The Field Trip
22 year old Fifi was being shown around a typical office in the Gynarchy as part of her overseas field trip from the University of Lagos.
Fifi was her nickname – short for Olufifi – but everyone, even in her homeland of Nigeria, knew her as Fifi.
She was a tall, kindly-looking, African girl with whom everyone seemed to immediately gel – certainly her hostess for the day, 25 year old miss Laksha, had liked her instantly upon meeting her in the office lobby.
Fifi was compiling her thesis on ‘Male Slavery in Modern, Gynarchial Societies’, and her week long field trip to the Gynarchy was Government sponsored. She would be spending just a few hours, however, in Laksha’s office – and Laksha had been chosen to host the overseas student’s visit specifically because she was in charge of the office footslave; she was his personal taskmistress. She was therefore ideally placed to demonstrate to Fifi exactly how male slavery worked in practice in a workplace environment in the Gynarchy!
Slave George – said office footslave – had already been introduced to miss Fifi down in the lobby, by being made to kiss her shoes under miss Laksha’s ever vigilant supervision. Fortunately he did a good job of kissing the Nigerian guest’s shoes whilst she was still wearing them on her pretty, African feet – he was suitably meek and submissive in Laksha’s assessment – and therefore he had not (yet) been whipped in the African guest’s presence.
Slave George had been looking forward all week to kissing mistress Fifi’s shoes – for he knew they would be covering and protecting genuine, African student-girl feet fresh out of Nigeria. She had only arrived from Lagos the day before on her fleeting 5 day, left field, field-trip.
Fortuitously, the African girl had chosen to wear plain, black, low-cut ballet flats on her bare African feet beneath her black officewear-slacks, and she was quite a tall girl with relatively large feet, so he had been able to observe a goodly amount of genuine, African-girl, bare, black footflesh as he had kissed the scuff-marked, leather toes of her seemingly well-worn ballet flats in respectful greeting.
It was a thrilling and rare sight for this particular office footslave – for there were no African girls working in the office where he was employed as a general footslave. Quite a few Pakistani and Indian girls (like miss Laksha herself) – but no Africans!
So he truly relished the moment as he observed sweet African girl, bare, brown footflesh at such humiliatingly close quarters under mistress Laksha’s ever -watchful eye whilst he greeted and paid homage to the foreign visitor’s outer footwear.
Slave George, being a mere communal-use office footslave, was deemed unworthy to actually kiss female bare feet of whatever nationality. He was strictly a shoes/boots/tights and socks slaveman, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t admire ladies' bare feet inside their shoes!
African-visitor shoe suitably kissed and respected by her male charge, Laksha then invited her female guest into the office tea-room for a warming cup of tea, before the two young women accompanied slave George on his humble rounds as he crawled on his hands and knees from floor to floor kissing, licking and otherwise attending to the pretty, feminine feet and footwear of the various office ladies.
The Blonde Girl’s Sock-Nuzzler
First to be respected was the overnight duty-officer mistress – 23 year old, blonde-haired miss Sandra, whose job had been to woman the phones all through the night. The office dealt with exclusively female travel insurance claims, and it was not unusual for calls to come in throughput the night from anxious female claimants overseas.
Mistress Sandra would, obviously, be going home soon – having finished her long and tiresome night shift – and Laksha knew that the nightshift duty-officer was frequently in need of some tender-loving footcare from the communal office footslave just before she made her way home.
‘Hi Sandra!’ chirped Laksha happily to her sleepyhead colleague in her delightful Indian-girl accent. ‘This is being Fifi from Nigeria. She is just being following me and George around the office this morning, vatching vhat it is ve are doing!’
‘Oh, hi Fifi. Pleased to meet you,’ smiled a tired miss Sandra, anxious to be getting home but also taken by miss Fifi’s warm, West-African smile.
‘Are you being vanting George to be attending to your feet before you are leaving us this morning Sandra?’ enquired Laksha politely.
‘Oh – yes please!’ sighed miss Sandra. ‘Could you please make him just nuzzle the sides of my socks? My feet are so swollen and tired after being up in these shoes all night!’
The shoes miss Sandra was referring to were well-known to slave George – pretty, slip-on, black leather shoes with two-inch, wedged-shape heels at the backs. And worn with navy-blue socks – for miss Sandra always wore dark trousers and dark socks with her black, office shoes, as did most of the office ladies.
George knew miss Sandra’s socks well – for he had been required to nuzzle them many times before. He knew also, just by recognising the distinctive, spiral pattern in the stitching, that this particular pair of miss Sandra’s navy-blue officewear socks had a fetching, red trim at the top – even though the red trims were currently hidden beneath the hems of her black, bootcut trouser-legs as she was seated at her workstation.
He humbly and contritely awaited his orders from miss Laksha – for today of all days he must be on his best slave-behaviour in front of their honoured guest from West Africa, and he must not show his Indian taskmistress up in any way. Otherwise the office-taskmistress’s female whip would most assuredly be acquainting itself with his bare back and shoulders!
Said taskmistress, miss Laksha, duly relayed miss Sandra’s orders to the kneeling footslave in her charming, Indian accent:
‘Slave, you are being hearing miss Sandra! Be gently nuzzling the sides of her tired, socked feet. Be nuzzling them around her tired anklebones, and be seeing to it that you are relaxing her. Remember that she is being a superior, young voman, and therefore you must be doing it most gently and respectfully or you vill be feeling the sting of my vhip, isn’t it?’
Miss Laksha clearly spoke very good English, but, as you will already have noticed, she could never seem to pronounce her ‘w’s. Hence ‘whip’ became ‘vhip’; and ‘woman’ became ‘voman’.
Mispronounced or not, slave George fully accepted that miss Sandra was indeed a superior, young, blonde ‘voman’, and he truly feared the dreadful sting of miss Laksha’s ‘vhip’. In fact, the merest mention of it on miss Laksha’s pretty, Indian lips was enough to instil instant footslavish obedience in him:
‘Yes mistress Laksha. At once mistress Laksha!’
He therefore shuffled meekly over on his hands and knees to miss Sandra’s waiting night-old shoes and socks, and began nuzzling the tired, navy-blue sock on her shapely, outer, right anklebone.
Fifi pointed down at him, laughed out loud, and mocked him in her strong, West-African accent:
‘Ha! Ha! He looks like a dog! Ha! Ha! A low-down, puppy-dog begging his mistress to give him some food! Ha! Ha!’
Laksha and Sandra laughed at slave George too.
‘Ha! Ha! Yes – he is indeed being like a dog...’ confirmed Laksha. ‘…But not a sveet little puppy dog – he is being more like a mangy, old mongrel! Ha! Ha!’
