The Footslave-Flirt

I am the property of mistress Mary and master Robert.

They are a happily married couple, who supplement their income by hiring me out during the day (whilst they are both at work) to the Female State as a public footslave. I lick clean female boots, shoes and sandals in the local town square, and in return the State pays my master and mistress a fixed, monthly fee (the service is completely free to my actual customers, of course). In the evenings I am ‘free’ again to serve as my mistress Mary’s personal footslave.

It’s a win-win situation – for my master and mistress.

It is my mistress Mary who normally releases me from my cell in the basement of her marital home every morning. Today is no exception. It is 06:00 A.M and I am awoken by the sound of my mistress’s keys jangling in my basement-cell door.

My accommodation is in fact more of a hole than a cell – just enough room for me to crawl into it backwards each night and to lie down on my stomach. As my mistress Mary releases the low-level hatch which constitutes the ‘door’ to my cell-hole this morning, I shuffle forwards on my stomach to be greeted by the pleasing sight of her dusty and scuff-marked, black leather, flat-heeled and round-toed, lace-up ankle boots.

The tops of her boots are hidden by her ubiquitous, navy-blue trousers, but I know with some degree of certainty that inside her sweet, lace-up ankle-boots she will be wearing plain, black ankle-socks. I know that because my mistress Mary is very much a creature of habit. She likes order and routine, and so I have to like it to.

And that includes liking her plain, black ankle socks inside her black, lace-up ankle boots. In the 7 years’ I have been her personal footslave I have never known my mistress Mary to ever wear anything other than plain, black socks inside her favourite pair of well-worn ankle-boots – the same pair of boots she has regularly worn since I became enslaved to her!

This evening, as part of her daily routine, after she has returned from work and I have been released from my daytime, public-footslave duties, my mistress Mary will have me massage her tired and weary, black-socked feet whilst she relaxes on the sofa in front of the television with her manly husband – master Robert – by her side. That’s the first time in the working day that I shall get to see her socks up close and personal – for mistress Mary always dresses herself in the morning.

Her life. Her choice. I am always here if she needs me!

My mistress Mary is not a particularly ‘beautiful’ woman, in the conventional use of the term. At 46 she is some 5 years younger than me, as is her husband, my master. Mistress has recently cut her hair so that it is quite short and spiky, and she dyes it red. She thinks her short, spiky hair successfully helps to keep her looking younger than she actually is. But I’m not so sure. Regrettably, she no longer has a young-woman’s figure. She is rather fat around the hips and, being quite a short and stocky woman in any case, she regularly fails to turn free men’s heads.

But, as I humbly crawl out of my dark and dingy, basement hole towards her dusty and unremarkable black leather ankle boots, I nevertheless fawn to my mistress Mary, and flatter her, for it is good for a personal footslave to at least pretend that he only has eyes for his mistress’s boots – that they are the most beautiful boots, on the most beautiful mistress in the entire universe.

It is good for him to do that because it helps the slave to avoid the bitter sting of his mistress’s lash. All mistresses expect – nay demand – respect and adoration from their personal slaves, and if that fawning and respect is not forthcoming of its own accord it will surely be whipped out of them!

My mistress Mary certainly has never been slow to whip, and so I greet her boots like they were the most precious objects I could ever hope to lay eyes on; I lick the black laces; I kiss the eyelets through which the laces are strung; I audibly smell the musty, scuff-marked bootleather; and I verbally praise and bless my plain mistress Mary for gracing me with her middle-aged, womanly presence, whilst all the while assuring her of my undying devotion to her superior feet and footwear:

‘Oh pray mistress Mary. God bless you mistress Mary. Please don’t beat me today, mistress Mary. This slave will be a good and loyal slave to his mistress today, most beautiful and respected mistress Mary, and will work hard for the mistress and master. Oh pray mistress! Oh pray! God bless the mistress!’

Mistress Mary’s dismissive response is much more curt and abrupt. She sounds tired and weary; she probably hasn’t woken up properly yet:

‘Shut up, slave, and follow my boots!’

‘Yes mistress. At once mistress. God bless you mistress Mary!’

I might sound like her totally devoted and docile slave, but I have to confess I am actually a terrible footslave-flirt! As soon as my mistress Mary has deposited me in chains at my public shoelick-stand, and has headed off to her own place of work, I forget all about her dusty, unappetizing and rather plain-looking boots. I can now look forward to yet another day of licking and cleaning the dirty boots and shoes of a succession of much more beautiful and attractive young women – some of them my regular customers; some of them strangers, no doubt. And I shall flirt outrageously with them all – or more accurately with their footwear.

For the most I can ever hope for, as an inveterate public footslave-flirt, is intimacy with my female customers’ inner footwear - their socks, stockings and tights. I am much too far below my superior, female customers on the Gynarchy’s social scale to ever be considered fanciable by them – in the way that a free man might be considered fanciable!

