The Shoeshine Girl's Shoeshine Boy
The Shoeshine Girl’s Shoeshine Boy
She is known as ‘Dalia the Shoeshine Girl’ to her customers – or just plain ‘Dalia’ to her friends. On the rare occasions that I am permitted to speak I must address her as ‘mistress Dalia’ – for I am her slave.
Mistress Dalia is of Bangladeshi origins, 25 years old, petite, slim and very beautiful, with big, brown eyes, long, straight, dark hair and a happy, intelligent, smiling face. Everybody loves her, including me, even though she despises me – for I am just her white, ugly, middle-aged, male footslave, forever cringing at her pretty, feminine feet. How could such a beautiful, young woman not despise me?
Originally an economic migrant, mistress Dalia is now a successful young businesswoman. She runs a mobile shoeshine-business. She is the manager, and I am the only employee. She earns her living through her managerial supervision of my humble labour – shining shoes.
And not just anyone’s shoes: women’s shoes. This is my mistress Dalia’s unique marketing tool. Her ‘shoeshine-boy’ specialises in cleaning and shining only ladies’ shoes, and he must do so using only his footslave lips and tongue!
It is, needless to say, a popular service amongst the ladies, and my mistress Dalia’s business is doing very nicely, thank you very much!
She has even invested in some equipment for me – a wooden footblock attached to a slave-collar which hangs from two chains on either side of my neck. Each chain is (appropriately enough) about a foot long – allowing the heavy, wooden footblock to dangle in the air under my nose as I crawl along the pavement, behind my mistress’s heels, on my hands and knees. When she stops, I must lower my neck until the block is resting on the ground, and wait for my next female customer to place her pretty, outstretched foot onto it, ready for me to service her footwear with my lips.
The wood on the top of the all-wooden footblock had once been light brown in colour. But it is now darkened with use – darkened by the ingrained dirt from the soles of many different women’s shoes, sandals and boots. My mistress Dalia thinks this is good; she says it is good for her slave to carry the dirt from superior women’s shoes around with him under his nose.
My mistress is right. It is an honour and a privilege for me to do so.
My mistress Dalia is very good at drumming up customers. What follows is a description of my typical day working as the shoeshine girl’s shoeshine boy:
The Commuter
We start work early in the morning at the main railway station after my mistress Dalia has breakfasted (I do not get to eat breakfast as my mistress Dalia correctly points out that I will be stuffing my ugly face all day long with superior women’s boot and shoe dirt).
My mistress Dalia is casually, but modestly, dressed in a navy blue blouse, tight, black leggings which come down as far as her shapely, lower calf muscles, black and grey patterned ankle socks, and black, slip-on, shiny black, patent leather, flat shoes with nice, rounded toes. As I crawl on my hands and knees (naked apart from a pair of plain, white slave shorts and my slave collar with wooden footblock attached) behind my pretty, young Bangladeshi mistress’s brown heels I am fascinated by her socks. They disappear completely from view at the back of her shoes, leaving the full shapeliness of her soft, feminine heels and ankle bones completely exposed. I wonder why she is even bothering to wear socks if she doesn’t want them to protect her delicate, feminine heels!
Perhaps she just wants the socks to absorb her footsweat inside her shoes. Perhaps she wants to expose her bare heels and ankles to my slavish gaze in order to deliberately torment me. Or perhaps she has chosen to wear her short, black and grey patterned socks in order to indulge me – to relieve my boredom and give me something to concentrate on in between customers. For whenever I am not serving a female customer I am required by law to stare at my Bangladeshi mistress’s feet and footwear.
Whatever my mistress Dalia’s motives, it is, at the end of the day, entirely her choice how she wears her socks. For she is the all-powerful, superior mistress, and I am but her humble footslave-cum-shoeshine-employee.
I have, of course, already licked my mistress Dalia’s shoes to the shine I now see in front of me. I am proud of my work – even though I know I shall not be permitted to lick her shoes clean again until the evening, and will be therefore obliged to look on helplessly as pieces of street dirt and splashes of rain water dirty my mistress’s shoes again during the course of the day.
How I yearn to lick away each offending speck of dust from my mistress Dalia’s pretty, black shoes as it attaches itself to my superior mistress’s footwear! But I am not employed to lick clean my mistress’s shoes throughout the day. I am employed as the shoeshine-slave of others; of her valued female customers.
And the early morning, commuting businesswomen can be amongst the most demanding.
Of course, we have our ‘regulars’, but my mistress Dalia is particularly adept at soliciting new customers. She has such a happy-go-lucky manner of approaching potential new customers that they are invariably ‘hooked’.
Such as now, for example. I watch the tendons in the back of my mistress Dalia’s skinny, brown heels flexing as she strolls over, with myself in tow, towards a young businesswoman who appears to be enjoying a quick coffee prior to boarding her train.
The young, blonde, ponytailed businesswoman is smartly dressed in a dark, pinstriped jacket and skirt, with what appear to be finest-denier, dark nylon stockings on her shapely legs and a smart pair of black, low-heeled courts on her equally shapely, feminine feet:
‘Good morning, madam! My name Dalia. Madam like Dalia slave shine Madam shoes?’ my mistress Dalia asks her politely and genially.
My mistress speaks quite good English, considering she has only been in the country some 18 months, but still has a very strong, and very cute, Bangladeshi accent.
The businesswoman is standing against a high coffee table on the Station concourse outside one of the station restaurants. In addition to drinking her coffee she had been reading the financial pages of her newspaper, but she interrupts her reading as soon as my mistress Dalia approaches her:
‘Oh!...Erm…Yes please, that would be nice!...Erm…what exactly do I have to do?’ responds the young, smartly-suited businesswoman.
My mistress Dalia smiles and puts the young business-mistress at her ease:
‘Ha! Ha! Madam please just relax and put foot on wooden block under slave’s face. Slave will lick madam shoe; take off dirt with tongue; make shoe sparkle!’