Sandra, tired though she was, suddenly found a new lease of life and extended the analogy even further:
‘Ha! Ha! Here boy! Here boy! …Nose your mistress’s socks! Ha! Ha! That’s right. Nose my nice, blue sockie-wockie, mangy old mutt! Ha! Ha!’
All three girls, representing their female compatriots from three different continents, now laughed out loud at the ridiculous, girlsock-nuzzling footslave as, egged on by their disparaging mockery, he nuzzled the side of miss Sandra’s sweaty sock even more enthusiastically!
‘Ha! Ha! You see how much he is liking young vomen’s socks, Fifi? It is being lucky you are not being vearing any socks on your feet today – he is probably being vanting to keep them as a doggie-trophy, isn’t it? Ha! Ha!’
Fifi (who, somewhat ironically, was a girl with a common dog’s nickname) laughed:
‘Oh…I am very glad too, Laksha... I would not want to have the footslave-dog stealing my socks from under me! Ha! Ha!’
‘Don’t vorry, Fifi – I vould be vhipping him hard if he is trying to be stealing any young voman’s socks!’ exclaimed Laksha. ‘Your socks vould be being perfectly safe on your feet! Ha! Ha!’
By now slave George had moved onto the blonde mistress Sandra’s left foot and – joy of joys – the slightly raised hem of the black, bootcut trouser on her left leg was revealing the tiniest slither of the exciting, red trim on the top of her left sock. So, as he nuzzled the blonde-ponytailed office girl’s left, navy-blue ankle sock he simultaneously got to observe the tiny, red area of the elasticated top of the soft, all-cotton girlsock – a real treat for him and, undoubtedly, one of the highlights of his pathetic, humble day!
For as his Indian taskmistress miss Laksha had so rightly pointed out – her footslave-charge loved girls’ socks –looking at them; admiring them; kissing them and, of course, nuzzling them as he was now. And if he was being laughed at by mocking, girlish laughter whilst he did so, so much the better – for he knew he was nothing more than a shameful, pathetic, sock-obsessed wretch! A cur more than a puppy dog – or as miss Laksha had so eloquently put it – a mangy, old mongrel.
The Brunette Girl’s Sock-Straightener
Next on their rounds was another, well-known office sock-girl – mistress Natalie. Slightly older than miss Sandra, miss Natalie was a brunette who always wore plain, black socks with her black, flat-heeled, slip-on, square-toed, patent leather shoes. Like her colleague, miss Sandra, and indeed miss Laksha, she also always wore slacks to work.
‘Hi Natalie, this is being Fifi from Nigeria,’ chirped miss Laksha once again by way of introducing the student-girl to another one of her work colleagues.
‘Hi Laksha! Hi Fifi! Welcome to the Gynarchy, Fifi!’
Natalie and the African girl shook hands above slave George who was kneeling with his bald footslave-head suitably bowed behind his taskmistress, miss Laksha’s, chunky-heeled, black leather, zip-up ankle boots and matching black trouser hems. It was his default position when not attending to another office-lady’s feet or footwear.
‘Vhat can my slave be doing for you today, Natalie? Are your shoes being needing a licking and a shining, or vould you be liking to be having your socks nuzzled?’
Miss Natalie makes a show of inspecting her plain black shoes and socks although she already knows exactly what she wants the office footslave to do for her:
‘Erm…Could you just make him straighten my left sock, please Laksha. It’s looking a bit wonky!’
Slave George loved to be ordered to straighten any of the office ladies’ socks. He found it so deliciously humiliating – to have to carry out such a mundane task which any able-bodied young woman, like miss Natalie, could easily do for herself if only she could be bothered!
The fact that the fully able-bodied, but lazy, miss Natalie could not be so bothered to straighten her own sock thrilled slave George to his humble footslave-core – and he was pathetically proud to be considered so lowly a being that straightening office-girls’ socks was considered a task worthy of him!
Once again, however he had to formally await his orders in Indian-English from his delightful, Indian taskmistress:
‘Slave, be straightening miss Natalie’s crooked sock this instant! And be making damn sure that you are not being touching her bare, vomanly skin – or you vill be feeling the skin of my leather vhip across your bare back and shoulders!....’
Laksha then offered a few further words of explanation to her bemused, footslave-shadowing guest:
‘You have to be constantly reminding them not to be touching their mistresses’ bare skin vith their dirty mouths or fingers! If you are not doing so they vill be taking liberties and touching a voman’s superior bare skin at every opportunity, isn’t it?’
Fifi nodded her pretty, African head to indicate she understood the need for constant maleslave-discipline and made some notes in her student notebook.
But Laksha, and Fifi, and indeed miss Natalie, needn’t have worried. Slave George, though he would have dearly loved to touch soft, female ankle skin with his maleslave-fingers, knew better than to even try!
The pretty brunette, miss Natalie, from her seated position on her office swivel-chair, helpfully stretched forward her left foot and hitched up her left trouser leg to enable the whole of her black, ankle-length sock to be accessed by the kneeling footslave. No fetching, red trim here – just plain, black sock and pale, white, smooth female leg. But it was nevertheless highly pleasing to the footslave eye – the contrast between the black of the short cotton ankle-sock and the pale, smooth white of miss Natalie’s upper ankle.
Slave George could see immediately what miss Natalie meant. Her left sock was all twisted at the top, and looked most unseemly now that she had exposed it to the world!
He immediately, and respectfully, got to work on the sock, gently pinching it twixt thumb and forefinger and first pulling it outwards, and then upwards, until it lay neatly and smoothly over miss Natalie’s shapely, white anklebone once again.
He did not touch her skin.
Laksha and Fifi were watching avidly, Fifi diligently taking down notes, as the humble slaveman performed his highly-unskilled labour of straightening a brunette girl’s black, office ankle-sock. Laksha was watching avidly in order to ensure that ‘her’ slave did a good job on her work-colleague’s sock; Fifi was watching avidly out of sheer curiosity – curiosity at how a fully-grown, indeed middle-aged, man could be brought so low that he was nothing but an obedient, sock-straightener for young women.
Ha! Ha! He was truly pathetic in Fifi’s eyes – a sub-man. A non-man. Certainly nothing like a noble, free African man!
Fifi even inadvertently clicked her teeth out loud in righteous female contempt for the submissive male who was kneeling on the dirty floor surrounded by superior young women’s feet, and dutifully straightening a white girl’s short, black, office sock. What a total loser, she thought to herself!
‘Is your other sock being okay, Natalie, or are you vishing my slave to be straightening that also?’ enquired Laksha helpfully.
‘Nah - thanks, Laksha. My right sock is okay. That will be all thanks!’ replied the lazy, brunette, female office worker.
‘No problem, Natalie. I vill be seeing you again tomorrow then. Bye!’
‘Bye, Laksha! Bye Fifi!’
