Bright, Young Things

The second city of the Gynarchy – Femina – is predominantly a young dominants’ town, full of bright, young things. That’s largely because it is a female university town, but also because of the large numbers of young, overseas, female tourists it attracts. They come here to see the famous shrine to the legendary foundress of the Gynarchy – the Supreme Goddess-Mistress Julia Caesar – which is located in a small female-domination church near to the city centre, and which is the scene of an alleged apparition of the said goddess.

In fact, at nearly sixty years old, I must be one of the oldest, living things in the city of Femina, but as I am male, and just a public footslave, I don’t really count. Only females matter.

My job is to service the street-soiled footwear of the bright, young, female things – students and tourists alike. It tends to be the female tourists during the daytime, and the female students in the evenings, presumably because the latter are studying hard at their lectures doing the daytime?!

I must confess, I very much prefer dealing with the tourists as they are, generally speaking, much kindlier – even sometimes respectful – towards me; I think that’s because, being foreigners, they just aren’t used to having an elderly manservant attending to their dirty footwear in the street. The local student-girls, on the other hand, can be rather lairy in the evenings, especially after they’ve had a few drinks! I’m frightened of them, and what they might do to me, because I’m a weak and vulnerable old man, chained up as I am to my public footblock in the town centre.

My footslave-pitch is in one of the corners of the main, pedestrianized, town square of Femina – a prime location for a public footslave stall as it is not only close to the aforementioned religious shrine and many other touristy sights, it is also surrounded by nightclubs and bars (hence the students!). But it is just a humble, common-or-garden, ‘stand-up’ shoelick stall at which the lady customer must stand to have her footwear attended to by my kneeling tongue! I never did graduate to a ‘sit-down’ footlick-stall – one where the lady gets to sit down (the slave remains on his hands and knees whatever type of stall it is!)

Let me take you through a typical day in my humble, public footslave life in the town centre of Femina:

You join me as I am surrounded by a large group of two dozen or so female, oriental tourists – all in their early twenties; an overseas college trip I would say.

What I am trying to ascertain from their footwear-styles and behaviour is their feminine ethnicity. My initial thoughts are that they must be either Japanese or South Korean (regrettably, we don’t get North Korean female tourists here in the Gynarchy, though they would be very welcome too!), given the inclusion of several pairs of hot, young-womanly kneesocks in the group.

There aren’t just kneesocks, of course! Indeed, there appears to be every conceivable colour and style combination of young, oriental women sneakers and socks surrounding my humbly kneeling and bowed face! There are high top, lace-up sneakers; low-top, lace-up sneakers; Velcro fastened sneakers; plain, white keds; chucks; and buffalo-style clogs with fully-socked heels showing at the back.

And the various-lengthed, sneaker-accompanying socks come in various shades of white, grey, green, blue, purple, pink, navy-blue, and black; furthermore, not all of the socks are monocoloured - some are multicoloured, stripy, or polka-dotted! The textures and materials of the socks vary greatly also – from sheer nylon, to soft cotton, to thick fluffy wool.

It seems that each and every bright, young, fashion-conscious, oriental lady in this tour-group has her own individual style of sneaker and sockwear-preference!

However, it is the kneesocks – so beloved by young, Japanese and South Korean women who are in their early twenties – which give one of the biggest clues as to their potential ethnic origins; Thai or Filipina girls, in my humble experience, would more likely be in sandals with bare feet; Chinese girls would probably be in ankle boots, rather than sneakers; plus, of course, their oriental, facial features would be somewhat different.

At the moment I am veering towards this group being Japanese, given that some of the young women are holding their dainty, oriental hands up to their faces and giggling at me, in the way Japanese girls often do when confronted for the first time by a public footslave! The real clincher, however, is when the only older lady in the group – an oriental lady in her mid to late forties who is smartly dressed in flesh-coloured nylons and sensible, shiny, cream-coloured, low-heeled courts to match her beige-coloured jacket and skirt, and who therefore stands out as the obvious group leader – speaks to the assembled gaggle of girls in a foreign language.

