The Deluxe Ornamental-Footkisser

I offer a very special service – I’m what’s known as a ‘deluxe ornamental-footkisser’. There aren’t that many of us about, and we are all privately owned – though we serve the female public for a small charge which goes to our private owners.

So how do I differ from a bog-standard, ornamental footkisser?

Well:

· For a start, we offer our paying, lady-customers a luxurious sit-down service! At an ordinary public footkisser’s stall a young lady would invariably have to stand whilst having her feet kissed. But at my stall a lady is seated in opulent, leather-bound luxury with her dainty, female feet resting on two gold-plated footrests directly in front of my stupid, kneeling male face.

· Secondly we offer privacy – for I am located in a private booth which, whilst it is open to any member of the female public who is prepared to pay to have her feet opulently kissed, is nonetheless lockable from the inside, so that everyone else can see when I am ‘engaged’ with a lady’s feet and footwear.

· Thirdly, a lady can stay in my footkissing booth as long as she damn well likes – again, providing she is prepared to pay for the privilege!

· Fourthly, we offer humble, maleslave conversation with our female masters and betters. Most ornamental footkissers are dumbasses – totally silent objects, forbidden to talk to a superior customer-mistress as their lowly, maleslave status is, by law, considered to be that of mere street furniture. But I have special dispensation to verbally fawn over and flatter my lady customers – not that all of them take me up on my offer to obsequiously ingratiate myself towards them; many still prefer just to have their feet, boots or shoes worshipped by an abject, male mouth in total silence. But at least they have the option of talking down to me, and of hearing me suck up to them!

The one thing we deluxe footkissers have in common with our common-or-garden, ornamental counterparts is that we don’t lickshine footwear. If a lady wants her dirty shoes or boots shined she must go to a public shoelick or bootlick. We ornamental footkissers merely kiss footwear – as a means of making the superior, young woman feel good about herself; mighty and strong.

Please feel free to watch me at work as I serve the first female customer to grace me with her superior presence this Wednesday morning.

 

Pakistani, Prickly & Pregnant

It is regular, Pakistani-girl customer-mistress Sairah – she of the stunningly-good Pakistani looks; the dark complexion; the long, dark hair; the dark brown, come-to-bed eyes; and the now heavily pregnant tummy! I feel almost caddish in not being able to help her climb up onto the chair of female power in front of me as she struggles to lift her heavily pregnant, yet still petite, frame up into the luxurious seating, but I am prevented from lifting a finger to help her by my bonds.

However, she is a very resourceful young woman of 22 and manages to climb up by herself, her two, beautiful, blue-leather-court-shoed and tan-nylon-stocking-clad feet eventually coming to rest demurely on the gold-plated footrests in front of my privileged, ornamental-footkissing face.

I say ‘beautiful’ feet, but, if truth be told, miss Sairah is beginning to suffer from swollen ankles as a result of her pregnancy. Water retention, I think it’s called? I remember she used to have such nice, skinny anklebones, oftentimes black-socked, inside her spike-heeled, pointy-toed, black leather, officewear ankleboots. But since she went on maternity leave she has switched to a ubiquitous, white maternity blouse over black cotton, anklelength leggings, and these more sensible, low-heeled courts with stretchy, tan nylons on her swollen feet.

She is still very much a Pakistani-girl goddess to behold, however – especially as she sits with her tummy bump jutting out triumphantly over my humbly foot-bowed and impotent head. It declares that she has had sex, whilst I haven’t.

I feel I simply must compliment my Pakistani customer-mistress on her pregnant and fertile beauty:

‘Oh pray, Pakistani goddess-mistress Sairah, if it pleases you, most respected Pakistani goddess-mistress Sairah, truly the fertile young mistress is looking fragrant and blooming this morning, if it so pleases you, superior Pakistani goddess-mistress Sairah?’

‘Tch! No talking, slave! Just kissing! Be kissing my right foot 1000 times on the toe of my shoe, you damned fool, and do not be touching my nylons with your damned, dirty mouth, isn’t it?’

This is another change in miss Sairah’s character that I have noticed since she became pregnant – she has become much more prickly and snappy towards me, preferring me to shut up when previously she had always been quite chatty with me, lapping up my cringing, verbal servility and unctuousness. How things have changed! Maybe it’s the result of her feminine hormones being all over the place; or it may just be that she, quite rightly, feels much too superior to me now, since she has, self-evidently, lost her virginity and had sexual intercourse , whereas I am still demeaningly celibate.

