A Rude Awakening
Tale no. 15 – A Rude Awakening
‘It was 03:00 A.M and I was fast asleep, my head resting on the wooden footblock to which it is permanently chained.
As a public footslave I have to sleep outside – on my hands and knees and chained to my wooden footblock, because I am technically never off duty. The State employs me as a public footslave 24 hours a day, 365 days a year and so, according to the Law, any woman can approach me at any time of the day or night in order to have her shoes or boots licked.
Fortunately, however, it is relatively rare for me to have any customers after midnight, given the location of my public footblock – round the back of a suburban train station which itself closes at 11:30 P.M.
I do, of course, get the occasional drunken, young woman in the small hours of the morning, usually accompanied by her boyfriend, who have both been out clubbing and have maybe missed their last train home. What better way for them to kill time than to tease and torment the public footslave in the small hours of the morning – making him lick and kiss her white stilettos and flesh-coloured, nylon stockings as a punishment for making them miss their last train?
However, such occurrences normally take place at the weekends, and this particular morning was a Wednesday morning – midweek – so no clubbers about to disturb my public slumber.
It was, however, bitterly cold – and I was dreaming about being naked and freezing to death in the Arctic!
Suddenly I was awakened by a gentle prod to the jaw from the pointy toe of a feminine boot. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the sight of the boot in front of my sleepy eyes – but I soon established that I had been prodded by a young black woman, who looked to be in her mid to late twenties, and who was wearing a curious mixture of traditional African and European dress.
From my kneeling position could just make out that she was wearing a brightly coloured, African-female-style headdress, a bright orange scarf, a beige coat, a green, knee-length, woollen skirt and beige-coloured, leather, knee-length boots.
Her feet and lower legs in particular where very well wrapped-up against the cold. In addition to her smart, pointy-toed, beige, knee-length leather boots, she appeared to me wearing bright orange nylon tights, with a pair of thick, green, woolly legwarmers over the nylon tights inside her boots (I could just see the thick, ribbed stitching of the tops of her woolly, green legwarmers peeping over the tops of her knee-length boots), and another pair of black, woolly legwarmers over the outside of her boots – legwarmers which came down to the tops of her blocky, 3 inch high boot heels at the back, and left only the front few inches of her beige leather boots exposed around the toe areas.
For all the multitudinous layers she was wearing, this young, black woman was most definitely not a vagrant. Her clothes were stylish and clean, and she even had an ultra-fashionable, designer shoulder-bag resting over her right shoulder.
She was just well wrapped-up against the cold – unlike me, the semi-naked public footslave!
But what was she doing out on her own at this time of night?
Just as soon as I had raised my sleepy head off my wooden ‘footblock- pillow’, the young, black, African-headdressed woman arrogantly and imperiously placed her pointy, right boot onto the footblock and barked an order down at me in a thick, West-African accent:
‘Slave, shine my boot!’
If I hadn’t been so tired and exhausted I would have laughed! Shine her boot? But most of it is covered in black, woollen legwarmer! Only a tiny slither of beige boot is visible just below her knee between the top of the outer, black legwarmer
and the top of the inner green legwarmer; and of course the 3 inches or so at the bottom of her boot around the pointy toe area, together with the back of her blocky, 3 inch heel.
A good 90% of the boot, however, is covered by thick, black woolly legwarmer, so exactly what part of her boot does she wish me to ‘shine’? I presume the young African woman is referring to the area of exposed boot around her toes, now resting on the wooden footblock directly beneath my nose, and so I lower my numb-with-cold lips to the top of the pointy toe area.
The beige leather is already quite clean and shiny, and my freezing breath causes mist to appear on the area of the leather I am about to tongue-shine. I notice also a few creases in the beige leather – a sure sign that the boots, for all their smart appearance, are not brand new and have been worn by the mistress many times before.
I sense from the tone of her voice that this West African mistress is not messing about, even if it is 03:00 A.M. She wants the toes of her boots to be shined by the public footslave and so he had damn well better do a good job of it!
She watches in silence for a few moments as the only sound to be heard is my slave tongue scraping the cold leather of her shiny, beige boot.
‘Don’t touch my legwarmer with your dirty tongue, slaveboy!’ she suddenly snaps.
I have to confess I am in a bit of a bad mood – having been so rudely awakened in the middle of the night in order to perform such nugatory work as ‘shining’ an African girl’s legwarmer-covered boots – and I am sorely tempted to reply to the mistress in the following, abrupt terms:
a) I have no intention of touching your black, woollen legwarmer with my dirty tongue. I am a professional and experienced footslave, and know better than to touch any part of a lady’s footwear without her express permission;
b) What, in any case, is the point of my tongue-shining your beige, leather boots at this ungodly hour of the morning when they already look so clean and shiny?
c) I am not a ‘slave boy ’; I’m a ‘slave man’, and must be nearly twice your age, African missy!
d) Haven’t you got a home to go to, mistress?