Let’s listen in to what she has to say:

'On'nanoko wa, kore ga ashi ni kisu o suru hitsuyō ga arimasu ‘kōkai footslave’, mesu tsūkōnin, soshite kare no shita to no yogoreta kutsu ya būtsu o kirei ni! Surēbu o shiyō suru kigaru ni go sōdan kudasai. Tada kare no kao no shita ni ki no burokku ni ashi o oite!’

Now, I’m no expert, but that sounds very much like Japanese to me?

Nor do I know exactly what she is saying to the group, but, presumably it must be something along these lines:

‘Girls, this is a ‘public footslave’ who must kiss the feet of female passers-by, and clean their dirty shoes and boots with his tongue! Please feel free to make use of the slave. Just place your foot onto the block of wood beneath his face!’

I’m guessing that’s what the tour-guide has just said because, almost immediately after she finishes speaking, I am suddenly obliged to kiss a whole plethora of eager, Japanese-girl sneakers, as each young, oriental lady takes it in turn to stretch out her dainty feet, one after the other, onto the wooden footblock beneath my face!

Some are extremely gigglish as they do so, and apparently also ticklish, as they swiftly withdraw their feet from my face just as soon as my lips have made contact with their dirty sneaker leather. Indeed, on several occasions the sneakers are presented to, and then withdrawn from, my kneeling face just so quickly that I barely have time to study or admire close-up the aforementioned oriental socks which accompany them!

And that’s a great shame – for a twenty-something, Japanese tourist-girl’s socks – be they knee, calf, ankle, or footie length; nylon, cotton or woollen; white, grey, green, blue, purple, pink, navy-blue, black, multicoloured, stripy, or polka-dotted – should always be respected and admired by a lowly footslave such as myself.

One or two mavericks amongst them do pluck up the courage to pose for photographs beside me with their sneakered and socked feet – presumably for inclusion on their personal blogs; so I do get time to study the intricate stitching in one or two pairs of Far-Eastern socks. I am particularly enamoured, for example, by the thick, ribbed stitching in a pair of plain black, woollen, knee-high socks – especially as those socks are worn on a pair of ultra-shapely, oriental-female calves and with a fetching pair sharply-contrasting, plain white, Velcro-fastened, high-top sneakers!

But sadly, all too soon, the gaggling group of gossipy, Japanese females is gone, as they, presumably, have more important sights to see than a common-or-garden, down-in-the-dirt, elderly, public footslave surrounded by their everyday shoes and socks!

……………………………………………………………..

Next to approach my shoelick-stand is a lone, black, African girl – again who looks to be a tourist in her early to mid twenties – and who is wearing a very sweet pair of white, canvas, lace-up sneakers with a multicoloured, flowery pattern on the sides, and plain black socks, beneath the slightly frayed hems of her blue denim, skintight jeans.

What I particularly like about her, as she angrily presents her right, sneakered foot onto my wooden footblock, is that she barks down her African orders to me straightaway in French:

‘Esclave, nettoyez-vous le côté de ma chaussure sale. J'ai foulé dans la boue!’

I’m guessing from her accent that she is from one of the former French colonies in sub-Saharan Africa. She, naturally, assumes that I can understand what she is saying in French – since she is the superior customer-mistress, and a public footslave is surely duty bound to understand and obey his mistress, whatever language she speaks?

Fortunately for me, I do speak some French, since we get a lot of French tourists here in Femina. I’ve therefore picked up bits of the language over the years, along with bits of French-girl boot and shoe dirt!

So, to translate her angry words, the sub-Saharan, black African girl wants me to clean the side of her shoe as she has inadvertently walked in some mud!

I duly acknowledge her orders, in French of course:

‘Oui maîtresse. Immédiatement maîtresse! Comme il vous plaira, maitresse.’

