A Hot Date

This evening I am accompanying my mistress Kunjana on a hot date.

I myself am not her hot date, of course! Ha! Ha! That would be ridiculous – I am just her longsuffering, longcrawling, personal footslave of many years!

No – my beautiful, 23 year old, Indian mistress has a hot date tonight with a real man; master Parvesh, her boyfriend of some 2 weeks’ now. It is only their second date together.

I must say he is a very lucky man!

For my mistress Kunjana is not only a hot date. She is just plain hot! Truly she looks the business this evening. She has dolled herself up for him in a revealing and sexy outfit, even though it is the middle of winter and freezing cold outside. My beloved mistress is wearing a low-cut, sparkly-silver blouse; a short, grey woollen miniskirt; plain black woolly tights; and her delicious pair of expensive-looking, calf-hugging, brown leather, knee-high boots with rounded toes and three-inch-high, blocky heels at the backs.

In short, my petite if slightly chubby, Indian mistress looks the bomb – and she knows it!

Bright red lipstick, and a strong and sexy perfume complete her flirtatious look this evening. I can smell the delicious aroma of the perfume even over the pungent, leathery aroma of her brown leather boots which are now standing directly in front of my kneeling face and nose. I can always be found kneeling beside or behind my mistress Kunjana, my face close to her feet and footwear; for that is most assuredly where a beautiful, young, Indian woman’s personal footslave belongs – at his superior mistress’s feet!

As she leaves the house, my mistress Kunjana’s elder sister, mistress Sridevi, embraces her and says something to her in Hindi:

‘ēka acchā samaya hai!’

which I believe means ‘have a nice time’ or something like that! (I’m ashamed to say I don’t really speak Hindi, even though it is my mistress Kunjana’s native tongue. That’s because when my mistress deigns to speak to me she tends to do so in English, partly to distinguish me from my Hindi betters, and partly because she knows I am just too thick to learn another language as she has done!)

In any case, my mistress Kunjana has little need to converse with me, her slave, at all, since so many of her orders are automatic and go without saying – such as now, for example, when I am expected to kiss the feet of my mistress’s sister, miss Sridevi, as my mistress and I leave the house. The female whip has taught me such routine footslave-manners – neither my own mistress, nor mistress Sridevi, have any need to verbally order me to respectfully kiss the latter’s pretty feet adieu. Mistress Sridevi merely extends her right foot forward, followed by her left, on the hallway carpet beneath my humbly kneeling face, and I kiss them both. She is wearing her soft, black house-slippers and black anklesocks beneath a pair of blue denim jeans. But I am not permitted to kiss her socks – just the toes of her felt slippers. Again, the whip has taught me that!

As soon as my mistress Kunjana exits the house, with me on my hands and knees in tow behind her chunky, brown-leather booted heels, the freezing cold hits us both. My mistress just laughs and pulls on her leather gloves. She is much better protected against the cold than I am. I am never permitted to wear clothes – whatever the weather. Just my mandatory, flimsy, white slave-shorts, for the sake of my footslavish modesty (by law all male slaves must wear such shorts at all times. It’s a matter of public decency!)

But it does not matter that I am exposed to the elements tonight – for the close-up sight of my mistress’s brown-booted heels as she makes her way somewhat gingerly down her frosty and icy driveway towards her car warms the cockles of my footslave-heart!

My mistress Kunjana’s boots may well hug her slightly plump, woolly-tighted calf and leg muscles very sexily and ‘tightly’, but the brown leather in the stylish, knee-high boots is still delightfully crumpled around the backs of her heels and ankles. It creases and folds as she walks, and I gaze in truly slavish awe and wonderment at the sight before me as I crawl over the black ice on the driveway on my bare hands and knees. I am acutely aware, of course, that my mistress’s equally delightful, thick, black woolly tights must similarly be creasing and folding around her shapely ankles inside the depths of her hot, feminine boots as she walks along.

I’ll also let you in on a little secret – something which only myself and my divine mistress Kunjana herself are currently privileged to know; she has a tiny hole on the bottom of the left foot of her black, woolly tights – a hole simply caused by frequent wear, for my mistress Kunjana does love to wear this particular pair of sexy, opaque, black tights in winter. She knows they not only keep her feet warm inside her boots, but also her fleshy, upper legs and thighs – therefore enabling her to wear her short, grey-woollen miniskirt for the lads (i.e. for free men like master Parvesh); even on a cold winter’s evening like tonight!

Her woolly-tights-covered legs therefore not only look hot – they are hot inside their protective and warming legwear! My mistress, you see, is very clever, as well as very beautiful.

I take up my customary footslave position on the passenger side of the car – kneeling on the dirty floor with my ugly, male head resting over the pedals area on the driver’s side where my mistress’s beautiful, brown-booted feet are now resting. Cars have been adapted in the Gynarchy so that a tiny footlight will light up the mistress’s feet whilst she drives along in the dark, thereby enabling a personal footslave to study and admire in great detail the power in his superior mistress’s feet and footwear whilst she drives the vehicle.

