Role Play
I am employed by a television production company as a personal footslave to one of their contracted actresses.
For the past 12 months it has been my privilege to serve the pretty, 25 year old, brunette soap-star miss Rebecca, who plays the role of a newly married young woman called ‘Julie’ in one of the Gynarchy’s most popular TV series.
‘Julie’ is one of the show’s most controversial characters, as she is currently having a wild, passionate, on-screen affair with a much older man. The actress who plays her is therefore under quite a lot of stress at the present time as she has a lot of highly emotional scenes to take part in, and she is the centre of every one’s attention both on and off screen. I think she is enjoying it though!
I too have a role in the soap opera, but it is only a bit part – that of ‘miss Julie’s personal footslave.’ It is, needless to say, a non-speaking role! I am really just a ‘prop’ designed to add an element of realism to the soap opera. After all, what young, married woman in her mid twenties living in the Gynarchy would not have a personal footslave in real life? My presence in each scene is, therefore, an important one as it lends an air of authenticity to the drama – even if I am only ever seen and not heard!
Today’s first scene is set in the local pub. I have already seen the script:
‘Episode 346; scene 6
Location: the pub
Miss Julie enters the pub with her personal footslave crawling to heel.
She waves to her best friend Samantha and walks over to sit beside her.
Samantha already has a drink waiting for her on the table.
The footslave kisses Samantha’s feet and assumes his position on the floor as Julie’s footrest.
The two girls then converse excitedly……’
The director shouts ‘action’, and I duly crawl behind miss Julie’s heels into the pub.
Miss Julie is wearing frayed, boot-cut, blue denim jeans over a pair of stylish, black-leather, stiletto-heeled, pointy-toed, zip-up ankle boots, and so all I can really see as I crawl on my hands and knees behind her feet are the black, stiletto heels as they clip clop across the stage-pub floor.
I know a secret, however – something that none of the future viewers of this scene, and not even the other actors and actresses, or the director, know: I happen to know that miss Julie is wearing short, low-cut, plain white sneaker-socks inside her black, stiletto-heeled, ankle-length boots! I know that because I was required to put the socks onto her precious, soap-star feet in her opulent dressing room immediately prior to the shooting of this scene.
Of course, nobody else cares about, or is even thinking about, what type of socks, if any, miss Julie might be wearing inside her boots. They form no part of the plot! But for me, with my footslavish obsessions, the fact that miss Julie is wearing short, white sneaker-socks inside her ankle boots is a cause of great excitement, for I know that I shall in all probability get to smell her socks at the end of the day – possibly even massage her socked feet as she relaxes in her dressing room. I am therefore hoping that my mistress Julie’s feet are nice and warm inside her boots, for the sweatier they become the better – from my humble perspective.
It is, of course, at the same time deeply frustrating for me that I cannot see her socks inside her boots– not even the tops of her socks when she sits down – for her jeans are quite long and trail on the ground when she walks (hence the frayed hems), and they never seem to ride up over the tops of her pretty ankle boots. Even if they were to do so, my mistress’s short, white socks would still be well hidden inside the depths of her boots as the low-cut, cotton socks barely cover her sweet, feminine ankle bones.
I sometimes wonder why young women even bother to wear such socks, designed for sneakers, inside their boots - though I am grateful that they do, for even short sneaker socks are preferable to no socks at all! But surely a nice pair of thick, ankle or calf-length bootsocks would be more comfortable for them?
Whatever, such short, modern socks are all the rage and miss Julie is by no means the first young woman I have served who likes to wear thin, low-cut sneaker socks inside a stylish pair of pointy-toed and stiletto-heeled ankle boots.
But I digress – for, as the stage directions indicate – I have a bit of acting to do in this scene as my mistress Julie approaches her friend Samantha in the pub. I must first kiss miss Samantha’s feet, and then serve as a footrest to my mistress Julie on the floor of the pub as she sits down at the table.
I always like kissing miss Samantha’s feet. Miss Samantha is an attractive, slim black girl who plays the role of miss Julie’s best friend. I think that, in the soap opera, they have been best friends for many years – although if truth be told the two young actresses don’t really seem to like each other very much in real life. There is, I think, an element of professional rivalry between them – especially as just a few weeks ago miss Samantha’s storylines were uppermost with her unwanted pregnancy story.
For the moment, however, miss Samantha seems to be very much playing second-fiddle to miss Julie, with most of her scenes being that of the supportive best friend as miss Julie confides in her about her illicit affair with an older man, and wrestles with the difficulties of hiding her affair from her husband of just three months!
Second fiddle or not, I must kiss miss Samantha’s feet with total respect and contriteness – just as a footslave would do in real life.
Miss Samantha is wearing black jeans and bright red and yellow-striped ankle socks inside a pair of dirty white, lace-up sneakers. The sneakers are supplied by the wardrobe department, but the socks are her own. Because she is already seated at the table I have quite a good view of her socks, and I can’t help noticing as I kiss the leathery, white, rounded toes of both her sneakers that, whereas the lowest, visible sock-stripe running along the top of her right sneaker is yellow, on her left foot it is one of the red stripes.
I deduce from this that her socks are not even – and that thought excites me. For it implies that miss Samantha doesn’t really care whether her stripy, red and yellow ankle socks are on straight or not inside her dirty, white sneakers, because such concerns are, literally, beneath her. Only a pathetic, down-in-the-dirt footslave such as myself need concern himself with such mundane issues as a female, black soap-star’s socks !
