70 X 7
Tale no. 7 – 70 X 7
‘My 22 year old mistress, mistress Tabitha, is a great believer in ritual. She has me kiss her feet 70 times, on 7 separate occasions, at set times throughout each and every day – as a demonstration of my undying respect and adoration for her.
My mistress never speaks to me, because she regards me as being too far below her in the food chain to be worth speaking to. By the same token I am totally forbidden to speak to her. I am what’s known in the Gynarchy as a ‘dumb’ footslave. So ritualistically kissing her feet throughout the day is the only way I can express my submissiveness and adoration towards my superior mistress, just as her whip does all the talking for her and expresses, when necessary, her justifiable and righteous anger and contempt for me.
My mistress Tabitha is a beautiful, slim, rather petite, swarthy-skinned mistress of Romany origins – though her family are no longer travellers and live in a large council house. She has long, black curly locks framing her piecing, dark eyes – although I have only ever seen her face in the reflection of her shoe leather, for I am, of course, unworthy to look my superior, young Romany mistress in the eye.
Our first ritualistic foot-kissing session of the day occurs as soon as my mistress wakes up. I must be ready and kneeling by the side of her bed (woe betide me if I am not!) waiting to pay my first homage of the day to her shapely, dusky, bare feet the instant she swings her shapely, bare legs out from under her duvet and rests her pretty feet on the bedroom carpet in front of my kneeling face.
There is a set way that I must kiss her feet 70 times. I must alternate between her feet, always starting with her right foot, and making sure that each kiss is short, respectful and audible. Mistress Tabitha does not want me licking her feet or slobbering all over them. I am not that sort of footslave. I am an unskilled, dumb foot-kisser, not even fit to wash my mistress’s dirty feet (the family have a maid to wash their feet).
No, my role is simply to pay my humble respects to this young, Romany goddess by kissing her bare feet – 70 times – my head repeatedly bobbing up and down as I lower and raise my lips 70 times alternately to her right and left foot, whilst she sits imperiously above me on the edge of her bed.
Of course, any podiatrist will tell you that, in kissing mistress Tabitha’s bare feet of a morning, my lips are in contact with many of her dead skin cells that her feet will have shed overnight. Her unwashed, early morning feet will, in fact, be covered in bacteria – bacteria which is now being transferred onto my slave lips. But that is how it should be, for even the dead skin and overnight bacteria on my mistress Tabitha’s soft, brown, unwashed feet is better than me. I am paying due homage to her superior foot bacteria which is a higher life form than me.
Oh how I savour the taste, the feel, and the aroma of my sweet and kind young Romany mistress’s bare feet first thing in the morning! It is manna from heaven for me, for I shall not get to kiss her bare feet again until the very end of the day. From now on it will only be her shoes and socks – not that that is any less of a privilege for a dirty, lowlife footslave such as myself.
I, of course, am considered incapable of adequately dressing my mistress’s feet in her shoes and socks, but I am allowed to watch as my mistress’s maid puts them on her pretty feet for her, feet which she will also first have washed in front of me. It’s not that my 22 year old mistress is incapable of putting on and taking off her own shoes and socks, you understand! It’s just that such mundane tasks are, quite literally, beneath her – especially when the State supplies her with a maidservant to do it for her.
Indeed, I have no choice but to frustratingly watch the maid performing such august chores for my superior mistress, as I am required to kneel by, and to stare at, my mistress Tabitha’s feet throughout the day. I must always follow her to heel, and kneel beside her shapely ankles. Staring at, and admiring, her feet is my main function in her life – even if the times when I am permitted to touch her feet and footwear (by kissing them) are strictly limited to the 7 ritual, foot-kissing sessions at various preordained times of the day.
The second such ritualistic foot-kissing session takes place mid-morning – at 10:00 a.m. This will be the case wherever my mistress is at that time and whatever she is doing. Even if she is walking in the street, she will stop by the kerb and present her feet to me for kissing – again 70 times in total; 35 times to each foot.
This time I will be kissing the rounded, and often dirty, toes of her black, leather, low-heeled, slip-on shoes. My mistress only has one pair of such leather shoes; one pair of scruffy, white, lace-up sneakers; and one pair of black, block-heeled, square-toed, zip-up ankle boots. So I will always be paying my slavish homage to one of those three styles of feminine footwear at this time of day – whichever style my mistress has chosen to wear that particular day.