For a start, I am too old - being in my early fifties! I might, possibly, stand a chance of winning over my female customers’ sweet, young-womanly affections if I was a wealthy, free, middle-aged businessman with a steady income and my own house. But I am just a poor, enslaved, public boot and shoe-licker – who is ultimately owned by a private mistress. I have no property of my own, and no prospects – other than the daunting prospect of licking clean superior women’s dirty shoes and boots for the rest of my humble existence!

Secondly, as I have already alluded to, I am already another woman’s property and therefore have no chance of appealing to any other superior, young woman’s female lusts! The women of the Gynarchy do not chase after other women’s slaves. They have no need to! We are two-a-penny in the Gynarchy’s slave auctions. There are, in fact, too many male slaves!

Even my customers’ pretty, bare feet will be out of bounds to me – for no self-respecting, superior young woman would ever dream of permitting a wizened old public footslave like me to have intimacy with her bare feet – not in this prudish day and age!

No – the most I can hope for is to be permitted to kiss, suck, lick or nuzzle on my female customers’ intimate and warm inner footwear – their hosiery. To touch their soft, womenly feet through their equally delicate hosiery!

But to get even that far I shall have to utilise all my flirtatious powers to the utmost of my maleslave-ability, since my public remit is merely to attend to ladies’ outer footwear – their shoes and boots. Few, if any, young women are likely to volunteer their inner, most intimate footwear to my dirty public-footslave lips! I must beg and cajole – respectfully cajole – my sweet and kind customer-mistresses for permission to go beyond their outer footwear; to go beyond their pretty shoes and boots. And I must also, if you’ll forgive the pun, tread carefully as I seek to pay homage to more than just the treads in their pretty, leather bootsoles!



Mistress Seema

My first customer of the day at my public shoelick-stand in the town square is one of my regulars. She is also one of my favourites, for I can twist her around my little footslave-fingers! In fact, I have never known her to deny me access to her sweet, feminine socks.

And she will, most assuredly, be wearing socks inside her black leather, zip-up, chunky-heeled ankle boots. I can even tell, as she marches happily up towards my public bootlick-stand, exactly what colour of socks they will be inside her boots – for mistress Seema, like so many young women, likes to colour-coordinate her accessories – including her socks; even though they are for the most part well-hidden from view deep inside her ankle boots.

This morning for example, on her way into work, mistress Seema is wearing a pale-blue blouse beneath her grey-pinstriped jacket. I therefore know that beneath her matching grey-pinstriped, boot-cut trousers, and inside those smart, if somewhat chunky, black leather ankle-boots, she will be wearing her pale-blue, ankle length bootsocks. For she always does when she is wearing this particular pale-blue, office blouse.

Mistress Seema is a genuinely beautiful young woman – Asian (Pakistani I believe); early to mid twenties; short, dark, shoulder length hair; pretty, brown eyes beneath her dark-rimmed spectacles; thin and svelte, and, like a lot of Asian women, petite and delicate in stature – although she nevertheless seems to tower above me like a veritable goddess-giantess as she takes up her position on the seat of power above me and rests her sweet, Pakistani, booted feet on the two metal footrests directly in front of my middle-aged, kneeling face.

The young Pakistani woman’s boots are themselves equally easy on the middle-aged footslave-eye. Stylishly square-toed and block-heeled. They are designed to make miss Seema’s feet look bigger and stronger than they actually are – for I happen to know that miss Seema has very dainty, Asian feet and ankles; skinny almost – which is presumably why she chooses to wear rather thick, cotton socks inside her ankle boots, and always folded over at the cuffs; to help ‘fill-out’ her attractively slender, brown ankles inside her Pakistani boots.

I know all this because the ever style-conscious mistress Seema is in the habit of wearing her pinstriped, bootcut trousers at ‘half-mast’ – that is to say the hems only just cover the tops of her ankle-boots when she is standing up straight. When she is sitting down therefore, as she is now directly in front of and above me, her bootcut hems ride fetchingly up above the upper rims of her ankle-boots to the level of her lower calf muscles, thereby affording me a highly pleasing view of her soft, brown, slender shins.

Even more significantly I know that, when I respectfully move my face forwards to eventually lick the upper rims of her black leather ankle-boots, I shall be able to see deep down inside her boots – to see the turned-over, thick, ribbed stitching of her thick cotton, ankle length bootsocks which today, as I have already indicated, shall undoubtedly be pale-blue in colour.

On other days Pakistani goddess-mistress Seema will be wearing cream-coloured, or white, or black, or red, or green socks on her pretty, Pakistani feet – to match her various blouses!

But today is a pale-blue day. I’m sure of it – not that even an audacious footslave-flirt like me can go straight to the tops of her boots. Footslave-flirting must be subtle. It takes time – and mistress Seema is here, primarily, to have her chunky, black leather ankle boots tongue-shined; not to have her pale-blue bootsocks fondled and admired!

I therefore begin my servitude towards regular customer-mistress Seema, as always, by respectfully greeting her, and by praising and blessing her for gracing me with her divine, Pakistani presence:

‘Oh pray mistress Seema. Welcome to my humble, public bootlick-stand mistress Seema. God bless you for honouring me with your dirty boots once again, most beautiful mistress Seema. This slave is truly impatient to service your boots, most gracious and powerful mistress! Oh pray, mistress! Oh pray! Pray grant this adoring slave permission to tongue-shine the mistress’s dirty boots!’