The Pakistani Girl’s Shoe-Shiner
Fifi, Laksha and their footslave-accoutrement move on to the next girl in the room – Laksha’s fellow Indian-subcontinent work-colleague, 28 year old miss Jameerah from Pakistan.
On seeing the delectable miss Jameerah’s foot-and-legwear today slave George suddenly began to feel very excited and frisky. For today was evidently one of those relatively rare days when the supremely beautiful and petite, bespectacled miss Jameerah had chosen to wear her knee-length skirt and dark, nylon stockings with her black, patent-leather, one-inch-heeled courts – as opposed to the matt black, leather, zip-up ankle boots which she usually wore with black trousers (rather like her Indian friend miss Laksha was wearing again today).
Even though footslave-George was an inveterate sock-fancier – a trait imbued into him after several decades of attending on young women’s socks – it was nevertheless a special treat for him to serve miss Jameerah whenever she chose to wear her nylons and a skirt, for it meant that he got to see her slender, but shapely, Indian calf-muscles in all their glory, albeit covered in the sheen of sheer, dark-coloured, finest-denier nylon - a further reminder to him that he was deemed unworthy to touch bare, female flesh.
Laksha and Jameerah actually embraced, and exchanged a few words of greeting in some mutual foreign language, before Laksha introduced her guest to Jameerah in her Indian-English:
‘Jameerah, this is being Fifi from the university in Nigeria. She is being here to observe George at vork for her thesis on male bondage.’
‘Hi, Fifi’ exclaimed Jameerah – standing up momentarily from her seat in order to shake the considerably taller African girl by the hand. As she did so, slave George couldn’t help noticing how Jameerah’s beautiful, dark nylons creased and folded around her skinny, but nonetheless shapely, Pakistani-girl ankle bones.
He almost drooled!
After some girly small-talk amongst the three superior young women – two Asian and one African – Laksha got down to business:
‘So, Jameerah, vhat can my slave be doing for you today?’
The bespectacled and slightly-built miss Jameerah – now re-seated at her desk on her office swivel-chair – smiled at her Indian work colleague and friend, and answered her in Pakistani-English:
‘I am wanting him to be tongue-shining my shoes today please. I am being walking in some dirty mud this morning, and one of them especially is looking most dirty and foul!’
She then raised her dainty right foot a few inches into the air to indicate which black, court shoe she thought need cleaning the most, although from their vantage point neither Laksha nor Fifi could see any particular dirt on their Pakistani sister’s shiny, patent-leather, right shoe which was now swivelling on her bony, nyloned foot in the air beneath the kneeling footslave’s mesmerized face.
Indeed, only slave George, down on his hands and knees, was close enough to miss Jameerah’s ultra-pretty, court shoe to observe the traces of dirty rainwater which miss Jameerah was presumably referring to. He salivated at the thought of soon being able to lick it off – all the more so when he observed how miss Jameerah’s sheer, nylon stocking was creasing around her slender, right anklebone with each swivelling movement of her foot in front of his face.
As ever, though, he awaited his formal orders from on high – from taskmistress Laksha:
‘Slave – you have been hearing miss Jameerah. Be licking clean her shoes immediately, and be starting vith the dirt on her right shoe. Be making damn vell sure you are removing all of the mud, and do not be sullying her nylon stocking vith your dirty mouth. Begin your humble servitude – NOW!’
Fifi giggled at how the slave flinched nervously when his Indian taskmistress suddenly shouted at him! What fun it must be to have so much power over a weak man like this! To have him cringing in fear at your feet! Ha! Ha!
She chuckled further as she witnessed the humble slaveman dutifully licking the rainwater-stained side of the petite Indian girl’s shiny, right, court shoe!
Jameerah continued her conversation with her friend Laksha and their foreign guest, Fifi, whilst her court shoes were being attended to by the footslave’s tongue:
‘It is being a real treat for him, Fifi – seeing my ankles and my stockings like this. Normally I am hiding my feet inside my boots, isn’t it Laksha? Ha! Ha! I think the slave is very much admiring my ankles today while he is being down there in amongst my shoe-dirt! Ha! Ha!’
Laksha nodded her agreement:
‘Ha! Ha! Yes – the fool is not normally getting to be seeing my friend Jameerah’s ankles. I think the queer fellow is indeed liking it! Ha! Ha!’
Fifi made a note in her notebook – it is okay for a slave to admire a mistress’s nylon-stockinged ankles whilst he is licking her shoes.
Just as well, really, for slave George certainly was liking it – liking licking a Pakistani-girl’s dirty, office shoe whilst leering at the tiny creases in her dark nylon stocking around her slender, Asian anklebone, and all under the close supervision of his equally pretty, ankle-booted and besocked, Indian taskmistress and in the presence of a bemused, black ballet-flated and barefooted, Nigerian student-girl!
Indeed – the more he licked the Pakistani girl’s shoe-dirt, the more he liked it! He literally lapped it up, foul-tasting and bitter though the street-dirt was! For it was street-dirt that was coming off a superior, young Pakistani woman’s shiny, black court shoe – and it was therefore sweet-tasting dirt; dirt fit for a footslave’s tastebuds!
But, regrettably all too soon, the Pakistani girl’s shoes – both of them – were sparkling clean, and her nylon-stockinged ankles were withdrawn from his field of vision, for it was time to move on to the neighbouring office; the office of the manageress – miss Nicola.
The White Woman’s Boot-Sucker
Mistress Nicola was a good-looking, white woman in her early thirties; brown shoulder-length hair with auburn highlights; a great figure that still turned free men’s heads wherever she went; and great, knee-high, brown leather, spike-heeled, pointy-toed, zip-up boots which turned male footslaves’ heads wherever she went.
Slave George was no exception – and he truly admired the sexy manageress’s brown leather, knee-length boots as they now towered dominantly above him as he knelt with his head humbly bowed over her booted feet.
Meanwhile Fifi had been formally introduced to the manageress, who warmly welcomed her both to the Gynarchy and to the office of which she was head.
Laksha sounded much more respectful as she herself addressed the office-manageress:
‘How may the office footslave be serving you today, Madam? Vill you be vanting the usual?’
Evidently, even though Laksha was apparently not on first name terms with her boss, she knew what footslave-services her boss was likely to want!
Sure enough, mistress Nicola, who had been busy drafting an email on her computer, swivelled round for her customary, mid-morning bootshine. She was never too busy for her mid-morning bootshine:
‘Yes please, Laksha dear. Get him to tongue-shine my boots from top to toe as usual, would you? Only he needs to be quick about it! I’m off to an important meeting in 15 minutes time!’
‘Yes certainly, Madam. My slave vill be being most honoured to be cleaning Madam’s boots for her vith his tongue….SLAVE, be licking Madam’s boots from top to bottom until they are being shining! Be making sure you are cleaning out the zippers also, and do not be touching Madam’s socks at the tops of her boots or I vill soon be applying the vhip to your ignorant slave-back!’