Today is a weekday, and so my mistress is in college, where she is studying Philosophy and Law. She happens to have a lecture at 10:00 a.m. and so she is currently seated in a lecture hall, surrounded by her fellow female students, as I begin my second set of ritualistic footkissing for the day.
Although my footkisses to the toes of her black, leather shoes are audible, nobody blinks an eyelid. Why would they? I am just a two-a-penny footslave paying homage to my mistress’s shoes whilst she is wearing them, in line with her family’s cultural traditions. I can therefore concentrate on the task in mouth without feeling any inhibitions. I must kiss her feet in this way by Law, for it is the wish of my mistress.
Due to my superior mistress’s seated position in the lecture hall I can see her plain white, cotton ankle socks beneath the hems of her black, denim jeans as I kiss the scuff-marked and, this morning, rain-splashed leather toes of her black, leather, slip-on shoes. I say ‘white’ socks, but they have actually become more greyish in colour due to repeated washing and wear.
Again, I am not considered worthy to wash my mistress Tabitha’s socks. Only her maid gets to do that. But I shall at least get to kiss them, to pay my respects to them – while she is wearing them – although that will be for the next session, the third session of the day.
For now I must concentrate on alternately kissing the musty and scuff-marked, leathery toes of my mistress Tabitha’s well-worn, flat, slip-on shoes. For the moment I can only admire her socks inside her shoes from ‘anear’. And I do truly admire them. In fact, in particular, I note a small crease in the side of her left sock, just around her shapely, outer ankle bone. I make a mental note to be sure to kiss that sock-crease during my next ritualistic foot-worshipping session, assuming it is still there, of course, as I continue to kiss the black leather, rounded toes of my mistress Tabitha’s outer footwear.
My lips taste of her musty, shoe-leather after I finish my 70 kisses to the toes of her rain-dampened shoes. Having kissed them the full 70 times, I continue to kneel beside my mistress’s socked ankles, and study them whilst she studies philosophy. You could say that I am reading socks at university whilst she is reading Sartre. We are both studying what we are fit to study.
The third foot-kissing session with my mistress Tabitha takes place at lunchtime, in the Students’ Union bar, where my mistress tends to enjoy a ‘liquid lunch’ with some of her fellow philosophy-students. She is sitting, cross-legged, at a bar table with three of her female friends whilst she drinks, with me humbly kneeling under the table and staring at my mistress’s left foot – the one resting on the ground (my head thereby acts as a footrest for her right foot which hovers above me in the air, should she so require it).
At 13:00 hrs precisely, however, my mistress uncrosses her right leg and rests both her feet side by side on the floor. It is my signal to begin the third, preordained foot-kissing ritual of the day.
This time, as I indicated earlier, I am required to kiss the sides of her white socks – specifically her sock-covered outer ankle bones, as ever alternating between her right and left foot. If my mistress ever happened to be standing up at 13:00 hrs, she would gently hitch up the hems of her black, denim jeans to afford my humble slave-lips access to the sides of her socks, but today, being seated, the hems of her trouser legs are already raised above her shapely, socked ankle bones, and so I can immediately begin to respectfully kiss them.
I am delighted to say that the crease in the cotton, material of the greyish-white ankle sock on my mistress Tabitha’s left foot, which I had earlier noted during my previous shoe-kissing session, is still there! Things like that make my day, as I can now have the pathetic pleasure of feeling my mistress’s creased sock on my lips, so much more exciting for a footslave than smooth sock!
Why? I suppose it’s psychological. It’s the knowledge that my mistress’s short, cotton sock is twisted and creased inside her shoe, but that she doesn’t really care – for it is only her sock. Indeed, she probably is unaware of that crease, for if it was causing her any discomfort she would doubtless just reach down and subconsciously straighten her sock in front of my eyes (being a dumb foot, shoe and sock kisser she would never entrust me with such a complicated task as straightening her sock!)