I am tempted to say all that, but of course I refrain from doing so – for a slave must never be rude to a mistress, even if she is rude to him, and even if she rudely awakes him with an arrogant prod from the pointy toe of her leather boot to his sleeping face at 03:00 A.M on a bitterly cold winter’s morning!
No, instead all I say is:
‘No mistress. This dirty slave hears and obeys the superior mistress,’ and then I continue to humbly lick the three inches of exposed, beige-leather boot-toe.
I sense the young African woman smiling smugly down at me, and cocking her pretty, African-headdress covered head to one side in order to get a better view of my humble bootlicking. She is clearly wide awake herself and relishing her power over me – a bootlicking slave – even if it is 3 o’clock in the morning and she should be in bed!
She makes me lick the toe of her perfectly clean and shiny right boot for a further 10 minutes or so, before eventually replacing it with her left boot on the wooden footblock beneath my face. I am just glad my footslave-stand is just that – one where the female customer has to stand! If it was one where the female gets to relax and sit down we could be here all night!
I am, sadly, beginning to become a bit more alert now, and doubt that I shall be able to get to sleep again this morning – all thanks to this inconsiderate and selfish, West-African, insomniac-mistress! My regained footslave-alertness, however, means that I can now fully appreciate the sight of a little loose stitch at the very bottom of the black, woollen legwarmer covering the African mistress’s left boot. My footslave-hormones kick in, and I almost find myself wishing that the African mistress would give me an order to kiss and pay homage to her black legwarmers, so that I could warm my still freezing and numb lips on their thick, black wool.
But the outer legwarmers are clearly designed to warm the mistress’s boot – not my slave lips! The comfort of her inanimate boot is of much more importance than the cold lips of a living, breathing footslave! That, of course, is because the boot is feminine, whilst the slave is masculine, and feminine is always better and more important than masculine!
I find myself wondering whether this well-wrapped up, black mistress may even have another layer of clothing on her already well-protected feet. Could she possibly be wearing thick, woollen socks inside her boots, along with her orange, nylon tights and green, woolly, inner legwarmers? It’s quite possible, though it’s hard to tell just from licking the outside of her leather boots. I can certainly feel something soft beneath the cold leather of the boot, but it may just be her tights-covered toes, or even the bottoms of her green legwarmers covering the tops of her sweet, African toes!
Given her West African accent, I’m assuming that this young woman still lives most of the time in Africa, and is only visiting the Gynarchy. She probably isn’t used to such bitterly cold weather, and her pretty African feet certainly deserve to be well wrapped up on a night like this.
But all of that begs the question again – what is she doing wandering the streets at this time of night?
I begin to feel sorry for her! My natural, male footslavish-submissiveness and protectiveness begins to kick in as I wake up. I am concerned for the well-being of this strange, young African mistress’s soft and delicate African feet. I want to know that her precious feet are warm and protected inside her boots, for she is my female better.
She knows she is better than me, and I know it. And if anybody else was about to observe us at this time of night – the African mistress and her pathetic, bootlicking footslave - they would know it too.
She says nothing more as I continue to lick the shiny, beige, leather toe area of her stylish, left, black-legwarmer-covered boot for a further 10 minutes or so.
Then, as rudely as she arrived, she is gone – without so much as a by-your-leave!
I almost feel like calling her back! I feel like praising and blessing her for disturbing my sleep and forcing me to lick her boots at 3 o’clock in the morning! For I am feeling lonely now, and would be quite prepared to pay homage to each and every aspect of her footwear throughout the rest of the night should she so wish me to. I would quite happily now kiss the nylon of her bright-orange-stockinged, African knees; I would kiss the thick, ribbed stitching of the woollen tops of her inner, green legwarmers which are peeping out from inside the tops of her smart, beige-leather kneeboots; then I would kiss and sniff all along the exposed slither of beige, leather boot above the top of her black, woollen outer legwarmers; then I would run my slave nose down each and every groove in the ribbed stitching of those thick, black outer legwarmers; and finally I would kiss and lick the exposed toe and heel areas of her stylish, beige-leather boots.
And I would ask for no reward for doing all this, other than the reward of knowing that I was paying due homage to the feet and footwear of a superior and selfish, haughty young African woman who could not sleep, and therefore got out of her nice, warm bed and dressed herself up in order to disturb the slumber of a nearby public footslave.
For I really cannot think of any other reason why this young woman should have come to see me at 03:00 A.M. in the morning.