My footblock is now resting on the ground under my nose waiting for the inexperienced young business-mistress to follow my mistress Dalia’s instructions. Soon the young woman’s right foot is resting on top of the block directly under my kneeling nose. Her businesslike, black, court shoe is now so close to my face that it dominates my senses. I can smell the young businesswoman’s shoe leather; my whole field of vision is filled with the sight of her shapely nylon-clad ankle bone and low-heeled, pointy-toed, black leather shoe; I can even focus in on the tiny individual stitches in the nylon material of her stocking, particularly where it stretches over her outer ankle bone; and I shall very soon be feeling her dirty, shoe leather on my lips and tasting her dirty shoe leather on my tongue.
For, although from a distance the young businesswoman-mistress appears smartly dressed, this close up one cannot help but notice tiny little imperfections on her foot and footwear: a tiny piece of black fluff lodged in one of the dark, nylon stitches covering the crown of her foot; a tiny crease running along the leather on the side of her shoe, caused by frequent wear and the gradual moulding of the shoe leather to the shape of the mistress’s foot; a slither of dirt on the edge of the pointy, leather toe of the shoe.
It is the dirt, however, that I must concentrate on. My mistress Dalia usually has no need to give me verbal orders. This is no exception, for I know what I must do whenever a superior, young woman deigns to grace my wooden footblock with her pretty, shod foot – I must lick the dirt off the proffered shoe or boot; shine it up – with my slave lips and tongue. For, as my mistress Dalia repeatedly reminds me, I myself am nothing but a piece of dirt under women’s pretty feet, and dirt attracts dirt. So the dirt from women’s shoes therefore belongs in my ugly, middle-aged mouth and my fat, middle-aged belly.
As I duly start to lick at the slither of dirt on the toe of the young businesswoman’s shoe, I hear her giggle in a most unbusinesslike and unprofessional manner. I also see her foot muscles flex with pleasure inside her dark stocking, causing the fine, nylon material to momentarily crease and fold in front of my eyes.
My mistress Dalia sounds pleased with her new customer’s pleasurable reaction to my humble ministrations:
‘Ha! Ha! Madam like feel of slave lips on dirty shoe? Like feel slave tongue lick away dirt?’
‘Oh...erm… yes indeed!’ responds the novice customer, regaining some of her composure, as I continue to lather the toe of her shoe with my slave-saliva.
‘Ha! Ha! Madam like Dalia make slave rub Madam ankle with nose? Clean fluff and dust off Madam nylon stocking with nose?’
Of course, my mistress Dalia, petite in stature though she may be, is not close enough to the young businesswoman’s foot to observe whether or not there are any pieces of fluff or specks of dust attached to the customer’s nylon stockinged ankle. But it is a good guess, for as I have already observed, there was at least one minute piece of black fluff lodged in one of the dark, nylon stitches on the crown of the businesswoman-mistress’s foot.
The young, female customer, increasingly relaxed, responds to my mistress Dalia’s helpful suggestion:
‘Oh yes please, Dalia. I would like that, thank you!’
Mistress Dalia kicks me in the bare ribs with her black shoe (I can feel her pretty, Bangladeshi toes scrunched up inside the toe of her leather shoe as she kicks me). She does not speak to me, or bark down an order to me. She knows I have heard the conversation between the two superior women above me, and that I know what I must do.
I duly stop licking the young businesswoman’s court-shoe mud, gently and respectfully place my pointy nose onto the piece of offending fluff on the top of the young, female customer’s nylon-stockinged foot, and rub it off with the end of my nose. I inhale through my nose as I do so, hoping to catch just a whiff of sweet, feminine footsweat, but to my disappointment all I can smell is shoe leather. It is early in the day; the businesswoman-mistress must have bathed before setting out to work, and is wearing a freshly-washed pair of nylon stockings. If only I could be servicing her feet and footwear at the end of the working day! Oh what an honour and a privilege it would be to smell this successful and powerful young executive-businesswoman’s smelly, sweaty feet at the end of a hard day’s work in the office!
But instead I must content myself with breathing in the aroma of her fresh nylon stocking and her black shoe leather, as I ‘nose’ her stockinged foot, removing any remaining tiny pieces of dust and debris that may have already attached themselves to the superior mistress’s stockinged ankle.
Of course, I get to repeat the process with her left foot, again after I have first licked the offending mud and street-dirt from the lower rim of her left shoe. The businesswoman-mistress is now so relaxed and blasé about my humble servitude at her feet that she ignores me and resumes reading her paper and drinking her coffee. She is not, of course, ignoring my mistress Dalia, but rather leaving her to supervise my humble labour – labour for which mistress Dalia will receive financial remuneration. I don’t get to keep any of the money I earn, not even the tips.
And nor should I. For I am just a down-in-the-dirt slave. It is my mistress who deserves all the credit for finding the customer and providing the customer with my humble services!
I spend the next three hours augmenting my mistress Dalia’s income still further by tongue-shining various ladies’ shoes and boots on the concourse of the busy railway station.
The Office Worker
My mistress and I then move on to a nearby office block where my mistress has cleverly negotiated a contract to shine all the female office workers’ shoes.
As she stands talking to one of our regular customers, miss Deborah from Accounts, I lower my head in order to rest my heavy, wooden footblock on the floor and stare at my own mistress Dalia’s pretty black and grey patterned ankle socks – the socks that she deliberately wears below her ankles.
As I stare at her socks in a manner befitting a humble footslave I can hear the devil whispering to me in my ear – tempting me to transgress:
‘Ha! Ha! Go on, footslave – why don’t you nuzzle your mistress’s nice, soft socks? Go on – bury your nose in the folds of her sock! You know you want to! You know that you ache and yearn to sniff her pretty, feminine socks whilst she is still wearing them! Go on – your mistress won’t mind! She’ll find it endearing – a pathetic, middle-aged footslave nuzzling her soft, feminine-patterned socks with his ugly, slave nose. Do it! Do it now! Show your superior mistress how much you admire and respect her socks!’