But my mistress has done no such thing. She doesn’t care about the insignificant little crease in her sock. And nor does anyone else – apart from me. For right now I am nothing but her pathetic sockslave – kissing the sides of her socks on both her shapely, feminine ankle bones, and paying homage to them.
The next foot-kissing ritual, the fourth of the day, takes place mid afternoon at 3:00 p.m. I must now kiss the low heels of her flat, black leather, slip-on shoes 70 times. Even though I don’t need to worry about whether or not my mistress is standing up or sitting down for this particular ritual – for either way my lips will have access to her shoe-heels - it can, nevertheless be quite an awkward task, as it necessitates me bending my head around the front of my mistress’s foot.
I am never permitted to approach my mistress’s heels from behind when I am kissing them. The only time I am behind her heels is when I am crawling on all fours to heel, like an obedient puppy-dog, desperately hoping for the occasional glimpse of the backs of her greyish-white socks beneath her black denim, jean-leg hems as she walks along .
When it comes to kissing the flat heels at the backs of her shoes, however, I must approach my mistress’s feet from the front, and stretch my head around the side of her shoes.
As I said, it can be quite difficult, but, as the saying goes, ‘practice makes perfect’ – and I have had a lot of practice! I do enjoy kissing my mistress’s shoe-heels, for they are invariably the dirtiest part of her shoes – in contact with the ground – and, on a wet day like today in particular, they are covered with wet street mud, and even, I can see, on the underside of the heel on her right shoe, a blade of dirty, wet grass.
Oh how I would dearly love to lick that mud, and dirt, and grass off my mistress’s low, black leather, shoe-heels for her! But I am not considered worthy or competent to do so. Instead I must just kiss them; 35 times each; alternately; audibly; respectfully; whilst my petite and slightly-built, black curly-haired and dark-eyed, 22 year old Romany mistress towers above me like a female colossus!
Session number 5, which takes place at teatime (about 5:00 PM) is the trickiest of the lot – for I must now pay my humble respects to my mistress Tabitha’s socked heels, whilst she is still wearing her ankle-socks inside her shoes. Don’t get me wrong – I relish the challenge! For the socks at the backs of her heels are particularly thin and well-worn, so much so that I can even see a faint trace of my Romany mistress’s dusky, brown heel-skin beneath the grey-white of the plain, cotton ankle sock as I kiss it – and on both her precious feet!
But it is a tricky manoeuvre, nonetheless, as, once again, I must approach my mistress’s socked heels from the front. This really is the one ritual of the day where my mistress Tabitha has little choice but to sit down, for she knows that, incompetent sock-kisser that I am, I would find it well-nigh impossible to reach round to kiss her socked heels if she was standing up – even if she was kind and condescending enough to turn up the hems of her black, denim jean-legs for me!
And so my mistress Tabitha, kindly and magnanimously, always makes sure to be seated at 5:00 p.m. – usually on her train home – which allows me to kneel on the dirty floor of the train, in front of her feet, and to stretch my slave head round to the back of her feet in order to kiss her worn-down sock-heels 70 times.
Again, none of the other passengers bat an eyelid – and not just because the sound of my humble sock-kissing is drowned out by the sound of the train engine – but because this is nothing unusual. Just a young gypsy-woman’s sockslave paying homage to his mistress’s socks. The commuters carry on reading their evening newspapers, as does my charming young mistress.
For the first session of the evening, session no. 6, which takes place at 7:00 p.m. after my mistress has had her evening meal, I am required to pay homage to my mistress’s sweaty, socked toes.
Of course, she will have kicked off her shoes by now, or had them taken off by the maidservant, and will be relaxing in front of the television with her socked feet up on the sofa. At 7:00 p.m. precisely my mistress Tabitha swings her socked feet down onto the floor (rather like she does first thing in the morning when she first wakes up) in order that I may pay my humble respects to the reinforced stitching of the greyish-white, cotton sock material which covers her pretty toes.
Of course, I will have been kneeling and staring at my mistress’s pretty, socked feet as they rested up on the arm of the sofa, but my mistress considers that for ritualistic sock-kissing her feet should be resting on the ground. It’s as if they should be resting in the dirt, so that the dirty slave can have access to them in the proper place – at floor level.