And always will be, for I’m in no position to have sex even if I wanted to, trussed up and in bondage as I am here in my ornamental footkissing booth!

But I digress – this prickly, young, pregnant, Pakistani woman wants her swollen ankles kissed – only it isn’t, actually, her warm and swollen, tan-nylon-covered ankles she wants kissed, is it? Rather it’s the cold outsides of the shoes they are in; specifically the scuffmarked, rounded toe-areas of her navy-blue, low-heeled, court shoes – beginning with her right shoe; 1000 times!

I shut up immediately and start to obey, for there is nothing more annoying for a paying, female customer than a talkative maleslave who won’t shut up (if that’s what the lady wants!).

I begin repeatedly kissing the scuffmarked, blue leather shoe-end with practised grace and professionalism; not too lasciviously or lingeringly – but crisp, respectful kisses to the Pakistani-girl’s well-worn shoe, all the time drinking in the sheer, nyloned beauty of her stretched, tan-nylon stocking material around her swollen right ankle. That same right ankle which only a few months ago was so unutterably shapely and regularly covered in beautiful, black boot and bootsock! Yet it is even now still a thing of great beauty.

Miss Sairah, meanwhile, grabs hold of the complimentary pointing-cum-whipping stick and points with its razor-sharp, wooden tip to a particularly dirty area near the base of her outstretched, rounded, navy-blue shoe-toe:

‘Kiss here, you damned stupid slave!’

I immediately redirect my puckered lips to the indicated area, for I know better than to hesitate when given a specific area of shoe to kiss by a superior, young pregnant woman; a fecund goddess!

Miss Sairah, as you can see, is a ‘unikiss’ footmistress i.e. she prefers all the requisite number of kisses to be directed onto one foot or shoe first, prior to directing the slave’s mouth over to the other shoe. This is not, it has to be said, the norm nowadays, as most modern, young women are ‘ambikiss’ footmistresses i.e. preferring each foot to be kissed alternately, with the pathetic and enthralled, public footslave’s head bobbing helplessly from side to side beneath them over their arrogantly outstretched footwear.

But, to each their own – and if miss Sairah prefers to witness my repeated kisses to one pregnant shoe-toe then so be it. I suppose my bald head is still pathetically bobbing up and down – if not from side to side!

The pointing stick, thankfully, is not transformed into a whipping stick during my long and arduous shoe-kissing session with miss Sairah. She went on to demand that I kiss her left shoe-toe an equal number of times, leaving her with x2000 kissed, court shoe-toes – a lengthy court-shoe-ship I think you’ll agree, given that I’m not the one who got her pregnant!

I notice that her tan nylon stockings are damp by the time I have finished kissing the outsides of her shoes – but not through my saliva; rather it is the natural, feminine sweat from her swollen, pregnant footpores which sullies her finest denier nylons. I only wish she would kick off her shoes and let me sniff them – but miss Sairah is much too modest a young, married woman to ever expose her nylon-stockinged toes to a mere public footslave, not even in the privacy of a locked footbooth!

No, as soon as my work is done, she ups and leaves. In a way I’m glad she doesn’t hang around to have her nylons sniffed – can you imagine what it would be like for me if her waters broke whilst she was seated above me!

 

Unwholesome, Ugly & Ugg-Booted

Pretty Pakistani miss Sairah may have swollen ankles and a swollen tummy, but she is not, by any stretch of the imagination, fat! I am confident that her stylish, black leather ankleboots and slender, black-socked ankles will return – who knows, perhaps even with her kinder, gentler and less prickly personality – after she has given birth and got herself back into pert-young-womanly shapeliness.

Her successor in the deluxe footkiss-booth, however, is just plain fat – and probably always will be. Fat and unfit!

She is a somewhat hard-looking, dirty-blonde-haired, twenty-something, West-European girl, and an unknown (if considerable) quantity whom I do not believe has ever utilised my paid-for footkissing services before!

I’m sure I would recognise those fat, misshapen, beige-sheepskin Ugg boots had I ever served them previously, especially as they are being worn with such an incongruously bright pair of thick, luminous green bootsocks, the untidy, scrunched-up tops of which are clearly visible over the young, fat woman’s multicoloured, flowery-patterned, cotton leggings.

She literally plonks herself down on the chair above me, with a grunt and (I’m ashamed to say) a delicate-sounding, but incredibly smelly, lady-fart.