The black girl and the white girl, of course, ignore me as I kiss the black girl’s sneakers whilst they kiss and greet each other above me – just as would happen in real life. In real life superior, young women are much too busy to concern themselves with the routine activities of a personal footslave beneath them –providing, of course, he is doing what is expected of him. And in the Gynarchy whenever a young married woman with a personal footslave greets her unmarried, footslave-less, female friend, the former’s footslave is expected to kiss the feet of the latter – by way of a respectful acknowledgement of his readiness to serve his mistress’s friend as well as his mistress herself.
It’s just a societal norm, which is why the scriptwriters had to include it in the scene.
Equally predictable is my role as miss Julie’s footrest under the table. Having humbly kissed miss Samantha’s sneakered feet – just once on each toe – I must lie quietly down on the dirty floor of the pub, on my bare stomach, my right cheek resting directly in the dirt whilst my upturned left cheek serves as a footrest for the dusty sole of my mistress Julie’s left, ankle-booted foot.
Her right foot is dangling in the air above me as my mistress sits cross-legged at the circular table opposite her friend. It is frustrating for me – for I would much prefer that my mistress Julie would sit with one foot resting on my upturned cheek whilst her other booted foot rested on the ground in front of my face. At least that way I would get to stare at the side of one of her boots - at the zip – even if I would have no chance of seeing her pretty, feminine white sock inside the ankle-length boot.
But instead I must make do with looking at miss Samantha’s sneakered and socked feet from a distance as I feel the metal tip of miss Julie’s sharp, stiletto heel digging into my upturned cheekbone.
Miss Julie is not deliberately digging her heel into my cheekbone. Every movement of her stiletto heel is unthinking and subconscious as she chats animatedly, albeit in somewhat whispered tones, to her make-believe friend, miss Samantha – but, again, this is just how it would be for a humble footslave in real life; ignored; forgotten-about; a human footrest that is just an object beneath his mistress’s dirty and dusty booted feet.
At least I can still see female feet in the distance on the other side of the table – miss Samantha’s feet. It is important to me, for, as a professional footslave, I feel uneasy when my footslave senses are not dominated by young women’s feet and footwear. Ideally I like all of my senses- sight, sound, taste, smell and touch – to be simultaneously overwhelmed by sweet feminine feet and footwear. For that is where I belong – at the feet and footwear of superior and beautiful, young women.
However a footslave – especially a two-bit actor-footslave such as myself – can’t have everything, and it’s not like the world, even the fictional world of a television soap-opera, has to revolve around my wishes and desires! Indeed, it’s the wishes and desires of my mistress Julie with regard to her illicit affair with an older man that are currently the focus of every one’s attention as she confides in her best friend Samantha.
I therefore remain lying on the floor silently under my mistress Julie’s boot whilst the two girls drink and talk as they are seated above me. I see miss Samantha’s red and yellow-striped socks crease and fold from to time as she subconsciously moves her feet around under the table during her conversation with my mistress Julie. How I wish I could be closer to miss Samantha’s socks so that I could observe the very individual stitches in her pretty, bright-coloured socks! At one point I’m sure I even catch a glimpse of her bare, black leg beneath the hem of her black, denim jean, but it is so far away from me I might as well be a normal ‘free’ man observing miss Samantha’s feet from a distance! I’m just not close enough to miss Samantha’s sneakered and socked feet to derive any pathetic footslavish pleasure from them!
I therefore finding myself having to revert to my vivid, footslave imagination – and in particular I start fantasising about my mistress Julie’s white sneaker-socks creasing and folding inside her black ankle-boots. I find myself wondering whether her socks are creased around her toes inside the pointy toes of her stylish, modern boots.
Above me, meanwhile, the girlish conversation continues until the director shouts ‘cut!’. I must confess I haven’t been paying much attention to the dialogue but, then again, a footslave wouldn’t be expected to listen in to his superior mistress’s conversations in real life. He would, like me, be concentrating on the feel of his mistress’s stiletto heel digging into his cheek, and thinking about her short, white socks inside her boots.
The next scene is supposed to take place later the same day in an alleyway:
‘Episode 346; scene 7
Location: The alleyway next to the market
Julie is embracing and kissing her boyfriend, Phillip.
The couple are discussing their plans for the evening, when they will be eloping to a hotel for an illicit lovemaking-session.
Julie’s footslave is kneeling behind her heels.’
I do love watching my mistress Julie’s (or should that be Phillip’s ‘mistress’ Julie’s) booted right foot lift up behind her coquettishly in the air as she passionately kisses her older boyfriend on the lips in the dim and dingy alleyway next to the market stalls. From my humble, kneeling footslave position I get to see close-up the dirty sole of my superior mistress’s ankle boot. The actual sole of the otherwise black, stiletto ankle boot is actually beige in colour, and it also reveals clear signs of wear and tear. Unlike miss Samantha’s sneakers, my mistress Julie’s boots are her own (as are her socks) as she felt the wardrobe department didn’t have any suitable footwear for her character to wear (I believe the television production company did subsequently reimburse her for the boots).
Anyway, the point I am making is that miss Julie frequently wears these boots off-screen during her free time, as she really likes them. I know that because I am her footslave in real life at the moment too. I am under strict orders from the production company to serve miss Julie (or rather miss Rebecca to give her her real name!) off-screen as well as on-screen, and to make sure I pander to her every foot-whim. So I know for a fact that she likes to wear these boots during her spare time.
As a result of their frequent wear the soles of the boots are quite worn – with little patches of black where the beige has worn away, and some signs of ingrained street dirt in the tiny, thin treads. The fact that miss Julie is now effectively shoving the dirty sole of her right boot in my face whilst she kisses her boyfriend in the alleyway thrills me – for it reminds me that she thinks of me as nothing more than the dirt beneath her boots. She is displaying her boot-dirt to a piece of dirt, and the sole of her dirty boot is all I am fit to look at whilst she swoons in the arms of her much older lover.
