Exercise
Tale no. 12 – Exercise
‘I am on my hands and knees in the laundry room tongue-polishing a pair of my mistress’s scuff-marked, white, spike-heeled, pointy-toed, zip-up ankle boots. After I have finished licking clean my mistress’s boots there is a pile of her dirty socks and tights for me to mouth-wash.
My mistress is a very strict, young West-African woman called miss Odubijo. She is just 25 years old – therefore twenty years’ my junior – and she is, or rather was, an illegal immigrant. However she qualified to stay here under the ‘amnesty for women-illegals’ announced by the Supreme Mistress Julia Caesar last year, and since then my mistress has also been joined by her common-law husband from Africa, 30 year old master Atumbe.
I was given to miss Odubijo as a good-will gesture by the State at the time of the Amnesty as the Supreme Mistress Julia Caesar had also decreed that every female former illegal-immigrant should be given a personal footslave to help her assimilate fully into society. The thinking was that the new slave-owner, in addition to having a slave to attend to her own foot-needs, could also pimp her personal slave as a women’s public footslave-whore on the streets if they so wished, thereby having a steady source of income. My mistress Odubijo took the State up on its suggestion and now lives quite well off my immoral earnings as a dirty, public foot-whore. My mistress Odubijo doesn’t work herself. Nor does her husband Atumbe, my master.
The State also supplied my mistress Odubijo with a free whip and, unfortunately for me, with free lessons in the use of that whip – training which I am ashamed to say she has since had occasion to put into effect many times due to my slavish stupidity and incompetence.
My mistress is not the most physically attractive of young, African women. Nor is she very bright. In fact, an arrogant, free man might (somewhat unkindly) describe her as fat, plain-looking, thick and lazy. But, of course, I am in no position to make such derogatory statements about my mistress, for I am her personal footslave and she is my better. To me, therefore, she is my African Queen, and I am not worthy to kiss her bare, African feet – only her sweaty, worn socks and her scuff-marked boots.
Right now my mistress and master are relaxing on a couch in their living room, no doubt enjoying a sensual cuddle, which they often do in the afternoons whilst lazily watching daytime TV. In addition to my boot and sock cleaning duties in the laundry room, I am expected to wait on my mistress and master hand and foot throughout the day, prior to being ‘pimped’ out on the streets in the evenings.
I therefore must make absolutely sure that I manage to get all my mistress’s dirty hosiery properly mouth-washed and hung up to dry before the master and mistress come down to put the leather leash around my slave neck and lead me out onto the streets as a working foot-whore.
The trouble is that I am repeatedly interrupted in my humble laundry work by the mistress summoning me to attend to some perceived need or other whilst she relaxes in her boyfriend’s arms in the living room.
Like now – for example! I have just finished licking clean my mistress’s white ankle boots, and started to suck the sweat out of one of her dirty, navy-blue bootsocks, when I hear my mistress’s piercing West African voice shouting impatiently for me to attend to her:
‘Footslave! Footslave! Come here!’
I crawl on my hands and knees (I am never allowed to walk or run) up the bare, wooden staircase and into the carpeted living room where my mistress is relaxing on the sofa in master Atumbe’s lap. He is fondling her hair and they are kissing. Her right leg is hanging indolently down from the edge of the sofa. She is wearing cheap, white (or more accurately grey-with-wear) sneakers with two red stripes on the sides, and matching, snowy white, calf-length tube socks with two red hoops near the thick, ribbed elasticated tops. Her thick, white socks seem to make her brown, West African calf muscles seem even fatter than they actually are, although the calf muscle on her right foot now looks particularly fat partly because it is resting against the side of the sofa.
I am, as usual, initially ignored by the happy, kissing, African couple as I kneel, head suitably bowed, beside my mistress’s dangling right foot. Because I still have lots of work to do in the laundry room, I feel obliged to remind the superior mistress that she has summoned me, trying desperately not to sound in any way abrupt or impatient as that would be a completely inappropriate tone for a mere slave to take vis-à-vis his masters and betters:
‘Oh pray, mistress Odubijo, you summoned me, mistress Odubijo?’