The smell of her own fart doesn’t seem to put her off her food (though the bulk of the smell is probably directed down towards my confined face level) as she unwraps a burger and starts stuffing her face with yet more indigestible food, whilst simultaneously barking her orders down at me with her mouth, very rudely, full of freshly masticated food:

‘Thlave, kith my boot-th – one at a time; 500 timth eachth, yeah?’

She then belches above me, adding her upper-gut smells to her lower-gut smells currently wafting around the cramped confines of my supposedly upmarket footkissing-booth.

Talk about lowering the tone of a place! Luckily my booth is air-conditioned (for the convenience and comfort of my lady-customers), for even the fat, young, white woman’s well-worn and dirt-stained, sheepskin Ugg boots smell stale and vulgar!

Honestly – call me a footslave-snob if you like – but I do sometimes wonder how on earth some of my more common lady-customers can afford the services of a deluxe ornamental footkisser like me! Why don’t they just use the free ones dotted everywhere out on the streets and at the entrances to public buildings?

Mind you, I do only cost 2 Fems an hour! And besides, mine is not to question why, and I must offer up my initial words of obsequious greeting to the outwardly obnoxious, fat, white chav-mistress, just as fervently and respectfully as I did to the inwardly elegant, Pakistani pregnant-mistress Sairah before her:

‘Oh pray mistress, if it pleases you most beautiful, fat mistress, truly this slave will be honoured to obey the mistress, and kiss her delightful, sheepskin boots the requisite number of times, as desired by the sweet and feminine, young mistress, if it so pleases you fat goddess-mistress?’

Describing a customer-mistress as ‘fat’ is not considered an insult here in the Gynarchy – but rather a compliment; since fat equates to well-fed and lazy, both qualities which are supremely lacking in any underfed, lower-class slave!

The fat, greasy blonde nearly chokes with delighted laughter on her greasy burger:

‘Hath! Hath! F***ing get on with it, thlave, or I’ll f***ing whip ya’, yeah?...Belch!’

I gulp at the mention of the whip, just as my superior, fat customer-mistress gulps down another bite of greasy cheeseburger, some of the melted cheese now dropping down onto the top of her beige-sheepskin boot. I, of course, immediately kiss the cheesy area of boot – and not just because I am, as ever, hungry; but because I love all kinds of cheese – especially fat young ladies’ toe-cheese, though I rather suspect that this processed cheese from the outside of her Ugg boot is the best I’m going to get today. Those beige-sheepskin boots look well and truly moulded to the contours of the fat, young blonde woman’s garish-green-socked cankles, and I can’t see myself being permitted to pull them off her fat legs!

Needless to say, I make it look like I am only kissing the top of her boot, and not feasting on it, as I silently put her Ugg-boot kissing orders into effect. She clearly doesn’t want any sauce with her burger – in the form of any saucy, cheesy chat from myself! Honestly, what is wrong with young women these days? Don’t they still like to have a natter – even if it’s only with a humble, public footservant? And with their mouths full?

 

Burmese, Black-Socked & Beautiful

Happily, the ultra-pretty mouth of the next customer-mistress to enter into me – regular, Burmese customer-mistress, miss Than – will want to chat with me; albeit only about her footwear.

She is what’s known as a ‘changer’ – always bringing several pairs of shoes and/or boots for me to humbly change her into before she makes me kiss them on her.

As per usual, jet-black-haired and svelte miss Than is visiting me on her way home from work in her stylish, night-time, shop-cleaning-girl garb consisting of a dark blue fleece; matching dark blue trousers; dirty-white, lace-up sneakers; and cheap, black sneaker-socks – but with the familiar, single, little pink bow at the top of each elasticated instep.

I love these all-too familiar black socks, for those little pink bows somehow soften and feminise the otherwise harsh, masculine black of the socks; such a pleasing contrast set against the backdrop of her pale-brown, lower ankleskin!

She visits me every Wednesday morning – regular as clockwork – and she never seems to be in a hurry to get home after her long, arduous, midweek night-shift mopping deserted, shop floors; nor does she seem to mind spending her hard-earned, midweek cash-in-hand on my expensive, shoe-kissing services! I suppose I’m just her one little luxury in life – the one time every week when she can feel pampered, and have another human being, who is even lowlier than her in the pecking order, pecking at her hard-working, cleaning girl feet!

She is always surprisingly chirpy as she sits herself down above me, ready to dominate:

‘Ha! Ha! Kiss me on side of sneakers, footpig – and not kiss pink bows on side of socks!’