It is a trap! My mistress will not find it endearing. In fact, she will be offended – for she has not ordered me to nuzzle her short, patterned socks. I can look, but I must not touch.
Get thee behind me Satan!
Fortunately my musings are soon interrupted as my mistress does deign to give me an order:
‘Slave lick side of miss Deborah boots! Lick dust out of zip! Shine up miss Deborah boot leather!’
The aforementioned miss Deborah who is seated at her office desk is now, helpfully, hitching up her black, trouser leg to reveal the side of her right, black leather, high-heeled and pointy-toed, zip-up ankle boot. I can just see the elasticated top of a bright, pink sock to match her bright, pink blouse.
As she rests her booted foot on my wooden footblock and I start to lick the dust from the black, canvas material running along the entire length of the zip area of the boot, I notice that the top of mistress Deborah’s thin, cotton, pink, ankle-length bootsock is somewhat twisted.
My mistress Dalia has evidently noticed it too, and again offers the owner of the footwear an additional service:
‘Miss Deborah want dirty slave straighten miss Deborah sock?’
Miss Deborah giggles and indicates that she would like me to straighten her sock for her inside her boot, but with certain provisos:
‘Ha! Ha! Yes please Dalia! But please can you make sure he doesn’t touch my bare flesh with his dirty, slave fingers?’
My mistress puts her at ease:
‘Ha! Ha! Miss Deborah not worry! Dalia make slave use nose!’
And so, once again, my rather pointy nose is put to good use straightening the elasticated top of an office girl’s pink bootsock whilst she answers a query on her telephone. Again I am ignored by the superior customer, if not by my superior supervisor, miss Dalia, as I nose-straighten the elasticated top of the young woman’s pink sock. Because I am aware of my mistress Dalia watching me so intently this time I dare not inhale deeply through my nose in an effort to smell the inside of the top of miss Deborah’s black, leather ankle boot, even though the devil is goading me to do so.
Unlike with her right foot, the pink sock on miss Deborah’s left, ankle-booted foot is not twisted and does not require straightening – but the zip cavity is even more dusty than that on her previous boot, and so I must lick it all the harder. As I do so I wonder if miss Deborah likes the feel of my slave tongue on her dusty boot-zip as much as I like the feel of her dusty boot-zip on my slave tongue.
I spend two more hours tongue-shining the lady office-workers’ dirty shoes and boots. They are all pleased with my work and thank and congratulate my mistress.
The Prisoner
After my mistress has lunched (I do not get anything to eat at lunchtime for my mistress Dalia correctly points out that I have been stuffing my ugly face all morning with superior women’s boot and shoe dirt), she leads me on my hands and knees into the local women’s prison.
Here I begin by tongue-shining the regulation, knee-length, black leather, zip-up boots of the female prison wardens. My mistress Dalia does not get paid for my hard labour shining the prison staffs’ boots, but she is a shrewd businesswoman for, by offering the female prison guards a free shoeshine, she gains access to the female prisoners’ cells - and the female prisoners do remunerate my mistress for her shoeshine boy’s services. The female inmates may not necessarily pay my mistress with cash for my work, but they do reward her with cigarettes, drugs and the occasional stolen item which she can then sell on.
Again, we have our regular customers inside the prison, and others who are newly arrived inmates.
In one of the cells we encounter both – mistress Tracey, a 35 year old white woman who is a long-term inmate and a regular customer of my mistress Dalia, and her new cell-mate, a young black woman of about 20 named mistress Olufunbi (or ‘Funbi’ for short).
Miss Olufunbi has recently arrived in the country from Africa and has never seen a portly, semi-naked, middle-aged, white, male footslave before. She therefore laughs nervously as I crawl into her cell behind my mistress Dalia’s unsocked heels:
‘Ha! Ha! Don’t be afraid, ‘Funbi – it’s just the shoeshine boy! He’s here to shine up our sneakers!’ mistress-prisoner Tracey reassures her fellow female inmate. ‘Isn’t that right, Dalia?’
My mistress also seeks to reassure the young African inmate:
‘Ha! Ha! Yes, miss Tracey – that right! Dirty no-good slave here to lick clean shoes of superior women-prisoners! Ha! Ha!’
All three women present in the cell now laugh out loud as the African girl appears more relaxed at my strange presence.
I notice from my kneeling position that she is wearing her prison uniform of white T shirt, green, corduroy trousers and plain, grey-white, canvas sneakers. Because she is seated on the edge of her bed and the hems of her trouser legs have ridden up her ankles I can also see that she is wearing dirty, white ankle socks.
‘Would you like him to clean your sneakers, honey?’ mistress Tracey asks the African girl.
The latter replies in a heavy, West-African accent:
‘Yes please, but I do not have any money!’
‘Ha! Ha! Don’t worry about that, hun, I’ll pay this time and you can owe me!’ offers her cell-mate mistress Tracey.
Mistress Tracey is such a kind woman, always looking after the other newly arrived inmates. I don’t know what mistress Tracey is in for – it must be something quite violent or serious for only the very worst female criminals are imprisoned here in the Gynarchy of Barbaria, but whatever it is she does not deserve to be ‘banged up’ for, from what I have seen of her, she has a heart of gold. Superior prisoner-mistress Tracey even has a tattoo of a heart on her right ankle which she often allows me to kiss after I have rolled down the top of her prison-issue, white ankle sock! Such a kind-hearted woman!
But today, it seems, I am to concentrate on her new cell-mate’s shoes and socks as she instructs the African girl on the use of the shoeshine-slave:
‘Ha! Ha! Just put your right foot onto the wooden footblock hanging from the slave’s neck,’ she explains to the new girl as I crawl over to kneel in front of her, resting the wooden block on the cell floor.