‘Yes mistress Laksha. At once mistress Laksha!’
Laksha was referring to the thick rim of black, woollen, knee-length bootsock that was just visible atop mistress Nicola’s stylish, brown leather, knee-high, spike-heeled, zip-up boots. The office manageress always liked to wear knee-length woollen socks inside her boots, and on rare occasions slave George was even invited to unzip mistress Nicola’s boots and actively smell her socks while they were still on her pretty, manageress feet and legs – again, from top to bottom!
But not today – it seemed. Today would be a boots-only day. Still, there was a lot of leather boot to lick, and so slave George immediately began to lick the upper rims of mistress Nicola’s right boot – taking great care not to brush his lips or nose against the exposed top of her inviting, black, woolly sock – before running his footslave-tongue all the way down the stylish and expensive, brown leather ladyboot until he reached the pointy-toe which fitted fully inside his boot-shaped footslave-mouth.
Fifi couldn’t help laughing, as well she might, at the sight of Madam Nicola’s pointy, brown leather, boot-toe stretching the pathetic slave’s right cheek from inside his mouth. His mouth was being penetrated by the office manageress’s pointy boot – and Fifi liked that! She even sketched the scene in her field-trip notebook.
As she did so, she wished her round-toed, soft leather ballet flats were hard and pointy so that she too could violate his mouth with her, much scruffier, footwear!
But unfortunately she had chosen the wrong footwear today. She could have kicked herself – although she would have been more than welcome to kick the footslave instead if she had only asked to!
Elevenses
It was time for a break – not for the slave, of course, but for miss Laksha and her African, female guest. They therefore retired to the office tea-room with the hard-working footslave in tow – the inside of his mouth still feeling sore from the attentions of mistress Nicola’s boot.
The two girls each got themselves a coffee and some biscuits out of the vending machines and sat down in some comfortable chairs whilst slave George was ordered by Laksha to attend to her own zip-up, black leather, chunky-heeled, square-toed ankle boots.
Laksha’s boots needed a good tongue-shining, as the polish had worn off in several places. She explained to her African guest that she used the slave to clean her own officewear-boots most mornings at about this time - during her coffee break. She then asked Fifi whether she would like to witness the slave sniffing her sweaty bootsocks?
Fifi giggled and said that she would, and so Laksha gave the order to the slave kneeling at her booted, Indian feet:
‘Slave, be stopping that licking now! I am vanting you to be unzipping my boots and taking them off my feet, and then be sniffing my dirty socks. Be smelling them out loud so that our guest can be observing you and hearing you smelling my stinky socks!’
‘Yes mistress Laksha. At once mistress Laksha!’
Slave George could barely conceal his pathetic, sockslave ardour. He loved sniffing his taskmistress’s socks – for she did often have sweaty, hot feet. Her cheap boots didn’t seem to let her feet breathe, and miss Laksha was wont to wear the same pair of ankle socks to work for two or more days in a row, which didn’t help matters much!
Not that George was complaining! As soon as the black ankle-boots came off he recognised the same black ankle socks that miss Laksha had been wearing yesterday – distinguishable thanks to their distinctive multicoloured logo on the insteps comprising several little, box-shaped squares.
Truly, this fun logo added style and colour, and indeed a degree of femininity, to the otherwise plain, black cotton socks, and slave George sniffed them with footslavish abandonment – as he had been ordered to do – particularly over the multicoloured, box-shaped logos as these, being on the insteps, were along one of the sweatiest parts of the socks.
Fifi was greatly amused at the slave’s enthusiastic sock-sniffing display:
‘Ha! Ha! My God, he really is sniffing your socks out loud, Laksha! Ha! Ha! Does he really like the smell of young women’s sweaty socks so much?’ asked the astonished African visitor incredulously.
‘Ha! Ha! For sure, Fifi. The stupid slave is being living for our superior foot-stink, isn’t it? Ha! Ha! Vould you be liking him to be smelling your feet also? Are they being sufficiently sveaty?’
Fifi knew she should be embarrassed to answer such a question, but somehow here in the Gynarchy, in the context of her hostess’s unabashedness about her own womanly sock-stink, she just wasn’t:
‘Erm – yes I think they might be. I have not washed my feet since I left Lagos two days ago! Can you really get him to smell my bare feet for me?’
‘Sure. I vill even be getting him to be taking off your shoes for you! Vatch this…Slave, be stopping that sniffing of my socks now, and be taking off mistress Fifi’s ballet flats this instant! Then be sniffing her bare feet. Be getting your nose in betveen each of her toes and inhaling their smell. BE DOING IT NOW!’
‘Yes mistress Laksha. At once mistress Laksha!’
Fifi giggled almost in disbelief as the pathetic old footslave (George was in his late forties) obediently shuffled over to where she was sitting in front of the coffee table, and duly lifted first her right, and then her left, African foot off the floor in order to respectfully remove her black, African ballet flats and smell her stinky, unwashed feet.
His nose tickled her as he gently positioned it in between each of her sticky toes. Her girlish laughter almost drowned out the sounds of his vigorous foot-sniffs.
But slave George didn’t mind being laughed at by the superior African mistress whose feet he was overtly sniffing. He was just savouring the moment. At last – the touch of soft, bare, womanly footflesh on his face, garnished with the feel of sticky, feminine toe sweat and toe jam on the outside of his nose! And all whilst the young African woman’s sweaty foot-stench invaded his unworthy nostrils!
This was truly a rare treat! Oh, if only she, or his taskmistress miss Laksha, would order him to lick the African visitor’s earthy, black feet! Now that would be a real treat!
But he was letting his footslave-desires run away with him. Mistress Fifi only wanted her dirty feet sniffed, not licked! But he got to do the next best thing – for miss Laksha had noticed the dirty, black sweat stains along the beige, inner lining of miss Fifi’s discarded, black leather ballet-flats:
‘Vould you be liking him to now be cleaning the insides of your shoes Fifi? I can be having him remove all those dirty stains vith his tongue, if you vould be liking it?’
Fifi decided she would be liking it – very much so. She was almost as embarrassed by the disgusting state of her well-worn ballet-flats as she was by the sweatiness of her bare feet!
And so, whilst his two superior mistresses continued to enjoy their coffee and biscuits, slave George snacked on the African girl’s ingrained footsweat from the insides of her temporarily discarded, black leather ballet flats.
It’s hard to say who was enjoying their elevenses the most – the mistresses, or the pathetic, office footslave!
‘What a field trip!’ thought Fifi to herself as she watched her dead footskin being scooped out of her shoes by the slave’s eager tongue, her own mouth full of yummy custard-cream. ‘It really does take the biscuit! Ha! Ha!'