She seems singularly unimpressed at my linguistic efforts, and looks down sullenly and imperiously at me as I dutifully lickshine the mud off the side of her flowery-patterned, canvas sneaker – a mixture of disgust and contempt etched on her proud, sub-Saharan features.

Oh how this mud tastes and smells good – sweetened as it is by haughty and arrogant, young, French-speaking, African woman’s, flowery-patterned shoe! I would quite like to sniff each and every one of the flower motifs on the side of her sneaker, if she would only let me, even though I know each flower would only smell of canvas and rubber! But she seems to have only one thing on her pretty, African-tourist mind – divesting her female sneaker of the offensive, dirty street-mud, courtesy of my maleslave mouth:

‘Ici - vous avez manqué un peu, esclave!’

She leans down and points impatiently with the purple-painted fingernail of her right index finger towards a slither of mud along the side of the white, rubber sole of her sneaker – just below the canvas flower-line. It seems I have missed a bit!

I immediately apologise to the African mistress, for I don’t wish to be whipped:

‘Mais oui! Pardonnez-moi maîtresse, je vous en prie, la maîtresse de la plus belle!’

I can tell she’s inspecting the side of her black sock for mud as well, but, unfortunately for me, there is no evidence of any mud-contamination on the young, black African woman’s, plain black anklesock. I say ‘unfortunately’ because it would truly be an honour for a wretched, old slave such as myself to suck dirt off a stunningly beautiful, African girl’s sock in public and whilst she is still wearing it inside her rubbery-canvas sneaker!

But it is not to be. As soon as she is satisfied with my efforts on the side of her flowery sneaker, the African girl is gone – without so much as a ‘merci’; indeed, even without granting me the honour of sprucing up her left sneaker, which she clearly felt had been left unscathed by the puddle of Gynarchy street-mud!

So I’ll be the one to say ‘merci, maîtresse’. At least it makes a nice change from having to say ‘mercy, mistress’!

…………………………………………………………………………..

The next small group of ladies to approach my stand are an interesting bunch; they look, from their unusually dowdy clothing, to be a group of ‘Righteous’ women – members of the female domination religious cult who inhabit ‘Domina Island’ to the north of the Gynarchy.

The women of the cult don’t often visit the mainland, but those that do tend to come to Femina – largely because of the shrine to the goddess-mistress Julia Caesar, which they worship as an icon.

The three Righteous ladies are dressed in the traditional garb of the cult – all are wearing plain, white bonnets; long-sleeved, ankle-length, navy-blue dresses with white aprons; and the two younger women are also wearing white anklesocks. I therefore immediately recognize them to be so-called ‘white-sockser maidens’ – young, unmarried women of the cult, aged between 22 and 25.

The older Righteous lady, who looks to be in her early fifties – and who is presumably the maidens’ mother (or at the very least their chaperone) – is wearing the traditional thick, black, woolly tights and plain black, penny-loafer shoes of a married ‘domina’.

Yes – I would hazard a guess that this is a traditional, Righteous family on a pilgrimage to the shrine of the Supreme Goddess-Mistress Julia Caesar at Femina (minus the man of the household, of course, who is meantime probably busy selling their crops in the nearby market, for nearly all the Righteous families are farmers by profession). The two younger women, however, have made one concession to modernity whilst here on the mainland – they are both wearing low-cut, lace-up, leather sneakers; one a brown pair; the other a white pair!

They must have tolerant and understanding parents, for in my experience the white-socksers are nearly always required to wear smart, black, flat, lace-up, oxford-brogue-style shoes with their white socks. Then again, as the saying goes ‘When in Femina, do as the Feminans do….’ I suppose the two bright, young Righteous things just want to copy their secular, sneaker-wearing peers here on the Gynarchy mainland!

