Sneakers, Socks & Saris
Tale no. 8 – Sneakers, Socks and Saris
'27 year old miss Kadal, a pretty Sri Lankan lady, is one of my regular customers. She visits my public-footslave stand in the Town Square regularly as clockwork – every morning during weekdays at 08:30 on her way into work, and every Saturday at 10:00 on her way into the shops to spend her hard earned cash.
Whether she is smartly dressed for work, or casually dressed for shopping, she always seems to wear the same pair of round-toed, block-heeled, zip-up, black leather ankle boots with black trousers. I get the impression that she doesn’t spend much of her money on clothes, as her wardrobe appears quite limited – apart, that is, from her socks: miss Kadal seems to have many different pairs of socks, all of which she kindly displays to me by hitching up the hem of her black, trouser leg above the top of her black leather ankle boot whenever she presents me with her booted foot for cleaning on my wooden footblock.
I am never allowed to touch her socks whilst I lick her boots – just look at them and admire them; the elasticated tops of a young, westernised, Sri Lankan woman’s bootsocks. Mistress Kadal is nevertheless very kind to me, for the merest glimpse of her socks inside her ankle boots brightens up my otherwise miserable and pathetic footslave-day.
This is because she has a penchant for brightly coloured, feminine socks – pinks; reds; oranges; blues. This morning, for example – a Saturday morning and therefore one of her shopping days – she approaches my wooden footblock over which I am humbly kneeling, stands haughtily with her hands resting on both her hips, places her right, black leather ankle-booted foot onto the wooden footblock beneath my face, and hitches up her black trouser leg to reveal the elasticated top of a pale blue and pink stripy, cotton bootsock.
I recognise the pale blue and pink sock. She has worn this pair of bootsocks many times before. I yearn to nuzzle the elasticated top of her sock, but I am forbidden to do so. I can look, but not touch.
Instead, I ready myself as usual for miss Kadal’s verbal instruction to tongue-shine her boot. Miss Kadal always orders me to tongue-shine her boot. She is a glorious and beautiful creature of habit. She is my better.
Today, however, I am in for a shock – for mistress Kadal, for the first time ever, does not appear to be alone. Although my footslave eyes are naturally drawn towards the pink and blue elasticated top of miss Kadal’s pretty ankle boot and bootsock (what footslave’s eyes wouldn’t be?) out of the corner of my eye I can also observe a pair of pink and white, lace-up sneakers and short, black sneaker socks on a pair of shapely, brown ankles beneath the hem of a lightweight, bright yellow, silk, ankle-length sari. Miss Kadal kindly explains to me who the sweet, feminine sneakers, socks and sari belong to:
‘This is my cousin Padma from Colombo, slave. She wishes to observe you tongue-shining my boots. Make sure you put on a good show for her! Begin at the top of my boot and work your way down – and don’t touch my sock!’
Miss Kadal has lived in this country for many years and speaks fluent English, with just a hint of a residual Sri Lankan accent. She is particularly fluent in boot and sock vocabulary – and in giving clear and concise orders to footslaves.
From the moment her cousin, miss Padma, opens her pretty mouth, however, it is clear that she is not quite so familiar with vernacular English – or indeed with the whole concept of male footslavery:
‘Ha! Ha! I am finding it strange that you can be ordering this queer fellow to be shining your dirty boot with his tongue, cousin Kadal! What a queer animal he is! Ha! Ha!’
Miss Kadal laughs too:
‘Ha! Ha! Yes, cousin Padma – he is indeed queer! See how his eyes are fixated on my socks. That is why I must always warn him not to touch my socks with his tongue or his nose. I rather fancy he would give anything to be able to sniff at my socks whilst he cleans my boots – but he is not here to enjoy himself! He has work to do – removing the filth from my boots!... You down there, the slave, get a move on! Tongue my boot!’
‘Yes, mistress Kadal…at once, mistress Kadal…I obey you, mistress Kadal!’
I hastily lower my lips to the delicious top of miss Kadal’s familiar, black ankle boot (for a slave must never keep his mistress waiting) and start licking around the stitching of the leather rim, taking great care not to allow my tongue to stray onto the soft, cotton material of her pale blue and pink bootsock.
‘Ha! Ha! He is behaving most obediently and respectfully towards you, cousin Kadal! I am thinking he is even being frightened of you! Ha! Ha! Tell me – that whip over there; are you ever beating him with it?’