She was a complete, but delightful, feminine mystery!’
‘It was 03:00 A.M and I was fast asleep, my head resting on the wooden footblock to which it is permanently chained.
As a public footslave I have to sleep outside – on my hands and knees and chained to my wooden footblock, because I am technically never off duty. The State employs me as a public footslave 24 hours a day, 365 days a year and so, according to the Law, any woman can approach me at any time of the day or night in order to have her shoes or boots licked.
Fortunately, however, it is relatively rare for me to have any customers after midnight, given the location of my public footblock – round the back of a suburban train station which itself closes at 11:30 P.M.
I do, of course, get the occasional drunken, young woman in the small hours of the morning, usually accompanied by her boyfriend, who have both been out clubbing and have maybe missed their last train home. What better way for them to kill time than to tease and torment the public footslave in the small hours of the morning – making him lick and kiss her white stilettos and flesh-coloured, nylon stockings as a punishment for making them miss their last train?
However, such occurrences normally take place at the weekends, and this particular morning was a Wednesday morning – midweek – so no clubbers about to disturb my public slumber.
It was, however, bitterly cold – and I was dreaming about being naked and freezing to death in the Arctic!
Suddenly I was awakened by a gentle prod to the jaw from the pointy toe of a feminine boot. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the sight of the boot in front of my sleepy eyes – but I soon established that I had been prodded by a young black woman, who looked to be in her mid to late twenties, and who was wearing a curious mixture of traditional African and European dress.
From my kneeling position could just make out that she was wearing a brightly coloured, African-female-style headdress, a bright orange scarf, a beige coat, a green, knee-length, woollen skirt and beige-coloured, leather, knee-length boots.
Her feet and lower legs in particular where very well wrapped-up against the cold. In addition to her smart, pointy-toed, beige, knee-length leather boots, she appeared to me wearing bright orange nylon tights, with a pair of thick, green, woolly legwarmers over the nylon tights inside her boots (I could just see the thick, ribbed stitching of the tops of her woolly, green legwarmers peeping over the tops of her knee-length boots), and another pair of black, woolly legwarmers over the outside of her boots – legwarmers which came down to the tops of her blocky, 3 inch high boot heels at the back, and left only the front few inches of her beige leather boots exposed around the toe areas.
For all the multitudinous layers she was wearing, this young, black woman was most definitely not a vagrant. Her clothes were stylish and clean, and she even had an ultra-fashionable, designer shoulder-bag resting over her right shoulder.
She was just well wrapped-up against the cold – unlike me, the semi-naked public footslave!
But what was she doing out on her own at this time of night?
Just as soon as I had raised my sleepy head off my wooden ‘footblock- pillow’, the young, black, African-headdressed woman arrogantly and imperiously placed her pointy, right boot onto the footblock and barked an order down at me in a thick, West-African accent:
‘Slave, shine my boot!’
If I hadn’t been so tired and exhausted I would have laughed! Shine her boot? But most of it is covered in black, woollen legwarmer! Only a tiny slither of beige boot is visible just below her knee between the top of the outer, black legwarmer
and the top of the inner green legwarmer; and of course the 3 inches or so at the bottom of her boot around the pointy toe area, together with the back of her blocky, 3 inch heel.
A good 90% of the boot, however, is covered by thick, black woolly legwarmer, so exactly what part of her boot does she wish me to ‘shine’? I presume the young African woman is referring to the area of exposed boot around her toes, now resting on the wooden footblock directly beneath my nose, and so I lower my numb-with-cold lips to the top of the pointy toe area.
The beige leather is already quite clean and shiny, and my freezing breath causes mist to appear on the area of the leather I am about to tongue-shine. I notice also a few creases in the beige leather – a sure sign that the boots, for all their smart appearance, are not brand new and have been worn by the mistress many times before.
I sense from the tone of her voice that this West African mistress is not messing about, even if it is 03:00 A.M. She wants the toes of her boots to be shined by the public footslave and so he had damn well better do a good job of it!
She watches in silence for a few moments as the only sound to be heard is my slave tongue scraping the cold leather of her shiny, beige boot.
‘Don’t touch my legwarmer with your dirty tongue, slaveboy!’ she suddenly snaps.
I have to confess I am in a bit of a bad mood – having been so rudely awakened in the middle of the night in order to perform such nugatory work as ‘shining’ an African girl’s legwarmer-covered boots – and I am sorely tempted to reply to the mistress in the following, abrupt terms:
a) I have no intention of touching your black, woollen legwarmer with my dirty tongue. I am a professional and experienced footslave, and know better than to touch any part of a lady’s footwear without her express permission;
b) What, in any case, is the point of my tongue-shining your beige, leather boots at this ungodly hour of the morning when they already look so clean and shiny?
c) I am not a ‘slave boy ’; I’m a ‘slave man’, and must be nearly twice your age, African missy!
d) Haven’t you got a home to go to, mistress?
