Kissing The Boots, Shoes and Socks of my Female Betters

I am employed as an ornamental footkisser in a large, female-dominated office in the centre of town.

I am obliged, under the Female Laws of the Gynarchy, to regard each and every one of my regular, office-mistress customers as being my infinite superior and better and, being a law-abiding slave, that’s exactly what I do!

Let me show you how, by describing some selected examples of my female betters as they utilize my decorative footkissing services on their arrival in the office (I am chained up, on my hands and knees, in the large and spacious, office lobby):

 

The young, blonde single mum – on the look-out for a real man

20 year old, blonde-haired mistress Candice is the office, front-desk receptionist – hence she must always be the first into work of a morning, to open things up.

She has a pleasing penchant for wearing skimpy and frilly, white blouses; smart, black slacks; matt black leather, chunky-heeled, single-strapped and round toed, mary-jane style, office shoes; and black anklesocks with snazzy, brightly coloured soles (pink; yellow; blue; purple or red).

Whilst she is standing imperiously over me with her dainty hands on her curvy, young-womanly hips, and her right foot outstretched on the ground in front of my kneeling, ornamental face for kissing just as soon as she comes through the main door, I regard her as my infinite superior and better for the following reasons:

• She is female, and I am but a male;
• At the age of 20 she is some 30 years my junior, and here in the Gynarchy we respect our youngers and betters; or, at least, you do if you are a humble, male slave;
• Being a single mum she has presumably had sex at some point, whereas I, being a mere slave, have not – and never will;
• She is tall and svelte – but has had a boob-job in order to try and attract a mate (we’re talking an alpha-male mate here, of course; not a sub-male like me; nevertheless, that’s not to say I can’t appreciate the physical attributes of a tall and shapely, young blonde woman with nice breasts peering through the top of her frilly, white blouse, as she towers masterfully over me!);
• She is completely self-obsessed – believing, quite rightly in my humble opinion, that she is the ‘bees-knees’;
• It is raining outside, and her mary-jane shoes are quite muddy and dirty along the chunky soles and insteps, having been splashed with muddy rainwater. It is not my job to tongueshine the young, office ladies’ shoes, as such, but I am, of course, expected to kiss their respectfully footwear on the dirtiest parts;
• I like miss Candice’s attitude towards me – she totally despises me, and can’t even bring herself to talk down to me; not even just to order me to kiss a particularly dirty area of her black leather, mary-jane shoes, or her black and pink anklesocks (today she has black socks with pink soles on her pretty, white feet – I can just see a tiny slither of pink cotton running along her shapely instep inside her warm, chunky, black shoe below the black leather shoeline, and that is only due to the fact that her pink and black sock is fetchingly creased and wonky inside her shoe; only the black upper of the sock is supposed to be visible to the outside world!)
• Rather than talk to me, goddess-miss Candice prefers to chew gum and twiddle with her blonde locks whilst I pay oral homage to her chunky footwear. I suppose you could say, therefore, that she is a bit of a ‘dumb blonde’ – certainly in her dealings with me! Oh how I would dearly love for mistress Candice to verbally order me to kiss the lower pink area of her sock in her irritatingly squeaky, young-womanly, dominant voice (I’ve overheard her voice whilst she is conversing with others whom she regards as proper human-brings worth talking to) for I know that must be the warmest and sweatiest part of her otherwise plain black, office anklesock – even this early in the morning! But she won’t. As I’ve already explained, miss Candice regards me as being nothing more than a dumb piece of furniture beneath her feet; a footkissing ornament, fit only to kiss the muddy, rainwater-stained outsides of her strappy, mary-jane shoes, and the mud-splattered black uppers of her anklesocks, without the need for any verbal instruction or a one-way conversation with me on her part – which is fair enough, given that I am indeed nothing more than a decorative, ornamental footkisser in the office lobby where she works!
• And so I respect the blackness of blonde mistress Candice’s anklesocks, and leave the inviting, pink soles well alone; I can look at, but not touch them, with my lips. As with the yellow soles; and the blue soles; and the purple soles; and the red soles of her other black, office socks, whenever she wears them in my humble, footkissing presence (I think she must have bought her socks in a multipack – they all look to be exactly the same make and style, apart from the different coloured soles!)
• Yes, the black of her sock is good enough for the likes of me, along with the mud-stained, black leather of her chunky, sock-revealing, office, mary-jane shoes. I must leave the rest of her to her alpha-male suitors for, as we all know, true gentlemen prefer blondes!