Miss Padma is referring to the public-use whip that hangs next to my public-footslave stand – a thin, brown, leather, whippy crop that any disgruntled female customer is welcome to bring down sharply on my bare back and shoulders should I fail to perform my boot or shoe licking duties to her complete satisfaction.
My back bears the scars of many such whippings, for I am a very average footslave.
‘I have occasionally used it on him…’ miss Kadal answers her cousin, ‘…but generally speaking this slave knows all the creases in my boots and how to extract the dust and dirt from them!’
Miss Kadal speaks the truth. I could clean and shine her familiar black leather ankle boots with my eyes closed (not that I would ever dream of doing so since it is such a privilege to be able to see close-up and personal the superior, Sri Lankan female boot leather that one is so assiduously licking and kissing!)
The exotic miss Padma’s curiosity clearly remains undiminished, however, as my slave tongue works its way slowly down her westernised cousin’s block-heeled, black leather, zip-up ankle boot, wiping away all the nasty street grime and dirt:
‘Ha! Ha! I am wondering how the inside of his mouth must be tasting now, cousin Kadal? I am thinking the dirty leather of your boot must be tasting very bitter for him?’
‘Why don’t you ask him, Padma dear?’ suggests miss Kadal. ‘He is obliged to answer you, for you are his master every bit as much as I am!’
‘Ha! Ha! You are being correct, cousin Kadal! I am feeling like his master, for he is being chained up and is cringing on his hands and knees at our feet! Ha! Ha!...You there… the queer footslave…I am being your female master from Sri Lanka, and I am ordering you to be telling me what my cousin’s boot is tasting like! Is it being bitter and foul, or are you liking it?’
It is a perfectly reasonable question from the curious female visitor from Sri Lanka. Even if it wasn’t a reasonable question - even if it was a downright silly question – I would still have to answer it, as she is my female better.
I answer the exotically dressed miss Padma as honestly and respectfully as I can:
‘Oh pray, mistress Padma, if it pleases you mistress Padma, this slave’s mouth is indeed filled with the bitter taste of his divine mistress Kadal’s dirty boot leather, but is such a queer creature that he actually enjoys the bitter-sweet taste of a superior Sri Lankan woman’s dirty ankle boot, if it so pleases you sweet and kind Sri Lankan goddess-mistress Padma.’
Both miss Padma and miss Kadal justifiably laugh at me out loud:
‘Ha! Ha! And what about my cousin Kadal’s socks, queer boot-licker? Is it being true that you are being yearning to smell the aroma of my cousin’s pink and blue socks whilst you are feasting on the bitter taste of her boots, or is my cousin Kadal lying to me about that?’
Miss Padma is not exactly subtle! There is absolutely no way I am going to fall into the trap of contradicting her cousin! Besides, miss Kadal is entirely correct in her assertion that I yearn to sniff her socks. Miss Kadal is always right! She is a superior female.
‘Oh no, mistress Padma, oh pray mistress Padma, if it pleases you mistress Padma – this slave does indeed long to sniff the glorious and sweet aroma of his Sri Lankan mistress’s pink and blue bootsocks, but fully accepts that he is not worthy to do so, for he is nothing but a queer, public bootlicker, if it so pleases you sweet and kind mistress Padma.’
Speaking of boot-licking, miss Kadal has now switched feet on the wooden footblock and I must now begin to lick clean her left ankle boot, from the stitched, upper rim downwards.
Miss Padma, however, sock-tease that she is, is clearly not disposed to let the subject of sock-sniffing rest:
‘And what about a Sri Lankan mistress’s black socks, slave? Would you be liking to be sniffing my black socks inside my sneakers?’ she inquires, pointing her right, sneakered foot forward on the dusty ground coquettishly.
My heart leaps. Although my tongue and mouth are dutifully focussed on the black ankle boot and pale blue and pink bootsock of her cousin miss Kadal, my weak and feeble mind is forced to wander towards Miss Padma’s footwear – for it is everything I could ever dream of. It is feminine footwear of intriguing contrasts: white, European-style sneakers with short, modern black sneaker socks; black socks on soft, smooth, brown, female Asian skin; and brown skin beneath the silk hem of her fine, bright yellow, ankle-length sari. It is a fascinating and somewhat incongruous combination of casual, western footwear with traditional Asian dress. Surely a sari should be worn with sandals on freshly pedicured bare feet? Not with sneakers and socks!
