The Doorstopper-Slave
I am a humble doorstopper-slave.
There are literally tens of thousands of us employed throughout the Gynarchy. We are so-called because we are positioned beside doors – mainly doors in public buildings – at which ladies stop to have their feet kissed before they enter or leave the building or room concerned.
We are very much regarded as inanimate objects – since we are never allowed to move or talk; and our faces are distorted by ladies’ nylon stockings which we must wear constantly over our maleslave heads in order to hide and distort our ugly, male features.
In other circumstances we might resemble bank-robbers in our nylon-stocking masks, but there are one or two subtle differences:
1) The nylon stockings which we are obliged to cover our ugly, male features with are all used, and unwashed – so that our faces smell of ladies’ legs and feet;
2) There are holes in the nylon stockings over our mouths and noses so that we can smell, and perhaps even more importantly kiss, the outer footwear of whichever lady has stopped by the doorstopper-slave, without our footslave-senses being impeded by the thin, nylon material of the used stocking material over our faces;
3) Nobody feels frightened or intimidated by us. The confinement of our faces in feminine nylon is a sign of our male-slavish weakness; not of freemale aggression.
You will note that, despite the apertures for our noses and mouths, our eyes and ears remain covered by stinky, sweaty nylon. That’s because the Female Authorities think we can still see well enough through the nylon mesh to be able to lower our lips to the correct part of the lady’s footwear – always the toe area, or, if she is wearing peep-toe or toeless sandals, the strap nearest to the toe area (we doorstopper-slaves are not considered worthy to kiss actual feminine toes – not even if they are themselves covered in nylon stocking, or cotton sock. We are strictly confined to worshipping ladies’ outer footwear!)
Similarly, we don’t need to be able to hear, as the ladies have no need to give us verbal orders. It is patently obvious what the stupid, male doorstopper-slave is required to do when a lady stops beside him and arrogantly stretches forth her foot beneath his kneeling and confined, floor-level face – even if she isn’t wearing patent leather shoes. He must kiss the proffered, female, outer footwear in time-honoured footslave-fashion.
I have described the lady’s action in stopping to have her foot kissed as ‘arrogant’, but actually it is no such thing. She will almost certainly be doing it subconsciously, as we doorstopper-slaves are regarded as just being a part of the furniture. We are nothing – not worth even thinking about, not even in an arrogant manner. We are just something that happens as you enter or leave a room or a public building in the Gynarchy, if you are female. You stop, you stretch forward your right foot; it is respectfully kissed; you withdraw it; you replace it with your left foot; it too is humbly kissed; and you walk off.
That’s all there is to it! No wonder we doorstopper-slaves are despised and regarded as footslave-nonentities. Our job is so simple, it doesn’t even require any verbal instructions from the lady! A trained animal could do it!
I myself am located at the front-door entrance to an all-night café, and have been for over 25 years. I have therefore, quite literally, seen them all come and go – the ladies, that is. Many of them are regular customers whom I recognise just from their feet and footwear. They wouldn’t recognise me – of course; I’m just a nylon-masked nonentity of a dumb doorstopper-footslave. I am a total insignificance in their superior lives; but their feet and footwear loom large in my life.
Would you like to watch me at work for the next few minutes as I serve the footwear of the female customers? You can observe me as I humbly and gratefully welcome them in, and then respectfully bid them farewell – all without moving my lips. Or, rather, without moving my lips to utter a sound; I do, of course, move my lips in order to touch the dirty toe areas of the female customers’ pretty shoes and boots – as you will soon see.
Come on; stay and watch for a few moments! It might give you a clearer idea of how utterly inconsequential I am to female society!
Thick, Black Ugg Boots (IN)
The first customer to enter the café this evening is one of the regulars – miss Paramita. I recognise her from her distinctive footwear – thick, black, calf-length, shapeless, sheepskin Ugg-boots, pulled over a pair of skinny, black jeans. Not that miss Paramita always wears her black Ugg boots; quite often she wears her pink and black sneakers, or her plain, black ballet-flats, instead.