The upper rim of the black ankle boot disappears up inside the frayed hem of her boot-cut jean leg as it hovers behind her in front of my kneeling and humbly-bowed face, and my only regret, once again, is that I have no chance of seeing her short, white sneaker-sock inside her boot. Just knowing it’s there though, is excitement enough!
Miss Julie’s lover, master Phillip, needless to say, pretty much ignores me as he busily snogs my mistress in the back alleyway. Of course he does – and nor does he need any directions to do so from the scriptwriters. He ignores me quite naturally, as any free man would do in real life – the piece of dirt kneeling at his girlfriend’s booted heels. Why would he give me a second thought?
That’s not to say, however, that he doesn’t refer to me in the course of his scripted conversation with his young mistress in the back alleyway:
‘…..You can bring along your dirty footlick if you like, honey!’
My ears prick up at this point. It is actually quite rare for there to be any overt references to the footslave in a television drama. I am after all little more than a prop to the star, mistress Julie’s, feet. But the term ‘footlick’ undoubtedly refers to me. It is a slang term for a footslave widely used throughout the Gynarchy.
So, the scriptwriters have clearly decided that I am to accompany the mistress and master on their secretive tryst to the hotel where they will undoubtedly be spending the scene making mad, passionate love! I am glad – not because I shall take any pleasure in witnessing my mistress Julie making love to a superior, free man (or rather, pretending to, for this is, after all, only a soap opera that is broadcast before the evening watershed!) - but because the scene in the hotel bedroom will almost certainly involve me having to kneel by mistress Julie’s feet as she sits on the edge of the bed and removing her boots and socks from her pretty feet.
If I am very lucky the director may even have me sniffing her discarded socks and boots in a corner of the room whilst she is lying in bed with her boyfriend, and this would be a major scene for me. Not a speaking part, exactly – but a ‘sniffing’ part!
I hear miss Julie giggle in response to master Phillip’s suggestion that she bring along her ‘dirty footlick’ to the hotel:
‘OK, darling…he can tongue-shine my boots whilst we make love!’
Yes! Thank you scriptwriters! This is even better than sniffing the insides of her boots! I shall get to lick the dirt off them – the dirt from where my mistress has been walking today, including this very alleyway – whilst my mistress Julie relaxes in the arms of her lover. And don’t think I won’t sniff the insides of her boots whilst I am licking them! And her discarded socks stuffed into the tops of her boots too! It may mean I will be overacting, but if the director doesn’t like it he can just edit it out!
I start salivating at the mere thought of licking miss Julie’s dirty, black ankle boots, but I shall have to be patient, for after the scene in the alleyway ends the director calls a break for lunch, and my mistress Julie heads to the nearby catering van for a sandwich and a cigarette.
She stands talking to one of the make-up girls whilst she eats her sandwich. Even though the cameras aren’t rolling, I must still kneel in the dirt behind miss Julie’s boots for, as I explained earlier, I am employed by the production company as her footslave in real life as well as on-screen. I am, in effect, one of the ‘perks’ of her job!
My mistress is standing with one leg tucked in behind the other, so there is, sadly, nothing particularly interesting for me to look at whilst she consumes her sandwich and puffs on her cigarette beside the catering van – just the frayed hems of her blue denim jeans above her black, stiletto boot-heels.
In the distance I can hear, but not see, miss Samantha chatting away to another cast member (she tends not to associate with her ‘best friend’ Julie off stage), and so my footslavish attention is somewhat inevitably drawn by default to the feet and footwear of the make-up girl, miss Anoushka – a pretty, blonde girl of East European origins, who still speaks with a strong East European accent as she chats away to my mistress. Miss Anoushka is wearing black slacks, soft, black ballet flats, and black socks on her pretty, East European feet. The black of her socks must contrast nicely with the blonde of her hair – not that I am permitted to look above her ankles.
I have already respectfully kissed her black ballet-flats, of course (just as I kissed miss Samantha’s feet in the pub scene), but from now on I must content myself with merely observing the make-up girl’s pretty, black shoes and socks whilst she too enjoys a cigarette as she converses with my mistress. I am always excited whenever superior, young women smoke cigarettes in my presence as I know they will sooner or later wish to stub out the cigarette underfoot, on the dirty ground directly in front of my footslave face. I love watching the leather of their shoes or boots and, if applicable, the cotton material of their socks, crease and fold as they elegantly twist their shapely, female foot over the cigarette stub in order to stamp it out – grinding it into the ground and leaving a trace of hot cigarette ash, and sometimes even red lipstick, on the sole of their pretty, feminine shoe or boot.
Sure enough, miss Anoushka is the first to finish her cigarette and stump it out on the ground directly beneath my kneeling face. I’m sure she chose that spot deliberately as she wants me to compare myself to the cigarette stub – a piece of dirt beneath her soft ballet flat that she grinds nonchalantly into the dirt and can ‘stub out’ at any time. The action of stubbing out her cigarette with the sole of her soft, feminine, black leather shoe eloquently serves to emphasise the power of her young-womanly foot over me, and I truly ache to lick the cigarette ash off her ballet-shoe sole as I watch her black ankle sock crease and fold in front of my eyes in reaction to the twisting movement of her shapely foot and ankle.
But I must not forget what I am. I am just miss Julie’s personal footslave. I am nothing to miss Anoushka, and so I am not even worthy to taste her cigarette ash from the sole of her shoe.
