Tiffin
My 28 year old Indian mistress, mistress Kamala, has invited 4 of her friends around for afternoon tea; ‘tiffin’, as she likes to call it – although we are not in India during the days of the British Raj! This is the Gynarchy, during the days of Absolute Female Rule, and it is the middle of the winter. Therefore it is cold outside, and my mistress Kamala’s friends – all ladies of a similar age to my mistress and all also of Indian origins – are well wrapped up as they enter my mistress’s home.
My mistress’s Filipina maid, miss Angelina, takes their coats, for miss Angelina is a superior servant to me in this household. She is a female servant, whereas I am a male slave and must remain on my hands and knees in the presence of my female superiors and betters – including her!
The pretty, Indian feet of the female guests are well wrapped-up too, in socks and shoes and/or boots. And this fact is important to my story – for this is not going to be a story about what the ladies are discussing amongst themselves in Hindi during tiffin, or about what is happening in their exciting and interesting lives. This story will be concentrating on my humble, not to say humiliating and degrading, chore of having to wash my Indian mistress’s, female Indian guests’ feet – in the age-old tradition of lowly, household footslaves throughout human history.
Be forewarned therefore, that this is a story that will involve detailed descriptions of me – the footslave – taking off and putting back on the Indian ladies’ socks, shoes and boots, and equally intense details of me humbly washing the bare Indian feet of my female betters. If you find such subject matter boring, then please read no further. For I am under strict instructions from my mistress Kamala to humbly and slavishly concentrate on her guests’ feet and footwear, and you, the reader, will therefore have to do so too if you are to proceed with this story.
It’s not that other things don’t happen during tiffin; it’s not that that my female superiors, seated imperiously above me in my mistress Kamala’s opulent living room, have nothing exciting or interesting to discuss. It’s just that I, as a dutiful footslave, am obliged to have other things on my mind – such as their pretty, feminine footwear and soft, bare Indian feet.
You will have to appreciate, therefore, that each and every one of the ladies is engaged in animated conversation with her friends in her native tongue, effectively ignoring me whilst I am attending to her feet and footwear beneath her, but you must equally accept that such conversation amongst our female betters is, in any case, no business of we male footslaves. We are not worthy to eavesdrop on the conversation of superior, free women, even if we could understand the language. We must merely serve female feet.
My mistress’s 21 year old Filipina maid, miss Angelina, by the way, is the only young woman present who is not wearing socks today. She is smartly dressed in her maid’s uniform consisting of a short, black dress, a crisp, white pinafore and shiny black, patent-leather high heels on sheer, dark, nylon stockings.
Much as I like young women’s socks, I cannot fail but to admire also miss Angelina’s (I have to refer to her as ‘miss’ for she is female, and therefore above me in the pecking order even if she is just a lady’s maid) dark-nylon-stockinged feet and ankles inside her shiny, black, high-heeled shoes. I do so particularly when she crouches down beside me in order to supply me with a fresh bowl of water and a fresh towel for washing and drying each individual female guest’s feet, thereby causing her own finest denier nylon stockings to crease and fold around her shapely Filipina ankles in front of my kneeling eyes.
I know that miss Angelina’s eyes will also be watching me intently as she supervises my washing of the guests’ feet, ensuring my contrition and humility at all times and looking out for any signs of rebellion or disobedience, or even just plain ineptitude, on my part which she can then gleefully report to our mistress, mistress Kamala. Miss Angelina is forever reporting me to the mistress! The sweet, young Filipina maidservant loves seeing me getting punished!
Guest no. 1 - Mistress Isha’s shiny, black slip-on shoes and light-grey towelling socks.
I begin with the youngest and poorest of my mistress’s guests – 26 year old mistress Isha. It’s the normal protocol when washing female guests’ feet. The last shall be first and the first shall be last, as the saying goes!
I know that mistress Isha is relatively poor because she works as a full-time cleaner in an office, whereas the other ladies present either have managerial jobs, or, like my own mistress Kamala are ‘ladies of leisure’ – kept in the lap of luxury by their high-earning husbands.
I can also tell that mistress Isha is the poorest of the 5 Indian ladies present by the nature of her footwear – cheap, flat, plasticky looking, shiny black, slip-on shoes and light-grey coloured towelling socks, beneath the mud-splattered hems of her cheap, black denim jeans (it is apparently raining outside).
Both the shoes and the socks have seen better days. The shoes, for all their cheap, black shininess are considerably scuff-marked along the rounded toe areas and the low, flat heels. And the thick, grey, ankle-length towelling socks are showing clear signs of wear and tear in the ribbed stitching along the sides. I’m not saying they are unclean as such, but they are undoubtedly the ‘lower-caste’ socks, inside the ‘lower-caste’ shoes, of a ‘lower-caste’ Indian girl.
And yet, of course, for all her relative poverty, mistress Isha is richer and higher-caste than me. For, kneeling as I now am at her feet whilst she sits in a comfortable, leather armchair in my mistress Kamala’s front living room , I am just an Indian cleaning-girl’s, down-in-the-dirt, footslave, fit only to kiss, lick and clean her cheap, plasticky, black shoes, her ropey-looking, well-worn, light grey towelling socks, and her soft, bare Indian feet.
And besides, whereas the other Indian ladies present respect and admire their cleaning-girl friend, Isha, as a hard working and diligent young woman, and indeed view her as a complete equal here in the glorious Gynarchy despite her ‘lower caste' background back in India, they all equally despise me and view me, quite rightly, as being literally the dirt under miss Isha’s feet. That’s because I am self-evidently the lowest of the low – a mere, male footslave.
I therefore begin by kissing the shiny, black plastic of the toe areas of mistress Isha’s superior shoes with genuine, slavish respect - just the once on each cheap, plasticky toe - and then keep my slave head appropriately low and bowed as I gently raise mistress Isha’s right foot a few inches off the fluffy, white carpet of the living room floor in order to subserviently slip off her right shoe from her superior, female foot in preparation for washing the foot.
The cheap shoe comes off with a ‘whoosh’ as the trapped air escapes from inside the shoe, and I can detect a faint whiff of warm, socked female foot. I now have a full, unencumbered view of mistress Isha’s light-grey towelling sock on her pretty, shapely right foot, and I notice to my simultaneous horror and delight a small hole in the top of the supposedly reinforced stitching of the towelling sock covering the area of her big toe. I therefore have an unexpectedly premature glimpse of mistress Isha’s bare, big toenail inside her light-grey sock – toenail which I will shortly be sucking and washing whilst its superior, female owner engages in relaxed and happy conversation in Hindi with her Indian friends.
This humbling thought truly excites me, and I am looking forward to getting my tongue on mistress Isha’s toenail.
But first I have to unshoe her left foot. I therefore gently place the right, socked foot of the Indian cleaning girl back onto the soft, white carpet, before raising her left foot a few, small inches off the floor in order to repeat the humiliating shoe-removal process with her left foot.
Again the ‘whoosh’ of air; again the faint whiff of sweet, feminine towelling-sock. But, disappointingly, no signs of any holes in the sock this time.
Mistress Isha is, of course, completely unabashed about her holey, right sock. And nor should she be ashamed or embarrassed by it! Not only are her female friends unlikely to even notice such a small detail, as they all, including the wearer of the sock herself, have much better and more important things to think and talk about; but a well-worn, feminine sock is a de facto compliment to a humble, male footslave such as myself. For it says ‘I care nothing for you slave. I cannot be bothered to wear my best socks to my friend’s house, even though I know you are going to have to attend to my socked feet. You will just damn well have to brace yourself, and get down to serving my sweaty, well-worn socks, for even my cheapest pair of well-worn, ropey old socks are better than you, and you will pay your humble, footslavish respects to them!’
The way in which I must pay my humble, footslavish respects to mistress Isha’s well-worn, light grey towelling socks is to humbly kiss them before I peel them off her pretty, brown, Indian feet. I must kiss the top of each sock – once only – a curt and respectful sock-kiss – the kiss of a slave rather than a lover!
And whilst I would normally kiss a young woman’s sock on the area of her big toe, in the case of mistress Isha’s right foot I am, of course, obliged to place my kiss to the area of sock covering her second toe, due to the absence of solid sock material over the area of her big toenail. I am not yet permitted to touch her bare toenail with my lips – not until the sock has been completely removed from her pretty, superior, feminine foot.
Taking a lady’s sock off her foot in a manner befitting a footslave is an art-form all in itself. I must take great care not to let my dirty, footslave-fingers brush against the mistress’s soft, bare skin as I gently pinch the soft, cotton material of the thick, towelling sock at the ankle and pull it downwards, peeling off the sock so that it turns inside out as it comes off.
This is always such an honour and a privilege for me – to see for the first time the mistress’s inner sock as it comes off her pretty foot. I begin, of course, with mistress Isha’s right sock, and as soon as it peels off inside-out I can see tiny little pieces of debris stuck to the inner sock; little balls of light grey sock lint; little white and black pieces of fluff; stale, yellowish sweat stains on the reinforced area beneath the toes.
It’s at times like this that I just wish I could run my slave nose all along the turned-out sole of the superior mistress’s warm sock – hoovering up the inner-sock debris through my footslave nostrils. What an honour and a privilege that would be! But, of course, I am not removing the mistress’s sock for my own delectation. I am removing it for a genuinely slavish purpose – that of washing the mistress’s bare foot. For right at this particular moment in time mistress Isha is not working as an office cleaner; she is one of my mistress Kamala’s honoured guests – and I am therefore under strict instructions to wash my mistress Isha’s ‘lower-caste’, Indian feet in the time-honoured tradition of a humble footslave.
The divested sock, therefore, must sadly be placed to one side on the floor, whilst I repeat the process of humble sock-removal on mistress Isha’s left foot.
At least, with both the socks off, I now have an uninterrupted view of the Indian cleaning-girl’s beautiful, bare feet. My attention is immediately drawn to her now fully exposed toenails, for they are truly dirty. I can see distinct traces of black toe-jam underneath the upper rims of her pretty, unpainted toenails.
Again, just as mistress Isha has no reason to feel embarrassed about her rather ropey-looking and holey towelling socks, so she has no reason to blush at her dirty and unkempt toenails – for they remind me of my place. I am the cleaning-girl’s dirty-foot cleaner, and so I need her feet to be dirty in order to have something substantive to clean!
The protocol is that I must scrape out the sweaty, black toe-jam from underneath the mistress’s toenails using a soft, white cotton bud; then sniff it on the end of the bud; then savour it inside my mouth; and then swallow it – all before any water gets anywhere near the mistress’s dirty, recently unsocked feet. That’s because a young woman’s toe-jam is just about the most precious material a humble footslave like myself can consume – for it is the toe-jam of a superior and beautiful female.
And so I reach straight for the cotton buds, kindly provided along with the bowl of water and the towel by the ever efficient Filipina maidservant, miss Angelina, and start scraping the undersides of mistress Isha’s dirty toenails, beginning with her big toenail on her right foot – logically enough given that this toenail will undoubtedly be the dirtiest as it has not been fully protected inside her cheap plastic shoe due to the tiny hole in the top of her grey sock.
The female toe-jam smells and tastes good – although it is, admittedly, an acquired smell and taste. No free, normal human being could ever possibly appreciate it – only a humble footslave of many years’ servitude such as myself can fully appreciate the soft texture of a mistress’s toe-jam.