Always tight jeans, though; and always black. She likes black – and I can be reasonably confident that she will be wearing black socks inside her Ugg boots, as she always seems to wear black socks with her sneakers or ballet-flats.
I’m guessing she may be the black-sheepskin-booted, black sheep of her family, for although she is an Asian girl she seems quite rebellious by nature.
She is Indian, I believe. I believe that not just because of her name, but because I have overheard her speaking with a pronounced, Indian accent. Not to me, of course! But to other customers and staff inside the café. I also suspect she is Indian because I sometimes catch a tantalizing glimpse of her soft, brown Indian ankleskin whenever she is wearing her ballet-flats or sneakers – especially if she is wearing short, anklebone-revealing, sneaker-style socks.
But today, of course, her thick, black Ugg boots are well and truly hiding her shapely, Indian anklebones, and I must make do with admiring the broad, rounded, toe areas at the front of, and the misshapen heel areas at the back of, her un-footflattering, black sheepskin Ugg boots.
I must admire them quickly, for I only have a split second to study each thick, rounded boot-toe as miss Paramita superciliously stretches forward first her right Ugg boot, then her left, underneath my nyloned-nose for kissing as she enters the café.
I quickly spot the traces of offending streetdirt on the rounded toe areas of her sheepskin boots, and lower my lips to those dirt traces. For dirt attracts dirt - and I am dirt.
My interaction with miss Paramita takes all of two seconds, and then she has gone – gone into the café and up to the counter to order her refreshments, leaving me without a second thought, and with just the lingering taste of Indian-girl, dirty, black-sheepskin boot on my lips.
But it is such an honour for me to be on my knees in the dirt and greeting such a superior and haughty, young Indian woman on her arrival in the café, and I shall also have the inestimable honour of kissing her uggly boots as she exits the café – probably in about 15 minutes or so after she has finished her cup of tea and her bun.
I shall try to kiss a slightly different area of dirt on her highly respected, respective boot-toes whilst she egresses, just to demonstrate my utter devotion to the rebellious, Indian mistress and her common bootdirt – not that she is likely to even notice. I’m just a thing beside the door, and beneath her feet ,which kisses her dirty boots.
I’m just the doorstopper!
Soft, Black Ballet-Flats (IN)
The next young woman through the door tonight is another regular – miss Lena; a very pretty, East European, girl with dyed-red hair who always seems to wear black leather ballet-flats with pretty, lace bows on the toe areas, on her otherwise bare feet.
She works in one of the nearby offices, but I must confess it is quite unusual to see her this late in the evening in the café. I would normally expect to see her here earlier in the day during office hours – mid afternoon perhaps.
Strange!
Anyway, whatever the time of day or night Miss Lena never seems to wear socks or nylons with her ballet-flat shoes. She is always barefoot – which is a bit odd because her feet are not exactly her best features; pasty white, with long, blue prominent veins, and quite thick and unshapely ankles. I can’t help thinking that she might do better to wear socks with her ballet-flats – even short, plain, black socks like miss Paramita, just in order to hide some of her foot-imperfections, and beautify her soft, feminine footwear still further!
Mind you, I’m not complaining that she likes to go barefoot, for – although, as I explained earlier, I am not permitted to kiss female sock or stocking let alone bare, female footflesh – it does mean that I normally get a delicious whiff of miss Lena’s bare, raw footstink every time I lower my lips to the decorative lace-bows on the toe areas of her black leather ballet-flats. The poor redhead’s feet perspire something rotten inside her soft, leather ballet-flats, and I am always very much enamoured by the warm, cheesy smell of sweet, feminine foot-odour mixed in with moist and musty, feminine shoeleather. Lucky then, that my doorstopper-slave nose is unimpeded by the nylon covering the rest of my face!