This is probably, if I am honest, my favourite ritual of the day, for I not only get to feel the softness of my mistress’s cotton socks on my lips, I can simultaneously breathe in the aroma of her warm, socked feet as I do so. It is such a distinctive aroma – very personal to my mistress. It is both sweet and sour. Sweet and sour sock! I’m sure my mistress Tabitha must be able to hear my surreptitious breathing in through my slave nostrils as I kiss each set of socked toes. But she indulges me, for she knows that the stale air surrounding her socked feet is the only air I am fit to breathe.
Finally, just before she retires to bed, her socks deftly removed from her feet by her highly-skilled maidservant, I must perform the final foot-kissing ritual of the day – the seventh. I must kiss my mistress Tabitha’s big toenails 70 times, again alternating between her right and left foot.
Just the unpainted and unvarnished toenails mind – not the cuticles of her big toes; and not the skin! At least, that’s the theory! The problem I have in practice is that my slightly-built, 22 year old, mistress Tabitha’s big toenails are so small and delicate, and my ugly, male, slave mouth is so big, I find it impossible to avoid my lower lip straying onto my mistress’s cuticles.
At first this used to displease my mistress – and she whipped me soundly many times over it. But she gradually came to realise that I was not being intentionally disrespectful, and that my mouth was genuinely just too big for me to be physically able to kiss her big toenails alone. I mean, it wasn’t like I was attempting to exceed my remit by scraping out the black toe-jam from underneath her toenails with my teeth – like some sort of skilled and fully trained footslave might do! No – I was merely trying to respectfully kiss the tops of my mistress’s petite and delicate big toenails.
And so, yet again, my sweet and kind mistress Tabitha indulges my ineptitude and clumsiness – only punishing me once every 6 months for my unavoidable toeskin-kissing liberties, that punishment being that once every six months I am only permitted to kiss the ground in front of her bare, big toes 70 times.
Which sweet, feminine clemency is precisely why I make sure that each and every one of the 490 ritualistic kisses I deliver to my mistress Tabitha’s feet and footwear throughout the day is genuinely filled with slavish admiration and respect.
She is my Romany goddess, and I am her humble, pathetic foot-servant.’
‘My 22 year old mistress, mistress Tabitha, is a great believer in ritual. She has me kiss her feet 70 times, on 7 separate occasions, at set times throughout each and every day – as a demonstration of my undying respect and adoration for her.
My mistress never speaks to me, because she regards me as being too far below her in the food chain to be worth speaking to. By the same token I am totally forbidden to speak to her. I am what’s known in the Gynarchy as a ‘dumb’ footslave. So ritualistically kissing her feet throughout the day is the only way I can express my submissiveness and adoration towards my superior mistress, just as her whip does all the talking for her and expresses, when necessary, her justifiable and righteous anger and contempt for me.
My mistress Tabitha is a beautiful, slim, rather petite, swarthy-skinned mistress of Romany origins – though her family are no longer travellers and live in a large council house. She has long, black curly locks framing her piecing, dark eyes – although I have only ever seen her face in the reflection of her shoe leather, for I am, of course, unworthy to look my superior, young Romany mistress in the eye.
Our first ritualistic foot-kissing session of the day occurs as soon as my mistress wakes up. I must be ready and kneeling by the side of her bed (woe betide me if I am not!) waiting to pay my first homage of the day to her shapely, dusky, bare feet the instant she swings her shapely, bare legs out from under her duvet and rests her pretty feet on the bedroom carpet in front of my kneeling face.
There is a set way that I must kiss her feet 70 times. I must alternate between her feet, always starting with her right foot, and making sure that each kiss is short, respectful and audible. Mistress Tabitha does not want me licking her feet or slobbering all over them. I am not that sort of footslave. I am an unskilled, dumb foot-kisser, not even fit to wash my mistress’s dirty feet (the family have a maid to wash their feet).
No, my role is simply to pay my humble respects to this young, Romany goddess by kissing her bare feet – 70 times – my head repeatedly bobbing up and down as I lower and raise my lips 70 times alternately to her right and left foot, whilst she sits imperiously above me on the edge of her bed.