As I tuck into mistress Isha’s toe-cheese she, and her friends, are tucking into some Indian sweets and cakes, which they wash down with some refreshing, hot tea – again supplied by the hard-working, and much appreciated, Filipina maid, miss Angelina.
I have nothing to help me wash down mistress Isha’s cheesy toe-jam.
After I finish scraping out the dirt from beneath her pretty toenails, however, and before I am permitted to place her shapely, bare, Indian feet in the bowl of water supplied for that purpose by miss Angelina, I must dip my tongue in the water in order to lick and suck the dirt and sweat away from in between mistress Isha’s sticky toes. This is because mistresses traditionally like to feel their footslaves’ tongues lathing away the ingrained dirt on their feet before their feet are submerged in water. They like to feel the little pieces of dead skin and other detritus coming off their soft, bare footflesh, and to have their bare feet attended to first by a living, human tongue rather than just an artificial sponge. It’s so much more enjoyable for the superior mistress, and so much more humiliating for the humble, downtrodden footslave!
Not that you would think mistress Isha was paying any attention to my humble tonguing of her dirty, bare feet as she sits above me chatting happily away to her female-compatriots in incomprehensible Hindi. Every time I lower my tongue to the bowl of water in order to wash off the Indian girl’s foot-dirt from it and to re-moisten it, I allow myself a furtive glance of her discarded, crumpled up, and now turned inside-out, light-grey towelling socks which are lying just a few inches away from the side of the white, porcelain footbowl. Just think, I say to myself: you are licking where those dirty, grey, female towelling socks have just been! You might not be permitted to run your nose and tongue along the inner socks, but at least you can still see the faint traces of sock-tracks on the mistress’s soft, bare, brown-skinned soles as you lick and suck out the sticky debris from between her bare toes!
After some 10 minutes of inter-toe licking and sucking, I finally am in a position to lift my mistress’s guest’s soft, bare, Indian feet into the bowl of lukewarm, now slightly dirty, footwater, and to gently ladle the water over the tops of mistress Isha’s feet with my cupped hand. Only when her delicate feet are accustomed to the temperature of the water am I permitted to use a soft, yellow foot-sponge to gently scrub her bare feet – removing any remaining bacteria, sweat and dirt from her precious, brown-skinned, Indian feet.
I often wonder if the mistress finds it ticklish to have her feet washed and scrubbed with a soft sponge. The feet are, after all, an extremely sensitive, if hardy, part of a young woman’s body! But if mistress Isha is finding my foot-scrubbing ticklish she isn’t showing it. Indeed her wiggling of her bare toes in the lukewarm water suggests that she is, subconsciously at any rate, experiencing nothing but pure pleasure.
Having properly washed the Indian cleaning-girl’s feet I next, of course, have to thoroughly dry them through a mixture of my humble slave-breath and the use of the soft, fluffy white towel supplied by the Filipina maid. I must take particular care to dry thoroughly in between mistress Isha’s well-licked and well-washed toes, as there is nothing more uncomfortable for a superior mistress than having damp toes – be it damp caused by sweat or by water – inside her shoes and socks.
And this, of course, is the final humiliation in the whole foot-washing process: I must put the mistress’s dirty shoes and socks back onto her freshly-washed feet, thereby effectively negating all the good work I have just done in beautifying and cleansing the mistress’s bare feet!
It is, of course, a deliberate part of the footslave-humiliation process – another subliminal message to the slave of the complete disregard in which he, and his menial work, are held by the mistress, who is still diligently ignoring him as he toils humbly and submissively at her feet below her.
But at least I get to touch mistress Isha’s beautiful, holey socks once again – this time to turn them the right way out again so that the outer stitching is on display once more for all to see – or rather for me to see; for nobody else is interested, not even the wearer of the socks!
Having turned mistress Isha’s right sock the right way out, I then have to scrunch it up in my hands and hold it wide open at the end ready to pull over the mistress’s now freshly-washed toes, and up onto her arrogantly outstretched foot. Mistress Isha is very gracious in this regard, for she is, of course, under no obligation to present her outstretched foot in the air for me to gain easy access to it. She could, if she so wished, leave her pretty, washed foot resting on the ground – on the soft, warm carpet of mistress Kamala’s living room floor - and leave it to me to work out exactly how to raise her foot into the air without disturbing her, whilst simultaneously rolling her ankle-length, thick grey towelling sock back onto her bare foot.
But fortunately mistress Isha is making things easy for me, albeit subconsciously, and the soft sock rolls easily up onto her obligingly outstretched foot, my fingers once again studiously avoiding any unauthorised contact with her bare feet, for having just washed her dirty feet, it would truly be a shame to sully them again with my dirty slave fingers even if her dirty, unwashed sock is now about to sully her foot again!
I smooth out the creases in the sock as best I can although, being a thick, grey towelling sock, it tends to naturally crease and fold around the mistress’s pretty, brown ankles. It seems a shame that I can’t suck the mud stains off the hem of her black, denim jeans now that her feet are so nice and clean!
Once the left sock is also safely back on mistress Isha’s left foot, it only remains for me to gently slip her cheap, shiny black shoes back onto her socked feet – the shoes with the scuff-marks along the toes and flat heels. Even if I say so myself, mistress Isha’s light-grey towelling socks and shiny, black, plasticky shoes look good back on her pretty, Indian feet. I take satisfaction in the fact that her feet are now clean and protected inside her shoes and socks, and I must now signal my completion of my humble foot-cleaning labour at mistress Isha’s feet by respectfully kissing each socked, outer ankle bone just the once.
For her part, of course, mistress Isha makes no acknowledgement of my presence or does anything to indicate satisfaction or otherwise with my humble work at her feet. Such gestures are literally beneath her – just as I am literally beneath her.
You might be thinking that my mistress Kamala would also expect me to tongue-shine her guest’s shoes, smoothing away the scuff-marks with my tongue, but, much as I would be only too happy to divest mistress Isha’s cheap, plasticky, outer footwear of street muck and dirt with my slave tongue, my role this afternoon is strictly limited to washing my mistress’s guests’ bare feet during tiffin!
If you’re worried about my mistress’s fluffy, white living-room carpet – don’t be! The Filipina maidservant, miss Angelina, will soon have me sucking up all the ladies’ shoe dirt and muck from the carpet just as soon as they have finished tiffin!
And so, reluctantly, I must leave the beautiful shiny-black-shoed and light-grey socked feet of mistress Isha and crawl over to the feet and footwear of the next guest – mistress Isha.
Guest no 2 - Mistress Parni’s wedge-heeled, black, slip-on shoes and black, sneaker-style socks covering only the lower halves of her shapely ankle bones.
Rather like mistress Isha before her, mistress Parni is wearing flat, black shoes. Unlike mistress Isha’s black shoes, however, mistress Parni’s shoes are made of proper leather, and are matt black as opposed to shiny black. A better class of plain, flat, black leather shoe!
What really captivates me about mistress Parni’s feet and footwear, however, are the ultra-short, modern, sneaker-style black socks she is wearing inside her classy shoes. The upper, elasticated rims of the short, black socks are stretched directly over the centre of her shapely ankle bones, leaving the upper halves of those ankle bones exposed – a mind-blowing combination of half-socked, feminine ankle bone!
I’ll be honest with you, my own mistress Kamala never wears such socks. Mistress Kamala’s ankle-length socks reach all the way up to the tops of her ankles, and whilst I always enjoy running my nose around the elasticated tops of her ankle socks, I cannot help but feel at this moment in time how much more exciting it would be to be permitted to run my nose along the stretched elastic covering the very centre of mistress Parni’s prominent ankle bones!
Sadly, however, I am not here to nose my mistresses’ guests’ socks! I am here to remove them, along with their shoes and/or boots, in order to wash their bare feet! I have some serious footslave-work to do!
I therefore confine my short, black-sneaker-sock-nosing fantasies to my pathetic, slavish imagination, and instead respectfully kiss the rounded toes of mistress Parni’s flat, black leather shoes – once each. Mistress Parni is wearing boot-cut, black slacks with wide hems which brush against my forehead as I do so. It is somewhat distracting, but I am nevertheless glad she is wearing such flared, boot-cut slacks as, whilst she is in a seated position as she is now, the raised hems permit me to see the entire tops of her low-cut, sneaker-style socks inside her shoes.
Mistress Parni is somewhat plumper than the petite and slightly-built mistress Isha, but she is one of those girls whose feet and ankles are nonetheless shapely – even though her calves may be a bit fatter. I happen to know that mistress Parni also has a reputation for being somewhat lazy and indolent – prone to lying around her house most of the day; never lifting a finger to do anything for herself as she too, like my mistress Kamala, is a lady of leisure with a personal maidservant. She also, reputedly, never walks anywhere – not even to the end of her garden, as she has a chauffeur to drive her!
Yes, it is an honour to kiss the little-used shoes of such a superior woman – a fat, lazy, Indian girl who leads a pampered life of complete luxury, and will never know the meaning of hard work!
I can tell that fat mistress Parni is enjoying my humiliation at her feet by the way her foot muscles are flexing and contracting inside her pretty, black socks in reaction to my humble kisses to the toes of her flat, black, leather slip-on shoes. The contractions cause her socks to crease and fold in front of my eyes – a sight I enjoy very much - so the pleasure, it must be said, is mutual.
It is time, however, to gently and respectfully lift the lazy, Indian mistress’s right foot off the floor in order to remove her right shoe. As one would expect of such a superior and indolent, young woman she does nothing to help me. Unlike mistress Isha, who kindly, if subconsciously, relaxed her leg muscles to allow me to easily lift her foot a few inches off the ground, mistress Parni almost appears to deliberately press her right foot even harder down onto the carpet – as if to emphasise her supreme power and authority over me, authority temporarily delegated to her by her host, my permanent mistress, mistress Kamala. I sense that fat mistress Parni could quite happily crush me under foot. That is the subliminal message I am getting from mistress Parni’s resistant, right foot as I kneel humbly in front of her, with my head dutifully bowed.
But, of course, she also wants her feet to be washed, and so, as she chats happily away to her host and the other Indian female guests in Hindi, I do eventually manage to lift her much heavier foot than mistress Isha’s foot into the air, and to slip off the flat, black leather shoe.
Not so much of a ‘whoosh’ this time, but the sight that greets me is just out of this world! To my surprise, mistress Parni’s inner, black sock is quite grey and discoloured in places – especially around the toe area and along the lower instep. That greyness can only have been caused by one thing – her precious footsweat reacting with the black dye in her cotton sock during repeated wearing! I am clearly seeing the after-effects of her precious footsweat in front of my very eyes!
Moreover, mistress Parni is now subconsciously wriggling her toes and flexing her indolent foot muscles once again inside her sock, causing yet more enticing little creases and folds to come and go in the black sock material in front of my mesmerized, footslave eyes!
I am in rich, spoilt, Indian-girl’s sock-heaven! I could literally just kneel here and observe the movements in mistress Parni’s socked foot all day, but, like I said before, I have work to do – difficult work, for I now have to remove her left shoe from her equally uncooperative left foot.