Miss Julie eventually stubs out her cigarette also underneath her stiletto-booted foot on the dirty ground directly below my face. But again the ash-stained sole of her outer footwear, and indeed the crumpled up cigarette stub that has previously been inside her pretty, lipsticked mouth, and which is now stained by the beige sole of her boot, must remain untouched by my aching footslave lips – for miss Julie is not concerned to grant me my wish of tasting her cigarette remains, any more than she is inclined to give me a taste of her sandwich or coffee.
The catering van is not for mere footslave-extras such as myself! It is only for the proper, ‘free’ actors and actresses, as well as the production and support staff.
‘Episode 346; scene 8
Location; A hotel room
Julie and Phillip are lying naked beside each other in the bed. They have just made love.
Julie’s footslave is on his knees and licking his mistress’s discarded ankle-boots in a corner of the room.
Julie’s husband, Paul, suddenly bursts into the room.
Phillip grabs his clothes and rushes out of the room.
Julie is left alone with her husband and the footslave.’
This, you won’t be surprised to hear, is the ‘climax’ of the episode. Quite a traumatic scene for every one involved – myself included, as my boot licking and sock-sniffing are temporarily interrupted by the dramatic arrival of my mistress’s on-screen husband, master Paul, who witnesses his young wife’s shocking infidelity with the much older man, Phillip, following a tip-off from his own ‘mistress’ – miss Julie’s best friend Samantha!
You’ve got to hand it to the scriptwriters! They certainly know how to weave a tangled web!
Fortunately my involvement in the traumatic scene is minimal. Like any good footslave would in such an awkward and embarrassing scenario, I merely resume my licking and sniffing of my unfaithful mistress’s discarded boots and socks in the corner of the room, as I have been ordered to, whilst master Paul ‘has it out with her’.
I decide to concentrate my boot-licking on the upper rims of mistress Julie’s black, stiletto-heeled ankle boots as her short, white socks are stuffed into the tops of her boots, and I can clearly see and smell them. In particular I can see the brownish-yellowy sweat stains underneath the crusty, reinforced toe-ends of her short, white cotton socks – stains caused by her precious, soap-starlet footsweat reacting with the beige inner linings of her stylish ankle-boots.
The female socks and boots are still warm – and this is for real, even though the whole scene in the fake hotel bedroom is completely ‘staged’. I really am sniffing miss Julie’s (or rather miss Rebecca’s) sweaty, white socks whilst I lick clean the tops of her black ankle-boots. Poor miss Julie, in the meantime, is having to justify her infidelity to her angry and disappointed husband – who, I must say, is a very good actor for he seems genuinely angry at his ‘wife’s’ cheating on him!
All the shouting and screaming doesn’t bother me, however, for I have miss Julie’s boots and socks for comfort. I bury my head into them – just as an ostrich might bury its head in the sand. It’s a nice place for a footslave to bury his nose and face – in the warm boots and socks of his beloved mistress.
The scene, you’ll be pleased to know, ends happily – with master Paul forgiving his wayward wife, and the couple making love in the same bed she has just been unfaithful to him in. Miss Julie and master Paul both, you see, have few moral scruples in this soap opera – which is slightly worrying since they are seen as role models by thousands of young fans.
I, incidentally, never get any fan mail, but that’s only to be expected. I mean, who on earth in their right mind would ever aspire to be a mere footslave?!
The following month my mistress Julie makes an appearance on breakfast television, talking about her traumatic scene in the hotel bedroom which has just aired the evening before. She is seated beside the host on the breakfast TV sofa, with myself once again acting as her humble footrest.
This morning mistress Julie is wearing a pair of brown, leather, block-heeled knee-length boots beneath a short, red miniskirt. She is sexily dressed to appeal to her army of male fans, and to enhance her image as the soap opera ‘slut’.
Slut or not, I must respectfully lie face down on the floor of the TV studio with my mistress Julie’s right-booted foot this time resting on my upturned left cheek whilst her left-booted foot is now resting on the floor in front of my seemingly gormless face. Once again, however, I know a secret that nobody else, apart from my mistress Julie herself, knows – the colour of her socks inside her boots! They are red – to match her red miniskirt probably, not that anyone will see them inside her knee-length, zip-up, brown leather boots.
The interviewer completely ignores me as she congratulates my mistress on her performance in the soap opera the night before. The two women laugh and giggle as they discuss miss Julie’s infidelities, and the interviewer tries to trick my mistress into revealing what happens when miss Julie eventually finds out not only that it was her so-called best friend, miss Samantha, who dobbed her in to her husband Paul, but that the very same miss Samantha has been having an affair with Julie’s husband!
The female interviewer is wearing smart, dark, finest denier, nylon stockings and shiny, black stiletto-heeled court shoes on her shapely feet and ankles beneath a respectable, knee-length, black skirt. I am feeling somewhat smug that I can see the female television presenter’s feet and legs out of the corner of my eye, past my mistress Julie’s brown leather boot, whilst the many millions of television viewers can’t see either of the ladies’ legs as they are hidden from the camera behind a coffee table.
That means that the viewers have just missed the presenter’s nylon stockings creasing and folding around her shapely ankle bones as she laughs at one of my mistress’s anecdotes. But I saw the temporary creases in her stockings!
Ha! Ha! I truly am a fortunate footslave. My life, both on and off screen, is so rich and varied. In effect I am leading a double life – I am the personal footslave of both miss Julie and miss Rebecca, and that means there is never a dull moment!
Or is my whole life just one big footslave-fantasy role play – stranger than fiction?
Who knows? Either way, I love my role in life, and I can only hope it will continue.