Mistress Seema has a delicate voice to match her delicate frame:

‘Ha! Ha! Very well, slave! Be getting on with it, then! Be cleaning my dirty boots with your tongue. And be making sure you are cleaning my right boot most thoroughly, for it is being covered in mud as I am just having walked inadvertently through a puddle of muddy water! The sight of such mud on my boot is being highly offensive to me!’

I can see what mistress Seema means – her otherwise relatively clean boots are showing some traces of wet street-mud along the sides, particularly on the outer side of her right boot. I assure the Pakistani mistress that she need not worry her pretty, little head – and that I shall soon have that offending bootmud off her precious, Pakistani boots and inside my worthless slave-mouth, where it truly belongs:

‘Oh pray mistress Seema, oh thank you beautiful mistress Seema! God bless you mistress Seema! Truly it will be an honour for this slave to tongue-clean the mistress’s boots for her, and this slave can humbly assure the stunningly-beautiful mistress that he will leave no trace of the dirt and mud on the mistress’s right boot. Pray relax sweet mistress, and allow this slave to be your most unworthy but efficacious boot-servant!’

It’s fulsome flattery from an accomplished footslave-flirt, even if I do say so myself!

Mistress Seema says nothing and just giggles, but she at least does seem to relax. She sits back in her seat and unfolds her morning newspaper – to the financial pages, I think; or possibly the gossip pages. Whatever, she is clearly perfectly content to let me lick away at her mud-splattered boots whilst she concentrates her pretty, Pakistani mind on higher things.

This, in turn, allows me – the footslave-flirt – to concentrate on lower things, such as the mud on my superior, young Pakistani-mistress’s boots, and eventually, once I have worked my way up to the top rim of her formerly muddy, but now bright and shiny, right boot, to concentrate on her sock inside her boot.

Sure enough, deep inside the confines of the warm ankle-boot, I can see the ribbed top of a neatly folded-over, pale blue, ankle-length bootsock. My heart skips a beat, for even though it is fully what I expected to see, it is still a most wonderful sight to behold – an attractive Pakistani girl’s pale-blue bootsock! It is almost a secret sight – a sight nobody else, like as not, will get to see during the course of the day. For nobody else is likely to get up this close and personal with the bespectacled mistress Seema’s boots and socks.

Mind you, nobody else would probably want to – they are just an ordinary pair of Pakistani-girl’s boots and socks! Yet I find myself, pathetically, yearning to bury my nose down into the top of the divine mistress Seema's boot in order to respectfully nuzzle the folded-over top of her soft, pale-blue bootsock!

But I must bide my time, for I have another boot to lick clean yet – her left boot!

I therefore pull myself together, and draw my sock-mesmerized face away from the top of mistress Seema’s right boot, and over towards the dirty sole of her left boot, where I once again start to lick muddy, Pakistani-girl boot – this time knowing for sure that I am indeed licking boot which is covering pale-blue sock. Mistress Seema is much too stylish a young woman to ever wear odd socks!

I can hardly wait to make my way up to the top of her left ankle-boot so that I can take my first sneaky peek at the ribbed top of the matching, pale-blue sock on her skinny, left ankle.

Sure enough – there it is – deep inside mistress Seema’s left boot and covering her lean anklebone. Truly a sight for sore footslave-eyes! An Asian girl’s sock on her pretty and slender, Asian foot . And what’s more, the soft, cotton sock is crying out for my love and attention – for it is clearly twisted on the young woman’s ankle. Oh my God, the left sock needs straightening!

This is my chance! It is time to really woo and foot-flirt!

I boldly interrupt mistress Seema’s erudite reading:

‘Oh pray mistress, if you will forgive the intrusion most beautiful and kind mistress, this slave must say that the mistress’s boots taste very nice this morning, mistress. This slave truly appreciates the bitter taste of the mistress’s boot-mud, and is glad to be of service in removing it from the mistress’s superior boots with his inferior slave-mouth, if it is so pleasing to you superior and most respected mistress Seema.’

Mistress Seema folds down her newspaper and laughs at me whilst looking down pitifully at me with her big, brown eyes through her sweet, black-rimmed spectacles:

‘Ha! Ha! I am glad you are being liking it, footslave. It is really awful having such dirty street-mud sullying my nice boots!’

‘Yes mistress. Of course, beautiful mistress Seema. Oh pray mistress, if it pleases you mistress, the slave has now successfully removed all the dirt and mud from the mistress’s boots – if you would be so kind as to inspect his humble work, most gracious and merciful mistress Seema.’

Beautiful, gracious and merciful mistress Seema makes a play of inspecting her boots – especially her right boot – though I know she trusts me always to do a good job on her boots.

‘Are you being removing all the dirty rainwater from the zippers as well, slave?’

‘Oh yes mistress. This slave took particular care to remove the splashes of mud from the mistress’s boot-zippers, if you would be so kind mistress Seema!’

‘Mmm …very well. I suppose they will be doing for now, slave!’