I can smell the somewhat frayed, green corduroy hem of the African mistress’s prison-issue trouser leg as, still seated on the edge of her bed, she positions her plain-white-canvas-sneaker-shod foot onto the top of the footblock. I notice also how her plain, white ankle sock appears very creased over her shapely, African ankle, and my heart leaps when I catch a sudden glimpse of her beautiful, soft, dark brown flesh above the top of her white ankle sock – much darker skin than that of my own mistress, mistress Dalia.
‘Ha! Ha! Miss Olufunbi relax – let slave lick sneaker. Slave lick off prison dirt from miss Olufunbi shoe!’
And, thanks to the magnanimity of prisoner-mistress Tracey, that’s exactly what I do – I lick and swallow the prison dirt from the newly arrived African prisoner-mistress Olufunbi’s plain white, prison-issue, soft, canvas sneaker whilst admiring the many creases and folds in her plain white, prison-issue, soft, cotton ankle sock – much to the latter’s evident delight as she claps her pretty African hands with glee. At last she has found someone in this place who is in her power and whom she can ‘lord it over’. There follows a succession of commands barked down to me in her heavy, melodious West African accent:
‘Ha! Ha! Lick the toe, slaveboy!...Now lick the heel…Now lick the top of my shoe…Don’t touch the sock!’
Mistress Olufunbi’s cell-mate miss Tracey, and my employer, miss Dalia, look on approvingly as the young African woman bosses me about.
Oh if only I could serve permanently in this women’s prison – I could bring so much joy to these unfortunate women who deserve to have their prison-uniform sneakers kissed and worshipped by a lowly, male footslave! But sadly, after some two hours of touring the female prisoners’ cells, myself and my mistress Dalia have to leave as my services are required on the streets of the Red Light District.
The Streetwalker
After my mistress has enjoyed her sumptuous evening meal of home-made curry and rice (I am not permitted to have dinner as my mistress Dalia correctly points out that I have been stuffing my ugly face all afternoon with superior, female prisoners’ uniform-issue, sneaker dirt) she ‘pimps’ me out on the mean streets of the capital city’s dimly-lit alleyways.
This is where female prostitutes and their male clients often seek out my services. It makes the women feel good as a humble, male slave pays homage to their feet and footwear prior to them having sex with their male ‘punters’. It also makes the male clients feel good as they get the chance to demonstrate their machismo and power over another man in front of their chosen female companions for the night.
One such couple – hooker and client – soon approach my mistress Dalia’s ‘pitch’ down a dark, dead-end alleyway. My mistress has cleverly positioned me underneath the only lamp-post in the alleyway allowing passers-by to see us and stroll down the alley towards us should they require my foot-services.
This particular lady of the night looks to be in her early thirties. She is white, and wearing a very short black leather mini skirt and a pair of very ‘tarty’ looking, bright orange, pointy-toed, high-heeled shoes on lacy, white ankle socks.
Her ‘boyfriend’, a black man, gives me her orders himself (men often like to give me my orders on behalf of their girlfriends as it serves to emphasise their ‘alpha male’ status in front of their women):
‘You there, the shoeshine-boy! Clean the filth off my girl’s shoes with your tongue, and don’t let your head brush against my woman’s frilly, white socks or I’ll whip your ass! Do you understand me, boy?’
My mistress Dalia who is standing beside me kicks me in the ribs again with the rounded toe of her own, modest, shiny, flat, black leather shoe:
‘Slave obey master! Lick young woman shoe! Not touch young woman clean, white sock with dirty face!’
My mistress is perfectly correct. The prostitute’s white socks do look surprisingly clean – surprising given that she has been walking the streets. Then again, the night is still young!
As I start licking her shiny, bright orange, high-heeled shoes the prostitute starts kissing her ‘client’ on the lips. This is somewhat unusual and I begin to wonder whether the man may in fact be her ‘pimp’ rather than a client. Maybe he has just bought the nice, clean, white socks for her!
Whatever, I take great care to obey my black master and white mistress and ensure that my stupid, slave forehead does not inadvertently brush against the streetwalker’s frilly, white ankle socks as I lick the filth of the Red Light District off her shiny, orange, high-heeled shoes.
She is chewing gum as I chew on her shoe-dirt. How different the insides of our respective mouths must taste!
I spend the rest of the evening tongue-shining the spike-heeled shoes and boots of superior, female prostitutes before my mistress Dalia decides it is time for us to head home.
Home Sweet Feminine Home
After my mistress has enjoyed supper (I am not permitted to eat supper because, as my mistress Dalia correctly points out, I have been stuffing my ugly face all evening with superior, female prostitutes' boot and shoe dirt), I am at last permitted to remove her shiny, black, flat, slip-on shoes and nose-massage her now sweaty, black and grey patterned socks as she relaxes on her couch counting up her day’s earnings - £376 plus 50 cigarettes and three packets of cannabis.
My mistress Dalia savours one of the cigarettes whilst I savour the aroma of her socks. I bury my slave nose deep inside her socked feet as I do not want the smell of her cigarette smoke to block out the odour of her precious footsweat.
I really am a very lucky shoeshine-slave. Yes I shall retire to the foot of my mistress’s bed hungry tonight, but my empty belly will nevertheless be lined with the foot dirt of many women from all walks of life – from smartly-dressed commuters, to office secretaries, to foreign women prisoners, to streetwalkers; all of them have enjoyed the services of my tongue on their footwear during the course of this typical day.
And when I do retire my face will also be covered in the residual sweat from my own Bangladeshi mistress’s, patterned, black and grey ankle socks. What more could a humble footslave wish for, and what more do you need to know?
What’s that you say? You want to know my name?