The End
Fifi was her nickname – short for Olufifi – but everyone, even in her homeland of Nigeria, knew her as Fifi.
She was a tall, kindly-looking, African girl with whom everyone seemed to immediately gel – certainly her hostess for the day, 25 year old miss Laksha, had liked her instantly upon meeting her in the office lobby.
Fifi was compiling her thesis on ‘Male Slavery in Modern, Gynarchial Societies’, and her week long field trip to the Gynarchy was Government sponsored. She would be spending just a few hours, however, in Laksha’s office – and Laksha had been chosen to host the overseas student’s visit specifically because she was in charge of the office footslave; she was his personal taskmistress. She was therefore ideally placed to demonstrate to Fifi exactly how male slavery worked in practice in a workplace environment in the Gynarchy!
Slave George – said office footslave – had already been introduced to miss Fifi down in the lobby, by being made to kiss her shoes under miss Laksha’s ever vigilant supervision. Fortunately he did a good job of kissing the Nigerian guest’s shoes whilst she was still wearing them on her pretty, African feet – he was suitably meek and submissive in Laksha’s assessment – and therefore he had not (yet) been whipped in the African guest’s presence.
Slave George had been looking forward all week to kissing mistress Fifi’s shoes – for he knew they would be covering and protecting genuine, African student-girl feet fresh out of Nigeria. She had only arrived from Lagos the day before on her fleeting 5 day, left field, field-trip.
Fortuitously, the African girl had chosen to wear plain, black, low-cut ballet flats on her bare African feet beneath her black officewear-slacks, and she was quite a tall girl with relatively large feet, so he had been able to observe a goodly amount of genuine, African-girl, bare, black footflesh as he had kissed the scuff-marked, leather toes of her seemingly well-worn ballet flats in respectful greeting.
It was a thrilling and rare sight for this particular office footslave – for there were no African girls working in the office where he was employed as a general footslave. Quite a few Pakistani and Indian girls (like miss Laksha herself) – but no Africans!
So he truly relished the moment as he observed sweet African girl, bare, brown footflesh at such humiliatingly close quarters under mistress Laksha’s ever -watchful eye whilst he greeted and paid homage to the foreign visitor’s outer footwear.
Slave George, being a mere communal-use office footslave, was deemed unworthy to actually kiss female bare feet of whatever nationality. He was strictly a shoes/boots/tights and socks slaveman, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t admire ladies' bare feet inside their shoes!
African-visitor shoe suitably kissed and respected by her male charge, Laksha then invited her female guest into the office tea-room for a warming cup of tea, before the two young women accompanied slave George on his humble rounds as he crawled on his hands and knees from floor to floor kissing, licking and otherwise attending to the pretty, feminine feet and footwear of the various office ladies.
The Blonde Girl’s Sock-Nuzzler
First to be respected was the overnight duty-officer mistress – 23 year old, blonde-haired miss Sandra, whose job had been to woman the phones all through the night. The office dealt with exclusively female travel insurance claims, and it was not unusual for calls to come in throughput the night from anxious female claimants overseas.
Mistress Sandra would, obviously, be going home soon – having finished her long and tiresome night shift – and Laksha knew that the nightshift duty-officer was frequently in need of some tender-loving footcare from the communal office footslave just before she made her way home.
‘Hi Sandra!’ chirped Laksha happily to her sleepyhead colleague in her delightful Indian-girl accent. ‘This is being Fifi from Nigeria. She is just being following me and George around the office this morning, vatching vhat it is ve are doing!’
‘Oh, hi Fifi. Pleased to meet you,’ smiled a tired miss Sandra, anxious to be getting home but also taken by miss Fifi’s warm, West-African smile.
‘Are you being vanting George to be attending to your feet before you are leaving us this morning Sandra?’ enquired Laksha politely.
‘Oh – yes please!’ sighed miss Sandra. ‘Could you please make him just nuzzle the sides of my socks? My feet are so swollen and tired after being up in these shoes all night!’
The shoes miss Sandra was referring to were well-known to slave George – pretty, slip-on, black leather shoes with two-inch, wedged-shape heels at the backs. And worn with navy-blue socks – for miss Sandra always wore dark trousers and dark socks with her black, office shoes, as did most of the office ladies.
George knew miss Sandra’s socks well – for he had been required to nuzzle them many times before. He knew also, just by recognising the distinctive, spiral pattern in the stitching, that this particular pair of miss Sandra’s navy-blue officewear socks had a fetching, red trim at the top – even though the red trims were currently hidden beneath the hems of her black, bootcut trouser-legs as she was seated at her workstation.
He humbly and contritely awaited his orders from miss Laksha – for today of all days he must be on his best slave-behaviour in front of their honoured guest from West Africa, and he must not show his Indian taskmistress up in any way. Otherwise the office-taskmistress’s female whip would most assuredly be acquainting itself with his bare back and shoulders!
Said taskmistress, miss Laksha, duly relayed miss Sandra’s orders to the kneeling footslave in her charming, Indian accent:
‘Slave, you are being hearing miss Sandra! Be gently nuzzling the sides of her tired, socked feet. Be nuzzling them around her tired anklebones, and be seeing to it that you are relaxing her. Remember that she is being a superior, young voman, and therefore you must be doing it most gently and respectfully or you vill be feeling the sting of my vhip, isn’t it?’
Miss Laksha clearly spoke very good English, but, as you will already have noticed, she could never seem to pronounce her ‘w’s. Hence ‘whip’ became ‘vhip’; and ‘woman’ became ‘voman’.
Mispronounced or not, slave George fully accepted that miss Sandra was indeed a superior, young, blonde ‘voman’, and he truly feared the dreadful sting of miss Laksha’s ‘vhip’. In fact, the merest mention of it on miss Laksha’s pretty, Indian lips was enough to instil instant footslavish obedience in him:
‘Yes mistress Laksha. At once mistress Laksha!’
He therefore shuffled meekly over on his hands and knees to miss Sandra’s waiting night-old shoes and socks, and began nuzzling the tired, navy-blue sock on her shapely, outer, right anklebone.
Fifi pointed down at him, laughed out loud, and mocked him in her strong, West-African accent:
‘Ha! Ha! He looks like a dog! Ha! Ha! A low-down, puppy-dog begging his mistress to give him some food! Ha! Ha!’
Laksha and Sandra laughed at slave George too.
‘Ha! Ha! Yes – he is indeed being like a dog...’ confirmed Laksha. ‘…But not a sveet little puppy dog – he is being more like a mangy, old mongrel! Ha! Ha!’
Sandra, tired though she was, suddenly found a new lease of life and extended the analogy even further:
‘Ha! Ha! Here boy! Here boy! …Nose your mistress’s socks! Ha! Ha! That’s right. Nose my nice, blue sockie-wockie, mangy old mutt! Ha! Ha!’