She folds up her newspaper and makes to climb down from the shoelick-stand. It is now or never that I must make my move on her socks:

‘Oh pray mistress, if you will forgive me mistress, may I service the mistress’s socks for her today, sweet and kind mistress Seema? This slave humbly noticed that the mistress’s beautiful, blue bootsock is somewhat twisted on the mistress’s left foot, if you would be so kind mistress?’

It is important to know your mistress-customer before uttering an unsolicited request such as this; to know exactly how audacious you can be; how far you can go without invoking the mistress’s wrath!

Some mistresses would undoubtedly have me sorely whipped for my arrogance and presumptuousness in even looking at their socks inside their boots without permission when I should, of course, be giving my full and undivided attention to their dirty, outer footwear!

But not the sweet and gentle mistress Seema. Quite the opposite! I know she will be concerned that her sock is twisted – for any young woman who goes to the trouble of turning over her bootsocks at the cuffs clearly likes a neat and tidy sock on her shapely, feminine anklebone!

‘Is it?’ she queries in all innocence, coquettishly twisting her left, booted foot around so that she herself can observe the twisted top of her pale-blue ankle sock inside her freshly-licked, black leather boot.

Now, of course, petite and dainty though she may be, mistress Seema is nevertheless a fully grown, Pakistani woman - she could, if she wanted to, just reach down from her chair and straighten her own sock inside her boot. That’s the danger – for me – because I do so much want to feel her sock with my fingers!

On the other hand why would she go to all that trouble of reaching down to straighten her sock when she has a public footslave – and professional sock-straightener – to hand; or rather to foot!

As I fully anticipated, my flirting and flattery has seemingly paid off:

‘Ha! Ha! Very well slave. You may be unzipping the side of my left boot and be straightening the top of my sock with your fingers. But do not be touching my skin!’

‘Yes mistress. At once mistress. Thank you, and God bless you mistress Seema.’

I have to thank the mistress because I am most definitely straying beyond my public remit now. My remit, as my title of ‘shoelick’ or ‘bootlick’ suggests, is to merely tongue-shine ladies’ dirty shoes and boots. Touching their socks with my hands is a much more intimate service – normally reserved for their personal footslave in private (just as I shall be massaging my mistress Mary’s black-socked feet this evening in front of the television!).

But all thoughts of mistress Mary, I’m ashamed to say, are now well and truly banished from my fickle and flirtatious footslave-mind as I humbly pull down the zipper on the inner side of mistress Seema’s stylish, chunky-heeled, black leather ankle-boot and get my first quasi-unimpeded view of the delightful young Asian woman’s thick, pale-blue, ankle-length bootsock.

Despite being twisted at the top, the sock sits nicely on her Pakistani foot. It does its job well of filling out the mistress’s slender, Asian ankle bone. My only regret is that it is still early morning, and mistress Seema’s sock has not yet been on her foot long enough to generate and then absorb her precious, Asian-female footsweat.

Oh to be serving her thick, cotton bootsock at the end of the working day!

The boot, though unzipped at the side, stays on the mistress’s foot so that I am frustratingly still denied the sight and smell of the reinforced toe and heel areas of mistress Seema’s pale-blue sock. However, I must be grateful for small mercies and, as I carefully and respectfully place my fingers on the thick, soft, cotton material at the top of her sock, I know that I am a very lucky public footslave indeed to be permitted to feel the ribbed stitching in this superior, young, Asian woman’s bootsock on my unworthy, middle-aged, footslave-fingertips.

I dutifully untwist the sock and smooth the neatly turned-over cuff back onto the mistress’s shapely, if decidedly skinny, ankle bone.

At that precise moment in time nothing else in the world matters to me. I only have eyes for sock – the pale-blue sock of superior mistress Seema.

Suddenly – and without female permission – I spontaneously kiss the ribbed top of her adorable, cuffed sock; for such things have to be done quickly and without malice aforethought – otherwise one might not get the chance to do so! It’s a huge risk, of course – kissing a mistress’s sock without her permission. But it is, when all is said and done, a respectful kiss – borne from the relatively noble impulse on the part of a flirtatious, public footslave to pay slavish homage to his beautiful, Pakistani female customer’s pale-blue bootsock, and I somehow just know that the sweet and kind mistress Seema, deeply offended as she is by the sight of mud on her boot, will not be offended by the sight of an adoring footslave’s lips on her sock!

Mercifully, I am correct. She just laughs at my sockish impulsiveness:

‘Ha! Ha! Now be zipping up my boot again, dirty slave. You will be making me damn well late for work!’

‘Yes mistress. At once mistress. Thank you and God bless you mistress Seema. Truly your sock is beautiful mistress Seema – a beautiful sock on the beautiful foot of a beautiful mistress!’

She smiles triumphantly to herself. It is, after all, flattering to a young woman’s ego to have her humble bootsock and foot so worshipped and admired. I don’t think she is really all that upset that I have made her late for work!