Also, I like watching her prominent, blue foot veins twitch in reaction to my respectful kisses to her scuff-marked, ballet-flat toes – even though I am not permitted to touch the veins themselves with my mouth. They are much too important arteries for the likes of my mouth!
Socks or tights would, of course, hide such foot-movements from my already nylon-impeded view, were miss Lena to be wearing them. So, in a way, I’m glad that she never wears hosiery!
A quick kiss to the right foot; a quick kiss to the left foot – and she’s gone; up to the café counter like the Indian girl before her, to be served in other less demeaning ways.
You can’t kiss quicker than a quick footkisser. That should be my humble motto!
Brown Cowboy boots; Pink, Frilly Bootsocks (IN)
Next to stop by the entrance to the café is a new customer-mistress whose footwear I have never encountered before – possibly a tourist. She is accompanied by a man, her boyfriend or husband perhaps? The happy couple, who both look to be in their mid to late twenties, automatically stop by the door, but I’m not obliged to kiss his feet – only hers.
Thank goodness!
The young, dark-haired, white woman is wearing a brown, leather jacket; a pretty, pink, kneelength dress; and calf-length, brown leather, heavily-stitched, low-heeled cowboy boots.
As I go down on her now imperiously-outstretched right boot at the door entrance I espy the lacy top of a pink, frilly bootsock deep inside the V-shaped rim of the young woman’s cowboy-boot. It is clearly not a sock designed to be worn inside a boot, since such socks are intended to fill out the feminine ankle, and to be fully on display – not tucked away and squashed up deep inside a lady’s dusty and dirty boot!
But the sock is really none of my damn business! I am here to kiss the chiselled toe of her right boot, not to question the cowgirl’s choice of sockwear!
Still, squashed or not, it’s nice to know that such a soft and feminine, pink anklesock with a frilly trim is being worn inside such a strong and powerful-looking female boot whilst I am kissing it. The sock reminds me that I am a girl’s slave; kissing a girl’s dirty and dusty cowboy-boot toe; over a girl’s frilly, pink sock!
A cowgirl!
How her young man must despise me!
Worthy of note is that the frilly, pink sock on her left foot is scarcely visible, so far has it slipped down the young woman’s shapely, white anklebone inside her brown leather cowboy boot.
I’ll bet she orders a burger!
Thick, Black Ugg Boots (OUT)
No sooner have the cowgirl and her manly boyfriend made their way over to the counter than miss Paramita’s black-sheepskin Ugg boot is once again pressed under my busy nose. She is now exiting the café, and I dutifully divest her of yet more of her Ugg-boot dirt as I deliberately place my lips onto a dirt stain on the thick, rounded toe area of her right boot which was previously left untouched by my mouth.
As soon as her left boot has also been presented and kissed, she shouts goodbye to the café staff behind her, but her warm words are not directed at me, of course. She doesn’t know – or even care – who I am. I’m just some middle-aged, doorstopper-dork whose mouth now contains traces of her bootdirt. Why would miss Paramita – the rebellious, young Indian woman – give me a second thought?
Smart, Navy-Blue Courts with 2-inch heels; Dark-coloured Nylons (IN)
The next superior, young woman to grace me with her foot-presence this evening is auburn-haired mistress Inga – another regular. In fact mistress Inga has been coming to this café on a daily basis throughout the 25 years or so that I have been stationed at the entrance.
She is now in her mid forties, but still a very attractive, young(ish) Czech woman – and I know from eavesdropping on her conversations in the small café just how many exciting things have happened to her over the past 25 years; marriage; divorce; marriage again; three daughters (one of whom, reputedly, was the result of an illicit affair – nothing to do with either of her two husbands – and whom she has successfully kept as a secret from her husbands); richly deserved promotion at work as a result of sleeping around with her various, freemale bosses over the years; a move to a much larger house about 3 years ago, albeit, thankfully, located in the same area (otherwise I would have never seen her feet again!); and many, many exotic foreign holidays which she just loves telling her friends in the café all about.