All three girls, representing their female compatriots from three different continents, now laughed out loud at the ridiculous, girlsock-nuzzling footslave as, egged on by their disparaging mockery, he nuzzled the side of miss Sandra’s sweaty sock even more enthusiastically!
‘Ha! Ha! You see how much he is liking young vomen’s socks, Fifi? It is being lucky you are not being vearing any socks on your feet today – he is probably being vanting to keep them as a doggie-trophy, isn’t it? Ha! Ha!’
Fifi (who, somewhat ironically, was a girl with a common dog’s nickname) laughed:
‘Oh…I am very glad too, Laksha... I would not want to have the footslave-dog stealing my socks from under me! Ha! Ha!’
‘Don’t vorry, Fifi – I vould be vhipping him hard if he is trying to be stealing any young voman’s socks!’ exclaimed Laksha. ‘Your socks vould be being perfectly safe on your feet! Ha! Ha!’
By now slave George had moved onto the blonde mistress Sandra’s left foot and – joy of joys – the slightly raised hem of the black, bootcut trouser on her left leg was revealing the tiniest slither of the exciting, red trim on the top of her left sock. So, as he nuzzled the blonde-ponytailed office girl’s left, navy-blue ankle sock he simultaneously got to observe the tiny, red area of the elasticated top of the soft, all-cotton girlsock – a real treat for him and, undoubtedly, one of the highlights of his pathetic, humble day!
For as his Indian taskmistress miss Laksha had so rightly pointed out – her footslave-charge loved girls’ socks –looking at them; admiring them; kissing them and, of course, nuzzling them as he was now. And if he was being laughed at by mocking, girlish laughter whilst he did so, so much the better – for he knew he was nothing more than a shameful, pathetic, sock-obsessed wretch! A cur more than a puppy dog – or as miss Laksha had so eloquently put it – a mangy, old mongrel.
The Brunette Girl’s Sock-Straightener
Next on their rounds was another, well-known office sock-girl – mistress Natalie. Slightly older than miss Sandra, miss Natalie was a brunette who always wore plain, black socks with her black, flat-heeled, slip-on, square-toed, patent leather shoes. Like her colleague, miss Sandra, and indeed miss Laksha, she also always wore slacks to work.
‘Hi Natalie, this is being Fifi from Nigeria,’ chirped miss Laksha once again by way of introducing the student-girl to another one of her work colleagues.
‘Hi Laksha! Hi Fifi! Welcome to the Gynarchy, Fifi!’
Natalie and the African girl shook hands above slave George who was kneeling with his bald footslave-head suitably bowed behind his taskmistress, miss Laksha’s, chunky-heeled, black leather, zip-up ankle boots and matching black trouser hems. It was his default position when not attending to another office-lady’s feet or footwear.
‘Vhat can my slave be doing for you today, Natalie? Are your shoes being needing a licking and a shining, or vould you be liking to be having your socks nuzzled?’
Miss Natalie makes a show of inspecting her plain black shoes and socks although she already knows exactly what she wants the office footslave to do for her:
‘Erm…Could you just make him straighten my left sock, please Laksha. It’s looking a bit wonky!’
Slave George loved to be ordered to straighten any of the office ladies’ socks. He found it so deliciously humiliating – to have to carry out such a mundane task which any able-bodied young woman, like miss Natalie, could easily do for herself if only she could be bothered!
The fact that the fully able-bodied, but lazy, miss Natalie could not be so bothered to straighten her own sock thrilled slave George to his humble footslave-core – and he was pathetically proud to be considered so lowly a being that straightening office-girls’ socks was considered a task worthy of him!
Once again, however he had to formally await his orders in Indian-English from his delightful, Indian taskmistress:
‘Slave, be straightening miss Natalie’s crooked sock this instant! And be making damn sure that you are not being touching her bare, vomanly skin – or you vill be feeling the skin of my leather vhip across your bare back and shoulders!....’
Laksha then offered a few further words of explanation to her bemused, footslave-shadowing guest:
‘You have to be constantly reminding them not to be touching their mistresses’ bare skin vith their dirty mouths or fingers! If you are not doing so they vill be taking liberties and touching a voman’s superior bare skin at every opportunity, isn’t it?’
Fifi nodded her pretty, African head to indicate she understood the need for constant maleslave-discipline and made some notes in her student notebook.
But Laksha, and Fifi, and indeed miss Natalie, needn’t have worried. Slave George, though he would have dearly loved to touch soft, female ankle skin with his maleslave-fingers, knew better than to even try!
The pretty brunette, miss Natalie, from her seated position on her office swivel-chair, helpfully stretched forward her left foot and hitched up her left trouser leg to enable the whole of her black, ankle-length sock to be accessed by the kneeling footslave. No fetching, red trim here – just plain, black sock and pale, white, smooth female leg. But it was nevertheless highly pleasing to the footslave eye – the contrast between the black of the short cotton ankle-sock and the pale, smooth white of miss Natalie’s upper ankle.
Slave George could see immediately what miss Natalie meant. Her left sock was all twisted at the top, and looked most unseemly now that she had exposed it to the world!
He immediately, and respectfully, got to work on the sock, gently pinching it twixt thumb and forefinger and first pulling it outwards, and then upwards, until it lay neatly and smoothly over miss Natalie’s shapely, white anklebone once again.
He did not touch her skin.
Laksha and Fifi were watching avidly, Fifi diligently taking down notes, as the humble slaveman performed his highly-unskilled labour of straightening a brunette girl’s black, office ankle-sock. Laksha was watching avidly in order to ensure that ‘her’ slave did a good job on her work-colleague’s sock; Fifi was watching avidly out of sheer curiosity – curiosity at how a fully-grown, indeed middle-aged, man could be brought so low that he was nothing but an obedient, sock-straightener for young women.
Ha! Ha! He was truly pathetic in Fifi’s eyes – a sub-man. A non-man. Certainly nothing like a noble, free African man!
Fifi even inadvertently clicked her teeth out loud in righteous female contempt for the submissive male who was kneeling on the dirty floor surrounded by superior young women’s feet, and dutifully straightening a white girl’s short, black, office sock. What a total loser, she thought to herself!
‘Is your other sock being okay, Natalie, or are you vishing my slave to be straightening that also?’ enquired Laksha helpfully.
‘Nah - thanks, Laksha. My right sock is okay. That will be all thanks!’ replied the lazy, brunette, female office worker.
‘No problem, Natalie. I vill be seeing you again tomorrow then. Bye!’
‘Bye, Laksha! Bye Fifi!’