But I suppose that’s entirely up to the scriptwriters!
The End
For the past 12 months it has been my privilege to serve the pretty, 25 year old, brunette soap-star miss Rebecca, who plays the role of a newly married young woman called ‘Julie’ in one of the Gynarchy’s most popular TV series.
‘Julie’ is one of the show’s most controversial characters, as she is currently having a wild, passionate, on-screen affair with a much older man. The actress who plays her is therefore under quite a lot of stress at the present time as she has a lot of highly emotional scenes to take part in, and she is the centre of every one’s attention both on and off screen. I think she is enjoying it though!
I too have a role in the soap opera, but it is only a bit part – that of ‘miss Julie’s personal footslave.’ It is, needless to say, a non-speaking role! I am really just a ‘prop’ designed to add an element of realism to the soap opera. After all, what young, married woman in her mid twenties living in the Gynarchy would not have a personal footslave in real life? My presence in each scene is, therefore, an important one as it lends an air of authenticity to the drama – even if I am only ever seen and not heard!
Today’s first scene is set in the local pub. I have already seen the script:
‘Episode 346; scene 6
Location: the pub
Miss Julie enters the pub with her personal footslave crawling to heel.
She waves to her best friend Samantha and walks over to sit beside her.
Samantha already has a drink waiting for her on the table.
The footslave kisses Samantha’s feet and assumes his position on the floor as Julie’s footrest.
The two girls then converse excitedly……’
The director shouts ‘action’, and I duly crawl behind miss Julie’s heels into the pub.
Miss Julie is wearing frayed, boot-cut, blue denim jeans over a pair of stylish, black-leather, stiletto-heeled, pointy-toed, zip-up ankle boots, and so all I can really see as I crawl on my hands and knees behind her feet are the black, stiletto heels as they clip clop across the stage-pub floor.
I know a secret, however – something that none of the future viewers of this scene, and not even the other actors and actresses, or the director, know: I happen to know that miss Julie is wearing short, low-cut, plain white sneaker-socks inside her black, stiletto-heeled, ankle-length boots! I know that because I was required to put the socks onto her precious, soap-star feet in her opulent dressing room immediately prior to the shooting of this scene.
Of course, nobody else cares about, or is even thinking about, what type of socks, if any, miss Julie might be wearing inside her boots. They form no part of the plot! But for me, with my footslavish obsessions, the fact that miss Julie is wearing short, white sneaker-socks inside her ankle boots is a cause of great excitement, for I know that I shall in all probability get to smell her socks at the end of the day – possibly even massage her socked feet as she relaxes in her dressing room. I am therefore hoping that my mistress Julie’s feet are nice and warm inside her boots, for the sweatier they become the better – from my humble perspective.
It is, of course, at the same time deeply frustrating for me that I cannot see her socks inside her boots– not even the tops of her socks when she sits down – for her jeans are quite long and trail on the ground when she walks (hence the frayed hems), and they never seem to ride up over the tops of her pretty ankle boots. Even if they were to do so, my mistress’s short, white socks would still be well hidden inside the depths of her boots as the low-cut, cotton socks barely cover her sweet, feminine ankle bones.
I sometimes wonder why young women even bother to wear such socks, designed for sneakers, inside their boots - though I am grateful that they do, for even short sneaker socks are preferable to no socks at all! But surely a nice pair of thick, ankle or calf-length bootsocks would be more comfortable for them?
Whatever, such short, modern socks are all the rage and miss Julie is by no means the first young woman I have served who likes to wear thin, low-cut sneaker socks inside a stylish pair of pointy-toed and stiletto-heeled ankle boots.
But I digress – for, as the stage directions indicate – I have a bit of acting to do in this scene as my mistress Julie approaches her friend Samantha in the pub. I must first kiss miss Samantha’s feet, and then serve as a footrest to my mistress Julie on the floor of the pub as she sits down at the table.
I always like kissing miss Samantha’s feet. Miss Samantha is an attractive, slim black girl who plays the role of miss Julie’s best friend. I think that, in the soap opera, they have been best friends for many years – although if truth be told the two young actresses don’t really seem to like each other very much in real life. There is, I think, an element of professional rivalry between them – especially as just a few weeks ago miss Samantha’s storylines were uppermost with her unwanted pregnancy story.
For the moment, however, miss Samantha seems to be very much playing second-fiddle to miss Julie, with most of her scenes being that of the supportive best friend as miss Julie confides in her about her illicit affair with an older man, and wrestles with the difficulties of hiding her affair from her husband of just three months!
Second fiddle or not, I must kiss miss Samantha’s feet with total respect and contriteness – just as a footslave would do in real life.
Miss Samantha is wearing black jeans and bright red and yellow-striped ankle socks inside a pair of dirty white, lace-up sneakers. The sneakers are supplied by the wardrobe department, but the socks are her own. Because she is already seated at the table I have quite a good view of her socks, and I can’t help noticing as I kiss the leathery, white, rounded toes of both her sneakers that, whereas the lowest, visible sock-stripe running along the top of her right sneaker is yellow, on her left foot it is one of the red stripes.
I deduce from this that her socks are not even – and that thought excites me. For it implies that miss Samantha doesn’t really care whether her stripy, red and yellow ankle socks are on straight or not inside her dirty, white sneakers, because such concerns are, literally, beneath her. Only a pathetic, down-in-the-dirt footslave such as myself need concern himself with such mundane issues as a female, black soap-star’s socks !