The elder lady presents her feet to me first for kissing – and it’s only the kissing of feet (or rather her black leather, penny-loafer shoes) which is required of me. A ‘Righteous’ woman wouldn’t dream of having her footwear lasciviously licked clean in public! Indeed, I understand there are no such things as public footslaves on ‘Domina Island’ – even though it is an autonomous part of the Gynarchy – because we are considered too unmanly and shameful to be seen in public.

I’ll bet these ladies each have a personal footslave in the privacy of their own home, however – ordinarily tucked up and hidden beneath the hems of their long, flowing, navy-blue dresses!

The elder Righteous woman speaks to me in the peculiarly archaic tongue of her sect, as she stretches out her right foot first onto the wooden footblock beneath my face:

‘Thou shalt now kiss the feet of thy Righteous, female betters, thou vile, public sinner! Thou shalt begin with my divine foot, and then proceed to the feet of my beloved daughters!’

Aha – so they are indeed her daughters! I am more than happy to kiss the plain and ordinary looking, penny-loafer shoe of such a plain-looking, superior and holy woman, especially in the presence of her superciliously-smiling, white-bonneted offspring, who are patiently and respectfully waiting their turn (out of respect for their mother, that is; they have absolutely no respect for me, of course – and rightly so!).

I must confess that some sinful, lustful thoughts do cross my dirty, slave mind as I observe some fetching little creases in the white-bonneted, mature mistress’s thick, black woolly tights around her still-shapely, fifty-something anklebone, caused by the outstretched positioning of her middle-aged foot onto the footblock; I am wishing I could nose those woolly-tight creases, as I’m sure they would feel immensely sensual on my pathetic, footslave-nose!

I do like a woolly tight!

But, of course, it’s completely out of the question! Just as with her shoes, no self-respecting Righteous woman would ever permit a dirty, public footslave such as myself to touch her sanctified hosiery whilst she is still wearing it – however thick and unyielding it may be! I must confine my face to the Righteous woman’s plain, penny-black loafer-shoes – just as I shall soon be required to confine my face to her two daughters’ ultra-modern sneakers!

The young woman with the brown sneakers steps up to the footblock next. Again, taking her lead from her mother to whom she has respectfully deferred, the twenty-something, white-socked, Righteous woman barks down her holy orders at me in archaic cult-speak as she plonks her round-toed, lace-up sneaker rather ungracefully down onto the well-worn, wooden footblock recently vacated by her mother’s left, penny-loafer shoe:

‘Now apply thy sinful lips to the dirty toe of my right sneaker, slave. And see to it that thy wretched forehead doth not sully my pure, white sock!’

I hardly know what to say to a young, white-bonneted, modestly-dressed, Righteous woman such as this. She is such a refreshing change to the immodest, dissolute and loud, besneakered, young women who normally frequent my shoelick-stand in this university and tourist town!

But I have to say something to express my humility vis-a-vis her sweet, feminine righteousness and power:

‘Yes mistress. This slave hears and obeys thee, most Righteous young mistress. God bless thee, Righteous mistress.’

I hope she will not be offended by my imitation of her archaic, English grammar; I am merely attempting to acknowledge her Righteousness and young-womanly authority over me in a language she will fully understand!

But it is my sneaker-kissing face that must really do the talking, since actions always speak louder than words! And so I studiously ensure, as the young brown-sneakered, religious pilgrim daringly hitches up the street-dusty hem of her ankle-length, navy-blue dress, that my forehead does not brush against forbidden, white sock as I kiss brown, leather sneaker!

And that goes for both her sneakers and socks – dexter and sinister.

She must be the eldest of the two daughters, for, in keeping with the strict hierarchical traditions of the Righteous, she, as it were, then ‘passes me down’ to her younger sister – the one with the white sneakers to match her pure, white socks:

‘Now kiss thee the sneaker-toes of my sister, foul creature; and show thee the same respect for her white socks that thou hast shewn mine own, or the whip shall soon smarten thy shameful, naked back!’

