Malled

The streets of our fair Gynarchy can be incredibly dirty – dusty in the summertime; leaf-strewn in the autumn; muddy during wintertime. Even in springtime they can be a bit frosty or dewy. Which is why the female owners of a major shopping mall in the centre of town employ me as a courtesy shoe and boot scraper at the entrance to their prestigious mall – they like to keep their corridors clean for the lady-customers and their freemale companions to walk on.

The mall I work in may be prestigious, but I myself am anything but. I’m just a dirty footslave – buried on my back in the entrance hallway of the shopping mall with only my ugly, male face exposed, so that each and every customer-lady who wishes to avail herself of my humble, shoe-scraping services can utilize my exposed facial features for free. In particular, they can use my nose, eyebrows and mouth to divest the soles of their pretty, feminine shoes or boots of their street dirt and grime as they happily and excitedly enter, or exit, the female shopping mall.

Of course, my face quickly becomes covered in ladies’ boot and shoe mud, and so it is customary for each esteemed lady-customer to first crouch down and clean my face with her spit, prior to rubbing her own dirty boot or shoe soles over my ugly, male face. So my face is repeatedly covered with a mixture of female spit and dirt.

No wonder I am despised by everyone whose footwear I meet and greet!

Would you like to stay and watch me at work for a while?...

 

Coldly Snotty

It is the Autumn, and raining outside, so the next lady-customer to use me, like so many before her today, has wet and leafy bootsoles. She also looks incredibly snooty from down below, thanks largely to her rather pointy, upper-crust nose – but she could well be a commoner for all I know!

Pretty with it, though, it has to be said – white; blonde; early to mid thirties; slim and svelte; and I do like the fact that she is wearing a navy-blue, above-the-knee skirt and tan-coloured nylons with her brown leather, knee-high, chunky-heeled, zip-up boots. So many young women insist on wearing trousers or jeans nowadays, that it’s actually quite rare to catch a glimpse of soft, nylon-stockinged thigh towering over one!

Did I mention that, in addition to being a common-or-garden, facial bootscraper, I also double up as a welcome/greeting mat? I’m not allowed to speak, of course, but my slave-forehead has the word ‘Welcome’ inscribed on it in one direction; and the words ‘Thank you for shopping’ on the other. I am, pathetically, quite proud of my role in welcoming, and thanking, the superior customer-mistresses of my female employers’ shopping mall.

It’s a very responsible role for a slave – especially welcoming lady-shoppers to the mall and cleaning the dirty soles of their shoes and boots at the same time. My role on their departure from the mall is, admittedly, much less arduous or important, since their shoe or bootsoles should have remained relatively clean after they have been walking around the pristine corridors of the shopping mall for several hours!

That’s why my employers insist that I primarily maintain an inane welcoming expression on my gormless, footslave face at all times – so that the arriving lady-customers can see that I am privileged and honoured to welcome them in such a humble way to our shopping mall, and for gracing our mall with their, hopefully, pecuniarily profligate presence!

So my expression of inane hospitality must never change – not even when a lady’s expensive, designer-spiked heels leave my face in abject misery and pain. The expressions on my lady-customers’ faces as they use me can be very varied, however – ranging from outright joy and pleasure, through superciliousness and arrogance, to downright disgust and contempt.

I would definitely place the current, blonde-haired, brown-leather-kneebooted, customer-mistress in the ‘supercilious’ category. As she crouches down and puckers up her pretty, red-lipstick-covered lips in order to expel her dirty saliva onto my face and wash away the residual shoedirt from my previous customer, I can see right up her snooty, snot-filled nose. Her spit also seems unusually thick and green as it emerges from her mouth. Evidently a young woman suffering from a headcold!

I am blessed to partake of her female germs!

She could, of course, do what many of my other lady-customers do, and have her boyfriend or husband spit-clean my face for her, if she wants to avoid getting any of her own mucus on her stiletto-heeled bootsoles when she subsequently wipes the bottoms of her expensive-looking kneeboots across my germy face – except that this young woman appears to be out shopping alone today.