And yet miss Padma has undoubtedly touched a nerve in me. How I would dearly love to sniff the aroma of her short, black sneaker sock on her pretty, outstretched Sri Lankan foot inside her western-style sneaker, whilst the hem of her bright yellow, silk sari brushes against my forehead! I can only hope my mistress Kadal will forgive the interruption to my tongue on her contemporary European boot leather as I respectfully answer her exotic, Asian cousin mistress Padma:
‘Oh pray, mistress Padma, if it pleases you mistress Padma, truly this dirty slave would be honoured to sniff the mistress’s black sneaker socks, if you would be so sweet and kind as to do him the honour, most beautiful mistress Padma!’
Miss Kadal doesn’t seem to be at all offended by my cringing obsequiousness towards her cousin, as she just bursts out laughing:
‘Ha! Ha! Cousin Padma, you are such a tease towards him! Let him finish cleaning my boots first and then you can use him in whatever way you see fit! Ha! Ha!’
Miss Kadal’s cousin appears to adjust the clothing on the upper part of her beautiful, svelte Sri Lankan body as she happily readies herself for her first ever use of a public footslave:
‘Very well, cousin Kadal! I am thinking I shall be making use of the queer footlick, but only to be cleaning the dirty toes of my white sneakers. Like you, I am thinking that he is not being worthy to be touching or sniffing my socks!’
My heart sinks! These two young female cousins are truly like two peas in a pod! They know exactly how to tease a male footslave with their socks, raising his pathetic hopes only to dash them again, and thereby limit his sensations to those of their dirty and dusty outer footwear!
But such is their perfect right, for they are superior, young women.
As I subsequently lower my lips to the scuff-marked toe of miss Padma’s dirty, white, lace-up sneaker beneath the silken hem of her bright yellow, flowing, ankle-length sari, I can only admire and envy the short, black sneaker sock protecting her soft, brown Sri Lankan foot inside her hot, sweaty sneaker. The female sock’s aroma of young Sri Lankan woman foot must remain a mystery to me – so near and yet so far; so accessible and yet so aloof.
Rather like the exotic mistress Padma herself!’
'27 year old miss Kadal, a pretty Sri Lankan lady, is one of my regular customers. She visits my public-footslave stand in the Town Square regularly as clockwork – every morning during weekdays at 08:30 on her way into work, and every Saturday at 10:00 on her way into the shops to spend her hard earned cash.
Whether she is smartly dressed for work, or casually dressed for shopping, she always seems to wear the same pair of round-toed, block-heeled, zip-up, black leather ankle boots with black trousers. I get the impression that she doesn’t spend much of her money on clothes, as her wardrobe appears quite limited – apart, that is, from her socks: miss Kadal seems to have many different pairs of socks, all of which she kindly displays to me by hitching up the hem of her black, trouser leg above the top of her black leather ankle boot whenever she presents me with her booted foot for cleaning on my wooden footblock.
I am never allowed to touch her socks whilst I lick her boots – just look at them and admire them; the elasticated tops of a young, westernised, Sri Lankan woman’s bootsocks. Mistress Kadal is nevertheless very kind to me, for the merest glimpse of her socks inside her ankle boots brightens up my otherwise miserable and pathetic footslave-day.
This is because she has a penchant for brightly coloured, feminine socks – pinks; reds; oranges; blues. This morning, for example – a Saturday morning and therefore one of her shopping days – she approaches my wooden footblock over which I am humbly kneeling, stands haughtily with her hands resting on both her hips, places her right, black leather ankle-booted foot onto the wooden footblock beneath my face, and hitches up her black trouser leg to reveal the elasticated top of a pale blue and pink stripy, cotton bootsock.
I recognise the pale blue and pink sock. She has worn this pair of bootsocks many times before. I yearn to nuzzle the elasticated top of her sock, but I am forbidden to do so. I can look, but not touch.
Instead, I ready myself as usual for miss Kadal’s verbal instruction to tongue-shine her boot. Miss Kadal always orders me to tongue-shine her boot. She is a glorious and beautiful creature of habit. She is my better.
