Office Gossip

As the office, coffee-lounge footslave I get to hear all the gossip. The office ladies who come in for a relaxing coffee break and a shoeshine, courtesy of my slave-tongue, quite happily chat away to one another as if I wasn’t there.

For in their eyes I am just a thing – a thing which is kept permanently on its hands and knees, and which dutifully shines their office boots and shoes on demand whilst they relax and take a break from work.

As a result, I know all about the mistresses I serve; all the juicy gossip relating to their private lives etc. Although I myself, of course, am the soul of discretion!

Let me tell you all about some of them as I tongue-shine their superior soles:

Eczema

The first office-mistress to come in for a break is the divine mistress Asmaa. I have known her footwear for a long time now, as she has been employed in this office for what must be over 20 years (I myself have been tongue-shining ladies’ shoes in this office for over 30 years!).

Goddess-mistress Asmaa is a very pretty, Egyptian-Arab lady, mid forties, with dark, shoulder-length hair covered in a plain, black hijab-headscarf, which she wears along with a full-length, matching black jilbab which reaches right down to her shapely, Egyptian anklebones. Very modest. Very proper. A middle-aged, traditionally-dressed Arab lady who is totally deserving of my maleslave respect.

Mistress Asmaa is, by all accounts, a very friendly and approachable person beneath her somewhat severe-looking attire – though she, naturally, keeps a professional distance from me, since I am not her friend, nor even her equal. In everyone’s eyes I am very much her inferior – being an enslaved male – and her somewhat cold and stand-offish attitude to me merely reflects our respective positions in polite, Gynarchial society.

Having said that I have never known mistress Asmaa to verbally shout at me, or berate me. She merely delivers her orders to me in a calm, matter-of-fact manner, albeit in broken English tinged with a strong, Egyptian accent, as she modestly adjusts her black headscarf around her pretty, Arab-woman face:

‘Slave clean Asmaa shoes with tongue; make shoes nice and shine; not touch Asmaa socks.’

‘Yes goddess-mistress Asmaa. At once goddess-mistress Asmaa.’

Mistress Asmaa always wears nice shoes and socks to work beneath the hem of her full-length jilbab. Today, as she discreetly lifts up the hem of her ankle-length jilbab whilst seated in front of me, I can see she is wearing her familiar, bright blue, ankle-length towelling socks – socks which are somewhat creased around her shapely, if rather slender, Egyptian anklebones. I have seen these socks many times before but, sadly, I am never allowed to touch them. I think mistress Asmaa does not regard me as worthy to touch, or even kiss, her intimate, inner footwear – just her outer footwear; her shoes.

And what a fine pair of modest, Arab-lady shoes they are – plain black, matt leather, round-toed and low-heeled, slip-on shoes – peeking out from underneath the hem of her matching, black jilbab. I just love the way the bright blue of her towelling socks strikes such a vivid contrast with the dull black cotton of her slightly dusty, jilbab-hem and the matt-black of her plain, office shoe leather!

It is therefore with a genuine sense of awe and admiration that I lower my worshipful face to the rounded, leather toe of her right, flat shoe as she sits arrogantly above me in front of the coffee table, and begin to lick away all the offending street-dust and dirt from her Egyptian-lady shoes.

I will shine these beautiful shoes to perfection – just as mistress Asmaa has ordered me to; and because she represents Arab-female perfection.

So what gossip do I know about mistress Asmaa? Well, I know that she shares her freeman, Arab-husband with two other wives; that her husband has 7 children in total, three of which are hers; that she suffers from various ailments including asthma (no pun intended); irritable bowel syndrome; and eczema.

As a result of her eczema her brown, Egyptian skin on her still-shapely legs sometimes peels and flakes in a rather unsightly manner – hence her good fortune in being able to wear a full-length jilbab to work. It also explains why she likes to wear thick anklesocks with her flat shoes – to catch any flaky, dead footskin. Oh what wouldn’t I give to mouthwash madam Asmaa’s dirty socks containing her dead footskin at the end of the day, and in front of her husband, as a demonstration of my slavish respect for him also!