Perhaps, if she is as rich as I think she is, she should employ a butler to spit on me!

She has stylish, shoulder-length hair which bobs around her pointy, upper-crust face as she expels her seasonally-diseased sputum onto my face. It takes several goes for her to generate enough mucous-laden spit to wash away the old dirt from my face (for my last lady-customer had been wearing a particularly muddy pair of shiny pink rubber, wellington boots!) prior to replacing it with the fresh dirt from her own, spike-heeled, brown leather bootsoles.

I brace myself as, having spit-washed my imprisoned face, she straightens up again in order to ready herself for some haughty, facial bootscrubbing. These spiky, kneehigh boots look ultra-expensive and sharp, and even though the young woman herself looks quite light and delicate, bitter footslave-experience tells me that such pointy boots will hurt enormously on my face.

Still, I keep my inane, welcoming expression on my upturned face – not a smile, as such; smiling is prohibited by law to male slaves in the Gynarchy, since it conveys contentment and slaves must be constantly made to feel miserable! It is more an expression of respectful submissiveness – an expression of humility and resignation which indicates a readiness to serve and to suffer beneath the booted feet of one’s female betters.

The female authorities have helpfully installed a bar which the lady-customer can hold onto above me in order to steady herself and gain good purchase on my face as she scrapes each booted foot in turn over my face.

I watch with internal, but well-hidden, horror and fear as the snooty, snotty, blonde-haired girl’s metal-tipped, spikey, right bootheel raises slowly up into the air and then descends down equally slowly onto my prone and vulnerable face. It looms increasingly larger as it descends until, eventually, her dirty bootsole – covered in autumnal mud and wet, dead leaves – seems to block out my view entirely, denying me a furtive upskirt view of the young lady’s nylon-stocking-covered, inner thighs!

Just before her right bootsole makes contact with my face I get to observe the full texture of the female streetdirt and muck stuck to the sole of her upper-crust, brown leather boot. As with my previous pink-rubber-booted mistress there are copious amounts of dirt and filth, but nothing too horrendous or unmentionable – just wet mud, rainwater, dead foliage and twigs from the muddy grass she must have been walking in on her way to the mall.

Some ladies’ boots and shoes are literally caked in mud when they make use of me! I’m convinced they must deliberately muddy-up their shoes before using me – such copious amounts of dirt just aren’t natural! But I sense that this particular hoity-toity and stuck-up, young, blonde woman has genuinely unwanted street and park detritus on her bootsoles, as most of it seems to be naturally concentrated on the area around her spiked boot-heel – as one would expect, since there are always several nooks and crannies around a lady’s boot or shoe heel where unwanted mud and dirt can accumulate, whatever the height and style of the heel.

Which is why, I presume, the superior young woman concentrates on rubbing her spiked heel up and down my nose – since my nose is the most prominent feature on my face (though not as prominent as hers) and therefore able to get into those difficult-to-reach nooks and crannies, whilst my eyebrows and lips simultaneously brush off the wet dirt from her surrounding treads and insteps.

She could, of course, simply penetrate my slave-mouth with her dirty heels (many an uncouth young woman would do so nowadays) but this particular young lady has some upper-class; she knows the difference between a complementary bootscraper located in an upmarket shopping mall, and a common-or-garden bootsucker located on a sink-estate – even if both types of slaves are regarded as nothing more than common footwhores in the eyes of the Female Law!

‘Mistress Blondie’ is actually quite adept at using a human bootscraper; she must have been to finishing school! Respect to the young woman! And her spike-heeled kneeboot-sole isn’t as cruel or excoriating as I had first feared. Perhaps her slimy, green saliva is helping the expensive designer-boot to slip seamlessly across the surface of my face?