 

The fat, lazy, middle-aged Indian woman

Next to avail herself this morning of my ornamental foot-homage is 40-something mistress Sushma. Mistress Sushma is of Indian origins, and still speaks with an Indian accent, even though she has lived in the Gynarchy for some 20 years now (almost as long as I have been chained up in this very spot as an ornamental footkisser!).

I admire and respect mistress Sushma for the following reasons:

• She is somewhat overweight – a sign of superiority and social-standing in the Gynarchy, since it often indicates a sedentary and self-indulgent lifestyle (put it this way, you won’t find many fat slaves in the Gynarchy!)
• Mistress Sushma, you see, is incredibly lazy – never lifting a finger to help her fellow female work colleagues; only doing the bare minimum amount of work she can get away with; literally not pulling her weight! And rightly so – for she is a superior woman who can do whatever she likes, even if it does annoy her female work-colleagues from time to time and puts extra burdens on them!
• She is still very beautiful, though she is fighting not just to control her weight, but also with the signs of aging; she dyes her hair jet-black to hide the grey around her pretty, Indian temples;
• Unlike miss Candice before her, mistress Sushma is not averse to barking down crystal clear orders at me in her sweet, Indian accent:

‘Slave, be kissing my dirty boot; be kissing it on the instep this instant; Not there!...On the zipper, you stupid slave! Are you being a complete nincompoop, you dirty, lazy footslave? How dare you be avoiding the dirty zip on the side of my boot! You damned, impertinent imbecile! Tch!’

• Mistress Sushma knows I can’t answer her back, for I am just an ornamental footslave; forbidden to speak; but bidden to kiss Indian-female boot;
• And, I must not-say, mistress Sushma’s familiar, black heeled, chisel-toed, black leather, zip-up ankleboots are particularly worthy of my ornamental-footslavish attention – well-worn and scuff-marked, they are literally moulded to the individual shape of mistress Sushma’s Indian feet, the wrinkles and creases in her black ankleboot leather mirroring the leathery wrinkles in her middle-aged, Indian footskin. At least, I’m assuming her brown, Indian feet, being in their mid to late forties, are showing some signs of aging deep inside her ubiquitous, black leathery ankleboots, but I have never actually seen her bare, Indian footflesh. The most I can ever hope for, when it comes to fat and indolent mistress Sushma, is a furtive glimpse of her soft-brown legskin above her dark, navy-blue cotton, bootsock-top – though most mornings, as today, her black, office, bootcut trouser-hems frustratingly hide the very tops of her ankleboots, and by extension the tops of her navy-blue socks, from my ornamental-footslave view;
• As well they might be – for I am not worthy to kiss mistress Sushma’s inner socks – only her outer bootdirt, stuck to the zipper area on the side of her muddy and scuffmarked, office boot. Truly she is my indolent better, not even being bothered to have her boots polished, and it is my job, as the hard-working, office ornamental-footkisser, to respectfully kiss those unpolished, Indian-woman ankleboots, merely imagining the condition of her feet and socks inside her boots as I do so.

 

The Ex-Con

I respect and admire my next customer-mistress, 22 year old brunette, greasy-haired and pockmarked mistress Gabby ( reputedly one of the lowest paid girls in the office as she doesn’t have any formal academic qualifications and is doing some sort of apprenticeship following a prolonged spell in Female Jail) precisely because she is none too fastidious about her personal appearance.