During all this time my own dull life, of course, has gone nowhere since I am permanently chained up as a doorstopper-slave in mistress Inga’s local caff!
However, I have at least gotten to pay my humble respects over the years to the feet and footwear of a superior, human being whose lifestyle is always enviable and who is clearly going somewhere – to mistress Inga’s many different pairs of sneakers, boots and shoes. And I have also gotten to admire her many different pairs of socks, stockings and tights close-up as I kiss her divine, feminine feet – day after day; week after week; year after year. So my life has not been a total waste!
This evening mistress Inga is wearing a stylish pair of two-inch heeled, navy-blue courts over a pair of dark, finest denier, nylon popsocks along with her smart, grey, pinstriped trouser suit. She looks every inch the successful businesswoman which I believe her to be.
I’m only guessing that the dark nylons are knee-high popsocks or ‘trouser socks’, since a lady wouldn’t need to wear full-length hose beneath a pair of trousers like these.
The stylishly turned-up hems of mistress Inga’s grey-pinstriped trousers flap around her middle-aged ankles as she positions each businesswoman foot, one after the other, beneath my face for kissing. She is not even watching me, however, for she has spotted her friend – Lena – already seated in the café. In fact, I believe that miss Lena may actually be one of mistress Inga’s employees, so it must be a pre-planned, after-work rendezvous of some sort.
Whatever, my role in the out-of-hours business meeting is merely to kiss feet, and so I humbly and respectfully pay homage with my mouth to the pointy toe-ends of each of mistress Inga’s navy-blue courts in turn – all the while admiring the tiny creases and folds in the ‘out of bounds’, dark nylon material of her popsocks covering her slightly podgy, middle-aged feet and anklebones.
Mistress Inga’s feet are also quite ‘veiny-looking’ underneath that dark nylon, rather like those of her younger colleague, miss Lena! But I’m not going to hold that against them. In fact, I only wish I could hold my face against them, for they must surely feel nice, coated as they are in such fine quality nylon!
I only wish the stinky nylon covering my face was of such high quality!
Brown Cowboy boots; Pink, Frilly Bootsocks (OUT)
Miss cowboy boots and her boyfriend are not staying, it seems. The couple make to exit the café carrying their greasy, takeaway burgers in their hands. I can smell the delicious, hot food as I once again admire the incongruously lacy-pink anklesock-tops deep inside the tourist-mistress’s brown leather cowgirl-boots as I kiss the latter on their departure. Although the cowgirl-mistress deliberately stops to have her boots kissed in turn as she exits the door, she doesn’t stop chatting to her boyfriend about their plans for the rest of the evening.
So she isn’t really watching what I am doing. She only has eyes and ears for her manly boyfriend – and rightly so.
As I watch her still dusty, low-heeled, brown leather cowboy-boots leave the café I feel sad. Her tough brown boots, and pink frilly socks, have probably disappeared out of my life forever!
Socks and boots that pass in the night!
-----------------------------------------------------------------
And so it goes on – I kiss them all in, and I kiss them all out again. Sorry I can’t make my doorstopper-slave life sound any more exciting, but that really is all there is to it! I kiss ladies’ shoes and boots, and hanker after ladies’ socks and nylons.
You’re welcome to stay longer if you wish, and perhaps you will even get to see me kissing mistress Lena’s veiny, bare, white feet and mistress Inga’s equally veiny, but nylon-covered, feet when they eventually leave the café (or rather you can watch me humbly kissing their respective shoes).
It really is rather curious – that particular rendezvous. Why on earth would a successful businesswoman like mistress Inga want to meet up with a junior employee like miss Lena in the local café?
What’s that you say? Oh, she’s rumoured to be her illegitimate daughter, as well as her employee!
Oh, I see! That would explain a lot. It certainly has a vein of truth about it!