I love watching my mistress Kunjana drive. She is such a petite, young Asian woman, and her car is a powerful sports-car model, but her authoritative, booted feet are more than a match for its considerable horsepower. I adore watching the controlling power in my mistress’s feet as she presses down on the accelerator or brake pedal with her chunky boots - the spot-lit, brown leather creasing and folding even more than when she is merely walking, as her domineering, knee-high boots command and control the powerful motor-vehicle.

The car, like myself, must submit to the power of my mistress Kunjana’s feminine-booted feet!

Her perfume too fills the air in the car. I truly do envy master Parvesh tonight, for this is all for his benefit!

My mistress’s rendezvous with her new boyfriend is at the local multiplex cinema, and, wisely, he is already waiting for her as we approach the entrance. Once again, of course, I am humbly following my mistress Kunjana’s boots to heel, crawling on my hands and knees across the dark and icy pavement leading up to the cinema entrance.

My mistress and master (for all my mistress’s sexual partners automatically become my masters) embrace as soon as they meet up – a long, loving, lingering kiss of mutual respect and affection on the lips.

This is one thing I don’t envy about my master Parvesh. I would much rather kiss a girl on the boots. Much more hygienic than kissing someone on the lips – surely? Even if my mistress’s boots are already picking up dirt and detritus from the frosty street pavements!

Indeed I notice right at this very moment – as her boots raise up on tiptoe whilst she kisses the master above me, thereby exposing her thick, treaded bootsoles to my adoring, slavish gaze – that a piece of frosty, blackened grass is stuck to one of the treads in my mistress’s right boot. It is hanging by a thread – and if I had time I would, being the ever-dutiful footslave, remove it straightaway with my tongue, for it is sullying the sole of my perfect mistress’s otherwise perfect boot.

But sadly there isn’t time, for my mistress’s right bootsole is only momentarily lifted up off the ground as she stands on tippy-toe in order to reach up and kiss her tall and manly, Indian boyfriend on the mouth. She is no doubt unaware, and unconcerned, about the grassy detritus on her right bootsole – since such insignificant dirt, rather like myself, is beneath her. It is not her concern - it is only my concern, as her personal and dutiful footslave. I must make a mental note to remove the offending grass stain later – if I get the chance; and if it is still there later on, for it may remove itself naturally!

Having embraced and greeted one another, my mistress Kunjana and master Parvesh head straight into the warmth of the cinema lobby. Master Parvesh does not greet or acknowledge me in any way, of course. I am beneath him – just his girlfriend’s pathetic, personal footslave; a mere appendage to his beautiful, Indian girlfriend’s sexy boots. I am no threat to him or his manliness. In fact, I barely even register in his freeman consciousness. He is thinking about his beautiful girlfriend’s soft and sensuous body, and about how he will be making love to her later that evening – once they have the movie and a slap-up meal out of the way.

But he is no cad – for my mistress is thinking the exact same thing!

I am a very lucky slave, for this particular multiplex has been adapted to take footslaves inside the auditorium. Not all cinemas in the Gynarchy are so adapted – and some therefore require that personal footslaves are left chained up outside, in the cold, whilst their human betters watch the movie inside the building.

But this ultra-modern multiplex has been adapted so that there is space for a personal footslave to lie beneath his mistress’s seat in the auditorium – face down on the dirty floor – directly behind her boots or shoes. A small spotlight even illuminates her feet (rather like the one in the specially adapted car) so that the footslave can clearly see and concentrate on his mistress’s footwear whilst she watches the film.

Of course, the slave can see nothing other than the backs of his mistress’s feet down there. And not only that; he is also prevented from hearing the film, since by law he must insert two tiny earphones into his ears which play a constant stream of white noise whilst he lies behind his superior mistress’s feet.

The Gynarchy authorities, quite rightly, think it is inappropriate for a mere, male footslave to be entertained by the sight, or even the sound, of a female movie. The backs of his mistress’s boots should be entertainment enough for the likes of him. Hence the spotlight and the earphones!

And I know what you’re thinking! What if the mistress requires to give her personal footslave an order during the film? What if, for example, she desires the backs of her bootheels to be kissed or sucked during the screening of the film? Well, the mistress has a tiny highly directional microphone attached to the armrest in the side of her cinema seat, through which she can, at the flick of a switch, interrupt the white noise and deliver her mistressly order direct into the slave’s pounding eardrums.

Not that I am anticipating any such interruptions to my migraine-inducing white noise experience this evening, for I fully expect my mistress to be enraptured by the film; or at least enraptured by her manly boyfriend, master Parvesh, who is seated beside her, such that she will not be thinking either of me or the state of her streetdirt-stained, brown leather bootheels!