The Cowgirl

My next customer – not a regular – turns out to be, if you’ll forgive the very un-slaveman-like language, a bit of a stuck-up cow! Or more accurately, perhaps, a bit of a stuck-up cowgirl! For she is wearing brown leather, fancy-stitched, pointy-toed and chunky-heeled, mid-calf cowboy boots over thick, white, calf-length socks and blue denim jeans.

She is young – early twenties I would say; blonde; and she is ‘stuck-up’ as she clearly thinks I am beneath speaking to as she takes up her seat on the public bootlick-throne. She is however, speaking to someone – her boyfriend by the sound of it – on her mobile phone.

Having settled herself down into the seat above me, she merely positions her cowgirl-booted feet onto the two metal footrests in front of my kneeling face and continues with her telephone conversation. She does not interrupt her conversation even to give me her orders; not even so much as an arrogant clicking of her fingers and a pointing down at the muddy, fancy-stitched, pointed toes of her brown leather cowgirl-boots.

But then – why should she? Is it not obvious what I have to do? After all:

1) I am a public bootlicker;

2) The young, blonde woman’s cowboy-boots are self-evidently muddy and dirty and in need of a tongue-shine;

3) Her boots are now positioned directly in front of my humbly kneeling face;

4) The blonde wearer of the boots is much too busy on the phone to her boyfriend to pay any attention to me - the faceless, anonymous, middle-aged public footslave at her superior, booted feet;

5) It is obvious, therefore, that I am required just to get on with my job and tongue-clean the superior young woman’s dirty boots.

Stuck-up cowgirl or not, I am immediately smitten with this arrogant, young blonde woman – particularly with her white socks. She is much taller than her Asian predecessor, miss Seema, and her boots and socks seem so much larger than the petite and delicate miss Seema’s boots – even though the latter tried to look bigger by being ‘chunky’.

I feel humble and small before such a powerful pair of blonde-female socks and boots. Particularly striking is the way the cowboy-style of her boots colludes in tempting me towards the young woman’s thick, white socks – for the V-shape of her cowgirl boot-rims reveals more of her calf-length socks than an ordinary, horizontal-rimmed pair of boots would do. It’s as if the V-shaped upper rims of the blonde girl’s boots are inviting me to nose and nuzzle the spiral-patterned stitching on the exposed tops of her pure white, calf-length socks – socks which are fetchingly creased and folded over the outsides of her thick, blue denim jeans.

Socks which must surely be warm, sweaty and moist inside such a heavy pair of brown, leather cowgirl-boots!

But before I can get my flirtatious footslave-nose anywhere near the tops of her spiral-stitched socks, I must lick clean the fancy-stitched, cowgirl bootleather, and smarten the boots up for the rodeo (assuming this young woman is planning to break in some new horses!)

I begin, pointedly, with the pointy, muddy toe of her right boot. It fits neatly into my footslave-mouth, allowing me to literally suck – as opposed to lick – the mud off the slightly scuff-marked, pointy, feminine boot-toe. This is good, for it means I can remove the offending mud quickly and efficiently and then move my tongue and face up the boot towards that uber-attractive, thick, white bootsock!

My heart races as the sock looms into view once again – the creased top of a white, cotton, spiral-stitched bootsock; a symbol of all that is feminine and pure, though I’m quite sure that this young, blonde woman is not virginal – not judging by the filthy and suggestive talk she is engaging in with her manly boyfriend over the phone!

However, it is a truism that all women are purer and cleaner than all men – especially slave-men, and that is why I feel truly humbled by the sight of the cowgirl-mistress’s pure, white sock. I yearn to nose the yarn at the top of the calf-length, creased and folded, feminine bootsock – to run my nose down the spiral pattern of the stitching as far as it will go down the V-shaped, upper rim of her tight-fitting cowgirl-boot.

But instead, frustratingly, I must work my way slowly upwards – up her boot towards the goal of the pure, white sock. The question is, as I reach that goal, do I dare to surreptitiously flirt with the young, blonde woman’s sock whilst she is distracted on her lewd phone-call to her boyfriend, or would that be a nose too far?

It’s a difficult call given that I don’t know this young woman from Eve!

I decide to err on the side of caution – and not to nose the inviting, white sock without its owner’s express permission. Being a footslave-flirt does not mean having to take unnecessary risks!

Oh but it is so frustrating! As I switch my lips and mouth to the pointy toe of her left boot, and engorge it as I had done the right toe before it, in my pathetic, footslave-fantasies the arrogant, young, blonde cowgirl interrupts her telephone conversation with my male better to snap down at me:

‘Slave, smell and nuzzle the top of my sock when you reach the top of my boot. Iron out all the creases in my sock with your ugly, slave nose….Sorry darling…I was just giving some orders to the public footslave...I’m having my boots and socks attended to, so that they’re all nice and fresh for you when I get home this evening, honey!…’

But it’s a mere fantasy on my part! The cow-girl is just not interested in having her pretty, white bootsocks straightened or nuzzled, not even for her boyfriend’s benefit. She had merely happened to notice, whilst on the phone to her boyfriend, that her brown leather, cowgirl boots were looking a bit the worse for wear, and almost subconsciously she had decided to make use of the public bootlicker kneeling at his humble, public bootlick-stand in the corner of the town square.