Miss Gabby always looks decidedly scruffy at work – preferring cheap, black, shiny tracksuit-bottoms with a thick, red stripe down the sides to smart, black, officewear, trouser-suit slacks like miss Candice’s or mistress Sushma’s, and manky-looking, plain, black leather ballet-flats with even mankier-looking plain black socks on her tattooed, young-womanly feet.

Specifically, I admire her for the following reasons:

• She doesn’t seem to care what other people think about her appearance – not even her female managers;
• She gets on quite well with the office receptionist, miss Candice, even though her personality is quite different;
• She is, from my humble viewpoint, a very attractive, young woman , despite – or perhaps because of – her unkempt, outward form; I like her rough-diamond exterior!
• Her manky, black socks are particularly alluring – for a pathetic, permanently kneeling, ornamental footkisser like myself; ultra-short (too short, indeed, for her ballet flats, as they are so-called ‘sneaker-style’ socks – designed to be hidden away, in secret, inside a lady’s hot and sweaty sneakers where they will absorb her precious footsweat for her personal footslave to savour after her run in the park, and not really designed for wear with office ballet-flats where the ‘secret sock’ material is actually fully visible above the rounded toe areas and beneath the drawstringed-hems of her black and red tracksuit bottoms!); bobbled and pilled – through repeated wear and tear; mud-stained (thanks to the muddy rainwater outside on the streets); and almost certainly the exact same pair of socks she had on yesterday!
• In fact…yes…I can just see that little, tell-tale loose stitch at the top of one of her socks which confirms these are indeed the exact same pair of socks miss Gabby had on yesterday – though I do believe that damaged sock may have been on her other foot, her left foot, when I attended to it yesterday morning? No matter, nobody else will have noticed that she isn’t wearing a fresh pair of black socks, for nobody else will have observed that loose stitching (they have better things to focus on) – and miss Gabby certainly won’t give a damn that I have noticed she is wearing the exact same pair of unwashed, short, black, bobbled sneaker-socks as she had on yesterday (for I can guarantee you from the aroma of miss Gabby’s socks that they haven’t been washed and freshened in the interim period – though she must have taken them off at some point if they are now on opposite feet!)
• I also admire miss Gabby’s distinctive, and very fetching, aforementioned ankle-tattoo on the outside of her right foot; it consists of a single, red rose, with the name of one of her many boyfriends – master Darren – weaved through it, though I understand she has since split up with him. Nevertheless, it is very romantic, and she has me kiss it, every so often, as a demonstration of my respect both for her and for her former boyfriend, whom I have never met;
• Gobby miss Gabby is a prolific ‘orderer’; like fat and lazy mistress Sushma before her she likes nothing more than to arrogantly bark down her orders at me – though in much less ladylike language, and with a goodly amount of foul language, which I can’t bring myself to repeat, being just a rough-diamond girl’s dumb, ornamental, foot-and-ankle-tattoo kisser:

‘Kiss me along the top of my f***ing sock, f***wit slave, yeah? Don’t touch my f***ing shoe yet! Now kiss the heel of my f***ing ballet-flat, yeah? Now kiss the f***ing sole; now kiss the side of my ankle-tattoo, yeah? Kiss it 12 f***ing times, yeah? Now f**k off, slave!’

• I like the way the gobby miss Gabby orders me to ‘f***k off’ when I have finished kissing her red rose ankle-tattoo, for she knows full well that it is a physical impossibility for me to move away from this spot, and that she will have to be the one to move! Not that I would ever dream of telling her to f**k off!
• No – to kiss a gobby, young, greasy-haired and pockmark-faced former-jailbird girl’s manky old, street-soiled, black-leather ballet flats; her bobbled and pilled, short black cotton sneaker-sock tops; and her chavvy, decorative ankle-tattoo on her unwashed, right foot – all this is truly an honour and a privilege for a dumb-ass, middle-aged, ornamental footkisser like myself, and I must never forget it!