When I eventually manage to slip off the left shoe, the left, inner sock is very similar in appearance to the right (as one would expect!) with similar signs of greyish discolouration in the same, predictable, areas along the front and side of the otherwise expensive-looking black, cotton designer-sock. I now know they are designer-socks by the fading, white logos on the soles! The socks are, apart from the white logos and fading, greyish areas, actually quite plain and ordinary to look at, with no fancy stitching, but are nevertheless incredibly feminine and sexy - covering, or at least ‘partially’ covering as they do, a pair of indolent but shapely, feminine Indian ankles beneath fat calf-muscles.
I pay due homage to mistress Parni’s expensive, black socks. I kiss them – once each – on the discoloured areas around the toes. Perhaps surprisingly, the socks don’t smell. They may be well-worn socks, but they are clearly fresh on mistress Parni’s feet again this morning.
Pity!
An even greater pity, in a way, is the fact that I must now peel off the expensive, enticingly short, black socks in order to expose her bare feet. It’s not that I’m not looking forward to seeing, touching, smelling and washing mistress Parni’s soft, bare, brown Indian feet – it’s just that these black socks go so well with her protruding, light-brown-skinned ankle bones, stretched as they are over the lower half of her ankles – that it seems almost a crime to separate them from her pretty feet.
But I can hardly wash her feet with her socks still on! And so, as mistress Parni continues to ignore me, I gently - and again, as I did when unsocking mistress Isha’s feet, taking great care not to brush my dirty slave fingers against mistress Parni’s soft, bare, ankle skin - pinch the elasticated top of her right sock between my thumb and forefinger on my right hand and deftly peel down the short, black, feminine sock until it comes off mistress Parni’s precious, brown-skinned foot, inside-out.
I then place the freshly peeled-off sock onto the white carpet beneath my face, before humbly repeating the process with her left sock.
How forlorn and pitiful the two discarded, short, black sneaker-socks look as they lie side by side, crumpled-up and inside-out, on the thick white carpet beneath my face. The little socks don’t look big enough to cover mistress Parni’s quite broad feet. It just goes to show how much they must stretch over her shapely, bare feet and ankles. Be that as it may, there is still enough sock material for me to wish I could bury my nose in them – right here and now – as they lie on the living room carpet; to wish I could smell the very essence of mistress Parni’s inner socks, for I can’t believe they are totally devoid of any sweet, feminine foot odour!
But, as I keep on having to remind myself, I am not here to sniff socks! I am here to wash feet, and so I must drag myself away from the socks and focus my attention on mistress Parni’s bare feet, resting patiently on the carpet beside the socks and awaiting their footbath.
Mistress Parni’s ‘upper-caste’ Indian feet really are quite different in shape from mistress Isha’s ‘lower-caste’ feet – a bit podgier, particularly the toes, which could almost be described as somewhat fat and misshapen. Like mistress Isha’s toes, however, the toenails are, perhaps surprisingly, unpainted - allowing a clear view of familiar, black toe-jam underneath the upper rims of the toenails.
I am particularly drawn to a tiny slither of what appears to be dead footskin sticking up from the extreme left-hand corner of mistress Parni’s left, big toe. The tiny piece of protruding flesh is certainly paler in hue than the surrounding, brown skin. I make a mental note to ensure that the offending slither of dead footskin ends up in my footslave mouth – where it belongs. I should have plenty of opportunity to ingest it once I come to suck on the mistress’s toes by way of the usual pre-wash.
Speaking of which, mistress Parni’s toes feel quite different from mistress Isha’s had done when I insert them inside my mouth. Definitely fatter and podgier toes, and, again unlike mistress Isha, mistress Parni appears to enjoy scraping her toenails along the roof of my mouth. This is good, of course, because for once it means she is actually helping me, by scraping the dirt and debris, such as the little stub of dead toeskin, off her superior feet and into my dirty mouth. Indeed, when her left foot emerges from my mouth, I notice with foolish, footslave-pride that the little slither of protruding, dead footskin at the top left-hand corner of mistress Parni’s left, big toenail has now completely disappeared.
It must be inside me somewhere! I am truly honoured!
Actually, ‘shrimping’ mistress Parni’s broad, brown feet and podgy, unpainted toes is quite pleasurable to me, although, for all her helpful toenail scraping on the roof of my mouth, I still have to work harder than I did on mistress Isha’s feet simply because mistress Parni is less inclined –probably through laziness or indifference – to spread her toes inside my mouth, the better to enable me to deep-tongue-clean them thoroughly before I start wiping them with the soft sponge in the bowl of lukewarm water, freshly supplied by the Filipina maidservant, miss Angelina.
I therefore have to spend a little bit longer on washing mistress Parni’s bare feet in the footbowl than I did mistress Isha’s, but it is by no means a class thing; it is just a practical necessity, caused by mistress Parni’s less helpful and more arrogant comportment.
Eventually I am satisfied that mistress Parni’s feet are sufficiently clean. I therefore dry them (again using a fresh towel supplied by the ever-vigilant, nylon-stockinged Filipina maid, miss Angelina) before having the inestimable privilege of picking up the sweat-soiled, black, designer sneaker-socks once again, turning them the right way out, and then pulling them back over mistress Parni’s podgy toes and onto her shapely feet and ankles.
I am once again absolutely fascinated by the way the upper, elasticated rim of each short, black sock reaches only as far as the centre of her ankle bone, and at the way the sock then dips below her heel at the back, so that, when I place her flat, black, slip-on leather shoes back onto her feet the backs of her socks disappear completely, thereby exposing the rough, bare skin of her heels to the elements!
These stylish, designer-socks are clearly intended not so much to protect her pretty, soft, Indian feet from the elements as to absorb her precious footsweat inside her warm, leather shoes. They are ‘secret’, sweat-absorbing socks - although they undoubtedly beautify mistress Parni’s upper-class feet at the same time!
Ingenious!
Oh if only my mistress Kamala would wear such socks!
Guest no. 3 - Mistress Jamini’s black, block-heeled, lace-up leather ankle boots; and dark blue bootsocks.
Mistress Jamini is a bit of a mystery-woman to me. She is the only one of my mistress’s guests this afternoon that I have never met before. It is therefore a huge honour for me to kiss her black leather, lace-up boots for the first time!
I would guess she is slightly older than my mistress Kamala – early thirties perhaps – but she is still a very svelte and attractive young Indian woman, with a good figure and beautiful long, black hair (I managed to steal a surreptitious glance at her face from my kneeling position and out of the corner of my footslave-eye when she had first entered my mistress’s living room. I must confess I had earlier noticed also that mistress Jamini was wearing black-rimmed glasses, and that excites me enormously as I have always enjoyed serving and kowtowing to mistresses who wear glasses: the spectacles remind me that they are cleverer and more intelligent than I am!)
But enough about mistress Jamini’s pretty facial features and upper body shape! I am here to serve her feet and footwear, and must concentrate on those!
She is wearing a very stylish and fashionable pair of block-heeled, square-toed, black leather, lace-up ankle boots with a pair of black, denim jeans similar to those being worn by mistress Isha, except they are a bit more expensive-looking! Totally unlike mistress Isha, however, mistress Jamini is wearing a pair of dark blue socks inside her boots. I can just see the elasticated top of her right bootsock as she is currently sitting with her right leg dominantly crossed over her left, her right booted-foot hovering as a consequence in the air directly in front of my kneeling face, thereby exposing the top of her dark blue sock.
Moreover, she is coquettishly, but in all likelihood subconsciously, flexing her right foot in the air as she engages in conversation with the other female guests, thereby causing the black laces of her right ankle-length boot to move about and flap against the front of her boot. I hope she will keep her booted foot still whilst I am endeavouring to unlace it – otherwise things could get a bit tricky!
But I soon find out that I needn’t have worried. Just as soon as mistress Jamini realises that I have crawled over to her chair in order to remove her boots and socks and wash her feet, she kindly and politely uncrosses her legs and places both booted feet side by side on the fluffy, white carpet in front of me.
I, of course, kiss the square-shaped toe of each stylish, lace-up boot as a mark of respect, before starting to unlace the now stationary right boot.
If I’m honest I much prefer dealing with ladies’ zip-up boots – in part because I am more used to them given that my own mistress Kamala has a preference for wearing zip-up, ankle-length boots. And besides, it is generally-speaking much easier to unzip the side of a lady’s boot, rather than fumble around with laces. It is certainly easier than having to lace up a lady’s boot when you are putting it back onto her pretty foot and leg!
However, thee is no point in worrying about all this, and I must just take things one step at a time. Right now all I have to do is to concentrate on unlacing mistress Jamini’s right boot and pulling it off her socked foot – taking as much care as possible not to disturb her dark blue, ankle-length bootsock inside the boot, for a young woman most definitely does not like her bootsock to be removed along with her boot! The sock must be removed separately from the boot. Woe betide any footslave who inadvertently pulls off a female sock along with a female boot – at least in mistress Kamala’s household!
And so as the pretty, block-heeled, lace-up, black leather, designer boot comes off the mysterious, bespectacled mistress Jamini’s right foot, I am suddenly enveloped in the comforting and warm smell of freshly liberated, feminine bootsock. It is perhaps inevitable that mistress Jamini’s socks should smell a bit more strongly than those of her two predecessors – given that they were only wearing shoes as opposed to boots (although I can’t imagine that mistress Isha’s cheap, black plastic shoes allow her pretty feet to breathe easily!)
Be that as it may, the smell of mistress Jamini’s blue bootsock is an honour and a privilege for me, and I enjoy the feeling of the moistness under my lips as I respectfully kiss the reinforced toe area of her freshly-liberated, plain, blue bootsock on her right foot.
The left sock is equally sweaty, and both socks are clearly quite sticky as I peel them off the bespectacled mistress Jamini’s pretty, Indian feet.
To my utter delight I observe, as soon as her socks are off, that mistress Jamini has painted her toenails purple – although the paint is showing signs of chipping off in one or two areas, particularly around the rough edges of her big toes.
Clearly she would not have painted her toenails just for my benefit, nor would she have bothered to paint her toenails when she is wearing boots and socks. So all the signs are that this is old paint, probably from a previous night out with her husband or boyfriend, intended to beautify her feet inside a pair of strappy sandals for his delectation and benefit. And that fact, together with the evident smell from her feet, suggests that mistress Jamini’s feet have not been properly washed for several days, which in turn demonstrates the complete disregard in which she, quite rightly, holds me – her host’s footslave.
Cue the fresh bowl of water kindly supplied by the dark-nylon-stockinged and shiny-black-stiletto-heeled Filipina maid, miss Angelina!
But first I must pre-wash mistress Jamini’s sweaty feet with my slave mouth.
Her toes taste saltier than the previous toes I have sucked on this afternoon. That will be the perspiration oozing invisibly from the pores on the surface of mistress Jamini’s bare feet. Quite delightful! It changes the whole flavour of my mouth.
I am humbled and excited at one and the same time! I can’t recall my mistress Kamala’s bare feet ever tasting like this, even though she nearly always wears boots and socks! But it is a quickly acquired taste, and the more I suck on mistress Jamini’s spicy, Indian feet, the more I like them!
Sadly, the harder I suck the less flavour there is left to experience, and there comes a point when I have to accept that the pre-wash is over, and I must humbly raise and then lower mistress Jamini’s bare feet into the fresh bowl of water for the main wash.