It takes two to flirt – and this young woman is not interested in flirting with me – the down in the dirt footslave – even though she is now chewing gum and twiddling with her long, blonde hair. She only has eyes and ears for her distant boyfriend – a real man. An attractive man.

I, the deeply unattractive footslave-flirt, must therefore admit defeat on this one, and content myself with admiring blonde-cowgirl white sock from afar – even though my face is actually so near!

She leaves as she had arrived – without a word to me, still deeply engrossed in her fatuous telephone conversation, her white bootsocks still frustratingly creased and folded over her blue denim jeans above her freshly and professionally tongue-shined, brown leather cowgirl-boots!

Oh well, you can’t win them all!



Mistress Natasha

I have much more footslave-success with my next customer – not least because she is another of my sweet regulars, so I know exactly where I stand.

Or rather, where I kneel!

Mistress Natasha is a truly sweet and kind mistress of Russian origins, though she speaks very good English, and has lost most of her Russian accent after several years living and working in the Gynarchy. She is some sort of nightshift-worker and usually stops off at my bootlick-stand on her way home from work in the morning.

She is a brunette, in her late twenties or possibly early thirties, and arguably even more of a flirt than I am!

I know, for example, that she has a steady string of male admirers at her beck and call, for they often accompany her to my shoelick-stand. Today, however, she appears to be alone, for which I am grateful – for the presence of a young woman’s free, male partner can be quite inhibiting for a footslave-flirt.

Never a good idea to flirt with another man’s female partner when the public-use whip is hanging nearby – even if the young lady concerned appears to have lots of different partners!

Always bright and chirpy, mistress Natasha dresses quite conservatively for a flirtatious, young woman – a navy-blue, hoodie-style anorak; dark-blue, denim jeans; black, zip-up, spike-heeled ankle boots; and navy blue ankle-socks with a bright, scarlet trim.

I can only see her socks inside her boots when she takes up her seat above me, though they are socks I am very familiar with as I have serviced them many times before.

With mistress Natasha there is no need for any polite, footslave ‘foreplay’. I know I can get straight down to complimenting her on her choice of sockwear. She likes it:

‘Oh pray mistress Natasha. God bless you mistress Natasha. Truly this slave admires the mistress’s pretty, scarlet and navy-blue socks today! Truly they complement the mistress’s boots, most respected and admired mistress Natasha! Might this slave take the liberty of kissing the scarlet tops of the mistress’s beautiful socks, if you would be so kind to a humble footslave, most admired and respected mistress Natasha?'

The admired and respected night-worker, mistress Natasha, lights up a cigarette, and laughs at me as she blows smoke down onto my gormless and awestruck, middle-aged face:

‘Ha! Ha! Well, I can do much better than that for you, the footslave. You will be taking off my boots and sucking and sniffing the socks! You will be inhaling my sock-stink as I am wearing the socks for two days and nights in a row, and I want you to freshen them up with your tongue. Unzip my boots and smell my stinky socks, slave!’

This is my kind of customer-mistress – a sock-girl, who truly knows the power of her socks over a male footslave! Who actually enjoys having me flirt with her socks in public, every bit as much as I enjoy being her public sock-flirt!

I can barely speak as I breathlessly acknowledge my Russian mistress’s exciting orders:

‘Y…Yes m...mistress Natasha... At once, m…mistress Natasha. G…God bless y…you m… most b…beautiful m…mistress Natasha!’

I waste no time in unzipping mistress Natasha’s black leather, spike-heeled ankle boots, for it is clearly time to get straight down to the socks! The biggest prize is knowing that the reinforced, and presumably crusty-with-two-day-old-sweat, toe-ends of her cotton bootsocks will also be scarlet-red – to match the red, scarlet trim at the top of the otherwise navy-blue ankle socks, although I also happen to know, because I know mistress Natasha’s socks well, that the heels at the backs of her socks remain navy-blue, albeit a thin and worn navy-blue; for this is a well-worn and favourite pair of Russian mistress Natasha’s socks!

As the unzipped, black leather ankle-boot slips off her right foot, mistress Natasha teasingly wriggles her scarlet-socked toes in order to deliberately release more of the pungent smell of her sweaty, crusty bootsocks up my prone and vulnerable footslave-nose. I am suddenly engulfed in the warm and moist aroma of sweet Russian girl stale socksweat. It is heaven – and what’s more, I have mistress Natasha’s full and explicit permission to bury my nose and mouth into the folds of her sock!

Mistress Natasha laughs gleefully at me and my pathetic, slavish lust for her dirty socks:

‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, you the slave. Sniff the mistress Natasha’s sweet sock! Ha! Ha!...Oooh…you like that, don’t you sockslave?…Ha! Ha!...I think you are liking it almost too much!…Oooh…that’s right…sniffy sniffy. Sniff the stinky girlsock! Suck out all of my nasty foot-sweat. Ha! Ha!’