The black girl and the white girl, of course, ignore me as I kiss the black girl’s sneakers whilst they kiss and greet each other above me – just as would happen in real life. In real life superior, young women are much too busy to concern themselves with the routine activities of a personal footslave beneath them –providing, of course, he is doing what is expected of him. And in the Gynarchy whenever a young married woman with a personal footslave greets her unmarried, footslave-less, female friend, the former’s footslave is expected to kiss the feet of the latter – by way of a respectful acknowledgement of his readiness to serve his mistress’s friend as well as his mistress herself.
It’s just a societal norm, which is why the scriptwriters had to include it in the scene.
Equally predictable is my role as miss Julie’s footrest under the table. Having humbly kissed miss Samantha’s sneakered feet – just once on each toe – I must lie quietly down on the dirty floor of the pub, on my bare stomach, my right cheek resting directly in the dirt whilst my upturned left cheek serves as a footrest for the dusty sole of my mistress Julie’s left, ankle-booted foot.
Her right foot is dangling in the air above me as my mistress sits cross-legged at the circular table opposite her friend. It is frustrating for me – for I would much prefer that my mistress Julie would sit with one foot resting on my upturned cheek whilst her other booted foot rested on the ground in front of my face. At least that way I would get to stare at the side of one of her boots - at the zip – even if I would have no chance of seeing her pretty, feminine white sock inside the ankle-length boot.
But instead I must make do with looking at miss Samantha’s sneakered and socked feet from a distance as I feel the metal tip of miss Julie’s sharp, stiletto heel digging into my upturned cheekbone.
Miss Julie is not deliberately digging her heel into my cheekbone. Every movement of her stiletto heel is unthinking and subconscious as she chats animatedly, albeit in somewhat whispered tones, to her make-believe friend, miss Samantha – but, again, this is just how it would be for a humble footslave in real life; ignored; forgotten-about; a human footrest that is just an object beneath his mistress’s dirty and dusty booted feet.
At least I can still see female feet in the distance on the other side of the table – miss Samantha’s feet. It is important to me, for, as a professional footslave, I feel uneasy when my footslave senses are not dominated by young women’s feet and footwear. Ideally I like all of my senses- sight, sound, taste, smell and touch – to be simultaneously overwhelmed by sweet feminine feet and footwear. For that is where I belong – at the feet and footwear of superior and beautiful, young women.
However a footslave – especially a two-bit actor-footslave such as myself – can’t have everything, and it’s not like the world, even the fictional world of a television soap-opera, has to revolve around my wishes and desires! Indeed, it’s the wishes and desires of my mistress Julie with regard to her illicit affair with an older man that are currently the focus of every one’s attention as she confides in her best friend Samantha.
I therefore remain lying on the floor silently under my mistress Julie’s boot whilst the two girls drink and talk as they are seated above me. I see miss Samantha’s red and yellow-striped socks crease and fold from to time as she subconsciously moves her feet around under the table during her conversation with my mistress Julie. How I wish I could be closer to miss Samantha’s socks so that I could observe the very individual stitches in her pretty, bright-coloured socks! At one point I’m sure I even catch a glimpse of her bare, black leg beneath the hem of her black, denim jean, but it is so far away from me I might as well be a normal ‘free’ man observing miss Samantha’s feet from a distance! I’m just not close enough to miss Samantha’s sneakered and socked feet to derive any pathetic footslavish pleasure from them!
I therefore finding myself having to revert to my vivid, footslave imagination – and in particular I start fantasising about my mistress Julie’s white sneaker-socks creasing and folding inside her black ankle-boots. I find myself wondering whether her socks are creased around her toes inside the pointy toes of her stylish, modern boots.
Above me, meanwhile, the girlish conversation continues until the director shouts ‘cut!’. I must confess I haven’t been paying much attention to the dialogue but, then again, a footslave wouldn’t be expected to listen in to his superior mistress’s conversations in real life. He would, like me, be concentrating on the feel of his mistress’s stiletto heel digging into his cheek, and thinking about her short, white socks inside her boots.
The next scene is supposed to take place later the same day in an alleyway:
‘Episode 346; scene 7
Location: The alleyway next to the market
Julie is embracing and kissing her boyfriend, Phillip.
The couple are discussing their plans for the evening, when they will be eloping to a hotel for an illicit lovemaking-session.
Julie’s footslave is kneeling behind her heels.’
I do love watching my mistress Julie’s (or should that be Phillip’s ‘mistress’ Julie’s) booted right foot lift up behind her coquettishly in the air as she passionately kisses her older boyfriend on the lips in the dim and dingy alleyway next to the market stalls. From my humble, kneeling footslave position I get to see close-up the dirty sole of my superior mistress’s ankle boot. The actual sole of the otherwise black, stiletto ankle boot is actually beige in colour, and it also reveals clear signs of wear and tear. Unlike miss Samantha’s sneakers, my mistress Julie’s boots are her own (as are her socks) as she felt the wardrobe department didn’t have any suitable footwear for her character to wear (I believe the television production company did subsequently reimburse her for the boots).
Anyway, the point I am making is that miss Julie frequently wears these boots off-screen during her free time, as she really likes them. I know that because I am her footslave in real life at the moment too. I am under strict orders from the production company to serve miss Julie (or rather miss Rebecca to give her her real name!) off-screen as well as on-screen, and to make sure I pander to her every foot-whim. So I know for a fact that she likes to wear these boots during her spare time.
As a result of their frequent wear the soles of the boots are quite worn – with little patches of black where the beige has worn away, and some signs of ingrained street dirt in the tiny, thin treads. The fact that miss Julie is now effectively shoving the dirty sole of her right boot in my face whilst she kisses her boyfriend in the alleyway thrills me – for it reminds me that she thinks of me as nothing more than the dirt beneath her boots. She is displaying her boot-dirt to a piece of dirt, and the sole of her dirty boot is all I am fit to look at whilst she swoons in the arms of her much older lover.