Yes, for all her chronic, medical problems, madam Asmaa is a better and higher human being than me, and it is therefore right and proper that I should be on my hands and knees, tongue-shining her superior, Arab-woman footwear beneath the dusty and musty-smelling hem of her black cotton jilbab with the utmost of footslavish respect.

After all, in the 20 years or so that we have both been employed in this office, mistress Asmaa has achieved promotion twice (despite her poor sick record), whereas I, who have never had a day off sick in all my working-slave life, or even a day off, am still where I started all those years ago – down on the office floor, licking female shoes and boots.

No wonder mistress Asmaa despises me and regards me as a sad loser. No wonder she keeps her distance. She only makes friends with other human beings who are successful – like her; people whom she would be embarrassed to have licking her feet. Not with human dogs like me, who are fit only to lick Arab-woman shoeleather!

She is, quite rightly, not in the least bit embarrassed about having a dirty, footslave-infidel spruce up her soiled, office footwear with his tongue – for she knows that’s all his filthy tongue is good for. It is an inferior, male slave’s tongue – designed to lick female shoe rather than engage in meaningful or erudite conversation with its female betters!

Oh if only I could peel back mistress Asmaa’s sock right now in order that I may pay my slavish respects to her peeling, Egyptian-born ankleskin!

‘Slave, why you are day-dreaming? Why you are not concentrating on Asmaa shoes? Clean! Work!’

It is, in keeping with her Arab-mistressly character, a mild-mannered rebuke – just about as forceful as goddess-mistress Asmaa ever gets with me; a gentle reminder to the shoeshine-slave at her feet of the need to focus on female shoe – not sock.

I apologise instantly to the kindly, if stand-offish, Arab mistress:

‘Oh pray, goddess-mistress Asmaa. Please forgive this dirty, incompetent slave for his lack of attentiveness, goddess-mistress Asmaa! Please don’t have me whipped, goddess-mistress Asmaa!’

I know she won’t have me beaten – but it doesn’t do any harm to remind her that she can; that she is the one with all the female power!

And with that I immediately make amends by focussing all my footslave-attention on the street-dirt and dust which is soiling the Arab lady’s unremarkable, plain office-footwear.

She clicks her teeth in disdain, and picks up a glossy, fashion magazine from the coffee-table.

Curious that – her interest in western fashion! I’m not at all sure how deeply religious madam Asmaa actually is – unlike her successor on the coffee-lounge shoeshine-throne!

Religious

For the next superior female to grace me with her presence this morning is mistress Taffeta from Accounts – another beautiful woman, though somewhat younger than madam Asmaa. Miss Taffeta is probably in her mid to late thirties; bespectacled; mixed race, and with a charmingly dark complexion and short, jet-black hair.

Like mistress Asmaa before her, mistress Taffeta likes to dress conservatively at work – though in her case we are talking western clothing; usually a smart trouser suit consisting of a black jacket over a crisp, white blouse, and matching, black cotton slacks. On her feet she wears black, lace-up, chisel-toed, oxford-brogue style shoes with chisel-shaped toes and patterned stitching, and plain black, low-cut sneaker socks.

The elasticated tops of her sneaker socks – worn somewhat incongruously with such smart, office shoes – are oftentimes only just visible along her shapely, mixed-race insteps, thereby giving the false impression that she is actually barefoot inside her shoes.

Indeed, I rather think that’s the intention, but I, of course, as the office footslave, know better – not that I’m one to gossip!

I don’t know whether she went to Oxford or not, but the overall impression miss Taffeta makes is of a smart, bright, well-educated and articulate young woman, She also exhibits an air of sadness and sombreness and, if the office gossip is to be believed, she is very religious. In fact, whilst she sits above me having her oxford brogues shined by mouth, she will normally be reading from a small book which I believe may be her personal copy of the Bible or New Testament.

If so, she is almost certainly reading the bit that says ‘slaves obey your masters’, for miss Taffeta has absolutely no religious compunctions whatsoever about denigrating a male slave at her feet:

‘Shine them up, slave. And make sure you do the backs as well as the fronts!’

‘Yes mistress Taffeta. At once mistress Taffeta.’

If miss Asmaa is quite aloof and stand-offish, miss Taffeta is quite hands-on, setting aside her beloved Bible from time to time in order to carefully inspect my work from up on high through her horn-rimmed spectacles during the shoe-shining session, and providing negative feedback when she is dissatisfied with my efforts – which seems to be almost all the time.