I’m afraid I do not have a name, for I am just the shoeshine girl’s shoeshine boy.
The End
She is known as ‘Dalia the Shoeshine Girl’ to her customers – or just plain ‘Dalia’ to her friends. On the rare occasions that I am permitted to speak I must address her as ‘mistress Dalia’ – for I am her slave.
Mistress Dalia is of Bangladeshi origins, 25 years old, petite, slim and very beautiful, with big, brown eyes, long, straight, dark hair and a happy, intelligent, smiling face. Everybody loves her, including me, even though she despises me – for I am just her white, ugly, middle-aged, male footslave, forever cringing at her pretty, feminine feet. How could such a beautiful, young woman not despise me?
Originally an economic migrant, mistress Dalia is now a successful young businesswoman. She runs a mobile shoeshine-business. She is the manager, and I am the only employee. She earns her living through her managerial supervision of my humble labour – shining shoes.
And not just anyone’s shoes: women’s shoes. This is my mistress Dalia’s unique marketing tool. Her ‘shoeshine-boy’ specialises in cleaning and shining only ladies’ shoes, and he must do so using only his footslave lips and tongue!
It is, needless to say, a popular service amongst the ladies, and my mistress Dalia’s business is doing very nicely, thank you very much!
She has even invested in some equipment for me – a wooden footblock attached to a slave-collar which hangs from two chains on either side of my neck. Each chain is (appropriately enough) about a foot long – allowing the heavy, wooden footblock to dangle in the air under my nose as I crawl along the pavement, behind my mistress’s heels, on my hands and knees. When she stops, I must lower my neck until the block is resting on the ground, and wait for my next female customer to place her pretty, outstretched foot onto it, ready for me to service her footwear with my lips.
The wood on the top of the all-wooden footblock had once been light brown in colour. But it is now darkened with use – darkened by the ingrained dirt from the soles of many different women’s shoes, sandals and boots. My mistress Dalia thinks this is good; she says it is good for her slave to carry the dirt from superior women’s shoes around with him under his nose.
My mistress is right. It is an honour and a privilege for me to do so.
My mistress Dalia is very good at drumming up customers. What follows is a description of my typical day working as the shoeshine girl’s shoeshine boy:
The Commuter
We start work early in the morning at the main railway station after my mistress Dalia has breakfasted (I do not get to eat breakfast as my mistress Dalia correctly points out that I will be stuffing my ugly face all day long with superior women’s boot and shoe dirt).
My mistress Dalia is casually, but modestly, dressed in a navy blue blouse, tight, black leggings which come down as far as her shapely, lower calf muscles, black and grey patterned ankle socks, and black, slip-on, shiny black, patent leather, flat shoes with nice, rounded toes. As I crawl on my hands and knees (naked apart from a pair of plain, white slave shorts and my slave collar with wooden footblock attached) behind my pretty, young Bangladeshi mistress’s brown heels I am fascinated by her socks. They disappear completely from view at the back of her shoes, leaving the full shapeliness of her soft, feminine heels and ankle bones completely exposed. I wonder why she is even bothering to wear socks if she doesn’t want them to protect her delicate, feminine heels!
Perhaps she just wants the socks to absorb her footsweat inside her shoes. Perhaps she wants to expose her bare heels and ankles to my slavish gaze in order to deliberately torment me. Or perhaps she has chosen to wear her short, black and grey patterned socks in order to indulge me – to relieve my boredom and give me something to concentrate on in between customers. For whenever I am not serving a female customer I am required by law to stare at my Bangladeshi mistress’s feet and footwear.
Whatever my mistress Dalia’s motives, it is, at the end of the day, entirely her choice how she wears her socks. For she is the all-powerful, superior mistress, and I am but her humble footslave-cum-shoeshine-employee.
I have, of course, already licked my mistress Dalia’s shoes to the shine I now see in front of me. I am proud of my work – even though I know I shall not be permitted to lick her shoes clean again until the evening, and will be therefore obliged to look on helplessly as pieces of street dirt and splashes of rain water dirty my mistress’s shoes again during the course of the day.
How I yearn to lick away each offending speck of dust from my mistress Dalia’s pretty, black shoes as it attaches itself to my superior mistress’s footwear! But I am not employed to lick clean my mistress’s shoes throughout the day. I am employed as the shoeshine-slave of others; of her valued female customers.
And the early morning, commuting businesswomen can be amongst the most demanding.
Of course, we have our ‘regulars’, but my mistress Dalia is particularly adept at soliciting new customers. She has such a happy-go-lucky manner of approaching potential new customers that they are invariably ‘hooked’.
Such as now, for example. I watch the tendons in the back of my mistress Dalia’s skinny, brown heels flexing as she strolls over, with myself in tow, towards a young businesswoman who appears to be enjoying a quick coffee prior to boarding her train.
The young, blonde, ponytailed businesswoman is smartly dressed in a dark, pinstriped jacket and skirt, with what appear to be finest-denier, dark nylon stockings on her shapely legs and a smart pair of black, low-heeled courts on her equally shapely, feminine feet:
‘Good morning, madam! My name Dalia. Madam like Dalia slave shine Madam shoes?’ my mistress Dalia asks her politely and genially.
My mistress speaks quite good English, considering she has only been in the country some 18 months, but still has a very strong, and very cute, Bangladeshi accent.
The businesswoman is standing against a high coffee table on the Station concourse outside one of the station restaurants. In addition to drinking her coffee she had been reading the financial pages of her newspaper, but she interrupts her reading as soon as my mistress Dalia approaches her:
‘Oh!...Erm…Yes please, that would be nice!...Erm…what exactly do I have to do?’ responds the young, smartly-suited businesswoman.
My mistress Dalia smiles and puts the young business-mistress at her ease:
‘Ha! Ha! Madam please just relax and put foot on wooden block under slave’s face. Slave will lick madam shoe; take off dirt with tongue; make shoe sparkle!’