Of course, any podiatrist will tell you that, in kissing mistress Tabitha’s bare feet of a morning, my lips are in contact with many of her dead skin cells that her feet will have shed overnight. Her unwashed, early morning feet will, in fact, be covered in bacteria – bacteria which is now being transferred onto my slave lips. But that is how it should be, for even the dead skin and overnight bacteria on my mistress Tabitha’s soft, brown, unwashed feet is better than me. I am paying due homage to her superior foot bacteria which is a higher life form than me.
Oh how I savour the taste, the feel, and the aroma of my sweet and kind young Romany mistress’s bare feet first thing in the morning! It is manna from heaven for me, for I shall not get to kiss her bare feet again until the very end of the day. From now on it will only be her shoes and socks – not that that is any less of a privilege for a dirty, lowlife footslave such as myself.
I, of course, am considered incapable of adequately dressing my mistress’s feet in her shoes and socks, but I am allowed to watch as my mistress’s maid puts them on her pretty feet for her, feet which she will also first have washed in front of me. It’s not that my 22 year old mistress is incapable of putting on and taking off her own shoes and socks, you understand! It’s just that such mundane tasks are, quite literally, beneath her – especially when the State supplies her with a maidservant to do it for her.
Indeed, I have no choice but to frustratingly watch the maid performing such august chores for my superior mistress, as I am required to kneel by, and to stare at, my mistress Tabitha’s feet throughout the day. I must always follow her to heel, and kneel beside her shapely ankles. Staring at, and admiring, her feet is my main function in her life – even if the times when I am permitted to touch her feet and footwear (by kissing them) are strictly limited to the 7 ritual, foot-kissing sessions at various preordained times of the day.
The second such ritualistic foot-kissing session takes place mid-morning – at 10:00 a.m. This will be the case wherever my mistress is at that time and whatever she is doing. Even if she is walking in the street, she will stop by the kerb and present her feet to me for kissing – again 70 times in total; 35 times to each foot.
This time I will be kissing the rounded, and often dirty, toes of her black, leather, low-heeled, slip-on shoes. My mistress only has one pair of such leather shoes; one pair of scruffy, white, lace-up sneakers; and one pair of black, block-heeled, square-toed, zip-up ankle boots. So I will always be paying my slavish homage to one of those three styles of feminine footwear at this time of day – whichever style my mistress has chosen to wear that particular day.
Today is a weekday, and so my mistress is in college, where she is studying Philosophy and Law. She happens to have a lecture at 10:00 a.m. and so she is currently seated in a lecture hall, surrounded by her fellow female students, as I begin my second set of ritualistic footkissing for the day.
Although my footkisses to the toes of her black, leather shoes are audible, nobody blinks an eyelid. Why would they? I am just a two-a-penny footslave paying homage to my mistress’s shoes whilst she is wearing them, in line with her family’s cultural traditions. I can therefore concentrate on the task in mouth without feeling any inhibitions. I must kiss her feet in this way by Law, for it is the wish of my mistress.
Due to my superior mistress’s seated position in the lecture hall I can see her plain white, cotton ankle socks beneath the hems of her black, denim jeans as I kiss the scuff-marked and, this morning, rain-splashed leather toes of her black, leather, slip-on shoes. I say ‘white’ socks, but they have actually become more greyish in colour due to repeated washing and wear.
Again, I am not considered worthy to wash my mistress Tabitha’s socks. Only her maid gets to do that. But I shall at least get to kiss them, to pay my respects to them – while she is wearing them – although that will be for the next session, the third session of the day.
For now I must concentrate on alternately kissing the musty and scuff-marked, leathery toes of my mistress Tabitha’s well-worn, flat, slip-on shoes. For the moment I can only admire her socks inside her shoes from ‘anear’. And I do truly admire them. In fact, in particular, I note a small crease in the side of her left sock, just around her shapely, outer ankle bone. I make a mental note to be sure to kiss that sock-crease during my next ritualistic foot-worshipping session, assuming it is still there, of course, as I continue to kiss the black leather, rounded toes of my mistress Tabitha’s outer footwear.
My lips taste of her musty, shoe-leather after I finish my 70 kisses to the toes of her rain-dampened shoes. Having kissed them the full 70 times, I continue to kneel beside my mistress’s socked ankles, and study them whilst she studies philosophy. You could say that I am reading socks at university whilst she is reading Sartre. We are both studying what we are fit to study.