This time the water turns visibly dirty – not so much a change in colour as there had been when I started washing mistress Isha’s feet, but rather there are soon little isolated bits of black toe-jam, dead footskin, and dark blue sock lint floating about in the otherwise clear foot-water. I find myself wishing that mistress Angelina, the Filipina maid, was under instructions to pour the female guests’ dirty footwater down my throat, rather than down the sink, after each individual footwash. Then again, drinking mistress Jamini’s dirty footwater would only wash away any lingering, salty taste of her precious footsweat inside my slave mouth!
Happily, that very taste still lingers in my mouth as I dry mistress Jamini’s feet with the fresh towel and then put her blue bootsocks back onto her feet. Then comes the part I have been dreading most – having to lace-up her black leather, block-heeled, ankle boots back onto her pretty, sweaty-socked feet. I can sense the Filipina maid, mistress Angelina, watching me particularly intently, hoping no doubt that I will make a mistake as I attempt to tie up the laces of mistress Jamini’s boots, so that she can report my clumsiness in boot-lacing to our mistress Kamala and thereby have me punished.
But the mischievous maidservant is to be sorely disappointed, for I manage to lace up each of mistress Jamini’s boots like a true professional, with the fully tied bootlaces looking supremely tidy and even!
Almost a work of art, even if I must say so myself!
Guest no 4 - Mistress Sampriti’s heavy, black, pull-on, biker-style boots. What type of socks is she wearing inside her heavy boots?
The next mistress I must serve is a truly delightful and charming young woman – mistress Sampriti. She is a regular visitor to my mistress Kamala’s home, and yet frustratingly, I have never seen her socks. For mistress Sampriti always wears either black, court shoes on bare feet, if she is wearing a skirt or a dress; or heavy-looking, black leather, biker-style boots with lots of metal buckles if she is wearing trousers (as she is today) and, strange as it may seem, despite her numerous previous visits to my mistress Kamala’s home, I have never yet been ordered to take off mistress Sampriti’s court shoes, or biker boots, and to wash her feet.
Perhaps that’s because this is the first time mistress Sampriti has visited mistress Kamala’s home along with other ladies i.e. at a more ‘formal’ event – afternoon tiffin! But, whatever the reason, I am really getting rather excited as I crawl over towards the delightful mistress Sampriti’s familiar, black biker boots as I have long wondered whether she wears any socks at all inside her heavy boots, or does she go barefoot as she does in her black, leather courts?
I find it hard to believe that she would not be wearing any socks inside her heavy boots. The boots look so big and oversized on her petite and dainty Indian feet! Surely she must have to wear thick bootsocks of some description inside her boots, if only to stop them from rubbing uncomfortably against the skin of her delicate heels and ankles?
Well, I need speculate no more, for I am about to find out! As are you!
Not before, of course, I first respectfully kiss the somewhat scuff-marked, leather toes of each of miss Sampriti’s buckle-covered, calf length boots in turn, boots which she is wearing today beneath a pair of fetching, navy-blue coloured, boot-cut slacks. These are the same pair of slacks which I have frequently cursed in the past as they totally prevent me from ever seeing the tops of miss Sampriti’s boots, and therefore from stealing a furtive glimpse down inside her boots in order to ascertain whether or not she is wearing any socks!
I am shaking with anticipation as I gently raise mistress Sampriti’s right heavy-booted foot into the air and, grabbing the low heel, equally gently pull it off her pretty, Indian foot.
As soon as the boot comes off my heart leaps – for this is even better than I could possibly have imagined! Not only is mistress Sampriti wearing socks; not only are they thick, ankle-length bootsocks (as I had anticipated!); they are delicious cream-coloured socks, as opposed to the dark-coloured socks I have hitherto been admiring!
And get this – they are neatly folded over at the cuffs!!
This is extraordinary! Even though mistress Sampriti’s socks are normally well-hidden inside her calf-length biker boots, and beneath the hems of her navy-blue boot-cut slacks, she has clearly taken the time and the effort to fold them over neatly at the cuffs!
Now, there might be several reasons why she has done so: she might wish to ‘fill out’ her otherwise rather dainty and skinny, Indian ankles by folding over her sweet, cream-coloured ankle socks; or she might just want to thicken her socks further inside her large, black biker boots in order to stop the boots from rubbing against her delicate ankles; or she might have folded her socks over for my benefit – in order to excite me! Unlikely, I know, but any dominant mistress must surely be aware that socks which are neatly folded over at the cuffs are going to be a source of endless fascination for a humble footslave such as myself!
Why? Because they indicate that the mistress has thought carefully about her socks as she was putting them on. She has taken the time and the effort to fold them over neatly at the tops – and that in and of itself indicates to the footslave that he too must take great care of the mistress’s precious socks; or, to put it another way, it clearly shows that she cares about exactly how her socks look and feel on her pretty feet - even if they are for the most part hidden inside her heavy boots!
Having gotten over my initial excitement and shock, I proceed to kiss the reinforced toe area of the cotton, cream-coloured, cuff socks. Oh you have no idea how long I have yearned for this moment – the moment when I get to kiss mistress Sampriti’s socks! I could never have imagined they would look and feel so nice! So sweet and so feminine inside her somewhat masculine-looking, heavy, black biker boots!
I really really don’t want to take my lips off her socks, but I am conscious of the fact that my mouth is starting to linger somewhat unprofessionally on miss Sampriti’s socked foot, and that miss Angelina, the maidservant, is still watching my every move, looking for the tiniest excuse to report me for misbehaviour to our mistress Kamala. And so I must reluctantly force myself to start peeling off miss Sampriti’s cream-coloured socks in order to wash her skinny, bare, brown, Indian feet.
As I would expect of such a sweet and kind young woman, her socks – despite being encased in such heavy, leather boots – do not smell. Unlike mistress Jamini’s feet, mistress Sampriti’s feet have clearly already been washed recently – perhaps even this morning.
Again, I ask myself has she already washed her feet today for my benefit? Has she actually washed her feet, and turned over her socks at the cuffs, in order to please me?
I realise that I am deluding myself. Mistress Sampriti will have done no such thing. It is just happenstance that her feet are clean today, and that her socks are neat and tidy. She is just that sort of young woman – clean and tidy!
My fingers are trembling with slavish excitement as I get to touch the thick material of the cotton where her cream-coloured socks are turned over at the cuffs, and then slowly pull the sock down and off her skinny, right foot.
Surprisingly, I can see several areas of rough skin on her somewhat bony, right foot. Mistress Sampriti also has a prominent vein running down the top of her foot to the base of her big toe. But her veiny, bony foot only seems to beautify her smart, cream-coloured sock all the more! As far as I am concerned, mistress Sampriti is an Indian goddess! I will admire her feet and footwear to my dying day, for she is such a sweet and kind young woman!
I caress, rather than just wash, her bare feet as I cradle them in my hands inside the white, porcelain footbowl. This is the closest I shall ever get to intimacy with mistress Sampriti, and I find it particularly stimulating that I can do so in full view of my own mistress Kamala – whose pretty, Indian feet, socks and boots I equally admire! It’s just that mistress Sampriti’s feet and socks have been such a mystery to me until now – so near and yet so far. And now at last I have her bare feet cupped lovingly in my hands as I ladle the soothing water over them, and her discarded cream-coloured bootsocks are waiting for me to put them back on her skinny feet after I have finished washing and drying them!
Truly I am in footslave heaven!
And my joy is complete when I must carefully fold over the cuffs of her wonderful socks again, once I have smoothed them back onto her freshly washed, veiny feet. Needless to say, a mistress always expects her socks to be put back on the way the footslave found them, and so I must endeavour to make sure they are folded over as neatly and evenly as mistress Sampriti herself had done them when she put them on her feet this morning (I happen to know that she, like all the other guests present, even the rich and idle mistress Parni, does not have a personal footslave of her own at home – unlike the host-mistress, mistress Kamala, who never needs to put on her own socks in the morning; she has me to do that for her!)
Once the cream-coloured socks are back on mistress Sampriti’s pretty Indian feet and are duly folded over at the cuffs, it seems a shame to have to hide them again inside her heavy, black boots. But, of course, I have no choice in the matter! The boots must go back on, and once again mistress Sampriti’s elusive socks disappear from my view.
At least they are no longer a complete mystery to me. From now on, whenever I kiss mistress Sampriti’s boots at my mistress Kamala’s front door, I shall be thinking about her cream-coloured ankle socks, neatly turned over at the cuffs, inside the heavy, black boot leather!
The hostess - Mistress Kamala’s black leather, platform-heeled, zip up ankle boots and black ankle-socks.
Most of the time during tiffin the Indian ladies have been chattering away in Hindi amongst themselves. I’m ashamed to say I don’t understand Hindi, and so if they wish to say something that they want me to hear, such as giving me verbal orders, or reprimanding me, they have to resort to English.
This equally applies if they wish me to hear them talking about me. The bespectacled mistress Jamini, the new mistress whom I have never met before but whose foot-perspiration has now graced my mouth, appears to be particularly interested to find out more about me from her friend and hostess, my mistress Kamala.
After the footwashing is over, and whilst I am kneeling humbly beside my mistress Kamala’s booted feet as she eats an Indian sweet and sips on her tea, I hear mistress Jamini asking her a question in English with a Hindi accent:
‘Tell me, Kamala, your footslave seems such a gentle and attentive fellow, and yet I see few whip-marks on his bare back! How do you discipline him? Do you not use the whip?’
My mistress Kamala laughs:
‘Ha! Ha! I do use the vhip on him sometimes, but for the most part I just reward him for good behaviour by giving him a glimpse of the top of my socks inside my boots. The fool absolutely adores my socks, and wants for nothing more than to touch the tops of my socks with his stupid nose while I am still wearing them …look, I vill show you!...’
And with that my mistress Kamala hitches up the hem of her back trouser leg on her right leg to reveal the elasticated top of her plain, black, cotton bootsock above her platform-heeled, black leather, zip-up ankle boot:
‘…Slave you may nose the top of my sock!’
I instantly move the tip of my nose onto the elasticated top of my mistress’s black bootsock and gently run it along the material of the cotton sock. For my mistress Kamala is quite correct! I do adore her socks, and I adore touching her socks with the sensitive tip of my nose whilst she is still wearing them inside her ankle boots; and to be able to nose her socks in front of her friends, and her maidservant, as a demonstration of my utter affection for my Indian mistress and her feet and footwear, is truly an honour and a privilege.
The watching ladies all laugh approvingly at the pathetic sight of a humble footslave excitedly and adoringly nosing the top of his mistress’s sock – the same footslave that has just kissed and removed their socks in order to wash their feet. Truly he is undersock- a fully trained and compliant sockslave. A pathetic creature – the lowest of the low, with not a care in the world other than his mistress’s feet, boots and socks!
So there you have it! You have reached the end of this story – a story with little in the way of plot, or intrigue, or characterisation; a story which is ostensibly about five young Indian women enjoying afternoon tiffin whilst having their feet washed by a humble, male footslave but, being written from the footslave’s point of view, is actually little more than a footslave’s pathetic description of the superior women’s feet and footwear.
I do have to admit that you can probably find much more important things to read about on the world wide web!