The Pakistani Girl’s Shoe-Shiner
Fifi, Laksha and their footslave-accoutrement move on to the next girl in the room – Laksha’s fellow Indian-subcontinent work-colleague, 28 year old miss Jameerah from Pakistan.
On seeing the delectable miss Jameerah’s foot-and-legwear today slave George suddenly began to feel very excited and frisky. For today was evidently one of those relatively rare days when the supremely beautiful and petite, bespectacled miss Jameerah had chosen to wear her knee-length skirt and dark, nylon stockings with her black, patent-leather, one-inch-heeled courts – as opposed to the matt black, leather, zip-up ankle boots which she usually wore with black trousers (rather like her Indian friend miss Laksha was wearing again today).
Even though footslave-George was an inveterate sock-fancier – a trait imbued into him after several decades of attending on young women’s socks – it was nevertheless a special treat for him to serve miss Jameerah whenever she chose to wear her nylons and a skirt, for it meant that he got to see her slender, but shapely, Indian calf-muscles in all their glory, albeit covered in the sheen of sheer, dark-coloured, finest-denier nylon - a further reminder to him that he was deemed unworthy to touch bare, female flesh.
Laksha and Jameerah actually embraced, and exchanged a few words of greeting in some mutual foreign language, before Laksha introduced her guest to Jameerah in her Indian-English:
‘Jameerah, this is being Fifi from the university in Nigeria. She is being here to observe George at vork for her thesis on male bondage.’
‘Hi, Fifi’ exclaimed Jameerah – standing up momentarily from her seat in order to shake the considerably taller African girl by the hand. As she did so, slave George couldn’t help noticing how Jameerah’s beautiful, dark nylons creased and folded around her skinny, but nonetheless shapely, Pakistani-girl ankle bones.
He almost drooled!
After some girly small-talk amongst the three superior young women – two Asian and one African – Laksha got down to business:
‘So, Jameerah, vhat can my slave be doing for you today?’
The bespectacled and slightly-built miss Jameerah – now re-seated at her desk on her office swivel-chair – smiled at her Indian work colleague and friend, and answered her in Pakistani-English:
‘I am wanting him to be tongue-shining my shoes today please. I am being walking in some dirty mud this morning, and one of them especially is looking most dirty and foul!’
She then raised her dainty right foot a few inches into the air to indicate which black, court shoe she thought need cleaning the most, although from their vantage point neither Laksha nor Fifi could see any particular dirt on their Pakistani sister’s shiny, patent-leather, right shoe which was now swivelling on her bony, nyloned foot in the air beneath the kneeling footslave’s mesmerized face.
Indeed, only slave George, down on his hands and knees, was close enough to miss Jameerah’s ultra-pretty, court shoe to observe the traces of dirty rainwater which miss Jameerah was presumably referring to. He salivated at the thought of soon being able to lick it off – all the more so when he observed how miss Jameerah’s sheer, nylon stocking was creasing around her slender, right anklebone with each swivelling movement of her foot in front of his face.
As ever, though, he awaited his formal orders from on high – from taskmistress Laksha:
‘Slave – you have been hearing miss Jameerah. Be licking clean her shoes immediately, and be starting vith the dirt on her right shoe. Be making damn vell sure you are removing all of the mud, and do not be sullying her nylon stocking vith your dirty mouth. Begin your humble servitude – NOW!’
Fifi giggled at how the slave flinched nervously when his Indian taskmistress suddenly shouted at him! What fun it must be to have so much power over a weak man like this! To have him cringing in fear at your feet! Ha! Ha!
She chuckled further as she witnessed the humble slaveman dutifully licking the rainwater-stained side of the petite Indian girl’s shiny, right, court shoe!
Jameerah continued her conversation with her friend Laksha and their foreign guest, Fifi, whilst her court shoes were being attended to by the footslave’s tongue:
‘It is being a real treat for him, Fifi – seeing my ankles and my stockings like this. Normally I am hiding my feet inside my boots, isn’t it Laksha? Ha! Ha! I think the slave is very much admiring my ankles today while he is being down there in amongst my shoe-dirt! Ha! Ha!’
Laksha nodded her agreement:
‘Ha! Ha! Yes – the fool is not normally getting to be seeing my friend Jameerah’s ankles. I think the queer fellow is indeed liking it! Ha! Ha!’
Fifi made a note in her notebook – it is okay for a slave to admire a mistress’s nylon-stockinged ankles whilst he is licking her shoes.
Just as well, really, for slave George certainly was liking it – liking licking a Pakistani-girl’s dirty, office shoe whilst leering at the tiny creases in her dark nylon stocking around her slender, Asian anklebone, and all under the close supervision of his equally pretty, ankle-booted and besocked, Indian taskmistress and in the presence of a bemused, black ballet-flated and barefooted, Nigerian student-girl!
Indeed – the more he licked the Pakistani girl’s shoe-dirt, the more he liked it! He literally lapped it up, foul-tasting and bitter though the street-dirt was! For it was street-dirt that was coming off a superior, young Pakistani woman’s shiny, black court shoe – and it was therefore sweet-tasting dirt; dirt fit for a footslave’s tastebuds!
But, regrettably all too soon, the Pakistani girl’s shoes – both of them – were sparkling clean, and her nylon-stockinged ankles were withdrawn from his field of vision, for it was time to move on to the neighbouring office; the office of the manageress – miss Nicola.
The White Woman’s Boot-Sucker
Mistress Nicola was a good-looking, white woman in her early thirties; brown shoulder-length hair with auburn highlights; a great figure that still turned free men’s heads wherever she went; and great, knee-high, brown leather, spike-heeled, pointy-toed, zip-up boots which turned male footslaves’ heads wherever she went.
Slave George was no exception – and he truly admired the sexy manageress’s brown leather, knee-length boots as they now towered dominantly above him as he knelt with his head humbly bowed over her booted feet.
Meanwhile Fifi had been formally introduced to the manageress, who warmly welcomed her both to the Gynarchy and to the office of which she was head.
Laksha sounded much more respectful as she herself addressed the office-manageress:
‘How may the office footslave be serving you today, Madam? Vill you be vanting the usual?’
Evidently, even though Laksha was apparently not on first name terms with her boss, she knew what footslave-services her boss was likely to want!
Sure enough, mistress Nicola, who had been busy drafting an email on her computer, swivelled round for her customary, mid-morning bootshine. She was never too busy for her mid-morning bootshine:
‘Yes please, Laksha dear. Get him to tongue-shine my boots from top to toe as usual, would you? Only he needs to be quick about it! I’m off to an important meeting in 15 minutes time!’
‘Yes certainly, Madam. My slave vill be being most honoured to be cleaning Madam’s boots for her vith his tongue….SLAVE, be licking Madam’s boots from top to bottom until they are being shining! Be making sure you are cleaning out the zippers also, and do not be touching Madam’s socks at the tops of her boots or I vill soon be applying the vhip to your ignorant slave-back!’