She deftly inspects the sole of her designer boot by twisting it upwards, prior to bringing it back down onto my face again in order to remove a piece of mud which my face had clearly missed the first time. The look of disgust on her pretty, screwed-up face as she had been inspecting her bootsole was a delight to behold – largely because I know it was directed as much at me as it was to the offending mud still soiling the lowliest part of her otherwise nice, clean, designer boot.

And then it is time for her left bootsole to be divested of its outdoor detritus. Some lady-customers chose to spit on my face again prior to wiping their second boot or shoe on my face, but this particular young, blonde woman (or perhaps that should be ‘unparticular’) appears not to have the time or the inclination to do so. Perhaps she is unconcerned about the possibility of cross-contamination by her own bootmud, or she is simply in a hurry to get in to the shops!

Either way, her left boot provides me with an almost identical experience to her right. I only wish I knew this snooty, young white woman’s real name – for it is always nice to be able to put a name to a pair of female boots. That’s why I like to make up mistress-names for them, such as ‘Mistress Blondie’. Not that I mean any disrespect – quite the opposite! It’s just so frustrating that I never get to know any of my customers’ names – not even those of my regulars – since they never deign to speak to me. I’m just an anonymous face-in-the-ground; a thing on which they clean their boots before entering the mall.

I suppose, if I had a name, it would have to be ‘Mat’; ‘Welcome Mat’!

 

Delightfully Dorky

My next customer mistress is an altogether different kettle of fish – mid twenties; fat; a dusky-complexion (possibly Southern European, or gypsy), framed by long, black, curly-permed hair; wearing black, bell-bottom, polyester trousers and a pair of shiny, black, cheap-plastic, flat-heeled, slip-on, loafer shoes with bright yellow anklesocks.

She looks beautiful with it, though – beautiful and happy, as well she might, for she is arm and arm with her manly boyfriend who looks to be considerably older than her; a rich sugar-daddy, no doubt, whose credit card is about to take a pounding!

A bit like my face – for this young woman looks anything but graceful as she smilingly lifts her right foot up off the ground and readies herself to plonk its cheap, plastic sole down onto my upturned face.

Indeed, she is so impetuous, she appears to have forgotten the first protocol of using a footslave-shoescraper – always clean his face with your saliva first. Fortunately the man intervenes to stop her, literal, faux-pas:

‘Ha! Ha! Hold your horses, darling – we need to wash the wretch’s dirty face first before you clean your shoes on him! Ha! Ha! Here – stand back a bit while I spit on him for you!’

‘Oh, I sorry!’ is all she says – apologising to her manfriend, of course; not to me!

She gives him a loving look, and then obediently steps back to ensure she isn’t inadvertently sprayed with his saliva as he manfully puckers up and spits ostentatiously, several times, all over my inanely submissive face, his own wrinkly face full of his sense of gloating, male superiority.

I can sense him laugh internally at my helplessness as he spits on me on behalf of his clumsy, Southern European girlfriend. Still I retain my respectful, welcoming expression.

My face duly ‘washed’ with freemale spit, the older man then invites his younger girlfriend to step on me. She has no need of the stabilizing bar provided by the shopping-mall owners, since her elderly boyfriend gallantly holds onto her arm as she raises her flabby, right, polyester-trousered leg up into the air and then down onto my face.

As I indicated earlier, this particular young, olive-skinned woman is not especially graceful in her movements, and the sole of her right shoe descends with a distinctly ungraceful plonk onto my glistening, upturned face – but I do catch a pleasing flash of her bright, yellow anklesock and olive-toned, bare legskin before her broad, plasticky shoesole obstructs my view up her flared trouser leg.

Mmm…fat, soft, yellow-sock-covered, olive-skinned ankles. Nice! No wonder this older man is prepared to spend money on this fat, young, curly-haired, Southern European woman – she is indeed very attractive, in an ungainly sort of way!

‘Mistress Romany’, delightful young woman though she is, certainly lacks any feminine poise and refinement as she scrapes the dirty, wet sole of her cheap, black plastic, slip-on shoe across my gormless upturned features. In fact, she is laughing at me unrestrainedly. They both are – boyfriend and girlfriend; or could they even be internet husband and wife?