My footblock is now resting on the ground under my nose waiting for the inexperienced young business-mistress to follow my mistress Dalia’s instructions. Soon the young woman’s right foot is resting on top of the block directly under my kneeling nose. Her businesslike, black, court shoe is now so close to my face that it dominates my senses. I can smell the young businesswoman’s shoe leather; my whole field of vision is filled with the sight of her shapely nylon-clad ankle bone and low-heeled, pointy-toed, black leather shoe; I can even focus in on the tiny individual stitches in the nylon material of her stocking, particularly where it stretches over her outer ankle bone; and I shall very soon be feeling her dirty, shoe leather on my lips and tasting her dirty shoe leather on my tongue.
For, although from a distance the young businesswoman-mistress appears smartly dressed, this close up one cannot help but notice tiny little imperfections on her foot and footwear: a tiny piece of black fluff lodged in one of the dark, nylon stitches covering the crown of her foot; a tiny crease running along the leather on the side of her shoe, caused by frequent wear and the gradual moulding of the shoe leather to the shape of the mistress’s foot; a slither of dirt on the edge of the pointy, leather toe of the shoe.
It is the dirt, however, that I must concentrate on. My mistress Dalia usually has no need to give me verbal orders. This is no exception, for I know what I must do whenever a superior, young woman deigns to grace my wooden footblock with her pretty, shod foot – I must lick the dirt off the proffered shoe or boot; shine it up – with my slave lips and tongue. For, as my mistress Dalia repeatedly reminds me, I myself am nothing but a piece of dirt under women’s pretty feet, and dirt attracts dirt. So the dirt from women’s shoes therefore belongs in my ugly, middle-aged mouth and my fat, middle-aged belly.
As I duly start to lick at the slither of dirt on the toe of the young businesswoman’s shoe, I hear her giggle in a most unbusinesslike and unprofessional manner. I also see her foot muscles flex with pleasure inside her dark stocking, causing the fine, nylon material to momentarily crease and fold in front of my eyes.
My mistress Dalia sounds pleased with her new customer’s pleasurable reaction to my humble ministrations:
‘Ha! Ha! Madam like feel of slave lips on dirty shoe? Like feel slave tongue lick away dirt?’
‘Oh...erm… yes indeed!’ responds the novice customer, regaining some of her composure, as I continue to lather the toe of her shoe with my slave-saliva.
‘Ha! Ha! Madam like Dalia make slave rub Madam ankle with nose? Clean fluff and dust off Madam nylon stocking with nose?’
Of course, my mistress Dalia, petite in stature though she may be, is not close enough to the young businesswoman’s foot to observe whether or not there are any pieces of fluff or specks of dust attached to the customer’s nylon stockinged ankle. But it is a good guess, for as I have already observed, there was at least one minute piece of black fluff lodged in one of the dark, nylon stitches on the crown of the businesswoman-mistress’s foot.
The young, female customer, increasingly relaxed, responds to my mistress Dalia’s helpful suggestion:
‘Oh yes please, Dalia. I would like that, thank you!’
Mistress Dalia kicks me in the bare ribs with her black shoe (I can feel her pretty, Bangladeshi toes scrunched up inside the toe of her leather shoe as she kicks me). She does not speak to me, or bark down an order to me. She knows I have heard the conversation between the two superior women above me, and that I know what I must do.
I duly stop licking the young businesswoman’s court-shoe mud, gently and respectfully place my pointy nose onto the piece of offending fluff on the top of the young, female customer’s nylon-stockinged foot, and rub it off with the end of my nose. I inhale through my nose as I do so, hoping to catch just a whiff of sweet, feminine footsweat, but to my disappointment all I can smell is shoe leather. It is early in the day; the businesswoman-mistress must have bathed before setting out to work, and is wearing a freshly-washed pair of nylon stockings. If only I could be servicing her feet and footwear at the end of the working day! Oh what an honour and a privilege it would be to smell this successful and powerful young executive-businesswoman’s smelly, sweaty feet at the end of a hard day’s work in the office!
But instead I must content myself with breathing in the aroma of her fresh nylon stocking and her black shoe leather, as I ‘nose’ her stockinged foot, removing any remaining tiny pieces of dust and debris that may have already attached themselves to the superior mistress’s stockinged ankle.
Of course, I get to repeat the process with her left foot, again after I have first licked the offending mud and street-dirt from the lower rim of her left shoe. The businesswoman-mistress is now so relaxed and blasé about my humble servitude at her feet that she ignores me and resumes reading her paper and drinking her coffee. She is not, of course, ignoring my mistress Dalia, but rather leaving her to supervise my humble labour – labour for which mistress Dalia will receive financial remuneration. I don’t get to keep any of the money I earn, not even the tips.
And nor should I. For I am just a down-in-the-dirt slave. It is my mistress who deserves all the credit for finding the customer and providing the customer with my humble services!
I spend the next three hours augmenting my mistress Dalia’s income still further by tongue-shining various ladies’ shoes and boots on the concourse of the busy railway station.
The Office Worker
My mistress and I then move on to a nearby office block where my mistress has cleverly negotiated a contract to shine all the female office workers’ shoes.
As she stands talking to one of our regular customers, miss Deborah from Accounts, I lower my head in order to rest my heavy, wooden footblock on the floor and stare at my own mistress Dalia’s pretty black and grey patterned ankle socks – the socks that she deliberately wears below her ankles.
As I stare at her socks in a manner befitting a humble footslave I can hear the devil whispering to me in my ear – tempting me to transgress:
‘Ha! Ha! Go on, footslave – why don’t you nuzzle your mistress’s nice, soft socks? Go on – bury your nose in the folds of her sock! You know you want to! You know that you ache and yearn to sniff her pretty, feminine socks whilst she is still wearing them! Go on – your mistress won’t mind! She’ll find it endearing – a pathetic, middle-aged footslave nuzzling her soft, feminine-patterned socks with his ugly, slave nose. Do it! Do it now! Show your superior mistress how much you admire and respect her socks!’