I have to respond to such mocking, Russian-girl cajolery with the good grace:

‘Oh pray mistress Natasha …sniff…sniff…truly this slave… sniff…sniff… suck…suck… admires the mistress’s sweaty socks…sniff…sniff… and revels in their sweet stink... suck…suck…if you would be so kind most beautiful and generous mistress Natasha …sniff…sniff …suck…suck… Oh what an honour, mistress Natasha! ...sniff…sniff... suck...suck..:

And make no mistake about it – this is truly an honour; for it is the ultimate intimacy for me! Russian girlsock in mouth; Russian girl socksweat in nose. I am a flirtatious Russian girl’s sweaty-sock sucker and sniffer. I am a sucker for her socks which are most definitely to be sniffed at!

Oh if my mistress Mary could see me now she would be so angry with me – taking undisguised footslave-pleasure in another, much younger and much more beautiful, mistress’s socks! Shame on me!

I truly do deserve to be whipped!

Meanwhile, however, mistress Natasha is continuing to egg me on, and because I am weak I comply:

‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, you the slave. Get your nose and mouth hard onto my sweaty sock. Ha! Ha! You really are the humble sock-boy, aren’t you slave? Ha! Ha!’

‘Oh yes mistress, if it pleases you mistress ...sniff…sniff…suck…suck… This slave is indeed your humble sock-boy…sniff…sniff…suck…suck…most glorious and beautiful mistress Natasha!’

Mistress Natasha’s left sock receives equal slavish devotion from my footslave nose, face and mouth, as I encourage the Russian mistress to wipe her socked foot all over my face. I even get to feel her warm, soft, pink footskin on my face through a small hole in the sole of her left sock! Now that really is intimacy with a superior mistress – unprotected socks!

I only wish it could last forever, but mistress Natasha is a busy young woman. She has further clients – sorry boyfriends – to meet up with before she finally goes to bed …erm… gets some well-earned sleep!

The tart with a heart. The ho with a hole in her sock. The wench with the sock-stench. Call her what you will – mistress Natasha is my goddess. My sock-goddess, and I truly do worship and admire her navy-blue and scarlet socks.

I can still taste and smell her sock-sweat on my dirty face long after she has gone.



The Prim and Proper Redhead

My next customer is altogether a different kettle of fish – prim and proper; her fiery red-hair tied up in a severe-looking bun; wearing a modest, below-the-knee length, plain grey skirt; and a smart pair of patent black leather, block-heeled, round-toed, single-strapped, mary-jane style shoes. She is not even wearing socks – but tights! Thick, woolly, black, flowery-patterned tights – a symbol of a young, twentysomething-woman’s femininity, but also her prudery and modesty.

Even more worryingly, she is accompanied by what appears to be her much older boyfriend – a somewhat portly, white man in his fifties (therefore my age!) – and this may well make things difficult for me – the footslave-flirt! For much as I would dearly love to flirt with this serious-looking young woman’s mary-jane shoes and thick, black woolly tights, for I do like a challenge, I just know that she is not going to be the sort of girl to let her ginger hair down and flaunt her feet at a public footslave, and especially not in front of her manly boyfriend.

This will be, from her prudish and unflirtatious point of view, strictly a shoe-shining transaction – with me licking off the offending traces of street-mud and dirt from the sides of her otherwise shiny, black, mary-jane shoes.

Her elderly boyfriend gallantly helps her up into the raised, shoelick-stand chair in front of which I am kneeling and she modestly pulls down her skirt-hem to cover her black-tighted knees whilst she is seated, lest I should lust over her woolly-tighted legs!

But she can relax – for I am not a leg-luster! I am a foot-fancier, and my footslave attention has been inexorably drawn to a tiny piece of white fluff stuck to the fancy, black woollen material of her tights just above the cute, black leather ankle strap on her left foot.

Now this really is going to be a challenge – but I feel it’s one I am up to! There is simply no way of avoiding it! I simply have to get my mouth onto this staid and straight-laced, young woman’s flowery-patterned, woollen tights, and this little piece of foreign fluffery is my get-in clause. I can offer to remove it by mouth from the mistress’s tights – with her watching boyfriend’s magnanimous, manly permission of course – but I must time matters carefully. For it must be made to seem like a selfless desire on my part to spruce up the red-headed mistress’s black, patterned tights – rather than a selfish desire on my part just to kiss those selfsame woolly tights!

I therefore begin by greeting the master and mistress, and welcoming them to my humble shoelick-stand:

‘God bless you master and mistress. Welcome, master and mistress. How may I serve the mistress this morning, if you would both be so kind most respected master and mistress?’

The young woman, being shy and submissive, lets her much older manfriend do all the talking:

‘Shine my girl’s shoes, slave-boy. And don’t touch her tights!’ snaps the elderly man, perfectly entitled to refer to me as a ‘boy’ as, despite my being of a similar age to him, unlike him I have never been a real man.

And never will be.

‘Yes master. At once master.’

I am not put off by the specific stipulation not to touch his prim and proper girlfriend’s tights. This is normal. Freemen know that touching a woman’s socks or tights with one’s lips is a quintessentially intimate gesture – much too intimate in the ordinary course of events for a mere public foot-servant!