She raises her grating, female voice to me:

‘TCH! DO THE BACKS OF MY SHOES AGAIN, STUPID, DIRTY SLAVE! I SAID, DO THE BACKS, DIDN’T I? MORON!’

She sounds truly exasperated. I actually think she is just hard to please and pernickety, for I am satisfied that my tongue has done a reasonably good job on her oxford brogues, at the backs and the fronts! She just enjoys finding fault!

In mistress Taffeta’s defence, however, a mistress is, of course, always right – and if she thinks I haven’t done a good enough job then, by law, I damn well haven’t!

And so I must humbly apologise, and do it again:

‘Yes mistress Taffeta. Pray forgive this stupid and inept slave his incompetence, mistress Taffeta!’

Small wonder, then, that a shoe-licking session with miss Taffeta can last anything up to an hour! I’m not sure how her boss feels about that!

I notice, as I dutifully re-lickshine the back area of her black, oxford brogue on her left foot, that her black sneaker sock is nowhere to be seen at the very back of her heel. It has slipped right down inside her smart, officewear shoe, leaving her soft, feminine, mixed-race heelskin exposed to the elements, and looking rather rough and chafed. Oh how I would dearly love to soothe that rough, pink and brown heelskin with my tongue – to lick away all the soreness and hard skin! But I know there is no way the cold and frigid miss Taffeta would ever countenance a dirty slave’s tongue on her bare skin! I’m sure she would find the whole idea quite disgusting, since she is such a superior being.

Miss Taffeta, it must be added, is not one to spare the rod and spoil the slave! She is a firm believer in many things – including the efficacy of corporal punishment – and I can expect my bare, bent-over shoulders to be stinging and marked from the communal-use whipping-stick by the end of a typical, hour-long coffee-break with mistress Taffeta.

Today is no exception, and my allegedly feeble efforts on her leathery shoe-heel are encouraged by several cutting swishes of the female stick.

She never smiles; not to me; not to anyone; not even when she is enjoying whipping me; not as far as I can tell. She clearly sees herself for what she is – one of the elect; better than the rest of us, or, at the very least, better than me – her personal, office shoe-shiner. Few would argue with her on that latter point.

I believe she is single and some say she is still a virgin.

So am I.

Mistress Long Tall Sally Slapper

Mistress Sally, the next office-lady to cross my face with female shoe-leather, certainly could not be accused of being a virgin! She loves to put it about – from what I have heard!

And rightly so – for she is a very beautiful young woman. ‘Long Tall Sally Slapper’ is her office-nickname (mistress Long Tall Sally Slapper to me!).

Mistress Sally, a long-legged, svelte, white girl in her late twenties with bleached-blonde, shoulder-length hair, likes to wear a revealing, frilly, white top and smart, black, bootcut trousers to work. This morning on her feet she is wearing a stunning pair of high-heeled and pointy-toed, black leather, zip-up ankle boots.

When she sits down seductively at the coffee table and rests her booted feet side by side on the floor in front of me, the bootcut hems of her black, officewear slacks ride up to reveal the über-attractive, elasticated tops of a pair of bright pink, cotton bootsocks with frilly trims.

I notice that the pink, frilly trim on her left sock is flirtatiously twisted and uneven – knowing mistress Sally deliberately so, as she is a terrible sock-tease with us slaves, always making sure that just a slither of her smooth, white ankleskin is visible to us as above her different-coloured, frilly sock-tops as we dutifully pay homage to her black leather, ankleboot-uppers.

My God, that twisted, pink anklesock is arousing! It seems to tower magnificently above me as I lickshine mistress Sally’s boot-toe. The pink, frilly trim of the sock reminds me of her revealing, frilly white blouse which is also above me, and that in turn reminds me that I am being forced to tongue-shine a provocatively-dressed, young blonde woman’s boots; on a provocatively-dressed, young blonde woman’s sweaty-socked feet!