The third foot-kissing session with my mistress Tabitha takes place at lunchtime, in the Students’ Union bar, where my mistress tends to enjoy a ‘liquid lunch’ with some of her fellow philosophy-students. She is sitting, cross-legged, at a bar table with three of her female friends whilst she drinks, with me humbly kneeling under the table and staring at my mistress’s left foot – the one resting on the ground (my head thereby acts as a footrest for her right foot which hovers above me in the air, should she so require it).
At 13:00 hrs precisely, however, my mistress uncrosses her right leg and rests both her feet side by side on the floor. It is my signal to begin the third, preordained foot-kissing ritual of the day.
This time, as I indicated earlier, I am required to kiss the sides of her white socks – specifically her sock-covered outer ankle bones, as ever alternating between her right and left foot. If my mistress ever happened to be standing up at 13:00 hrs, she would gently hitch up the hems of her black, denim jeans to afford my humble slave-lips access to the sides of her socks, but today, being seated, the hems of her trouser legs are already raised above her shapely, socked ankle bones, and so I can immediately begin to respectfully kiss them.
I am delighted to say that the crease in the cotton, material of the greyish-white ankle sock on my mistress Tabitha’s left foot, which I had earlier noted during my previous shoe-kissing session, is still there! Things like that make my day, as I can now have the pathetic pleasure of feeling my mistress’s creased sock on my lips, so much more exciting for a footslave than smooth sock!
Why? I suppose it’s psychological. It’s the knowledge that my mistress’s short, cotton sock is twisted and creased inside her shoe, but that she doesn’t really care – for it is only her sock. Indeed, she probably is unaware of that crease, for if it was causing her any discomfort she would doubtless just reach down and subconsciously straighten her sock in front of my eyes (being a dumb foot, shoe and sock kisser she would never entrust me with such a complicated task as straightening her sock!)
But my mistress has done no such thing. She doesn’t care about the insignificant little crease in her sock. And nor does anyone else – apart from me. For right now I am nothing but her pathetic sockslave – kissing the sides of her socks on both her shapely, feminine ankle bones, and paying homage to them.
The next foot-kissing ritual, the fourth of the day, takes place mid afternoon at 3:00 p.m. I must now kiss the low heels of her flat, black leather, slip-on shoes 70 times. Even though I don’t need to worry about whether or not my mistress is standing up or sitting down for this particular ritual – for either way my lips will have access to her shoe-heels - it can, nevertheless be quite an awkward task, as it necessitates me bending my head around the front of my mistress’s foot.
I am never permitted to approach my mistress’s heels from behind when I am kissing them. The only time I am behind her heels is when I am crawling on all fours to heel, like an obedient puppy-dog, desperately hoping for the occasional glimpse of the backs of her greyish-white socks beneath her black denim, jean-leg hems as she walks along .
When it comes to kissing the flat heels at the backs of her shoes, however, I must approach my mistress’s feet from the front, and stretch my head around the side of her shoes.
As I said, it can be quite difficult, but, as the saying goes, ‘practice makes perfect’ – and I have had a lot of practice! I do enjoy kissing my mistress’s shoe-heels, for they are invariably the dirtiest part of her shoes – in contact with the ground – and, on a wet day like today in particular, they are covered with wet street mud, and even, I can see, on the underside of the heel on her right shoe, a blade of dirty, wet grass.
Oh how I would dearly love to lick that mud, and dirt, and grass off my mistress’s low, black leather, shoe-heels for her! But I am not considered worthy or competent to do so. Instead I must just kiss them; 35 times each; alternately; audibly; respectfully; whilst my petite and slightly-built, black curly-haired and dark-eyed, 22 year old Romany mistress towers above me like a female colossus!
Session number 5, which takes place at teatime (about 5:00 PM) is the trickiest of the lot – for I must now pay my humble respects to my mistress Tabitha’s socked heels, whilst she is still wearing her ankle-socks inside her shoes. Don’t get me wrong – I relish the challenge! For the socks at the backs of her heels are particularly thin and well-worn, so much so that I can even see a faint trace of my Romany mistress’s dusky, brown heel-skin beneath the grey-white of the plain, cotton ankle sock as I kiss it – and on both her precious feet!