She leaves me with the feel of her ankle-tattoo still on my lips in order to hook up with her receptionist friend at the front-desk, miss Candice, and to catch up on all their mutual, girly-type gossip.

 

The Female Boss

I don’t much like nylons on a lady’s feet – they stink, and not in a nice way, but in a nasty way. Synthetic nylon tights or stockings seem to react with an office-lady’s natural foot bacteria – not allowing her feet to breathe properly, and trapping her sweet feminine foot-perspiration on their dark-nylon, artificial surfaces, as opposed to properly absorbing it like the cotton material in a female sock – as nature intended.

Even miss Gabby’s two-day-old, black cotton sneaker socks didn’t smell too bad on her greasy, unwashed, ex-jailbird feet – but my next customer-mistress’s two-day-old nylons are quite stinkily overpowering!

But, I suppose that’s just one of the many day-to-day hazards of being an office, ornamental foot-kisser – stinky, nyloned feet!

Flame haired, fiery-tempered, and naturally bossy Irish office-manageress mistress Siobhán likes to wear nylons with her smart, navy-blue, high-heeled court shoes – dark-coloured nylons. She is only in her mid thirties, but is already one of the senior board members. They say she has slept her way to the top (for some of the top executives in this otherwise female-dominated company are alpha males) and owes a lot of her success to her power-dressing (short, grey-pinstriped skirts and revealing blouses), but I personally think she has got where she has today through her raw talent – just as I am where I am today, kneeling on the dirty floor of the office lobby kissing the feet of my female masters and betters, through my complete lack of any skill or talent!

But, highly talented or no, I also have to admire manager-mistress Siobhán for the following, additional reasons:

• She is full of herself, and very abrupt and rude – which is good in a mistress (though it does not, perhaps, endear her to those whom she has trampled over to get to the top!);
• She is not shy about imposing her stinky, black nylons on my footslave nose and face;
• In fact, she will often, deliberately, slip her nylon-stockinged feet out of her stylish, designer, navy-blue, court shoes in order that I may kiss the sweaty, moist, reinforced toe areas of her dirty, unwashed nylons. That inevitably, of course, also entails smelling them on my part – since I can hardly kiss them without inhaling them, even though my formal job is merely to kiss and not to sniff! I mean, I can’t exactly stop breathing whilst I am kissing bossy, nylon toes!
• I admire and respect miss Siobhán all the more because I know that, unlike miss Gabby before her, miss Siobhán isn’t wearing her hosiery for two days in a row because she is poorly-paid and can’t afford to buy too many pairs, but purely because she is evil – and she likes to impose her sweaty nylons on the prone and helpless office, ornamental footkisser. It gives her an additional power-kick of a morning; boosts her not inconsiderable ego even further; makes her feel superior and cruel. And she likes all that; she likes being feared and imposing her will upon others – just as I like being her sweaty-nylon-stocking victim against all my natural, sock-leaning instincts!
• Miss Siobhán knows I can only dream about the upper regions of her nylon stocking-tops – up there beneath the hem of her short, grey-pinstriped, office-manageress skirt – for her dark-nyloned thighs are well out of bounds to a mere beta-male like me! Only her beloved alpha males get to go there! My sub-male face must remain humbly bowed over the lowest, meanest and stinkiest parts of her nylons – the toe areas. That’s what tickles her fancy (and mine, if truth be told)!
• She also, being a loudmouthed, fiery redhead – used to giving orders and to being obeyed – likes to humiliate me in public, by shouting at me; by criticising my work; and by routinely scolding me in her thick, Irish accent:

‘KISS MY NYLONS HARDER, DIRTY SLAVE!... REALLY PUT YOUR UGLY, SLAVE MOUTH INTO IT! GO ON…THAT’S RIGHT!... KISS ALL OVER THE DARK AREA AT THE TOP OF MY TOES, YOU PATHETIC, WOMEN’S FOOTKISSER! HA! HA! …BURY YOUR NOSE IN MY STINKY, NYLON TOE-CLEAVAGE AND INHALE MY PERSONAL FOOTSMELL WHILE YOU’RE KISSING THE LOWEST PARTS OF MY STOCKINGS! HA! HA!... WHAT A SAD LOSER! WHAT A DEAD LOSS!... EEJIT! HA! HA!... COME ON – SNIFF HARDER!... HARDER I SAID!’

• Everyone else in the lobby is laughing at me, including a few of the alpha-male executives who are waiting in the lobby for the lift to the top floor. They have to give her her due – for, for all her faults, miss Siobhán sure knows how to boss a helpless, ornamental footslave about!

So there you have it! Four shining examples of superior femininity for me to humbly footkiss – and it’s still only a quarter to eight in the morning! The bulk of the office ladies haven’t even arrived at work yet – these are just the early birds who need to get away earlier than usual, for one reason or another, later this Friday afternoon at the start of their well-earned rest days.

I hope you’ve enjoyed watching me being degraded and humiliated, and have come to share my admiration for my female, office betters!

The (week)end

Actually, that’s not quite the end of my story! I have a fifth outstanding example of superior womanhood whose honour and privilege it is mine to serve:

 

The Cambodian Cleaning Lady

I, of course, shall be going nowhere over the weekend. Even though the office will officially be closed, there are still the feet of the office cleaners to be kissed on Saturday morning – particularly the cheap, flat, shiny black plastic, slip-on shoes and bright blue towelling socks of 25 year old, Cambodian mistress, goddess-mistress Phhoung, my favourite cleaner, since she kindly mops up all the dirty footmarks left by the other office ladies during the working week on the floor of the lobby beneath my confined and kneeling face!

But more than that, sweet and kind, blue-shiny-pinafored miss Phhoung actually deigns to let me nuzzle her ubiquitous, bright blue towelling socks as I am kissing her cheap, black, slip-on shoes – an honour and a privilege not often bestowed upon me by superior, young women.

And miss Phhoung actually speaks to me! I don’t mean that she just barks down her footkissing and sock-nuzzling orders at me like some of the other office ladies (though she does that as well); I mean, she actually has a civil conversation with me – asking me, in her cute, oriental accent and broken English, things like:

‘How you today, slave? You well? You miss Phhoung shoes and socks all week? Ha! Ha! You want nuzzle socks again? Ha! Ha!... You a weakling. You a dog. I better than you! Ha! Ha!’

And what’s more – despite my being an officially dumb ornamental footkisser – she actually permits me to respond to her Cambodian-female goading in humble slavespeak. And during the weekend miss Phhoung is perfectly at liberty to do with me as she pleases – for none of the office bosses are around.

She’s the boss!

I therefore humbly humour her as she leans on her mop, her cheap, black plastic shoes and bright blue towelling socks standing their ground in front of my kneeling face:

‘Oh pray mistress Phhoung; God bless you mistress Phhoung; Oh yes, mistress Phhoung! Yes indeed! Oh please permit me to nuzzle your soft, blue socks while you are wearing them, mistress Phhoung, if it would be so pleasing to you most kind and beautiful cleaning-mistress Phhoung! I have missed them so much, sweet and caring mistress Phhoung. Oh your socks, mistress! Your socks!’

And so my humble work goes on. Whilst the nine-to-five, Monday to Friday office mistresses relax at home on their much deserved, weekend breaks with their alpha-male husbands or boyfriends, I continue with my never-ending, sub-male work of kissing and admiring superior, female feet and footwear – never off duty; always ready to serve and obey, by kissing and worshipping the dirty boots, shoes and socks of my self-evident, female betters – whatever their station in life.

The (never)end