‘Ha! Ha! What a dork!’ exclaims the man – referring, presumably, to me, and not to his young, unsophisticated, yellow-socked ladyfriend!

Cheap-shoed, yellow-socked, fat and dork-like she may be, but she is still my infinite better – and the happy couple both know it:

‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, darling! Rub it into him! Rub your shoedirt into his pig-ugly face! Ha! Ha!’

‘Ha! Ha! I like! I his master – he my slave!’ exclaims the excitable, young gypsy-woman in a thick, Romanian accent.

I am so proud to be of service to her, and to be pleasing her! At least my employers can have no complaint!

 

Fundamentally Superior

We get all sorts of superior mistress in our shopping mall, and my next customer-mistress, I’m pleased to say, is a strict-looking, twenty-something, Muslim girl of Pakistani origins – dressed in a traditional shalwar-kameez and dupatta-style headscarf.

Her headscarf is white, but the rest of her traditional trouser-suit is black. On her feet she is wearing a fetching pair of single-strapped, white-suede, clunky-heeled, round-toed, mary-jane style shoes with plain, black cotton anklesocks. I suspect that for most of the year this particular young, South-Asian woman would be more comfortable wearing strappy sandals on bare feet, but the weather is just so atrocious outside today that she feels compelled to protect her soft, brown Pakistani feet with a pair of closed-in, chunky-heeled shoes and warming socks.

I can tell she’s not used to wearing socks as they appear quite wrinkled and creased inside her shoes – such details loom large in one’s feeble footslave mind when you are confined helplessly in the ground beneath sock and shoe level!

Her pretty, white-headscarf-framed, Pakistani face now looms large into view as she crouches down on her haunches in order to deliver her Muslim-girl spit onto my dirty, but still welcoming, upturned face. I can sense her bad breath and ill-will as she garners up her spit in her pretty, Asian-girl mouth and literally drops it in a stringy mess down onto my spittoon-face.

She does so several times, and I feel cleansed – cleansed by a superior, young Muslim woman’s spit.

But now it is time for me to be dirtied by her equally pure shoe-mud – and there is a lot of it. I strongly suspect she is one of those mistresses whom I mentioned earlier who delight in deliberately sullying up their footwear for the benefit of the shopping-mall footslave! She certainly has a cruel smile on her pretty, Pakistani face as she adjusts her pure white dupatta-headscarf prior to reaching out for the bar and then bringing the sole of her right, suede leather, mary-jane shoe slowly down onto my face.

The upper of the suede leather shoe may be white, but the sole is black – rather like her own soul, I suspect. ‘Revenge’ is writ large on this young woman’s face – just as ‘Welcome’ is writ large on mine! And just as revenge is a dish best served cold, so the blackened sole of her otherwise pure white shoe feels cold and harsh on my face.

She brings it down hard – almost stamping on my face, like she wishes to damage it, or at least leave her mark; the mark of her thick, mary-jane shoe treads!

Such a delicate and petite-looking young woman; almost nun-like with her pure, white headscarf; yet such power and strength in her Muslim, mary-janed feet. Power over me as she, quite literally, towers over me in all her headscarfed, conquering glory – pleased to be in charge of me; pleased to have a weak and feeble slaveman at her mercy; pleased not to have to show him any.

‘Mistress Superior’s’ disdain is evident for all to see – and for me it is not just evident; it is also palpable. She literally mauls me with her shoe at the entrance to the shopping mall, as she drags the flat sole of her feminine, white-suede, buckle-strapped, mary-jane-style shoe extremely roughly across my face, until the chunky heel area bangs painfully into my nasal cartilage. She is a fundamentalist when it comes to shoe-scraping, believing that the most important thing is for her female shoe-mud to be deposited all over my gormless male face in order that her sole may be cleansed, however much facial suffering that may entail on my infidel part.

And I share in her fundamentalist belief.

The End