Her twisted, pink frilly sock in front of my kneeling face thus reinforces the subliminal message that I am not a real man, and must show its female wearer some respect – unlike the many male suitors whom she has allegedly permitted to fondle her bare breasts inside her frilly, white blouse; for I am just a male slave, and therefore deeply unattractive to her, and therefore prohibited from even brushing my maleslave-nose against her bare, white legskin above the top of her frilly, pink sock!

She’s a man-eater – not a slave-eater!

Mind you, I sometimes wonder how many slaves she has let lick her boots on any given day, for she is reputedly as ‘promiscuous’ with her footslaves as she is with her lovers. I suspect I am currently licking where many slave-tongues have been before – in and around the various nooks and crannies in the outer leather of mistress Long Tall Sally Slapper’s well-used boots.

God bless you, mistress Sally, for using me as well. It is an honour to lickshine the boots of one who is so attractive to the free-male sex, and to thus make you even more attractive to them! Pray forgive my maleslave ugliness in your superior, female presence!

Chinese Takeaway

Mistress Chang-Ying is next to take up her position of female power in front of me – a delightful, slightly built, 19 year old Chinese girl; one of the office juniors, I believe. She certainly hasn’t been working here all that long – nothing like as long as me! In fact, she wasn’t even born when I started my humble job of licking ladies’ shoes in this office coffee-lounge.

Now here is an interesting piece of gossip – I gather she has just recently started seeing one of the very few senior, male managers on the fifth floor, a married man in his late fifties – master Derek. It’s the talk of the office ladies – many of whom, I suspect, are quite jealous of miss Chang-Ying and her rich sugar-daddy!

But then, they have every right to be – for she is a truly beautiful, young, Chinese woman in her prime, who likes to dress tartily; revealing blouses; ultra-short miniskirts; black patent leather, high-heeled pumps. No wonder the superior, free man on the fifth floor took notice!

I am pleased for him, even though I know he utterly despises me, since I represent everything he is not – male weakness and cowardice in the face of female power. Master Derek has risen through the ranks to a successful managerial position despite being a male living in a Gynarchy; whereas I have been well and truly crushed under the female foot!

No wonder he has it in for me, or so I’m told! Though, fortunately, powerful senior manager that he is, he’s not allowed into the ladies’ coffee lounge as he is considered to be a real man.

Only impotent wimps like me are permitted to enter the coffee-lounge harem!

This morning, curiously, the normally sexily-dressed miss Chang-Ying is wearing black nylon, ultra-short, so-called ‘secret socks’ inside her sexy, shiny, black pumps, on her otherwise bare, Chinese legs. I can only just see the upper rims of her black, nylon socklets. It is a most bizarre combination for such a style-conscious and fashionable young woman. Short, nylon, secret-socks with high heels, bare legs and a miniskirt!

Normally she would be bare foot inside her shiny, black high-heeled pumps – or, if not, her shapely, Chinese legs would be clad in expensive, tan-coloured, finest denier nylon stockings – paid for, no doubt, by her senior manager sugar-daddy!

Why has she chosen to wear such ultra-short nylon socks today? They do nothing to beautify her feet and shoes! I can only assume she must be wearing them purely in order to garner her exotic, oriental footsweat.

All soon becomes clear as she settles herself down in the comfy chair in front of and above me:

‘Ha! Ha! Master Derek say you nothing but a dirty slave! Ha! Ha! He clever man – he want me humiliate you! Ha! Ha! He buy me short nylon sock! He say I wear sock, then make you take off Chang-Ying shoe and smell Chang-Ying stinky, nylon sock from Chang-Ying pretty foot! Ha! Ha! You smell Chang-Ying stinky footsweat on sock! Then you take off Chang-Ying sock and put in mouth. Ha! Ha! You suck Chang-Ying nylon sock. You taste sock. Then you swallow sweat from Chang-Ying dirty, nylon sock! You swallow Chinese-girl footsweat hard! Ha! Ha! Derek say Chang-Ying make sweaty-sock meal just for slave! Ha! Ha! He a clever man! You thank master Derek and miss Chang-Ying for clever idea. You bless Chang-Ying. Miss Chang-Ying and master Derek a kind mistress and master – feed dirty slave with Chang-Ying sweaty, nylon sock! Ha! Ha! You praise Chang-Ying nylon sock while I take photo for master Derek, or I have you whip!’