But it is a tricky manoeuvre, nonetheless, as, once again, I must approach my mistress’s socked heels from the front. This really is the one ritual of the day where my mistress Tabitha has little choice but to sit down, for she knows that, incompetent sock-kisser that I am, I would find it well-nigh impossible to reach round to kiss her socked heels if she was standing up – even if she was kind and condescending enough to turn up the hems of her black, denim jean-legs for me!
And so my mistress Tabitha, kindly and magnanimously, always makes sure to be seated at 5:00 p.m. – usually on her train home – which allows me to kneel on the dirty floor of the train, in front of her feet, and to stretch my slave head round to the back of her feet in order to kiss her worn-down sock-heels 70 times.
Again, none of the other passengers bat an eyelid – and not just because the sound of my humble sock-kissing is drowned out by the sound of the train engine – but because this is nothing unusual. Just a young gypsy-woman’s sockslave paying homage to his mistress’s socks. The commuters carry on reading their evening newspapers, as does my charming young mistress.
For the first session of the evening, session no. 6, which takes place at 7:00 p.m. after my mistress has had her evening meal, I am required to pay homage to my mistress’s sweaty, socked toes.
Of course, she will have kicked off her shoes by now, or had them taken off by the maidservant, and will be relaxing in front of the television with her socked feet up on the sofa. At 7:00 p.m. precisely my mistress Tabitha swings her socked feet down onto the floor (rather like she does first thing in the morning when she first wakes up) in order that I may pay my humble respects to the reinforced stitching of the greyish-white, cotton sock material which covers her pretty toes.
Of course, I will have been kneeling and staring at my mistress’s pretty, socked feet as they rested up on the arm of the sofa, but my mistress considers that for ritualistic sock-kissing her feet should be resting on the ground. It’s as if they should be resting in the dirt, so that the dirty slave can have access to them in the proper place – at floor level.
This is probably, if I am honest, my favourite ritual of the day, for I not only get to feel the softness of my mistress’s cotton socks on my lips, I can simultaneously breathe in the aroma of her warm, socked feet as I do so. It is such a distinctive aroma – very personal to my mistress. It is both sweet and sour. Sweet and sour sock! I’m sure my mistress Tabitha must be able to hear my surreptitious breathing in through my slave nostrils as I kiss each set of socked toes. But she indulges me, for she knows that the stale air surrounding her socked feet is the only air I am fit to breathe.
Finally, just before she retires to bed, her socks deftly removed from her feet by her highly-skilled maidservant, I must perform the final foot-kissing ritual of the day – the seventh. I must kiss my mistress Tabitha’s big toenails 70 times, again alternating between her right and left foot.
Just the unpainted and unvarnished toenails mind – not the cuticles of her big toes; and not the skin! At least, that’s the theory! The problem I have in practice is that my slightly-built, 22 year old, mistress Tabitha’s big toenails are so small and delicate, and my ugly, male, slave mouth is so big, I find it impossible to avoid my lower lip straying onto my mistress’s cuticles.
At first this used to displease my mistress – and she whipped me soundly many times over it. But she gradually came to realise that I was not being intentionally disrespectful, and that my mouth was genuinely just too big for me to be physically able to kiss her big toenails alone. I mean, it wasn’t like I was attempting to exceed my remit by scraping out the black toe-jam from underneath her toenails with my teeth – like some sort of skilled and fully trained footslave might do! No – I was merely trying to respectfully kiss the tops of my mistress’s petite and delicate big toenails.
And so, yet again, my sweet and kind mistress Tabitha indulges my ineptitude and clumsiness – only punishing me once every 6 months for my unavoidable toeskin-kissing liberties, that punishment being that once every six months I am only permitted to kiss the ground in front of her bare, big toes 70 times.
Which sweet, feminine clemency is precisely why I make sure that each and every one of the 490 ritualistic kisses I deliver to my mistress Tabitha’s feet and footwear throughout the day is genuinely filled with slavish admiration and respect.
She is my Romany goddess, and I am her humble, pathetic foot-servant.’