My mistress and master temporarily stop embracing, and my mistress glares down at me and clicks her teeth in a gesture of annoyance at my interruption (an interruption which she, of course, has effectively caused by summoning me in the first place!):
‘Tch! Straighten my sock, dirty slave!’
It is only now that I notice that the top of my African mistress’s thick, calf-length, red and white tube sock is ever so slightly twisted. So this is why I have been summoned all the way up from the laundry room – to straighten a tiny crease in the top of my mistress’s sock! How humiliating! How degrading! I mean, it’s not like she couldn’t have just reached down and straightened her sock herself!
But, of course, that’s the whole point – she has the power to make me stop whatever I am doing in the laundry room and crawl all the way up here just to straighten the top of her red and white tube sock because she can’t be bothered to straighten it herself. And precisely because she has that power, she is fully entitled to exercise it.
It is, after all, the only exercise she gets!
And so I must bite my tongue and humbly, and cheerfully, obey:
‘Yes mistress Odubijo. At once, mistress Odubijo. As it pleases you mistress Odubijo.’
The happy, young African couple embrace and start kissing again whilst I reach forward and gently straighten out the tiny crease in the top of my mistress’s right, calf-length, red and white tube sock as her leg dangles lethargically by the side of the sofa - taking great care not to let my dirty, slave fingers touch my mistress’s soft, bare, brown, African flesh as such insolence would be sure to earn me a severe whipping with the State-supplied whip!
With the red and white tube sock duly straightened I am anxious to get back to my boot-cleaning and sock-sucking in the laundry room:
‘Oh pray mistress Odubijo, if it pleases you mistress Odubijo, will that be all mistress Odubijo?’
Once again my mistress interrupts her kissing of her husband in order to click her teeth in irritation and snap down at me:
‘Tch! Get out, dirty slave!’
‘Yes mistress. At once mistress. Thank you mistress!’
I hear the master chuckling to himself as my mistress peremptorily dismisses me back to the laundry room. What a loser, he is thinking. What a downtrodden fool – a foot-fool to my beloved wife. Ha! Ha! Get back to work, loser! Suck on my wife’s dirty, sweaty socks whilst I get back to kissing her lovely, luscious lips!’
‘I am on my hands and knees in the laundry room tongue-polishing a pair of my mistress’s scuff-marked, white, spike-heeled, pointy-toed, zip-up ankle boots. After I have finished licking clean my mistress’s boots there is a pile of her dirty socks and tights for me to mouth-wash.
My mistress is a very strict, young West-African woman called miss Odubijo. She is just 25 years old – therefore twenty years’ my junior – and she is, or rather was, an illegal immigrant. However she qualified to stay here under the ‘amnesty for women-illegals’ announced by the Supreme Mistress Julia Caesar last year, and since then my mistress has also been joined by her common-law husband from Africa, 30 year old master Atumbe.
I was given to miss Odubijo as a good-will gesture by the State at the time of the Amnesty as the Supreme Mistress Julia Caesar had also decreed that every female former illegal-immigrant should be given a personal footslave to help her assimilate fully into society. The thinking was that the new slave-owner, in addition to having a slave to attend to her own foot-needs, could also pimp her personal slave as a women’s public footslave-whore on the streets if they so wished, thereby having a steady source of income. My mistress Odubijo took the State up on its suggestion and now lives quite well off my immoral earnings as a dirty, public foot-whore. My mistress Odubijo doesn’t work herself. Nor does her husband Atumbe, my master.
The State also supplied my mistress Odubijo with a free whip and, unfortunately for me, with free lessons in the use of that whip – training which I am ashamed to say she has since had occasion to put into effect many times due to my slavish stupidity and incompetence.
My mistress is not the most physically attractive of young, African women. Nor is she very bright. In fact, an arrogant, free man might (somewhat unkindly) describe her as fat, plain-looking, thick and lazy. But, of course, I am in no position to make such derogatory statements about my mistress, for I am her personal footslave and she is my better. To me, therefore, she is my African Queen, and I am not worthy to kiss her bare, African feet – only her sweaty, worn socks and her scuff-marked boots.