The upper rim of the black ankle boot disappears up inside the frayed hem of her boot-cut jean leg as it hovers behind her in front of my kneeling and humbly-bowed face, and my only regret, once again, is that I have no chance of seeing her short, white sneaker-sock inside her boot. Just knowing it’s there though, is excitement enough!
Miss Julie’s lover, master Phillip, needless to say, pretty much ignores me as he busily snogs my mistress in the back alleyway. Of course he does – and nor does he need any directions to do so from the scriptwriters. He ignores me quite naturally, as any free man would do in real life – the piece of dirt kneeling at his girlfriend’s booted heels. Why would he give me a second thought?
That’s not to say, however, that he doesn’t refer to me in the course of his scripted conversation with his young mistress in the back alleyway:
‘…..You can bring along your dirty footlick if you like, honey!’
My ears prick up at this point. It is actually quite rare for there to be any overt references to the footslave in a television drama. I am after all little more than a prop to the star, mistress Julie’s, feet. But the term ‘footlick’ undoubtedly refers to me. It is a slang term for a footslave widely used throughout the Gynarchy.
So, the scriptwriters have clearly decided that I am to accompany the mistress and master on their secretive tryst to the hotel where they will undoubtedly be spending the scene making mad, passionate love! I am glad – not because I shall take any pleasure in witnessing my mistress Julie making love to a superior, free man (or rather, pretending to, for this is, after all, only a soap opera that is broadcast before the evening watershed!) - but because the scene in the hotel bedroom will almost certainly involve me having to kneel by mistress Julie’s feet as she sits on the edge of the bed and removing her boots and socks from her pretty feet.
If I am very lucky the director may even have me sniffing her discarded socks and boots in a corner of the room whilst she is lying in bed with her boyfriend, and this would be a major scene for me. Not a speaking part, exactly – but a ‘sniffing’ part!
I hear miss Julie giggle in response to master Phillip’s suggestion that she bring along her ‘dirty footlick’ to the hotel:
‘OK, darling…he can tongue-shine my boots whilst we make love!’
Yes! Thank you scriptwriters! This is even better than sniffing the insides of her boots! I shall get to lick the dirt off them – the dirt from where my mistress has been walking today, including this very alleyway – whilst my mistress Julie relaxes in the arms of her lover. And don’t think I won’t sniff the insides of her boots whilst I am licking them! And her discarded socks stuffed into the tops of her boots too! It may mean I will be overacting, but if the director doesn’t like it he can just edit it out!
I start salivating at the mere thought of licking miss Julie’s dirty, black ankle boots, but I shall have to be patient, for after the scene in the alleyway ends the director calls a break for lunch, and my mistress Julie heads to the nearby catering van for a sandwich and a cigarette.
She stands talking to one of the make-up girls whilst she eats her sandwich. Even though the cameras aren’t rolling, I must still kneel in the dirt behind miss Julie’s boots for, as I explained earlier, I am employed by the production company as her footslave in real life as well as on-screen. I am, in effect, one of the ‘perks’ of her job!
My mistress is standing with one leg tucked in behind the other, so there is, sadly, nothing particularly interesting for me to look at whilst she consumes her sandwich and puffs on her cigarette beside the catering van – just the frayed hems of her blue denim jeans above her black, stiletto boot-heels.
In the distance I can hear, but not see, miss Samantha chatting away to another cast member (she tends not to associate with her ‘best friend’ Julie off stage), and so my footslavish attention is somewhat inevitably drawn by default to the feet and footwear of the make-up girl, miss Anoushka – a pretty, blonde girl of East European origins, who still speaks with a strong East European accent as she chats away to my mistress. Miss Anoushka is wearing black slacks, soft, black ballet flats, and black socks on her pretty, East European feet. The black of her socks must contrast nicely with the blonde of her hair – not that I am permitted to look above her ankles.
I have already respectfully kissed her black ballet-flats, of course (just as I kissed miss Samantha’s feet in the pub scene), but from now on I must content myself with merely observing the make-up girl’s pretty, black shoes and socks whilst she too enjoys a cigarette as she converses with my mistress. I am always excited whenever superior, young women smoke cigarettes in my presence as I know they will sooner or later wish to stub out the cigarette underfoot, on the dirty ground directly in front of my footslave face. I love watching the leather of their shoes or boots and, if applicable, the cotton material of their socks, crease and fold as they elegantly twist their shapely, female foot over the cigarette stub in order to stamp it out – grinding it into the ground and leaving a trace of hot cigarette ash, and sometimes even red lipstick, on the sole of their pretty, feminine shoe or boot.
Sure enough, miss Anoushka is the first to finish her cigarette and stump it out on the ground directly beneath my kneeling face. I’m sure she chose that spot deliberately as she wants me to compare myself to the cigarette stub – a piece of dirt beneath her soft ballet flat that she grinds nonchalantly into the dirt and can ‘stub out’ at any time. The action of stubbing out her cigarette with the sole of her soft, feminine, black leather shoe eloquently serves to emphasise the power of her young-womanly foot over me, and I truly ache to lick the cigarette ash off her ballet-shoe sole as I watch her black ankle sock crease and fold in front of my eyes in reaction to the twisting movement of her shapely foot and ankle.
But I must not forget what I am. I am just miss Julie’s personal footslave. I am nothing to miss Anoushka, and so I am not even worthy to taste her cigarette ash from the sole of her shoe.