The white-bonneted, white-sneakered, and white-socked Righteous girl, who doesn’t look a day over 22, then gigglingly presents the first of her sneakered feet for me to kiss. I must admit that, although I wouldn’t dare touch them with my kneeling face or forehead – given the dire warnings from her elder sister about the ‘smart’ of the Righteous whip – I cannot help but admire the younger woman’s socks, for they are full of creases and folds around her young-womanly anklebones, much more so than those of her sister – and I do like a ripple effect on a young woman’s sock!

But, Righteous, white sneaker is all I get to taste; and even then only one quick peck to each Righteous sneaker-toe. No time even to count the beautiful creases in her socks!

All too soon, the three, unnamed, Righteous-women are gone – gone, no doubt, to their nearby place of pilgrimage; the shrine to the Supreme Goddess-Mistress Julia Caesar, foundress of the Gynarchy and ultimate head of all female-domination sects throughout the world! They have gone to pray and to give thanks, for it is due to the efforts of the Supreme-Goddess that they have just been able to humiliate a man in public, and make him kiss their shoes without touching their socks!

………………………………………………………………………..

It’s not only tourists and pilgrims that I get to serve during the daytime. There are the local office girls, female bank clerks, and shop-assistants too, of course.

Many of them are regulars, and the next young lady to grace me with her heavenly foot-presence is one such regular – 30 year old, blonde-ponytailed, mistress Erikaa, who is of Scandinavian origins, I believe, though she has lived in the Gynarchy for over 10 years now!

She works as a Hearing Clerk in one of the local Female Courts, and so whenever she visits me on her way home from work, as she is now, she is invariably still dressed in her smart, grey-pinstriped, legalistic trouser suit; her white, frilly blouse; and her black leather, high-heeled, pointy-toed, zip up ankleboots.

Hearing Clerk mistress Erikaa regularly stops by to have her pointy-toed boots lickshined – even when they don’t really need it! Such a kind and thoughtful young woman!

And what I particularly like about her, quite apart from her unusually friendly and chirpy attitude (unusual, that is, for a Gynarchy girl!), are her little acts of kindness towards me, particularly when it comes to showing off her socks.

This afternoon, for example, as I am lickshining the outer side of her right ankleboot, she makes me an offer I can’t refuse:

‘Ha! Ha! Would you like to see my socks today, slave? I’m wearing a nice pair of navy-blue cotton anklesocks inside my boots – just for you! Ha! Ha!’

She’s joking, of course – she isn’t wearing them just for me! They’re just an ordinary pair of common-or-garden, plain navy-blue bootsocks that she happened to pick out of her sock-drawer this morning as she hurriedly got dressed for work. But empathetic mistress Erikaa understands just how much it means to a pathetic, public footslave like myself to know what colour of socks she has on her feet whilst I am tongueshining the outsides of her stylish, black leather boots!

Not all busy, working mistresses would be so considerate, but I think mistress Erikaa finds my passion for female socks rather amusing!

Of course, whether she’s doing it to amuse herself or not, I quickly take her up on her kind offer:

‘Oh pray mistress Erikaa…lick Swedish-girl boot…lick Swedish-girl boot…Oh bless, mistress Erikaa…lick Swedish-girl boot…lick Swedish-girl boot…Oh mistress, oh yes please mistress!...lick Swedish-girl boot…lick Swedish-girl boot…Oh mistress!...lick Swedish-girl boot…Oh your navy-blue socks mistress!....lick Swedish-girl boot…lick Swedish-girl boot…’

She laughs, and bends down to unashamedly hitch up the bootcut-hem of her grey- pinstriped trouser leg. Sure enough, I can now see sweet, feminine, elasticated, navy-blue, cotton sock-top set against smooth, bare, white, Scandinavian legskin!

My heart pounds!