I am tempted to say all that, but of course I refrain from doing so – for a slave must never be rude to a mistress, even if she is rude to him, and even if she rudely awakes him with an arrogant prod from the pointy toe of her leather boot to his sleeping face at 03:00 A.M on a bitterly cold winter’s morning!
No, instead all I say is:
‘No mistress. This dirty slave hears and obeys the superior mistress,’ and then I continue to humbly lick the three inches of exposed, beige-leather boot-toe.
I sense the young African woman smiling smugly down at me, and cocking her pretty, African-headdress covered head to one side in order to get a better view of my humble bootlicking. She is clearly wide awake herself and relishing her power over me – a bootlicking slave – even if it is 3 o’clock in the morning and she should be in bed!
She makes me lick the toe of her perfectly clean and shiny right boot for a further 10 minutes or so, before eventually replacing it with her left boot on the wooden footblock beneath my face. I am just glad my footslave-stand is just that – one where the female customer has to stand! If it was one where the female gets to relax and sit down we could be here all night!
I am, sadly, beginning to become a bit more alert now, and doubt that I shall be able to get to sleep again this morning – all thanks to this inconsiderate and selfish, West-African, insomniac-mistress! My regained footslave-alertness, however, means that I can now fully appreciate the sight of a little loose stitch at the very bottom of the black, woollen legwarmer covering the African mistress’s left boot. My footslave-hormones kick in, and I almost find myself wishing that the African mistress would give me an order to kiss and pay homage to her black legwarmers, so that I could warm my still freezing and numb lips on their thick, black wool.
But the outer legwarmers are clearly designed to warm the mistress’s boot – not my slave lips! The comfort of her inanimate boot is of much more importance than the cold lips of a living, breathing footslave! That, of course, is because the boot is feminine, whilst the slave is masculine, and feminine is always better and more important than masculine!
I find myself wondering whether this well-wrapped up, black mistress may even have another layer of clothing on her already well-protected feet. Could she possibly be wearing thick, woollen socks inside her boots, along with her orange, nylon tights and green, woolly, inner legwarmers? It’s quite possible, though it’s hard to tell just from licking the outside of her leather boots. I can certainly feel something soft beneath the cold leather of the boot, but it may just be her tights-covered toes, or even the bottoms of her green legwarmers covering the tops of her sweet, African toes!
Given her West African accent, I’m assuming that this young woman still lives most of the time in Africa, and is only visiting the Gynarchy. She probably isn’t used to such bitterly cold weather, and her pretty African feet certainly deserve to be well wrapped up on a night like this.
But all of that begs the question again – what is she doing wandering the streets at this time of night?
I begin to feel sorry for her! My natural, male footslavish-submissiveness and protectiveness begins to kick in as I wake up. I am concerned for the well-being of this strange, young African mistress’s soft and delicate African feet. I want to know that her precious feet are warm and protected inside her boots, for she is my female better.
She knows she is better than me, and I know it. And if anybody else was about to observe us at this time of night – the African mistress and her pathetic, bootlicking footslave - they would know it too.
She says nothing more as I continue to lick the shiny, beige, leather toe area of her stylish, left, black-legwarmer-covered boot for a further 10 minutes or so.
Then, as rudely as she arrived, she is gone – without so much as a by-your-leave!
I almost feel like calling her back! I feel like praising and blessing her for disturbing my sleep and forcing me to lick her boots at 3 o’clock in the morning! For I am feeling lonely now, and would be quite prepared to pay homage to each and every aspect of her footwear throughout the rest of the night should she so wish me to. I would quite happily now kiss the nylon of her bright-orange-stockinged, African knees; I would kiss the thick, ribbed stitching of the woollen tops of her inner, green legwarmers which are peeping out from inside the tops of her smart, beige-leather kneeboots; then I would kiss and sniff all along the exposed slither of beige, leather boot above the top of her black, woollen outer legwarmers; then I would run my slave nose down each and every groove in the ribbed stitching of those thick, black outer legwarmers; and finally I would kiss and lick the exposed toe and heel areas of her stylish, beige-leather boots.
And I would ask for no reward for doing all this, other than the reward of knowing that I was paying due homage to the feet and footwear of a superior and selfish, haughty young African woman who could not sleep, and therefore got out of her nice, warm bed and dressed herself up in order to disturb the slumber of a nearby public footslave.
For I really cannot think of any other reason why this young woman should have come to see me at 03:00 A.M. in the morning.
She was a complete, but delightful, feminine mystery!’