Nevertheless, if you have persevered this far, I hope you have at least felt as though you were down amongst the boots, shoes and socks of these superior Indian ladies during tiffin, just as I was; that you have vicariously experienced something of the utter humiliation and futility of being a young women’s footslave; and that you now know what is really important in life, at least if you are a humble, down-at-heel footslave like me – women’s feet, shoes, boots and socks!
The End
My mistress’s Filipina maid, miss Angelina, takes their coats, for miss Angelina is a superior servant to me in this household. She is a female servant, whereas I am a male slave and must remain on my hands and knees in the presence of my female superiors and betters – including her!
The pretty, Indian feet of the female guests are well wrapped-up too, in socks and shoes and/or boots. And this fact is important to my story – for this is not going to be a story about what the ladies are discussing amongst themselves in Hindi during tiffin, or about what is happening in their exciting and interesting lives. This story will be concentrating on my humble, not to say humiliating and degrading, chore of having to wash my Indian mistress’s, female Indian guests’ feet – in the age-old tradition of lowly, household footslaves throughout human history.
Be forewarned therefore, that this is a story that will involve detailed descriptions of me – the footslave – taking off and putting back on the Indian ladies’ socks, shoes and boots, and equally intense details of me humbly washing the bare Indian feet of my female betters. If you find such subject matter boring, then please read no further. For I am under strict instructions from my mistress Kamala to humbly and slavishly concentrate on her guests’ feet and footwear, and you, the reader, will therefore have to do so too if you are to proceed with this story.
It’s not that other things don’t happen during tiffin; it’s not that that my female superiors, seated imperiously above me in my mistress Kamala’s opulent living room, have nothing exciting or interesting to discuss. It’s just that I, as a dutiful footslave, am obliged to have other things on my mind – such as their pretty, feminine footwear and soft, bare Indian feet.
You will have to appreciate, therefore, that each and every one of the ladies is engaged in animated conversation with her friends in her native tongue, effectively ignoring me whilst I am attending to her feet and footwear beneath her, but you must equally accept that such conversation amongst our female betters is, in any case, no business of we male footslaves. We are not worthy to eavesdrop on the conversation of superior, free women, even if we could understand the language. We must merely serve female feet.
My mistress’s 21 year old Filipina maid, miss Angelina, by the way, is the only young woman present who is not wearing socks today. She is smartly dressed in her maid’s uniform consisting of a short, black dress, a crisp, white pinafore and shiny black, patent-leather high heels on sheer, dark, nylon stockings.
Much as I like young women’s socks, I cannot fail but to admire also miss Angelina’s (I have to refer to her as ‘miss’ for she is female, and therefore above me in the pecking order even if she is just a lady’s maid) dark-nylon-stockinged feet and ankles inside her shiny, black, high-heeled shoes. I do so particularly when she crouches down beside me in order to supply me with a fresh bowl of water and a fresh towel for washing and drying each individual female guest’s feet, thereby causing her own finest denier nylon stockings to crease and fold around her shapely Filipina ankles in front of my kneeling eyes.
I know that miss Angelina’s eyes will also be watching me intently as she supervises my washing of the guests’ feet, ensuring my contrition and humility at all times and looking out for any signs of rebellion or disobedience, or even just plain ineptitude, on my part which she can then gleefully report to our mistress, mistress Kamala. Miss Angelina is forever reporting me to the mistress! The sweet, young Filipina maidservant loves seeing me getting punished!
Guest no. 1 - Mistress Isha’s shiny, black slip-on shoes and light-grey towelling socks.
I begin with the youngest and poorest of my mistress’s guests – 26 year old mistress Isha. It’s the normal protocol when washing female guests’ feet. The last shall be first and the first shall be last, as the saying goes!
I know that mistress Isha is relatively poor because she works as a full-time cleaner in an office, whereas the other ladies present either have managerial jobs, or, like my own mistress Kamala are ‘ladies of leisure’ – kept in the lap of luxury by their high-earning husbands.
I can also tell that mistress Isha is the poorest of the 5 Indian ladies present by the nature of her footwear – cheap, flat, plasticky looking, shiny black, slip-on shoes and light-grey coloured towelling socks, beneath the mud-splattered hems of her cheap, black denim jeans (it is apparently raining outside).
Both the shoes and the socks have seen better days. The shoes, for all their cheap, black shininess are considerably scuff-marked along the rounded toe areas and the low, flat heels. And the thick, grey, ankle-length towelling socks are showing clear signs of wear and tear in the ribbed stitching along the sides. I’m not saying they are unclean as such, but they are undoubtedly the ‘lower-caste’ socks, inside the ‘lower-caste’ shoes, of a ‘lower-caste’ Indian girl.
And yet, of course, for all her relative poverty, mistress Isha is richer and higher-caste than me. For, kneeling as I now am at her feet whilst she sits in a comfortable, leather armchair in my mistress Kamala’s front living room , I am just an Indian cleaning-girl’s, down-in-the-dirt, footslave, fit only to kiss, lick and clean her cheap, plasticky, black shoes, her ropey-looking, well-worn, light grey towelling socks, and her soft, bare Indian feet.
And besides, whereas the other Indian ladies present respect and admire their cleaning-girl friend, Isha, as a hard working and diligent young woman, and indeed view her as a complete equal here in the glorious Gynarchy despite her ‘lower caste' background back in India, they all equally despise me and view me, quite rightly, as being literally the dirt under miss Isha’s feet. That’s because I am self-evidently the lowest of the low – a mere, male footslave.
I therefore begin by kissing the shiny, black plastic of the toe areas of mistress Isha’s superior shoes with genuine, slavish respect - just the once on each cheap, plasticky toe - and then keep my slave head appropriately low and bowed as I gently raise mistress Isha’s right foot a few inches off the fluffy, white carpet of the living room floor in order to subserviently slip off her right shoe from her superior, female foot in preparation for washing the foot.
The cheap shoe comes off with a ‘whoosh’ as the trapped air escapes from inside the shoe, and I can detect a faint whiff of warm, socked female foot. I now have a full, unencumbered view of mistress Isha’s light-grey towelling sock on her pretty, shapely right foot, and I notice to my simultaneous horror and delight a small hole in the top of the supposedly reinforced stitching of the towelling sock covering the area of her big toe. I therefore have an unexpectedly premature glimpse of mistress Isha’s bare, big toenail inside her light-grey sock – toenail which I will shortly be sucking and washing whilst its superior, female owner engages in relaxed and happy conversation in Hindi with her Indian friends.
This humbling thought truly excites me, and I am looking forward to getting my tongue on mistress Isha’s toenail.
But first I have to unshoe her left foot. I therefore gently place the right, socked foot of the Indian cleaning girl back onto the soft, white carpet, before raising her left foot a few, small inches off the floor in order to repeat the humiliating shoe-removal process with her left foot.
Again the ‘whoosh’ of air; again the faint whiff of sweet, feminine towelling-sock. But, disappointingly, no signs of any holes in the sock this time.
Mistress Isha is, of course, completely unabashed about her holey, right sock. And nor should she be ashamed or embarrassed by it! Not only are her female friends unlikely to even notice such a small detail, as they all, including the wearer of the sock herself, have much better and more important things to think and talk about; but a well-worn, feminine sock is a de facto compliment to a humble, male footslave such as myself. For it says ‘I care nothing for you slave. I cannot be bothered to wear my best socks to my friend’s house, even though I know you are going to have to attend to my socked feet. You will just damn well have to brace yourself, and get down to serving my sweaty, well-worn socks, for even my cheapest pair of well-worn, ropey old socks are better than you, and you will pay your humble, footslavish respects to them!’
The way in which I must pay my humble, footslavish respects to mistress Isha’s well-worn, light grey towelling socks is to humbly kiss them before I peel them off her pretty, brown, Indian feet. I must kiss the top of each sock – once only – a curt and respectful sock-kiss – the kiss of a slave rather than a lover!
And whilst I would normally kiss a young woman’s sock on the area of her big toe, in the case of mistress Isha’s right foot I am, of course, obliged to place my kiss to the area of sock covering her second toe, due to the absence of solid sock material over the area of her big toenail. I am not yet permitted to touch her bare toenail with my lips – not until the sock has been completely removed from her pretty, superior, feminine foot.
Taking a lady’s sock off her foot in a manner befitting a footslave is an art-form all in itself. I must take great care not to let my dirty, footslave-fingers brush against the mistress’s soft, bare skin as I gently pinch the soft, cotton material of the thick, towelling sock at the ankle and pull it downwards, peeling off the sock so that it turns inside out as it comes off.
This is always such an honour and a privilege for me – to see for the first time the mistress’s inner sock as it comes off her pretty foot. I begin, of course, with mistress Isha’s right sock, and as soon as it peels off inside-out I can see tiny little pieces of debris stuck to the inner sock; little balls of light grey sock lint; little white and black pieces of fluff; stale, yellowish sweat stains on the reinforced area beneath the toes.
It’s at times like this that I just wish I could run my slave nose all along the turned-out sole of the superior mistress’s warm sock – hoovering up the inner-sock debris through my footslave nostrils. What an honour and a privilege that would be! But, of course, I am not removing the mistress’s sock for my own delectation. I am removing it for a genuinely slavish purpose – that of washing the mistress’s bare foot. For right at this particular moment in time mistress Isha is not working as an office cleaner; she is one of my mistress Kamala’s honoured guests – and I am therefore under strict instructions to wash my mistress Isha’s ‘lower-caste’, Indian feet in the time-honoured tradition of a humble footslave.
The divested sock, therefore, must sadly be placed to one side on the floor, whilst I repeat the process of humble sock-removal on mistress Isha’s left foot.
At least, with both the socks off, I now have an uninterrupted view of the Indian cleaning-girl’s beautiful, bare feet. My attention is immediately drawn to her now fully exposed toenails, for they are truly dirty. I can see distinct traces of black toe-jam underneath the upper rims of her pretty, unpainted toenails.
Again, just as mistress Isha has no reason to feel embarrassed about her rather ropey-looking and holey towelling socks, so she has no reason to blush at her dirty and unkempt toenails – for they remind me of my place. I am the cleaning-girl’s dirty-foot cleaner, and so I need her feet to be dirty in order to have something substantive to clean!
The protocol is that I must scrape out the sweaty, black toe-jam from underneath the mistress’s toenails using a soft, white cotton bud; then sniff it on the end of the bud; then savour it inside my mouth; and then swallow it – all before any water gets anywhere near the mistress’s dirty, recently unsocked feet. That’s because a young woman’s toe-jam is just about the most precious material a humble footslave like myself can consume – for it is the toe-jam of a superior and beautiful female.
And so I reach straight for the cotton buds, kindly provided along with the bowl of water and the towel by the ever efficient Filipina maidservant, miss Angelina, and start scraping the undersides of mistress Isha’s dirty toenails, beginning with her big toenail on her right foot – logically enough given that this toenail will undoubtedly be the dirtiest as it has not been fully protected inside her cheap plastic shoe due to the tiny hole in the top of her grey sock.
The female toe-jam smells and tastes good – although it is, admittedly, an acquired smell and taste. No free, normal human being could ever possibly appreciate it – only a humble footslave of many years’ servitude such as myself can fully appreciate the soft texture of a mistress’s toe-jam.
As I tuck into mistress Isha’s toe-cheese she, and her friends, are tucking into some Indian sweets and cakes, which they wash down with some refreshing, hot tea – again supplied by the hard-working, and much appreciated, Filipina maid, miss Angelina.