However, I remain confident that the piece of white fluff will, eventually, get my lips onto this young, red-headed woman’s black, woolly tights. You just wait and see!

I begin, however, by obediently licking the side of the straight-laced young woman’s right, shiny, mary-jane shoe. I have to say it does taste nice – nice and smooth. Not at all like the rough stitching of the cowgirl’s heavy, brown leather boot, for example.

Avoiding touching the young woman’s thick, woollen tights is easy – apart from when I must lick clean the thin, black leather shoe-strap that crosses her shapely foot just below her anklebone.

The master valiantly checks if his girlfriend thinks everything is alright:

‘Is he touching your tights, darling? Do you want me to whip him?’

‘No, thank you, darling,’ responds the timid red-head. ‘He hasn’t touched my tights.’

She sounds like she wouldn’t say boo to a goose, let alone wish a slave to be whipped in her sensitive, feminine presence!

This is good, for it means I can manipulate her sweet, feminine emotions – footslave cad that I am!

I bide my time, however, for I must first tongue-polish to perfection the black patent leather, mary-jane shoe on her left foot – the one with the white piece of fluff stuck to her black, flowery tights on the upper foot area above the narrow shoe-strap. It’s only a miniscule piece of fluff, but it seems to loom ever larger in my footslave-eyes as my tongue dutifully gets to work on the shiny, black surface and chunky heels of the red-headed mistress’s left, mary-jane shoe.

When I have finished licking shoe, the master exhorts his beloved girlfriend to inspect carefully the condition of her shoes:

‘Are you satisfied with his efforts, my darling? Has this cretin cleaned your pretty shoes to your complete satisfaction?’

The mousy and seemingly timid young, red-headed woman now demurely swivels her feet around beneath her, directly in front of my spellbound face, in order to inspect my mouth-work. Since both her strappy, mary-jane shoes are now veritably glistening with my slave-saliva in the early-morning, winter sunshine she is more than happy:

‘Yes thank you darling. My shoes appear perfectly clean now!’

I am impressed by the way the young woman has thanked her boyfriend (the organ-grinder) for my humble work, rather than me (the monkey), and this makes me all the more determined to stick my neck out!

As the elderly man is about to help his young girlfriend down from the chair I humbly speak up:

‘Oh pray master; oh pray mistress; please forgive this intrusion, most respected master and mistress, but this slave couldn’t help noticing a tiny, white piece of fluff stuck to the beautiful mistress’s black, woolly tights on her left foot just above her ankle-strap, if you would be so kind and merciful master and mistress. Master, this slave knows that you have specifically ordered him not to touch the supremely beautiful mistress’s tights, most respected master, but it would seem a shame to permit such a foreign object to continue to sully the mistress’s otherwise perfect, black woolly tights, if you would be so kind master and mistress; and this slave would be more than willing to remove the offending fluff from the mistress’s tights with his unworthy mouth, if it would be so desirous to the superior master and mistress. Indeed he would deem it an honour and a privilege to do so, if you would be so kind and understanding to this impudent and impertinent slave, master and mistress. Please don’t beat me master!’

I am satisfied in my own mind that my unsolicited offer will be recognised as having been delivered in a spirit of genuine slavish respect and humility towards my free betters, and that neither the master nor mistress will recognise that I am just flirting with the mistress and her black, woolly tights for my own, selfish ends of getting my lips onto her black, woolly foot-covering!

How wrong can I be!

The master stoops down to slap me hard across my kneeling face!

‘Slut! Whore! Foot-faggot! How dare you try to worm your way onto my girl’s tights! Do you think I was born yesterday? Hah!’

The young woman herself, however, suddenly spots the offending, white fluff:

‘Oh Malcolm, darling – look! Just there; just above my ankle strap, like the stupid slave said! There is a piece of white fluff! Can you see it?’

The man stoops down even further to take a closer look at his girlfriend’s left foot which is still resting on the metal footrest in front of my now stinging face:

‘My God! Yes – I can see it now, darling. Well what do you think? Do you want this dirty, impudent slave to remove the fluff from your ankle with his dirty mouth? I’ll make him suck it off, if you like!’

It seems I am not to be offered an apology by the man.

Quite right too – for I’m just a slave. I don’t deserve any apology! (and besides, the master has me sussed – fluff or no fluff!)

‘Erm…no thank you, darling! I wouldn’t feel comfortable having a strange slave’s lips on my tights. l think I’ll just leave it there!’

‘Ha! Ha! As you wish, my darling!’ responds the man, clearly equally as happy to let the almost imperceptible piece of white fluff stay where it is on his beloved girlfriend’s black, woolly tighted anklebone.

He helps his girlfriend down, and the happy couple walk off, arm in arm, with the white fluff still stuck to the thick, flowery-patterned stitching of her black woolly tights on her pretty, left ankle.

I am devastated! Shocked! Despondent! I have never experienced rejection like this before!

How embarrassing! Me, a footslave-flirt?

Footslave-failure, more like!

Please, can you leave me alone now? I want to be alone, for I am clearly not the successful footslave-flirt I thought I was! I’m just another footslave-loser!

The End.