‘Yes mistress Laksha. At once mistress Laksha!’
Laksha was referring to the thick rim of black, woollen, knee-length bootsock that was just visible atop mistress Nicola’s stylish, brown leather, knee-high, spike-heeled, zip-up boots. The office manageress always liked to wear knee-length woollen socks inside her boots, and on rare occasions slave George was even invited to unzip mistress Nicola’s boots and actively smell her socks while they were still on her pretty, manageress feet and legs – again, from top to bottom!
But not today – it seemed. Today would be a boots-only day. Still, there was a lot of leather boot to lick, and so slave George immediately began to lick the upper rims of mistress Nicola’s right boot – taking great care not to brush his lips or nose against the exposed top of her inviting, black, woolly sock – before running his footslave-tongue all the way down the stylish and expensive, brown leather ladyboot until he reached the pointy-toe which fitted fully inside his boot-shaped footslave-mouth.
Fifi couldn’t help laughing, as well she might, at the sight of Madam Nicola’s pointy, brown leather, boot-toe stretching the pathetic slave’s right cheek from inside his mouth. His mouth was being penetrated by the office manageress’s pointy boot – and Fifi liked that! She even sketched the scene in her field-trip notebook.
As she did so, she wished her round-toed, soft leather ballet flats were hard and pointy so that she too could violate his mouth with her, much scruffier, footwear!
But unfortunately she had chosen the wrong footwear today. She could have kicked herself – although she would have been more than welcome to kick the footslave instead if she had only asked to!
Elevenses
It was time for a break – not for the slave, of course, but for miss Laksha and her African, female guest. They therefore retired to the office tea-room with the hard-working footslave in tow – the inside of his mouth still feeling sore from the attentions of mistress Nicola’s boot.
The two girls each got themselves a coffee and some biscuits out of the vending machines and sat down in some comfortable chairs whilst slave George was ordered by Laksha to attend to her own zip-up, black leather, chunky-heeled, square-toed ankle boots.
Laksha’s boots needed a good tongue-shining, as the polish had worn off in several places. She explained to her African guest that she used the slave to clean her own officewear-boots most mornings at about this time - during her coffee break. She then asked Fifi whether she would like to witness the slave sniffing her sweaty bootsocks?
Fifi giggled and said that she would, and so Laksha gave the order to the slave kneeling at her booted, Indian feet:
‘Slave, be stopping that licking now! I am vanting you to be unzipping my boots and taking them off my feet, and then be sniffing my dirty socks. Be smelling them out loud so that our guest can be observing you and hearing you smelling my stinky socks!’
‘Yes mistress Laksha. At once mistress Laksha!’
Slave George could barely conceal his pathetic, sockslave ardour. He loved sniffing his taskmistress’s socks – for she did often have sweaty, hot feet. Her cheap boots didn’t seem to let her feet breathe, and miss Laksha was wont to wear the same pair of ankle socks to work for two or more days in a row, which didn’t help matters much!
Not that George was complaining! As soon as the black ankle-boots came off he recognised the same black ankle socks that miss Laksha had been wearing yesterday – distinguishable thanks to their distinctive multicoloured logo on the insteps comprising several little, box-shaped squares.
Truly, this fun logo added style and colour, and indeed a degree of femininity, to the otherwise plain, black cotton socks, and slave George sniffed them with footslavish abandonment – as he had been ordered to do – particularly over the multicoloured, box-shaped logos as these, being on the insteps, were along one of the sweatiest parts of the socks.
Fifi was greatly amused at the slave’s enthusiastic sock-sniffing display:
‘Ha! Ha! My God, he really is sniffing your socks out loud, Laksha! Ha! Ha! Does he really like the smell of young women’s sweaty socks so much?’ asked the astonished African visitor incredulously.
‘Ha! Ha! For sure, Fifi. The stupid slave is being living for our superior foot-stink, isn’t it? Ha! Ha! Vould you be liking him to be smelling your feet also? Are they being sufficiently sveaty?’
Fifi knew she should be embarrassed to answer such a question, but somehow here in the Gynarchy, in the context of her hostess’s unabashedness about her own womanly sock-stink, she just wasn’t:
‘Erm – yes I think they might be. I have not washed my feet since I left Lagos two days ago! Can you really get him to smell my bare feet for me?’
‘Sure. I vill even be getting him to be taking off your shoes for you! Vatch this…Slave, be stopping that sniffing of my socks now, and be taking off mistress Fifi’s ballet flats this instant! Then be sniffing her bare feet. Be getting your nose in betveen each of her toes and inhaling their smell. BE DOING IT NOW!’
‘Yes mistress Laksha. At once mistress Laksha!’
Fifi giggled almost in disbelief as the pathetic old footslave (George was in his late forties) obediently shuffled over to where she was sitting in front of the coffee table, and duly lifted first her right, and then her left, African foot off the floor in order to respectfully remove her black, African ballet flats and smell her stinky, unwashed feet.
His nose tickled her as he gently positioned it in between each of her sticky toes. Her girlish laughter almost drowned out the sounds of his vigorous foot-sniffs.
But slave George didn’t mind being laughed at by the superior African mistress whose feet he was overtly sniffing. He was just savouring the moment. At last – the touch of soft, bare, womanly footflesh on his face, garnished with the feel of sticky, feminine toe sweat and toe jam on the outside of his nose! And all whilst the young African woman’s sweaty foot-stench invaded his unworthy nostrils!
This was truly a rare treat! Oh, if only she, or his taskmistress miss Laksha, would order him to lick the African visitor’s earthy, black feet! Now that would be a real treat!
But he was letting his footslave-desires run away with him. Mistress Fifi only wanted her dirty feet sniffed, not licked! But he got to do the next best thing – for miss Laksha had noticed the dirty, black sweat stains along the beige, inner lining of miss Fifi’s discarded, black leather ballet-flats:
‘Vould you be liking him to now be cleaning the insides of your shoes Fifi? I can be having him remove all those dirty stains vith his tongue, if you vould be liking it?’
Fifi decided she would be liking it – very much so. She was almost as embarrassed by the disgusting state of her well-worn ballet-flats as she was by the sweatiness of her bare feet!
And so, whilst his two superior mistresses continued to enjoy their coffee and biscuits, slave George snacked on the African girl’s ingrained footsweat from the insides of her temporarily discarded, black leather ballet flats.
It’s hard to say who was enjoying their elevenses the most – the mistresses, or the pathetic, office footslave!
‘What a field trip!’ thought Fifi to herself as she watched her dead footskin being scooped out of her shoes by the slave’s eager tongue, her own mouth full of yummy custard-cream. ‘It really does take the biscuit! Ha! Ha!'
The End