I have nothing to help me wash down mistress Isha’s cheesy toe-jam.
After I finish scraping out the dirt from beneath her pretty toenails, however, and before I am permitted to place her shapely, bare, Indian feet in the bowl of water supplied for that purpose by miss Angelina, I must dip my tongue in the water in order to lick and suck the dirt and sweat away from in between mistress Isha’s sticky toes. This is because mistresses traditionally like to feel their footslaves’ tongues lathing away the ingrained dirt on their feet before their feet are submerged in water. They like to feel the little pieces of dead skin and other detritus coming off their soft, bare footflesh, and to have their bare feet attended to first by a living, human tongue rather than just an artificial sponge. It’s so much more enjoyable for the superior mistress, and so much more humiliating for the humble, downtrodden footslave!
Not that you would think mistress Isha was paying any attention to my humble tonguing of her dirty, bare feet as she sits above me chatting happily away to her female-compatriots in incomprehensible Hindi. Every time I lower my tongue to the bowl of water in order to wash off the Indian girl’s foot-dirt from it and to re-moisten it, I allow myself a furtive glance of her discarded, crumpled up, and now turned inside-out, light-grey towelling socks which are lying just a few inches away from the side of the white, porcelain footbowl. Just think, I say to myself: you are licking where those dirty, grey, female towelling socks have just been! You might not be permitted to run your nose and tongue along the inner socks, but at least you can still see the faint traces of sock-tracks on the mistress’s soft, bare, brown-skinned soles as you lick and suck out the sticky debris from between her bare toes!
After some 10 minutes of inter-toe licking and sucking, I finally am in a position to lift my mistress’s guest’s soft, bare, Indian feet into the bowl of lukewarm, now slightly dirty, footwater, and to gently ladle the water over the tops of mistress Isha’s feet with my cupped hand. Only when her delicate feet are accustomed to the temperature of the water am I permitted to use a soft, yellow foot-sponge to gently scrub her bare feet – removing any remaining bacteria, sweat and dirt from her precious, brown-skinned, Indian feet.
I often wonder if the mistress finds it ticklish to have her feet washed and scrubbed with a soft sponge. The feet are, after all, an extremely sensitive, if hardy, part of a young woman’s body! But if mistress Isha is finding my foot-scrubbing ticklish she isn’t showing it. Indeed her wiggling of her bare toes in the lukewarm water suggests that she is, subconsciously at any rate, experiencing nothing but pure pleasure.
Having properly washed the Indian cleaning-girl’s feet I next, of course, have to thoroughly dry them through a mixture of my humble slave-breath and the use of the soft, fluffy white towel supplied by the Filipina maid. I must take particular care to dry thoroughly in between mistress Isha’s well-licked and well-washed toes, as there is nothing more uncomfortable for a superior mistress than having damp toes – be it damp caused by sweat or by water – inside her shoes and socks.
And this, of course, is the final humiliation in the whole foot-washing process: I must put the mistress’s dirty shoes and socks back onto her freshly-washed feet, thereby effectively negating all the good work I have just done in beautifying and cleansing the mistress’s bare feet!
It is, of course, a deliberate part of the footslave-humiliation process – another subliminal message to the slave of the complete disregard in which he, and his menial work, are held by the mistress, who is still diligently ignoring him as he toils humbly and submissively at her feet below her.
But at least I get to touch mistress Isha’s beautiful, holey socks once again – this time to turn them the right way out again so that the outer stitching is on display once more for all to see – or rather for me to see; for nobody else is interested, not even the wearer of the socks!
Having turned mistress Isha’s right sock the right way out, I then have to scrunch it up in my hands and hold it wide open at the end ready to pull over the mistress’s now freshly-washed toes, and up onto her arrogantly outstretched foot. Mistress Isha is very gracious in this regard, for she is, of course, under no obligation to present her outstretched foot in the air for me to gain easy access to it. She could, if she so wished, leave her pretty, washed foot resting on the ground – on the soft, warm carpet of mistress Kamala’s living room floor - and leave it to me to work out exactly how to raise her foot into the air without disturbing her, whilst simultaneously rolling her ankle-length, thick grey towelling sock back onto her bare foot.
But fortunately mistress Isha is making things easy for me, albeit subconsciously, and the soft sock rolls easily up onto her obligingly outstretched foot, my fingers once again studiously avoiding any unauthorised contact with her bare feet, for having just washed her dirty feet, it would truly be a shame to sully them again with my dirty slave fingers even if her dirty, unwashed sock is now about to sully her foot again!
I smooth out the creases in the sock as best I can although, being a thick, grey towelling sock, it tends to naturally crease and fold around the mistress’s pretty, brown ankles. It seems a shame that I can’t suck the mud stains off the hem of her black, denim jeans now that her feet are so nice and clean!
Once the left sock is also safely back on mistress Isha’s left foot, it only remains for me to gently slip her cheap, shiny black shoes back onto her socked feet – the shoes with the scuff-marks along the toes and flat heels. Even if I say so myself, mistress Isha’s light-grey towelling socks and shiny, black, plasticky shoes look good back on her pretty, Indian feet. I take satisfaction in the fact that her feet are now clean and protected inside her shoes and socks, and I must now signal my completion of my humble foot-cleaning labour at mistress Isha’s feet by respectfully kissing each socked, outer ankle bone just the once.
For her part, of course, mistress Isha makes no acknowledgement of my presence or does anything to indicate satisfaction or otherwise with my humble work at her feet. Such gestures are literally beneath her – just as I am literally beneath her.
You might be thinking that my mistress Kamala would also expect me to tongue-shine her guest’s shoes, smoothing away the scuff-marks with my tongue, but, much as I would be only too happy to divest mistress Isha’s cheap, plasticky, outer footwear of street muck and dirt with my slave tongue, my role this afternoon is strictly limited to washing my mistress’s guests’ bare feet during tiffin!
If you’re worried about my mistress’s fluffy, white living-room carpet – don’t be! The Filipina maidservant, miss Angelina, will soon have me sucking up all the ladies’ shoe dirt and muck from the carpet just as soon as they have finished tiffin!
And so, reluctantly, I must leave the beautiful shiny-black-shoed and light-grey socked feet of mistress Isha and crawl over to the feet and footwear of the next guest – mistress Isha.
Guest no 2 - Mistress Parni’s wedge-heeled, black, slip-on shoes and black, sneaker-style socks covering only the lower halves of her shapely ankle bones.
Rather like mistress Isha before her, mistress Parni is wearing flat, black shoes. Unlike mistress Isha’s black shoes, however, mistress Parni’s shoes are made of proper leather, and are matt black as opposed to shiny black. A better class of plain, flat, black leather shoe!
What really captivates me about mistress Parni’s feet and footwear, however, are the ultra-short, modern, sneaker-style black socks she is wearing inside her classy shoes. The upper, elasticated rims of the short, black socks are stretched directly over the centre of her shapely ankle bones, leaving the upper halves of those ankle bones exposed – a mind-blowing combination of half-socked, feminine ankle bone!
I’ll be honest with you, my own mistress Kamala never wears such socks. Mistress Kamala’s ankle-length socks reach all the way up to the tops of her ankles, and whilst I always enjoy running my nose around the elasticated tops of her ankle socks, I cannot help but feel at this moment in time how much more exciting it would be to be permitted to run my nose along the stretched elastic covering the very centre of mistress Parni’s prominent ankle bones!
Sadly, however, I am not here to nose my mistresses’ guests’ socks! I am here to remove them, along with their shoes and/or boots, in order to wash their bare feet! I have some serious footslave-work to do!
I therefore confine my short, black-sneaker-sock-nosing fantasies to my pathetic, slavish imagination, and instead respectfully kiss the rounded toes of mistress Parni’s flat, black leather shoes – once each. Mistress Parni is wearing boot-cut, black slacks with wide hems which brush against my forehead as I do so. It is somewhat distracting, but I am nevertheless glad she is wearing such flared, boot-cut slacks as, whilst she is in a seated position as she is now, the raised hems permit me to see the entire tops of her low-cut, sneaker-style socks inside her shoes.
Mistress Parni is somewhat plumper than the petite and slightly-built mistress Isha, but she is one of those girls whose feet and ankles are nonetheless shapely – even though her calves may be a bit fatter. I happen to know that mistress Parni also has a reputation for being somewhat lazy and indolent – prone to lying around her house most of the day; never lifting a finger to do anything for herself as she too, like my mistress Kamala, is a lady of leisure with a personal maidservant. She also, reputedly, never walks anywhere – not even to the end of her garden, as she has a chauffeur to drive her!
Yes, it is an honour to kiss the little-used shoes of such a superior woman – a fat, lazy, Indian girl who leads a pampered life of complete luxury, and will never know the meaning of hard work!
I can tell that fat mistress Parni is enjoying my humiliation at her feet by the way her foot muscles are flexing and contracting inside her pretty, black socks in reaction to my humble kisses to the toes of her flat, black, leather slip-on shoes. The contractions cause her socks to crease and fold in front of my eyes – a sight I enjoy very much - so the pleasure, it must be said, is mutual.
It is time, however, to gently and respectfully lift the lazy, Indian mistress’s right foot off the floor in order to remove her right shoe. As one would expect of such a superior and indolent, young woman she does nothing to help me. Unlike mistress Isha, who kindly, if subconsciously, relaxed her leg muscles to allow me to easily lift her foot a few inches off the ground, mistress Parni almost appears to deliberately press her right foot even harder down onto the carpet – as if to emphasise her supreme power and authority over me, authority temporarily delegated to her by her host, my permanent mistress, mistress Kamala. I sense that fat mistress Parni could quite happily crush me under foot. That is the subliminal message I am getting from mistress Parni’s resistant, right foot as I kneel humbly in front of her, with my head dutifully bowed.
But, of course, she also wants her feet to be washed, and so, as she chats happily away to her host and the other Indian female guests in Hindi, I do eventually manage to lift her much heavier foot than mistress Isha’s foot into the air, and to slip off the flat, black leather shoe.
Not so much of a ‘whoosh’ this time, but the sight that greets me is just out of this world! To my surprise, mistress Parni’s inner, black sock is quite grey and discoloured in places – especially around the toe area and along the lower instep. That greyness can only have been caused by one thing – her precious footsweat reacting with the black dye in her cotton sock during repeated wearing! I am clearly seeing the after-effects of her precious footsweat in front of my very eyes!
Moreover, mistress Parni is now subconsciously wriggling her toes and flexing her indolent foot muscles once again inside her sock, causing yet more enticing little creases and folds to come and go in the black sock material in front of my mesmerized, footslave eyes!
I am in rich, spoilt, Indian-girl’s sock-heaven! I could literally just kneel here and observe the movements in mistress Parni’s socked foot all day, but, like I said before, I have work to do – difficult work, for I now have to remove her left shoe from her equally uncooperative left foot.
When I eventually manage to slip off the left shoe, the left, inner sock is very similar in appearance to the right (as one would expect!) with similar signs of greyish discolouration in the same, predictable, areas along the front and side of the otherwise expensive-looking black, cotton designer-sock. I now know they are designer-socks by the fading, white logos on the soles! The socks are, apart from the white logos and fading, greyish areas, actually quite plain and ordinary to look at, with no fancy stitching, but are nevertheless incredibly feminine and sexy - covering, or at least ‘partially’ covering as they do, a pair of indolent but shapely, feminine Indian ankles beneath fat calf-muscles.