Right now my mistress and master are relaxing on a couch in their living room, no doubt enjoying a sensual cuddle, which they often do in the afternoons whilst lazily watching daytime TV. In addition to my boot and sock cleaning duties in the laundry room, I am expected to wait on my mistress and master hand and foot throughout the day, prior to being ‘pimped’ out on the streets in the evenings.
I therefore must make absolutely sure that I manage to get all my mistress’s dirty hosiery properly mouth-washed and hung up to dry before the master and mistress come down to put the leather leash around my slave neck and lead me out onto the streets as a working foot-whore.
The trouble is that I am repeatedly interrupted in my humble laundry work by the mistress summoning me to attend to some perceived need or other whilst she relaxes in her boyfriend’s arms in the living room.
Like now – for example! I have just finished licking clean my mistress’s white ankle boots, and started to suck the sweat out of one of her dirty, navy-blue bootsocks, when I hear my mistress’s piercing West African voice shouting impatiently for me to attend to her:
‘Footslave! Footslave! Come here!’
I crawl on my hands and knees (I am never allowed to walk or run) up the bare, wooden staircase and into the carpeted living room where my mistress is relaxing on the sofa in master Atumbe’s lap. He is fondling her hair and they are kissing. Her right leg is hanging indolently down from the edge of the sofa. She is wearing cheap, white (or more accurately grey-with-wear) sneakers with two red stripes on the sides, and matching, snowy white, calf-length tube socks with two red hoops near the thick, ribbed elasticated tops. Her thick, white socks seem to make her brown, West African calf muscles seem even fatter than they actually are, although the calf muscle on her right foot now looks particularly fat partly because it is resting against the side of the sofa.
I am, as usual, initially ignored by the happy, kissing, African couple as I kneel, head suitably bowed, beside my mistress’s dangling right foot. Because I still have lots of work to do in the laundry room, I feel obliged to remind the superior mistress that she has summoned me, trying desperately not to sound in any way abrupt or impatient as that would be a completely inappropriate tone for a mere slave to take vis-à-vis his masters and betters:
‘Oh pray, mistress Odubijo, you summoned me, mistress Odubijo?’
My mistress and master temporarily stop embracing, and my mistress glares down at me and clicks her teeth in a gesture of annoyance at my interruption (an interruption which she, of course, has effectively caused by summoning me in the first place!):
‘Tch! Straighten my sock, dirty slave!’
It is only now that I notice that the top of my African mistress’s thick, calf-length, red and white tube sock is ever so slightly twisted. So this is why I have been summoned all the way up from the laundry room – to straighten a tiny crease in the top of my mistress’s sock! How humiliating! How degrading! I mean, it’s not like she couldn’t have just reached down and straightened her sock herself!
But, of course, that’s the whole point – she has the power to make me stop whatever I am doing in the laundry room and crawl all the way up here just to straighten the top of her red and white tube sock because she can’t be bothered to straighten it herself. And precisely because she has that power, she is fully entitled to exercise it.
It is, after all, the only exercise she gets!
And so I must bite my tongue and humbly, and cheerfully, obey:
‘Yes mistress Odubijo. At once, mistress Odubijo. As it pleases you mistress Odubijo.’
The happy, young African couple embrace and start kissing again whilst I reach forward and gently straighten out the tiny crease in the top of my mistress’s right, calf-length, red and white tube sock as her leg dangles lethargically by the side of the sofa - taking great care not to let my dirty, slave fingers touch my mistress’s soft, bare, brown, African flesh as such insolence would be sure to earn me a severe whipping with the State-supplied whip!
With the red and white tube sock duly straightened I am anxious to get back to my boot-cleaning and sock-sucking in the laundry room:
‘Oh pray mistress Odubijo, if it pleases you mistress Odubijo, will that be all mistress Odubijo?’
Once again my mistress interrupts her kissing of her husband in order to click her teeth in irritation and snap down at me:
‘Tch! Get out, dirty slave!’
‘Yes mistress. At once mistress. Thank you mistress!’
I hear the master chuckling to himself as my mistress peremptorily dismisses me back to the laundry room. What a loser, he is thinking. What a downtrodden fool – a foot-fool to my beloved wife. Ha! Ha! Get back to work, loser! Suck on my wife’s dirty, sweaty socks whilst I get back to kissing her lovely, luscious lips!’