It is a trap! My mistress will not find it endearing. In fact, she will be offended – for she has not ordered me to nuzzle her short, patterned socks. I can look, but I must not touch.
Get thee behind me Satan!
Fortunately my musings are soon interrupted as my mistress does deign to give me an order:
‘Slave lick side of miss Deborah boots! Lick dust out of zip! Shine up miss Deborah boot leather!’
The aforementioned miss Deborah who is seated at her office desk is now, helpfully, hitching up her black, trouser leg to reveal the side of her right, black leather, high-heeled and pointy-toed, zip-up ankle boot. I can just see the elasticated top of a bright, pink sock to match her bright, pink blouse.
As she rests her booted foot on my wooden footblock and I start to lick the dust from the black, canvas material running along the entire length of the zip area of the boot, I notice that the top of mistress Deborah’s thin, cotton, pink, ankle-length bootsock is somewhat twisted.
My mistress Dalia has evidently noticed it too, and again offers the owner of the footwear an additional service:
‘Miss Deborah want dirty slave straighten miss Deborah sock?’
Miss Deborah giggles and indicates that she would like me to straighten her sock for her inside her boot, but with certain provisos:
‘Ha! Ha! Yes please Dalia! But please can you make sure he doesn’t touch my bare flesh with his dirty, slave fingers?’
My mistress puts her at ease:
‘Ha! Ha! Miss Deborah not worry! Dalia make slave use nose!’
And so, once again, my rather pointy nose is put to good use straightening the elasticated top of an office girl’s pink bootsock whilst she answers a query on her telephone. Again I am ignored by the superior customer, if not by my superior supervisor, miss Dalia, as I nose-straighten the elasticated top of the young woman’s pink sock. Because I am aware of my mistress Dalia watching me so intently this time I dare not inhale deeply through my nose in an effort to smell the inside of the top of miss Deborah’s black, leather ankle boot, even though the devil is goading me to do so.
Unlike with her right foot, the pink sock on miss Deborah’s left, ankle-booted foot is not twisted and does not require straightening – but the zip cavity is even more dusty than that on her previous boot, and so I must lick it all the harder. As I do so I wonder if miss Deborah likes the feel of my slave tongue on her dusty boot-zip as much as I like the feel of her dusty boot-zip on my slave tongue.
I spend two more hours tongue-shining the lady office-workers’ dirty shoes and boots. They are all pleased with my work and thank and congratulate my mistress.
The Prisoner
After my mistress has lunched (I do not get anything to eat at lunchtime for my mistress Dalia correctly points out that I have been stuffing my ugly face all morning with superior women’s boot and shoe dirt), she leads me on my hands and knees into the local women’s prison.
Here I begin by tongue-shining the regulation, knee-length, black leather, zip-up boots of the female prison wardens. My mistress Dalia does not get paid for my hard labour shining the prison staffs’ boots, but she is a shrewd businesswoman for, by offering the female prison guards a free shoeshine, she gains access to the female prisoners’ cells - and the female prisoners do remunerate my mistress for her shoeshine boy’s services. The female inmates may not necessarily pay my mistress with cash for my work, but they do reward her with cigarettes, drugs and the occasional stolen item which she can then sell on.
Again, we have our regular customers inside the prison, and others who are newly arrived inmates.
In one of the cells we encounter both – mistress Tracey, a 35 year old white woman who is a long-term inmate and a regular customer of my mistress Dalia, and her new cell-mate, a young black woman of about 20 named mistress Olufunbi (or ‘Funbi’ for short).
Miss Olufunbi has recently arrived in the country from Africa and has never seen a portly, semi-naked, middle-aged, white, male footslave before. She therefore laughs nervously as I crawl into her cell behind my mistress Dalia’s unsocked heels:
‘Ha! Ha! Don’t be afraid, ‘Funbi – it’s just the shoeshine boy! He’s here to shine up our sneakers!’ mistress-prisoner Tracey reassures her fellow female inmate. ‘Isn’t that right, Dalia?’
My mistress also seeks to reassure the young African inmate:
‘Ha! Ha! Yes, miss Tracey – that right! Dirty no-good slave here to lick clean shoes of superior women-prisoners! Ha! Ha!’
All three women present in the cell now laugh out loud as the African girl appears more relaxed at my strange presence.
I notice from my kneeling position that she is wearing her prison uniform of white T shirt, green, corduroy trousers and plain, grey-white, canvas sneakers. Because she is seated on the edge of her bed and the hems of her trouser legs have ridden up her ankles I can also see that she is wearing dirty, white ankle socks.
‘Would you like him to clean your sneakers, honey?’ mistress Tracey asks the African girl.
The latter replies in a heavy, West-African accent:
‘Yes please, but I do not have any money!’
‘Ha! Ha! Don’t worry about that, hun, I’ll pay this time and you can owe me!’ offers her cell-mate mistress Tracey.
Mistress Tracey is such a kind woman, always looking after the other newly arrived inmates. I don’t know what mistress Tracey is in for – it must be something quite violent or serious for only the very worst female criminals are imprisoned here in the Gynarchy of Barbaria, but whatever it is she does not deserve to be ‘banged up’ for, from what I have seen of her, she has a heart of gold. Superior prisoner-mistress Tracey even has a tattoo of a heart on her right ankle which she often allows me to kiss after I have rolled down the top of her prison-issue, white ankle sock! Such a kind-hearted woman!
But today, it seems, I am to concentrate on her new cell-mate’s shoes and socks as she instructs the African girl on the use of the shoeshine-slave:
‘Ha! Ha! Just put your right foot onto the wooden footblock hanging from the slave’s neck,’ she explains to the new girl as I crawl over to kneel in front of her, resting the wooden block on the cell floor.