I pay due homage to mistress Parni’s expensive, black socks. I kiss them – once each – on the discoloured areas around the toes. Perhaps surprisingly, the socks don’t smell. They may be well-worn socks, but they are clearly fresh on mistress Parni’s feet again this morning.
Pity!
An even greater pity, in a way, is the fact that I must now peel off the expensive, enticingly short, black socks in order to expose her bare feet. It’s not that I’m not looking forward to seeing, touching, smelling and washing mistress Parni’s soft, bare, brown Indian feet – it’s just that these black socks go so well with her protruding, light-brown-skinned ankle bones, stretched as they are over the lower half of her ankles – that it seems almost a crime to separate them from her pretty feet.
But I can hardly wash her feet with her socks still on! And so, as mistress Parni continues to ignore me, I gently - and again, as I did when unsocking mistress Isha’s feet, taking great care not to brush my dirty slave fingers against mistress Parni’s soft, bare, ankle skin - pinch the elasticated top of her right sock between my thumb and forefinger on my right hand and deftly peel down the short, black, feminine sock until it comes off mistress Parni’s precious, brown-skinned foot, inside-out.
I then place the freshly peeled-off sock onto the white carpet beneath my face, before humbly repeating the process with her left sock.
How forlorn and pitiful the two discarded, short, black sneaker-socks look as they lie side by side, crumpled-up and inside-out, on the thick white carpet beneath my face. The little socks don’t look big enough to cover mistress Parni’s quite broad feet. It just goes to show how much they must stretch over her shapely, bare feet and ankles. Be that as it may, there is still enough sock material for me to wish I could bury my nose in them – right here and now – as they lie on the living room carpet; to wish I could smell the very essence of mistress Parni’s inner socks, for I can’t believe they are totally devoid of any sweet, feminine foot odour!
But, as I keep on having to remind myself, I am not here to sniff socks! I am here to wash feet, and so I must drag myself away from the socks and focus my attention on mistress Parni’s bare feet, resting patiently on the carpet beside the socks and awaiting their footbath.
Mistress Parni’s ‘upper-caste’ Indian feet really are quite different in shape from mistress Isha’s ‘lower-caste’ feet – a bit podgier, particularly the toes, which could almost be described as somewhat fat and misshapen. Like mistress Isha’s toes, however, the toenails are, perhaps surprisingly, unpainted - allowing a clear view of familiar, black toe-jam underneath the upper rims of the toenails.
I am particularly drawn to a tiny slither of what appears to be dead footskin sticking up from the extreme left-hand corner of mistress Parni’s left, big toe. The tiny piece of protruding flesh is certainly paler in hue than the surrounding, brown skin. I make a mental note to ensure that the offending slither of dead footskin ends up in my footslave mouth – where it belongs. I should have plenty of opportunity to ingest it once I come to suck on the mistress’s toes by way of the usual pre-wash.
Speaking of which, mistress Parni’s toes feel quite different from mistress Isha’s had done when I insert them inside my mouth. Definitely fatter and podgier toes, and, again unlike mistress Isha, mistress Parni appears to enjoy scraping her toenails along the roof of my mouth. This is good, of course, because for once it means she is actually helping me, by scraping the dirt and debris, such as the little stub of dead toeskin, off her superior feet and into my dirty mouth. Indeed, when her left foot emerges from my mouth, I notice with foolish, footslave-pride that the little slither of protruding, dead footskin at the top left-hand corner of mistress Parni’s left, big toenail has now completely disappeared.
It must be inside me somewhere! I am truly honoured!
Actually, ‘shrimping’ mistress Parni’s broad, brown feet and podgy, unpainted toes is quite pleasurable to me, although, for all her helpful toenail scraping on the roof of my mouth, I still have to work harder than I did on mistress Isha’s feet simply because mistress Parni is less inclined –probably through laziness or indifference – to spread her toes inside my mouth, the better to enable me to deep-tongue-clean them thoroughly before I start wiping them with the soft sponge in the bowl of lukewarm water, freshly supplied by the Filipina maidservant, miss Angelina.
I therefore have to spend a little bit longer on washing mistress Parni’s bare feet in the footbowl than I did mistress Isha’s, but it is by no means a class thing; it is just a practical necessity, caused by mistress Parni’s less helpful and more arrogant comportment.
Eventually I am satisfied that mistress Parni’s feet are sufficiently clean. I therefore dry them (again using a fresh towel supplied by the ever-vigilant, nylon-stockinged Filipina maid, miss Angelina) before having the inestimable privilege of picking up the sweat-soiled, black, designer sneaker-socks once again, turning them the right way out, and then pulling them back over mistress Parni’s podgy toes and onto her shapely feet and ankles.
I am once again absolutely fascinated by the way the upper, elasticated rim of each short, black sock reaches only as far as the centre of her ankle bone, and at the way the sock then dips below her heel at the back, so that, when I place her flat, black, slip-on leather shoes back onto her feet the backs of her socks disappear completely, thereby exposing the rough, bare skin of her heels to the elements!
These stylish, designer-socks are clearly intended not so much to protect her pretty, soft, Indian feet from the elements as to absorb her precious footsweat inside her warm, leather shoes. They are ‘secret’, sweat-absorbing socks - although they undoubtedly beautify mistress Parni’s upper-class feet at the same time!
Ingenious!
Oh if only my mistress Kamala would wear such socks!
Guest no. 3 - Mistress Jamini’s black, block-heeled, lace-up leather ankle boots; and dark blue bootsocks.
Mistress Jamini is a bit of a mystery-woman to me. She is the only one of my mistress’s guests this afternoon that I have never met before. It is therefore a huge honour for me to kiss her black leather, lace-up boots for the first time!
I would guess she is slightly older than my mistress Kamala – early thirties perhaps – but she is still a very svelte and attractive young Indian woman, with a good figure and beautiful long, black hair (I managed to steal a surreptitious glance at her face from my kneeling position and out of the corner of my footslave-eye when she had first entered my mistress’s living room. I must confess I had earlier noticed also that mistress Jamini was wearing black-rimmed glasses, and that excites me enormously as I have always enjoyed serving and kowtowing to mistresses who wear glasses: the spectacles remind me that they are cleverer and more intelligent than I am!)
But enough about mistress Jamini’s pretty facial features and upper body shape! I am here to serve her feet and footwear, and must concentrate on those!
She is wearing a very stylish and fashionable pair of block-heeled, square-toed, black leather, lace-up ankle boots with a pair of black, denim jeans similar to those being worn by mistress Isha, except they are a bit more expensive-looking! Totally unlike mistress Isha, however, mistress Jamini is wearing a pair of dark blue socks inside her boots. I can just see the elasticated top of her right bootsock as she is currently sitting with her right leg dominantly crossed over her left, her right booted-foot hovering as a consequence in the air directly in front of my kneeling face, thereby exposing the top of her dark blue sock.
Moreover, she is coquettishly, but in all likelihood subconsciously, flexing her right foot in the air as she engages in conversation with the other female guests, thereby causing the black laces of her right ankle-length boot to move about and flap against the front of her boot. I hope she will keep her booted foot still whilst I am endeavouring to unlace it – otherwise things could get a bit tricky!
But I soon find out that I needn’t have worried. Just as soon as mistress Jamini realises that I have crawled over to her chair in order to remove her boots and socks and wash her feet, she kindly and politely uncrosses her legs and places both booted feet side by side on the fluffy, white carpet in front of me.
I, of course, kiss the square-shaped toe of each stylish, lace-up boot as a mark of respect, before starting to unlace the now stationary right boot.
If I’m honest I much prefer dealing with ladies’ zip-up boots – in part because I am more used to them given that my own mistress Kamala has a preference for wearing zip-up, ankle-length boots. And besides, it is generally-speaking much easier to unzip the side of a lady’s boot, rather than fumble around with laces. It is certainly easier than having to lace up a lady’s boot when you are putting it back onto her pretty foot and leg!
However, thee is no point in worrying about all this, and I must just take things one step at a time. Right now all I have to do is to concentrate on unlacing mistress Jamini’s right boot and pulling it off her socked foot – taking as much care as possible not to disturb her dark blue, ankle-length bootsock inside the boot, for a young woman most definitely does not like her bootsock to be removed along with her boot! The sock must be removed separately from the boot. Woe betide any footslave who inadvertently pulls off a female sock along with a female boot – at least in mistress Kamala’s household!
And so as the pretty, block-heeled, lace-up, black leather, designer boot comes off the mysterious, bespectacled mistress Jamini’s right foot, I am suddenly enveloped in the comforting and warm smell of freshly liberated, feminine bootsock. It is perhaps inevitable that mistress Jamini’s socks should smell a bit more strongly than those of her two predecessors – given that they were only wearing shoes as opposed to boots (although I can’t imagine that mistress Isha’s cheap, black plastic shoes allow her pretty feet to breathe easily!)
Be that as it may, the smell of mistress Jamini’s blue bootsock is an honour and a privilege for me, and I enjoy the feeling of the moistness under my lips as I respectfully kiss the reinforced toe area of her freshly-liberated, plain, blue bootsock on her right foot.
The left sock is equally sweaty, and both socks are clearly quite sticky as I peel them off the bespectacled mistress Jamini’s pretty, Indian feet.
To my utter delight I observe, as soon as her socks are off, that mistress Jamini has painted her toenails purple – although the paint is showing signs of chipping off in one or two areas, particularly around the rough edges of her big toes.
Clearly she would not have painted her toenails just for my benefit, nor would she have bothered to paint her toenails when she is wearing boots and socks. So all the signs are that this is old paint, probably from a previous night out with her husband or boyfriend, intended to beautify her feet inside a pair of strappy sandals for his delectation and benefit. And that fact, together with the evident smell from her feet, suggests that mistress Jamini’s feet have not been properly washed for several days, which in turn demonstrates the complete disregard in which she, quite rightly, holds me – her host’s footslave.
Cue the fresh bowl of water kindly supplied by the dark-nylon-stockinged and shiny-black-stiletto-heeled Filipina maid, miss Angelina!
But first I must pre-wash mistress Jamini’s sweaty feet with my slave mouth.
Her toes taste saltier than the previous toes I have sucked on this afternoon. That will be the perspiration oozing invisibly from the pores on the surface of mistress Jamini’s bare feet. Quite delightful! It changes the whole flavour of my mouth.
I am humbled and excited at one and the same time! I can’t recall my mistress Kamala’s bare feet ever tasting like this, even though she nearly always wears boots and socks! But it is a quickly acquired taste, and the more I suck on mistress Jamini’s spicy, Indian feet, the more I like them!
Sadly, the harder I suck the less flavour there is left to experience, and there comes a point when I have to accept that the pre-wash is over, and I must humbly raise and then lower mistress Jamini’s bare feet into the fresh bowl of water for the main wash.
This time the water turns visibly dirty – not so much a change in colour as there had been when I started washing mistress Isha’s feet, but rather there are soon little isolated bits of black toe-jam, dead footskin, and dark blue sock lint floating about in the otherwise clear foot-water. I find myself wishing that mistress Angelina, the Filipina maid, was under instructions to pour the female guests’ dirty footwater down my throat, rather than down the sink, after each individual footwash. Then again, drinking mistress Jamini’s dirty footwater would only wash away any lingering, salty taste of her precious footsweat inside my slave mouth!