Today, however, I am in for a shock – for mistress Kadal, for the first time ever, does not appear to be alone. Although my footslave eyes are naturally drawn towards the pink and blue elasticated top of miss Kadal’s pretty ankle boot and bootsock (what footslave’s eyes wouldn’t be?) out of the corner of my eye I can also observe a pair of pink and white, lace-up sneakers and short, black sneaker socks on a pair of shapely, brown ankles beneath the hem of a lightweight, bright yellow, silk, ankle-length sari. Miss Kadal kindly explains to me who the sweet, feminine sneakers, socks and sari belong to:
‘This is my cousin Padma from Colombo, slave. She wishes to observe you tongue-shining my boots. Make sure you put on a good show for her! Begin at the top of my boot and work your way down – and don’t touch my sock!’
Miss Kadal has lived in this country for many years and speaks fluent English, with just a hint of a residual Sri Lankan accent. She is particularly fluent in boot and sock vocabulary – and in giving clear and concise orders to footslaves.
From the moment her cousin, miss Padma, opens her pretty mouth, however, it is clear that she is not quite so familiar with vernacular English – or indeed with the whole concept of male footslavery:
‘Ha! Ha! I am finding it strange that you can be ordering this queer fellow to be shining your dirty boot with his tongue, cousin Kadal! What a queer animal he is! Ha! Ha!’
Miss Kadal laughs too:
‘Ha! Ha! Yes, cousin Padma – he is indeed queer! See how his eyes are fixated on my socks. That is why I must always warn him not to touch my socks with his tongue or his nose. I rather fancy he would give anything to be able to sniff at my socks whilst he cleans my boots – but he is not here to enjoy himself! He has work to do – removing the filth from my boots!... You down there, the slave, get a move on! Tongue my boot!’
‘Yes, mistress Kadal…at once, mistress Kadal…I obey you, mistress Kadal!’
I hastily lower my lips to the delicious top of miss Kadal’s familiar, black ankle boot (for a slave must never keep his mistress waiting) and start licking around the stitching of the leather rim, taking great care not to allow my tongue to stray onto the soft, cotton material of her pale blue and pink bootsock.
‘Ha! Ha! He is behaving most obediently and respectfully towards you, cousin Kadal! I am thinking he is even being frightened of you! Ha! Ha! Tell me – that whip over there; are you ever beating him with it?’
Miss Padma is referring to the public-use whip that hangs next to my public-footslave stand – a thin, brown, leather, whippy crop that any disgruntled female customer is welcome to bring down sharply on my bare back and shoulders should I fail to perform my boot or shoe licking duties to her complete satisfaction.
My back bears the scars of many such whippings, for I am a very average footslave.
‘I have occasionally used it on him…’ miss Kadal answers her cousin, ‘…but generally speaking this slave knows all the creases in my boots and how to extract the dust and dirt from them!’
Miss Kadal speaks the truth. I could clean and shine her familiar black leather ankle boots with my eyes closed (not that I would ever dream of doing so since it is such a privilege to be able to see close-up and personal the superior, Sri Lankan female boot leather that one is so assiduously licking and kissing!)
The exotic miss Padma’s curiosity clearly remains undiminished, however, as my slave tongue works its way slowly down her westernised cousin’s block-heeled, black leather, zip-up ankle boot, wiping away all the nasty street grime and dirt:
‘Ha! Ha! I am wondering how the inside of his mouth must be tasting now, cousin Kadal? I am thinking the dirty leather of your boot must be tasting very bitter for him?’
‘Why don’t you ask him, Padma dear?’ suggests miss Kadal. ‘He is obliged to answer you, for you are his master every bit as much as I am!’
‘Ha! Ha! You are being correct, cousin Kadal! I am feeling like his master, for he is being chained up and is cringing on his hands and knees at our feet! Ha! Ha!...You there… the queer footslave…I am being your female master from Sri Lanka, and I am ordering you to be telling me what my cousin’s boot is tasting like! Is it being bitter and foul, or are you liking it?’
It is a perfectly reasonable question from the curious female visitor from Sri Lanka. Even if it wasn’t a reasonable question - even if it was a downright silly question – I would still have to answer it, as she is my female better.
I answer the exotically dressed miss Padma as honestly and respectfully as I can:
‘Oh pray, mistress Padma, if it pleases you mistress Padma, this slave’s mouth is indeed filled with the bitter taste of his divine mistress Kadal’s dirty boot leather, but is such a queer creature that he actually enjoys the bitter-sweet taste of a superior Sri Lankan woman’s dirty ankle boot, if it so pleases you sweet and kind Sri Lankan goddess-mistress Padma.’