Miss Julie eventually stubs out her cigarette also underneath her stiletto-booted foot on the dirty ground directly below my face. But again the ash-stained sole of her outer footwear, and indeed the crumpled up cigarette stub that has previously been inside her pretty, lipsticked mouth, and which is now stained by the beige sole of her boot, must remain untouched by my aching footslave lips – for miss Julie is not concerned to grant me my wish of tasting her cigarette remains, any more than she is inclined to give me a taste of her sandwich or coffee.
The catering van is not for mere footslave-extras such as myself! It is only for the proper, ‘free’ actors and actresses, as well as the production and support staff.
‘Episode 346; scene 8
Location; A hotel room
Julie and Phillip are lying naked beside each other in the bed. They have just made love.
Julie’s footslave is on his knees and licking his mistress’s discarded ankle-boots in a corner of the room.
Julie’s husband, Paul, suddenly bursts into the room.
Phillip grabs his clothes and rushes out of the room.
Julie is left alone with her husband and the footslave.’
This, you won’t be surprised to hear, is the ‘climax’ of the episode. Quite a traumatic scene for every one involved – myself included, as my boot licking and sock-sniffing are temporarily interrupted by the dramatic arrival of my mistress’s on-screen husband, master Paul, who witnesses his young wife’s shocking infidelity with the much older man, Phillip, following a tip-off from his own ‘mistress’ – miss Julie’s best friend Samantha!
You’ve got to hand it to the scriptwriters! They certainly know how to weave a tangled web!
Fortunately my involvement in the traumatic scene is minimal. Like any good footslave would in such an awkward and embarrassing scenario, I merely resume my licking and sniffing of my unfaithful mistress’s discarded boots and socks in the corner of the room, as I have been ordered to, whilst master Paul ‘has it out with her’.
I decide to concentrate my boot-licking on the upper rims of mistress Julie’s black, stiletto-heeled ankle boots as her short, white socks are stuffed into the tops of her boots, and I can clearly see and smell them. In particular I can see the brownish-yellowy sweat stains underneath the crusty, reinforced toe-ends of her short, white cotton socks – stains caused by her precious, soap-starlet footsweat reacting with the beige inner linings of her stylish ankle-boots.
The female socks and boots are still warm – and this is for real, even though the whole scene in the fake hotel bedroom is completely ‘staged’. I really am sniffing miss Julie’s (or rather miss Rebecca’s) sweaty, white socks whilst I lick clean the tops of her black ankle-boots. Poor miss Julie, in the meantime, is having to justify her infidelity to her angry and disappointed husband – who, I must say, is a very good actor for he seems genuinely angry at his ‘wife’s’ cheating on him!
All the shouting and screaming doesn’t bother me, however, for I have miss Julie’s boots and socks for comfort. I bury my head into them – just as an ostrich might bury its head in the sand. It’s a nice place for a footslave to bury his nose and face – in the warm boots and socks of his beloved mistress.
The scene, you’ll be pleased to know, ends happily – with master Paul forgiving his wayward wife, and the couple making love in the same bed she has just been unfaithful to him in. Miss Julie and master Paul both, you see, have few moral scruples in this soap opera – which is slightly worrying since they are seen as role models by thousands of young fans.
I, incidentally, never get any fan mail, but that’s only to be expected. I mean, who on earth in their right mind would ever aspire to be a mere footslave?!
The following month my mistress Julie makes an appearance on breakfast television, talking about her traumatic scene in the hotel bedroom which has just aired the evening before. She is seated beside the host on the breakfast TV sofa, with myself once again acting as her humble footrest.
This morning mistress Julie is wearing a pair of brown, leather, block-heeled knee-length boots beneath a short, red miniskirt. She is sexily dressed to appeal to her army of male fans, and to enhance her image as the soap opera ‘slut’.
Slut or not, I must respectfully lie face down on the floor of the TV studio with my mistress Julie’s right-booted foot this time resting on my upturned left cheek whilst her left-booted foot is now resting on the floor in front of my seemingly gormless face. Once again, however, I know a secret that nobody else, apart from my mistress Julie herself, knows – the colour of her socks inside her boots! They are red – to match her red miniskirt probably, not that anyone will see them inside her knee-length, zip-up, brown leather boots.
The interviewer completely ignores me as she congratulates my mistress on her performance in the soap opera the night before. The two women laugh and giggle as they discuss miss Julie’s infidelities, and the interviewer tries to trick my mistress into revealing what happens when miss Julie eventually finds out not only that it was her so-called best friend, miss Samantha, who dobbed her in to her husband Paul, but that the very same miss Samantha has been having an affair with Julie’s husband!
The female interviewer is wearing smart, dark, finest denier, nylon stockings and shiny, black stiletto-heeled court shoes on her shapely feet and ankles beneath a respectable, knee-length, black skirt. I am feeling somewhat smug that I can see the female television presenter’s feet and legs out of the corner of my eye, past my mistress Julie’s brown leather boot, whilst the many millions of television viewers can’t see either of the ladies’ legs as they are hidden from the camera behind a coffee table.
That means that the viewers have just missed the presenter’s nylon stockings creasing and folding around her shapely ankle bones as she laughs at one of my mistress’s anecdotes. But I saw the temporary creases in her stockings!
Ha! Ha! I truly am a fortunate footslave. My life, both on and off screen, is so rich and varied. In effect I am leading a double life – I am the personal footslave of both miss Julie and miss Rebecca, and that means there is never a dull moment!
Or is my whole life just one big footslave-fantasy role play – stranger than fiction?
Who knows? Either way, I love my role in life, and I can only hope it will continue.
But I suppose that’s entirely up to the scriptwriters!
The End