Happily, that very taste still lingers in my mouth as I dry mistress Jamini’s feet with the fresh towel and then put her blue bootsocks back onto her feet. Then comes the part I have been dreading most – having to lace-up her black leather, block-heeled, ankle boots back onto her pretty, sweaty-socked feet. I can sense the Filipina maid, mistress Angelina, watching me particularly intently, hoping no doubt that I will make a mistake as I attempt to tie up the laces of mistress Jamini’s boots, so that she can report my clumsiness in boot-lacing to our mistress Kamala and thereby have me punished.
But the mischievous maidservant is to be sorely disappointed, for I manage to lace up each of mistress Jamini’s boots like a true professional, with the fully tied bootlaces looking supremely tidy and even!
Almost a work of art, even if I must say so myself!
Guest no 4 - Mistress Sampriti’s heavy, black, pull-on, biker-style boots. What type of socks is she wearing inside her heavy boots?
The next mistress I must serve is a truly delightful and charming young woman – mistress Sampriti. She is a regular visitor to my mistress Kamala’s home, and yet frustratingly, I have never seen her socks. For mistress Sampriti always wears either black, court shoes on bare feet, if she is wearing a skirt or a dress; or heavy-looking, black leather, biker-style boots with lots of metal buckles if she is wearing trousers (as she is today) and, strange as it may seem, despite her numerous previous visits to my mistress Kamala’s home, I have never yet been ordered to take off mistress Sampriti’s court shoes, or biker boots, and to wash her feet.
Perhaps that’s because this is the first time mistress Sampriti has visited mistress Kamala’s home along with other ladies i.e. at a more ‘formal’ event – afternoon tiffin! But, whatever the reason, I am really getting rather excited as I crawl over towards the delightful mistress Sampriti’s familiar, black biker boots as I have long wondered whether she wears any socks at all inside her heavy boots, or does she go barefoot as she does in her black, leather courts?
I find it hard to believe that she would not be wearing any socks inside her heavy boots. The boots look so big and oversized on her petite and dainty Indian feet! Surely she must have to wear thick bootsocks of some description inside her boots, if only to stop them from rubbing uncomfortably against the skin of her delicate heels and ankles?
Well, I need speculate no more, for I am about to find out! As are you!
Not before, of course, I first respectfully kiss the somewhat scuff-marked, leather toes of each of miss Sampriti’s buckle-covered, calf length boots in turn, boots which she is wearing today beneath a pair of fetching, navy-blue coloured, boot-cut slacks. These are the same pair of slacks which I have frequently cursed in the past as they totally prevent me from ever seeing the tops of miss Sampriti’s boots, and therefore from stealing a furtive glimpse down inside her boots in order to ascertain whether or not she is wearing any socks!
I am shaking with anticipation as I gently raise mistress Sampriti’s right heavy-booted foot into the air and, grabbing the low heel, equally gently pull it off her pretty, Indian foot.
As soon as the boot comes off my heart leaps – for this is even better than I could possibly have imagined! Not only is mistress Sampriti wearing socks; not only are they thick, ankle-length bootsocks (as I had anticipated!); they are delicious cream-coloured socks, as opposed to the dark-coloured socks I have hitherto been admiring!
And get this – they are neatly folded over at the cuffs!!
This is extraordinary! Even though mistress Sampriti’s socks are normally well-hidden inside her calf-length biker boots, and beneath the hems of her navy-blue boot-cut slacks, she has clearly taken the time and the effort to fold them over neatly at the cuffs!
Now, there might be several reasons why she has done so: she might wish to ‘fill out’ her otherwise rather dainty and skinny, Indian ankles by folding over her sweet, cream-coloured ankle socks; or she might just want to thicken her socks further inside her large, black biker boots in order to stop the boots from rubbing against her delicate ankles; or she might have folded her socks over for my benefit – in order to excite me! Unlikely, I know, but any dominant mistress must surely be aware that socks which are neatly folded over at the cuffs are going to be a source of endless fascination for a humble footslave such as myself!
Why? Because they indicate that the mistress has thought carefully about her socks as she was putting them on. She has taken the time and the effort to fold them over neatly at the tops – and that in and of itself indicates to the footslave that he too must take great care of the mistress’s precious socks; or, to put it another way, it clearly shows that she cares about exactly how her socks look and feel on her pretty feet - even if they are for the most part hidden inside her heavy boots!
Having gotten over my initial excitement and shock, I proceed to kiss the reinforced toe area of the cotton, cream-coloured, cuff socks. Oh you have no idea how long I have yearned for this moment – the moment when I get to kiss mistress Sampriti’s socks! I could never have imagined they would look and feel so nice! So sweet and so feminine inside her somewhat masculine-looking, heavy, black biker boots!
I really really don’t want to take my lips off her socks, but I am conscious of the fact that my mouth is starting to linger somewhat unprofessionally on miss Sampriti’s socked foot, and that miss Angelina, the maidservant, is still watching my every move, looking for the tiniest excuse to report me for misbehaviour to our mistress Kamala. And so I must reluctantly force myself to start peeling off miss Sampriti’s cream-coloured socks in order to wash her skinny, bare, brown, Indian feet.
As I would expect of such a sweet and kind young woman, her socks – despite being encased in such heavy, leather boots – do not smell. Unlike mistress Jamini’s feet, mistress Sampriti’s feet have clearly already been washed recently – perhaps even this morning.
Again, I ask myself has she already washed her feet today for my benefit? Has she actually washed her feet, and turned over her socks at the cuffs, in order to please me?
I realise that I am deluding myself. Mistress Sampriti will have done no such thing. It is just happenstance that her feet are clean today, and that her socks are neat and tidy. She is just that sort of young woman – clean and tidy!
My fingers are trembling with slavish excitement as I get to touch the thick material of the cotton where her cream-coloured socks are turned over at the cuffs, and then slowly pull the sock down and off her skinny, right foot.
Surprisingly, I can see several areas of rough skin on her somewhat bony, right foot. Mistress Sampriti also has a prominent vein running down the top of her foot to the base of her big toe. But her veiny, bony foot only seems to beautify her smart, cream-coloured sock all the more! As far as I am concerned, mistress Sampriti is an Indian goddess! I will admire her feet and footwear to my dying day, for she is such a sweet and kind young woman!
I caress, rather than just wash, her bare feet as I cradle them in my hands inside the white, porcelain footbowl. This is the closest I shall ever get to intimacy with mistress Sampriti, and I find it particularly stimulating that I can do so in full view of my own mistress Kamala – whose pretty, Indian feet, socks and boots I equally admire! It’s just that mistress Sampriti’s feet and socks have been such a mystery to me until now – so near and yet so far. And now at last I have her bare feet cupped lovingly in my hands as I ladle the soothing water over them, and her discarded cream-coloured bootsocks are waiting for me to put them back on her skinny feet after I have finished washing and drying them!
Truly I am in footslave heaven!
And my joy is complete when I must carefully fold over the cuffs of her wonderful socks again, once I have smoothed them back onto her freshly washed, veiny feet. Needless to say, a mistress always expects her socks to be put back on the way the footslave found them, and so I must endeavour to make sure they are folded over as neatly and evenly as mistress Sampriti herself had done them when she put them on her feet this morning (I happen to know that she, like all the other guests present, even the rich and idle mistress Parni, does not have a personal footslave of her own at home – unlike the host-mistress, mistress Kamala, who never needs to put on her own socks in the morning; she has me to do that for her!)
Once the cream-coloured socks are back on mistress Sampriti’s pretty Indian feet and are duly folded over at the cuffs, it seems a shame to have to hide them again inside her heavy, black boots. But, of course, I have no choice in the matter! The boots must go back on, and once again mistress Sampriti’s elusive socks disappear from my view.
At least they are no longer a complete mystery to me. From now on, whenever I kiss mistress Sampriti’s boots at my mistress Kamala’s front door, I shall be thinking about her cream-coloured ankle socks, neatly turned over at the cuffs, inside the heavy, black boot leather!
The hostess - Mistress Kamala’s black leather, platform-heeled, zip up ankle boots and black ankle-socks.
Most of the time during tiffin the Indian ladies have been chattering away in Hindi amongst themselves. I’m ashamed to say I don’t understand Hindi, and so if they wish to say something that they want me to hear, such as giving me verbal orders, or reprimanding me, they have to resort to English.
This equally applies if they wish me to hear them talking about me. The bespectacled mistress Jamini, the new mistress whom I have never met before but whose foot-perspiration has now graced my mouth, appears to be particularly interested to find out more about me from her friend and hostess, my mistress Kamala.
After the footwashing is over, and whilst I am kneeling humbly beside my mistress Kamala’s booted feet as she eats an Indian sweet and sips on her tea, I hear mistress Jamini asking her a question in English with a Hindi accent:
‘Tell me, Kamala, your footslave seems such a gentle and attentive fellow, and yet I see few whip-marks on his bare back! How do you discipline him? Do you not use the whip?’
My mistress Kamala laughs:
‘Ha! Ha! I do use the vhip on him sometimes, but for the most part I just reward him for good behaviour by giving him a glimpse of the top of my socks inside my boots. The fool absolutely adores my socks, and wants for nothing more than to touch the tops of my socks with his stupid nose while I am still wearing them …look, I vill show you!...’
And with that my mistress Kamala hitches up the hem of her back trouser leg on her right leg to reveal the elasticated top of her plain, black, cotton bootsock above her platform-heeled, black leather, zip-up ankle boot:
‘…Slave you may nose the top of my sock!’
I instantly move the tip of my nose onto the elasticated top of my mistress’s black bootsock and gently run it along the material of the cotton sock. For my mistress Kamala is quite correct! I do adore her socks, and I adore touching her socks with the sensitive tip of my nose whilst she is still wearing them inside her ankle boots; and to be able to nose her socks in front of her friends, and her maidservant, as a demonstration of my utter affection for my Indian mistress and her feet and footwear, is truly an honour and a privilege.
The watching ladies all laugh approvingly at the pathetic sight of a humble footslave excitedly and adoringly nosing the top of his mistress’s sock – the same footslave that has just kissed and removed their socks in order to wash their feet. Truly he is undersock- a fully trained and compliant sockslave. A pathetic creature – the lowest of the low, with not a care in the world other than his mistress’s feet, boots and socks!
So there you have it! You have reached the end of this story – a story with little in the way of plot, or intrigue, or characterisation; a story which is ostensibly about five young Indian women enjoying afternoon tiffin whilst having their feet washed by a humble, male footslave but, being written from the footslave’s point of view, is actually little more than a footslave’s pathetic description of the superior women’s feet and footwear.
I do have to admit that you can probably find much more important things to read about on the world wide web!
Nevertheless, if you have persevered this far, I hope you have at least felt as though you were down amongst the boots, shoes and socks of these superior Indian ladies during tiffin, just as I was; that you have vicariously experienced something of the utter humiliation and futility of being a young women’s footslave; and that you now know what is really important in life, at least if you are a humble, down-at-heel footslave like me – women’s feet, shoes, boots and socks!
The End