Both miss Padma and miss Kadal justifiably laugh at me out loud:
‘Ha! Ha! And what about my cousin Kadal’s socks, queer boot-licker? Is it being true that you are being yearning to smell the aroma of my cousin’s pink and blue socks whilst you are feasting on the bitter taste of her boots, or is my cousin Kadal lying to me about that?’
Miss Padma is not exactly subtle! There is absolutely no way I am going to fall into the trap of contradicting her cousin! Besides, miss Kadal is entirely correct in her assertion that I yearn to sniff her socks. Miss Kadal is always right! She is a superior female.
‘Oh no, mistress Padma, oh pray mistress Padma, if it pleases you mistress Padma – this slave does indeed long to sniff the glorious and sweet aroma of his Sri Lankan mistress’s pink and blue bootsocks, but fully accepts that he is not worthy to do so, for he is nothing but a queer, public bootlicker, if it so pleases you sweet and kind mistress Padma.’
Speaking of boot-licking, miss Kadal has now switched feet on the wooden footblock and I must now begin to lick clean her left ankle boot, from the stitched, upper rim downwards.
Miss Padma, however, sock-tease that she is, is clearly not disposed to let the subject of sock-sniffing rest:
‘And what about a Sri Lankan mistress’s black socks, slave? Would you be liking to be sniffing my black socks inside my sneakers?’ she inquires, pointing her right, sneakered foot forward on the dusty ground coquettishly.
My heart leaps. Although my tongue and mouth are dutifully focussed on the black ankle boot and pale blue and pink bootsock of her cousin miss Kadal, my weak and feeble mind is forced to wander towards Miss Padma’s footwear – for it is everything I could ever dream of. It is feminine footwear of intriguing contrasts: white, European-style sneakers with short, modern black sneaker socks; black socks on soft, smooth, brown, female Asian skin; and brown skin beneath the silk hem of her fine, bright yellow, ankle-length sari. It is a fascinating and somewhat incongruous combination of casual, western footwear with traditional Asian dress. Surely a sari should be worn with sandals on freshly pedicured bare feet? Not with sneakers and socks!
And yet miss Padma has undoubtedly touched a nerve in me. How I would dearly love to sniff the aroma of her short, black sneaker sock on her pretty, outstretched Sri Lankan foot inside her western-style sneaker, whilst the hem of her bright yellow, silk sari brushes against my forehead! I can only hope my mistress Kadal will forgive the interruption to my tongue on her contemporary European boot leather as I respectfully answer her exotic, Asian cousin mistress Padma:
‘Oh pray, mistress Padma, if it pleases you mistress Padma, truly this dirty slave would be honoured to sniff the mistress’s black sneaker socks, if you would be so sweet and kind as to do him the honour, most beautiful mistress Padma!’
Miss Kadal doesn’t seem to be at all offended by my cringing obsequiousness towards her cousin, as she just bursts out laughing:
‘Ha! Ha! Cousin Padma, you are such a tease towards him! Let him finish cleaning my boots first and then you can use him in whatever way you see fit! Ha! Ha!’
Miss Kadal’s cousin appears to adjust the clothing on the upper part of her beautiful, svelte Sri Lankan body as she happily readies herself for her first ever use of a public footslave:
‘Very well, cousin Kadal! I am thinking I shall be making use of the queer footlick, but only to be cleaning the dirty toes of my white sneakers. Like you, I am thinking that he is not being worthy to be touching or sniffing my socks!’
My heart sinks! These two young female cousins are truly like two peas in a pod! They know exactly how to tease a male footslave with their socks, raising his pathetic hopes only to dash them again, and thereby limit his sensations to those of their dirty and dusty outer footwear!
But such is their perfect right, for they are superior, young women.
As I subsequently lower my lips to the scuff-marked toe of miss Padma’s dirty, white, lace-up sneaker beneath the silken hem of her bright yellow, flowing, ankle-length sari, I can only admire and envy the short, black sneaker sock protecting her soft, brown Sri Lankan foot inside her hot, sweaty sneaker. The female sock’s aroma of young Sri Lankan woman foot must remain a mystery to me – so near and yet so far; so accessible and yet so aloof.
Rather like the exotic mistress Padma herself!’