Ah, so that explains it! At the cruel instigation of venomous master Derek on the fifth floor, miss Chang-Ying, the besotted office junior, has been wearing these un-footflattering, short, black nylon socks not just to garner her precious, oriental footsweat inside her high-heeled pumps, but in order to then deposit that very same footsweat from those thin, nylon socks into my slave-mouth and stomach for the delectation and amusement of her absent sugar-daddy; a kind of Chinese takeaway – sweet and sour, Chinese-girl, nylon-footsweat to go!

And did you notice how she had threatened to ‘have me whip’; not to whip me herself, but to ‘have me whip’ – by her ingenious, manly boyfriend, no doubt, if I fail to comply with their cruelly concocted, degrading treatment.

I study my freshly-prepared meal of spicy, oriental, dark-coloured-nylon short socks very closely as I verbally eulogise them, their owner, and their owner’s lover – as I have just been ordered to do by miss Chang-Ying – in an effort to avoid being whipped.

For I am an unmanly coward when it comes to whip-pain!

‘Oh pray mistress Chang-Ying, God bless you mistress Chang-Ying, and thank you and master Derek for being so kind and considerate to this humble, office footslave at your feet. Oh pray mistress Chang-Ying’s short, nylon socks, if it pleases you mistress Chang-Ying’s short nylon socks, truly this slave praises and blesses you both for collecting your most beautiful, Chinese mistress’s precious footsweat, and for retaining it in your very fabric so that this dirty, unworthy footslave may first smell, then savour, and then consume the glory of your sweat-laden essence, as a means of demonstrating his humble, footslavish respect for mistress Chang-Ying and her manly boyfriend, if you would be so kind mistress Chang-Ying’s sweaty, nylon socks.’

Miss Chang-Ying’s response is merely to laugh at me and mock me in Chinese. I don’t speak Chinese, but I can tell from her tone that her words are derisory and mocking, just as the cheating master Derek, even though I’m sure he doesn’t speak any Chinese, can probably tell that she is whispering sweet, Chinese nothings into his ear when she makes love to him in their hotel bedroom.

She then orders me in English to take off her shoes and start work! (I wonder when, or if, she plans to do any work herself today!)

I obediently slip her black, patent leather shoes off her dainty, nylon-covered feet and ankles, and proceed to sniff the toe and sole areas of her delicate, black nylon socklets as I know that they will likely be the sweatiest, smelliest, most flavoursome parts of my impending, Chinese-sock, takeaway meal.

I’m not wrong, and miss Chang-Ying laughs even louder as she observes my involuntary facial flinches in a startled reaction to the potency of her young-womanly foot odour. She takes out her digital camera and photographs my instant distress for the benefit of her middle-aged boyfriend.

And yet this is only the start of my nylon-socked abasement at her Chinese feet! After a few minutes of reluctant sniffing, I must peel the sweaty, black nylon material off miss Chang-Ying’s pretty, oriental feet and ankles, and place them both in my mouth.

They will have to fester in my mouth for several minutes, by way of demonstrating to my sweet and kind, young, Chinese mistress just how deliciously flavoursome the meal of sweaty, nylon sock, which she has so lovingly prepared for me inside her court shoes, really is, and how grateful I am towards her, and the master, for providing it for me! And, of course, to allow her to take pictures.

I think I now understand why she chose such delicate, finest-denier, nylon socklets for my Chinese Takeaway meal (or rather, her inventive, sugar-daddy boyfriend did), for they scrunch up nicely to become very tiny inside my slave-mouth, and it should therefore be much easier to squeeze all the foot juice out of them than it would be out of a pair of thick, black, cotton ankle socks.

So they are indeed, as miss Chang-Ying has just told me, quite a merciful master and mistress towards me. They don’t want to harm me, or risk me choking; they just want to humiliate me, and take pleasure in my nylon-socklet degradation.

They have succeeded. How miss Chang-Ying laughs at me as I avidly consume my humble, synthetic meal of her footsweaty-nylon!

Just wait until everyone around the office sees the photos and hears about this! I shall be the subject of much merriment and office gossip – slave Patheticus, the Chinese girl’s, black nylon-sock sucker!

The End