I can smell the somewhat frayed, green corduroy hem of the African mistress’s prison-issue trouser leg as, still seated on the edge of her bed, she positions her plain-white-canvas-sneaker-shod foot onto the top of the footblock. I notice also how her plain, white ankle sock appears very creased over her shapely, African ankle, and my heart leaps when I catch a sudden glimpse of her beautiful, soft, dark brown flesh above the top of her white ankle sock – much darker skin than that of my own mistress, mistress Dalia.
‘Ha! Ha! Miss Olufunbi relax – let slave lick sneaker. Slave lick off prison dirt from miss Olufunbi shoe!’
And, thanks to the magnanimity of prisoner-mistress Tracey, that’s exactly what I do – I lick and swallow the prison dirt from the newly arrived African prisoner-mistress Olufunbi’s plain white, prison-issue, soft, canvas sneaker whilst admiring the many creases and folds in her plain white, prison-issue, soft, cotton ankle sock – much to the latter’s evident delight as she claps her pretty African hands with glee. At last she has found someone in this place who is in her power and whom she can ‘lord it over’. There follows a succession of commands barked down to me in her heavy, melodious West African accent:
‘Ha! Ha! Lick the toe, slaveboy!...Now lick the heel…Now lick the top of my shoe…Don’t touch the sock!’
Mistress Olufunbi’s cell-mate miss Tracey, and my employer, miss Dalia, look on approvingly as the young African woman bosses me about.
Oh if only I could serve permanently in this women’s prison – I could bring so much joy to these unfortunate women who deserve to have their prison-uniform sneakers kissed and worshipped by a lowly, male footslave! But sadly, after some two hours of touring the female prisoners’ cells, myself and my mistress Dalia have to leave as my services are required on the streets of the Red Light District.
The Streetwalker
After my mistress has enjoyed her sumptuous evening meal of home-made curry and rice (I am not permitted to have dinner as my mistress Dalia correctly points out that I have been stuffing my ugly face all afternoon with superior, female prisoners’ uniform-issue, sneaker dirt) she ‘pimps’ me out on the mean streets of the capital city’s dimly-lit alleyways.
This is where female prostitutes and their male clients often seek out my services. It makes the women feel good as a humble, male slave pays homage to their feet and footwear prior to them having sex with their male ‘punters’. It also makes the male clients feel good as they get the chance to demonstrate their machismo and power over another man in front of their chosen female companions for the night.
One such couple – hooker and client – soon approach my mistress Dalia’s ‘pitch’ down a dark, dead-end alleyway. My mistress has cleverly positioned me underneath the only lamp-post in the alleyway allowing passers-by to see us and stroll down the alley towards us should they require my foot-services.
This particular lady of the night looks to be in her early thirties. She is white, and wearing a very short black leather mini skirt and a pair of very ‘tarty’ looking, bright orange, pointy-toed, high-heeled shoes on lacy, white ankle socks.
Her ‘boyfriend’, a black man, gives me her orders himself (men often like to give me my orders on behalf of their girlfriends as it serves to emphasise their ‘alpha male’ status in front of their women):
‘You there, the shoeshine-boy! Clean the filth off my girl’s shoes with your tongue, and don’t let your head brush against my woman’s frilly, white socks or I’ll whip your ass! Do you understand me, boy?’
My mistress Dalia who is standing beside me kicks me in the ribs again with the rounded toe of her own, modest, shiny, flat, black leather shoe:
‘Slave obey master! Lick young woman shoe! Not touch young woman clean, white sock with dirty face!’
My mistress is perfectly correct. The prostitute’s white socks do look surprisingly clean – surprising given that she has been walking the streets. Then again, the night is still young!
As I start licking her shiny, bright orange, high-heeled shoes the prostitute starts kissing her ‘client’ on the lips. This is somewhat unusual and I begin to wonder whether the man may in fact be her ‘pimp’ rather than a client. Maybe he has just bought the nice, clean, white socks for her!
Whatever, I take great care to obey my black master and white mistress and ensure that my stupid, slave forehead does not inadvertently brush against the streetwalker’s frilly, white ankle socks as I lick the filth of the Red Light District off her shiny, orange, high-heeled shoes.
She is chewing gum as I chew on her shoe-dirt. How different the insides of our respective mouths must taste!
I spend the rest of the evening tongue-shining the spike-heeled shoes and boots of superior, female prostitutes before my mistress Dalia decides it is time for us to head home.
Home Sweet Feminine Home
After my mistress has enjoyed supper (I am not permitted to eat supper because, as my mistress Dalia correctly points out, I have been stuffing my ugly face all evening with superior, female prostitutes' boot and shoe dirt), I am at last permitted to remove her shiny, black, flat, slip-on shoes and nose-massage her now sweaty, black and grey patterned socks as she relaxes on her couch counting up her day’s earnings - £376 plus 50 cigarettes and three packets of cannabis.
My mistress Dalia savours one of the cigarettes whilst I savour the aroma of her socks. I bury my slave nose deep inside her socked feet as I do not want the smell of her cigarette smoke to block out the odour of her precious footsweat.
I really am a very lucky shoeshine-slave. Yes I shall retire to the foot of my mistress’s bed hungry tonight, but my empty belly will nevertheless be lined with the foot dirt of many women from all walks of life – from smartly-dressed commuters, to office secretaries, to foreign women prisoners, to streetwalkers; all of them have enjoyed the services of my tongue on their footwear during the course of this typical day.
And when I do retire my face will also be covered in the residual sweat from my own Bangladeshi mistress’s, patterned, black and grey ankle socks. What more could a humble footslave wish for, and what more do you need to know?
What’s that you say? You want to know my name?
I’m afraid I do not have a name, for I am just the shoeshine girl’s shoeshine boy.
The End