I spend some two and a half, lonely hours observing my mistress Kunjana’s chunky bootheels underneath her cinema seat. Every time she subconsciously flexes her pretty, Asian foot muscles inside her brown leather knee-high boots the stylish bootleather at the back creases and folds most fetchingly in front of my gormless and mesmerized face. In all honesty, I don’t really care what I may be missing on the cinema screen. Such things are, quite literally, above me. The sight of my mistress’s boots flexing and folding is indeed entertainment enough for me – entertainment fit for a young Indian woman’s humble bootslave.

I imagine her feet must be totally nice and warm now inside her boots – here in the warmth and comfort of the cinema auditorium. Master Parvesh has certainly had to help my mistress take her coat off – a gallant act on his part, of course, for, unlike me, he is no slave. I expect his motivation in helping my mistress divest herself of her coat is not slavish, but manly – because it inevitably reveals more of her revealing, silvery blouse to him!

I believe he may even be sitting with his arm around her now, occasionally kissing her on the lips during the screening of the, presumably romantic, movie, for my mistress’s booted feet periodically turn towards him for a few seconds, before resuming their normal rest position in front of my face.

Frustratingly, I still can’t get any tongue-access to that piece of blackened grass on the sole of my mistress’s right boot, however! But don’t worry – I haven’t forgotten about it!

How my mistress Kunjana’s brown leather, knee-high boots seem to tower above me now as I lie on my belly in the dirt of the cinema floor! Truly she is better than me! I am less than the dirt beneath her boots! Even that dirty blade of grass stuck to the sole of her right boot is better than me – for it currently has physical contact with my mistress’s superior bootleather, whereas I can only look and admire; albeit from very close and humble quarters!

My mistress suddenly stands up. The movie must be over! Her boots sway in front of my startled face as she puts her coat back on – once again ably assisted by her gentlemanly boyfriend. I remove the earpieces from my eardrums just in time to hear the closing music of the film.

I wonder what it was all about?

Not for too long though – for I have still have brown, leather knee-high boot to concentrate on!

Now we’re off to the nearby Indian restaurant for a slap-up meal – or rather my mistress and master are in for a slap-up meal. There will, needless to say, be no food or drink for me. Not even tidbits from my superiors’ plates (modern restaurants disapprove of such slave-indulgences nowadays).

No – I shall be spending my time in the restaurant beneath the table, kneeling humbly and attentively beside my mistress’s boots.

You will notice that I said beside this time. That’s important – for, having spent the whole of the last two and a half hours kneeling with my face behind my mistress Kunjana’s sexy kneeboots, it is now nice to be getting a different perspective on them – to be viewing them from a different angle; from the side.

They still look proud and mighty on my mistress’s shapely, if podgy, black- woolly-tighted Indian shin and calf muscles, and just seeing those natural creases and folds in the brown leather around her ankles from a new angle is an enormous privilege and thrill for me.

It even helps to keep my mind off the smell of the delicious, hot and spicy food now wafting above me – as does the reappearance of that tiny slither of blackened grass on the bottom of my mistress’s right boot, for she must now be leaning forward and holding hands with her boyfriend as she sits at the restaurant table above me. Her booted feet are once again raised up on tiptoe in front of my face.

I decide that now is the appropriate time for me to have my blackened green-salad – this is a restaurant after all, and despite all the other many distractions in my mistress’s delectable boots, I am feeling hungry.

I am not being presumptuous in consuming my mistress’s boot-salad without her express permission. I know from bitter slave-experience that my mistress Kunjana would expect me to remove any grassy detritus from the soles of her boots with my slave-mouth. It’s yet another of those standing orders which is a given – no need to verbalise it either in Hindi or in English!

And speaking of languages, you may be interested to know that my master and mistress tend to woo one another in Hindi. It is, after all, their mutual, native tongue, and is the language of love between them. English, as far as my mistress Kunjana is concerned, is the language of slavery - the language in which she snaps her orders to her English slave.

My streetdirt-seasoned salad tastes suitably nice and bitter, so I suck on it and savour it for some minutes before swallowing it. Just as well I moved in with my tongue when I did, for my masters’ food has arrived now and my mistress Kunjana’s two, booted feet are now resting flat on the floor once again whilst she concentrates on consuming her much more sumptuous fare.

I sense that the date with her boyfriend is going well as there is much lovey-dovey laughter and merriment above me. My mistress Kunjana really does enjoy male company – the company of a real man, that is!

The humble and submissive company of a mere, male footslave means nothing to her, in the sense that she can take or leave the individual footslave concerned. We personal footslaves are two-a penny in the Gynarchy, and I know that some day my mistress Kunjana will inevitably tire of me and fancy a newer model.