But, just because I am being granted a glimpse of Scandinavian-female bootsock, it doesn’t give me licence to desist from licking Scandinavian-female, black ankleboot-leather – as my regular customer-mistress Erikaa well knows:

‘Ha! Ha! Continue to concentrate on licking my boot clean, slave – and try not to be too distracted by the sight of my nice, blue sock!’

She’s teasing me; tormenting me; mocking me with her sock; but I love her for it! She may be a modern and sophisticated, young city-dwelling woman from the mainland Gynarchy, but I suppose she’s not all that different from her Righteous-pilgrim predecessors – for she still forbids me to actually touch her socks as I humbly attend to her outer footwear!

……………………………………………………………………..

Speaking of nice socks, the next customer-mistress who all too briefly stops by my public footlick-stand is a young, redheaded, shop-assistant mistress in her early twenties – another regular, though I don’t know her name, for she isn’t anything like as friendly or as chatty as her predecessor, mistress Erikaa.

In fact, she’s a very quiet and unassuming girl, almost whispering her orders to me every evening on her way home from work. But she is worthy of a mention tonight because of her excellent choice of socks inside her plain, black ballet-flats. Normally this particular young woman would wear plain black nylon, ultra low-cut, so-called ‘footie socks’ socks with her flat, black, ballet shoes, but today she has elected to wear a most fetching pair of thick, fluffy, white towelling socks with pink hearts festooned all over them!

I sense she may be in love with a young man – not that it’s any of my business; just as her choice of socks is not really any of my damn business! After all, I’m not being ordered to lick her socks (more’s the pity), but her ballet-flat shoes, even though I can see faint traces of tempting shop-floor dust on the socks!

But I just thought the change of young-womanly, sock style was worth mentioning, as it demonstrates how an experienced and wily, old footslave like myself can often ascertain a young woman’s mood, state of mind, and current lifestyle merely from her choice of sockwear! No-nonsense, nylon footie-socks inside workaday ballet-flats or a pair of smart, court shoes, indicate a businesslike approach to life, and feminine ambition in the workplace. Flirtatious, fun, white socks, with pink heart motifs, declare ‘I’m in love…Not with you, you dirty, old footslave, but with a real man! Ha! Ha!’

I’m sure that’s what the redheaded shop-girl is whispering to me this evening, through the subliminal medium of her delightful pink and white, fluffy, heart-patterned, girly socks!

………………………………………………………………

We’ll leap ahead to late evening now. The pubs and clubs are starting to empty out, and the loud and lairy, not to say leery, female students I mentioned in my introduction are hitting the town square – many of them drunk as skunks.

To be honest I must have dozed off for a few minutes – for it’s way past my bedtime (not that I have an official bedtime, being technically on public foot-duty in the square 24 hours a day; 365 days a year!).

But the next thing I know I am being kicked in the face by the heavy, reinforced toe of a blonde, punk girl’s black leather biker-boot. She can’t be more than 18 or 19 years old – a fresh-faced fresher, with several nose-piercings, and bright pink highlights in her spiky, blonde hair. She’s also wearing a very fetching, short, tartan miniskirt and black over-the-knee socks on her shapely, bare white legs – though the sock on her right leg is considerably higher up her fleshy, white thigh than the one on her left!

But the most striking thing about her, undoubtedly, is her calf-length boots – literally so, as her left boot kicks me hard in the face yet again:

‘Excuse me, dirty, old slaveman… erm…sorry to bother you on your night off, and all that…but…erm… do you think you could possibly wake up and tongueshine my f****** dirty boots at all?’

I am mortified! Falling asleep on the job! How embarrassing!

I immediately lower my chastened and girlboot-bruised face to the scuffmarked, reinforced toe of the blonde biker-chick’s right, metal-buckle-covered boot. Put she petulantly pulls it away from me:

‘Not that one, slave!...God, is you ‘fick, or somefing? Start wiv my left boot, innit? Tch!’

Of course! She must be left-handed! Hence her kicking me in the face with her left boot, and the designer-slippage in her left, thigh-high, black sock. What have I just been saying? The clue is always in the sock!

