks. As she walks across to her bed, therefore, she is spreading yet more black sock-lint onto her bedroom floor – thereby causing more work for me to do.
And rightly so – for that is my job: to pick up and clean up after miss Furat.
Miss Furat sits on the edge of her bed with her somewhat tatty and well-worn, lace-up, greyish-white sneakers lying beside her socked feet on the floor. She can’t be bothered to put her sneakers on herself, and so asks her maid, miss Sanvani, to order me to put her sneakers on her feet for her.
Miss Sanvani is only too pleased to give the human vacuum-cleaner this extra, demeaning task:
‘Slave, you must be obeying your mistress Furat. Be crawling over to her feet this instant and be putting her sneakers onto her feet. Do not be touching your mistress’s socks with your dirty, slave hands while you are putting her sneakers onto her feet, or you will be being whipped! Obey now! Move!’
Miss Sanvani is still holding her beloved bull’s-pizzle in her pretty, Indian hands and so without any further ado I crawl over to my young, black-headscarfed, Arab mistress’s obligingly outstretched black-socked feet and begin the tricky process of putting her dirty, scuff-marked, white sneakers onto her socked feet without touching her precious socks with my dirty and worthless, slave hands.
I am, of course, permitted – indeed required – to kiss miss Furat’s socked feet with my slave lips prior to putting her tatty, old sneakers onto her pretty, Arab feet. That goes without saying! I must always demonstrate my respect for my superior, Arab mistress’s feet before attending to them!
However, not being allowed to touch her socks with my hands means I have to manoeuvre the as yet unlaced, greyish-white sneaker onto her obligingly outstretched right foot with my slave nose and face – a comical procedure to watch if you are the powerful, female owner of the sneakers; or, indeed, if you are the sneaker-owner’s maidservant; but not so comical if you are the unfortunate male footslave trying desperately not to touch the sneaker-owner’s socked feet whilst placing her sneakers onto her superior, young-womanly, Arab feet.
But, having said all that, I am now well-practised in the art of putting miss Furat’s sneakers onto her feet in this ultra-respectful and slavish manner, and it is therefore with a sense of relief at another job well-done that I can tie the dirty-grey laces of miss Furat’s well-worn sneakers after I have successfully placed them onto her feet without using my hands.
When miss Furat stands up the hems of her white, denim jeans reach right down to the upper rims of her off-white sneakers, leaving only a slither of black, feminine ankle sock still visible along her insteps – black, feminine sock to match her black, feminine headscarf.
I find myself aching – yearning - to be allowed to follow miss Furat to college on my hands and knees, crawling humbly to heel behind her sneakered and socked feet; perhaps catching the occasional, furtive glimpse of the backs of her superior, black ankle-socks as she walks along with her books tucked under her arm. I love that combination of girly, white sneakers and girly, black socks. The contrast is so nice!
But I am not considered worthy to accompany miss Furat to her college. I am her houseboy, and must remain behind in her bedroom sucking up her sock lint – including any fresh sock lint that may have just come off the soles of those same, black ankle socks which I have just been admiring inside her dirty, grey-white sneakers.
‘Be resuming your work, slave!’ barks miss Sanvani down at me after miss Furat has left the room – kicking me in the top of my kneeling thigh with the rounded toe of her black, leather slip-on shoe, and thereby reminding me that if I wish to admire a young woman’s socks whilst I suck on the bedroom carpet floor, it will have to be the short, navy-blue and white-striped socks of my Indian taskmistress.
It’s either that, or feel the bruising sting of the Indian overseer’s bull’s-pizzle on my bare back!
I therefore suck up young-arab-woman, black sock-lint, and admire young-indian-woman, blue and white sock, as I humbly obey my female superiors and betters. Truly I am not worthy to suck the ground on which they walk!’
From Footslave's Tales Volume 3