At that point I shall doubtless be despatched to the salt mines – never to kneel by a soft and malleable pair of booted, female feet again in the warmth of a welcoming, Indian restaurant. Only the harsh boots and equally harsh whips of the saltmine-taskmistresses shall spice up my backbreaking existence in the salt mines!

But I don’t want to think about that right now! I must make the most of my precious time as miss Kunjana’s personal footslave whilst I still can. For life is short and unpredictable – especially the life of a young woman’s personal footslave!

Master Parvesh sits in the passenger seat above me as my mistress conveys all three of us home in her sports car towards his bedsit apartment. I suspect that I am not the only one admiring mistress Kunjana’s boots as she drives us along – although master Parvesh has a much more manly perspective on his girlfriend’s sexy boots – from above; whereas I have a slave’s eye view of them, from below.

That’s exactly how it should be too!

When we do eventually enter master Parvesh’s flat I am the one who has the inestimable privilege, however, of removing my mistress’s boots from her woolly-tighted feet and legs, as she undresses for sex.

I have to gently pull the boots off her legs by grabbing them around the toes and heels, for the boots do not have any zippers down the sides. They come off with a satisfying whoosh of warm, feminine foot-air, foot-air that assails my humbly kneeling nostrils with the distinctive aroma of slightly sweaty female feet.

It may be a freezing cold evening outside, but my mistress’s feet have been confined for most of the night in the warmth of her brown leather boots inside the warmth of the cinema and the restaurant. Her black woolly-tighted feet have been unable to breathe inside such heavy, calf-hugging, knee-high boots, and so it is inevitable that some delicate, feminine foot-perspiration will have developed on my mistress Kunjana’s divine, Indian feet.

Not enough to overpower her otherwise perfumed aroma. I doubt, for example, that master Parvesh will be close enough to my mistress’s feet to detect the subtle aroma of her personal footsweat.

But I sure as hell am!

I breathe it in through my nose. I only wish I could lap it up – literally suck and lick on the moist, sweaty toe ends of my mistress’s freshly liberated, black woolly tights – but there just isn’t the time. For my mistress Kunjana is feeling aroused, and is anxious for me to help her get her woolly tights off so that she can make mad, passionate love to her boyfriend, my superior master Parvesh, who is already fully undressed and getting into bed.

My mistress sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls down her black, woolly tights as far as her knees - but I, in my capacity as her personal footslave, am expected to remove the tights from her lower legs and feet.

I love doing this – preparing my mistress for sex – for at least l am now getting to feel the sweaty dampness on the woolly soles of her thick, black tights as I pull them off her divine, Indian feet.

I can even, briefly, feel my Indian mistress’s bare, brown, soft, feminine footskin through the tiny hole in the bottom of her left tight. I hope she doesn’t notice my impudence in this regard – for touching one’s mistress’s bare footflesh, however fleetingly, without permission is a serious criminal offence in the Gynarchy.

But, as I suspected, my mistress Kunjana is now too consumed with womanly passion for her naked boyfriend to be bothered by a footslave’s fanciful foot-fondling! As soon as her tights are off she is under the duvet, caressing and fondling her beloved boyfriend’s manly body, leaving me still kneeling by the side of the master’s bed, with my mistress’s freshly discarded, brown leather kneeboots and black woolly tights lying somewhat untidily on the floor beneath my humbly kneeling face.

I could do with some white noise right now, for I must confess I find the sound of my master and mistress’s lovemaking most distracting as I try to concentrate on my mistress’s hastily discarded footwear.

However the more passionate the superior couple become, the more emboldened I myself become, and soon the pants and groans of their noisy and uninhibited lovemaking are drowning out the sound of my humble sniffs to the sweaty toe areas of my mistress’s black, woolly tights, and the exposed insides of her brown leather boots.

I immerse myself in my mistress Kunjana’s footwear-smells whilst master Parvesh immerses himself in her sweetly fragranced and perfumed body. I’m not sure if I envy him or not – for we are both where we properly belong, worshipping a beautiful young, Indian woman in the way natured intended us to: the real man on top of her body; the footslave on top of her discarded footwear.

I ardently kiss mistress Kunjana’s soft, womanly boots and tights every bit as passionately as master Parvesh kisses her soft, womanly, naked body. And I only stop when my masters and betters stop. For they must be the ones in control. They dictate my slavish activity, as always.

Since they both fall asleep in each other’s arms after their lovemaking session above me, I remain kneeling by the side of my bed, resting my own sleepy head on my makeshift pillow of mistress Kunjana’s discarded boots and tights.

I too am exhausted – exhausted by a long night of boot-wooing and tights-worship. I too fall asleep amidst my mistress’s discarded-footwear stink.

Yes – it’s been a hot date on a cold and frosty winter’s evening. We must all do it again sometime!

The End

What have you done with your personal footslave, sweetheart?

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