How remiss of me!

I apologise profusely to the justifiably angry young punk-woman for my lack of attentiveness towards her and her booted feet. I’m not ‘fick’ you see; just fickle – and I had been daydreaming about all the lovely ladysocks I had encountered hitherto that day when I had inadvertently fallen asleep:

‘Oh pray, punk-mistress! Pray forgive this stupid, indolent slave for his disrespectful ignorance, most beautiful, blonde punk-girl mistress!’

‘Huh! Whatever, yeah? Just get on wiv it, yeah? Foot-f***wit!’

She’s a white girl, speaking like a black girl; I wonder what she’s studying at college? Social Sciences? Media Studies? English Language and Literature? Existentialist Philosophy?

Again – none of my damned business! My business is to lickshine her left boot.

‘Hurry up, dumbass!’ she shouts at me. ‘I’m burstin’ for the loo, yeah? Where’s the nearest f****** bog around here, f***wit-face?’

Such a genteel and refined young lady – a bit like the two Righteous girls I had served earlier in the day!... Not!

But, however coarse she is, however rough and crude, I must still show the secular, and no doubt fallen, punk-girl the same slavish respect as I did to the pure and chaste pilgrim-girls – especially when she’s wearing such heavy boots and is clearly not afraid to use them on my face!

‘Oh pray mistress…lick calf-length buckle boot…lick calf-length buckle boot…if it pleases you most respected and all-powerful, blonde, punk mistress….lick calf-length buckle boot…lick calf-length buckle boot…the nearest lavatories are just 100 yards down on the left, mistress…lick calf-length buckle boot…lick calf-length buckle boot...if it would be so pleasing to you most beautiful, blonde and pink haired, superior punk-mistress?...lick calf-length buckle boot…’

She suddenly withdraws her half-licked, left biker-boot from my face, gathers up some unladylike phlegm in her pretty mouth, and gobs on me, before pretending to straighten her designer-creased, left, black, thigh-high sock directly in front of my spit and green mucus covered face, and then making a hasty departure from my public bootlick-stall.

As she leaves she turns to shout back at me:

‘Wait here, f****wit-slave! I can’t hold it in any longer! I’ve gotta go, yeah? But I’ll be back in a minute, ‘coz you ain’t licked my dirty boots nearly enough yet, yeah?’

Wait here?!... Wait here?! Like I could go anywhere, even if I wanted to! I’ve been chained to this same public-service spot in the town square for over 25 years now – since before this young punk woman was even born; and doubtless will be for another 25 years, if I live that long!

This dirty stop-out, student-girl fresher must be well and truly drunk to come out with a ridiculous statement like that! Either that, or she really is taking the piss!

‘Yes, punk mistress. I obey you, punk mistress, and anxiously await your return. Thank you for kicking me, and spitting on me, most beautiful and revered punk mistress! Oh pray, mistress, pray return to my humble bootlick-stand after you have eased yourself, as this slave is truly yearning to divest your boots of all their filth and detritus, if it would be so pleasing to you, most respected punk-mistress?’ I call out expectantly after her.

Even though it irks me somewhat, I do have to be ultra-polite towards her, and respect her superior female personage, despite the fact that she is an extremely crude, rude and lewd young woman compared to some of the other mistresses I’ve been privileged to serve today. The potty-mouthed, punk girl is still my young-womanly master and better, and one of Femina’s bright, young things! And I did let her down by falling asleep on the job in front of her, justifiably angry, biker boots!

Oh well, I hope she’ll be back – and I do hope you’ve enjoyed these brief insights into my humble life as an elderly, public boot and shoe licker in the city of the bright, young things! You can go home to bed now – I’ll wait up for the weak-bladdered, gobby, punk-girl-cum-biker-chick to return! My face is now too bruised and sore for me to be able to get back to sleep again anyway!

Goodnight, and pleasant dreams!