I love her oriental, Burmese accent.

Of course, since she has not stipulated a definitive number of sneaker-kisses, I must continue kissing each flaky, white sneaker-side, alternating between her right and left sneaker (ambikissing is always the default position nowadays when serving a footmistress), until she orders me to stop; and all whilst obediently avoiding her little pink sock-bows on the top of each short, black, nightwork-sweatened sneaker-sock:

‘Yes mistress Than. At once, goddess-mistress Than!’

As I indicated before, miss Than will positively enjoy chatting with me – providing it is about the respective merits of the various items of footwear she has brought with her (she has her ubiquitous plastic carrier-bag full of her weekly, used footwear), and so I begin by verbally extoling the virtues of her common-or-garden, hardworking, cleaning-girl sneakers:

‘Kiss…kiss…Truly the mistress’s white sneakers are warm and fragrant this morning, mistress Than…kiss…kiss… if it pleases you, mistress Than?...kiss…kiss… I take it the mistress has been working hard on her feet all night in her glorious sneakers, goddess-mistress Than?...kiss…kiss…’

She may well have been up on her feet all night, but she is, of course, relaxing now – in the soft, leather chair above me, her tired and aching, white-sneakered feet resting deservedly on their golden footrests – but she graciously acknowledges to me that her sneakers must indeed be a bit hot and ‘smelly’:

‘Ha! Ha! You like that Than sneakers smell of Than stinky foot, dirty footslave? You like my smell?’

‘Oh yes, mistress!...kiss…kiss… This slave adores the smell of the mistress’s stale sneakers… kiss…kiss… if you would be so kind and understanding to a pathetic footslave, goddess-mistress Than?...kiss…kiss…’

‘Ha! Ha! You pathetic! You a moron! Ha! Ha! You like I let you take off Than dirty sneaker and kiss Than stinky, black sock?’

My heart races – such a genuinely kind and considerate, young woman; always thinking of others, and how they can serve her feet!

‘Oh pray, mistress Than…kiss…kiss…Oh pray!...kiss...kiss…Truly this slave would be honoured to kiss the sweaty, black socks of the most beautiful, Burmese mistress…kiss…kiss…if it would be so pleasing to you, most exotic and stunningly beautiful, oriental goddess-mistress Than…kiss…kiss…’

She gigglingly pushes my mouth away with the side of her left sneaker – as a signal to stop my sneaker-kissing - and orders me to take off her sneakers:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave untie laces; pull off sneakers; then kiss Than stinky socks! Ha! Ha! Than better Than you! Ha! Ha!’

She may like to use disparaging puns, but she has no need to threaten me with punishment! She knows I will happily, and humbly, obey her oriental wishes.

And so, off come the sexily-brown-skinned, dark-haired, Burmese girl’s cheap, flaky-white sneakers – the grubby-white laces fumbling through my fingers – and then it’s a case of lip on sock; male lip on female sock – black sock made feminine by the decorative little pink bows, and by the stale odour of far-eastern, cleaning-girl footsweat!

I don’t baulk at the vinegary smell – indeed, quite the opposite; I kiss the moist and stale-smelling, Burmese girlsock all the more fervently, since it is a sock I can respect, given the sultry, oriental beauty of its wearer (unlike the luminous green sock of her Uggly, western predecessor on the footkiss-throne!)

She laughs at me as I obediently kiss sock, for several minutes:

‘Ha! Ha! You not touch Than bare skin, dirty slave! Than bare foot only for husband; Than sock for slave! Ha! Ha!’

It’s meant to be a comment that hurts and stings me, reminding me that I am her slave and not her lover, forbidden to touch smooth, bare, feminine footflesh, and restricted to her stinky, black socks! But such comments just make me admire the haughty, young Burmese woman all the more, for they remind me that she is my unobtainable, female better, who utterly despises me, even though she is attracted to men – real men, like her husband!

After some 10 minutes of watching me sock-kiss, I hear her rustling in her cleaner’s carrier bag above me and pulling out a pair of scrunched-up, soft, red leather ballet-flats:

‘Ha! Ha! Now you stop kissing Than sock and put on Than red ballet-flats. First you straighten Than sock; then you put ballet-flats on Than pretty feet and kiss – 5000 times you kiss!’

Like I said – miss Than is in no hurry!

And nor am I! I wonder what other delights she has in store for me today inside her bag of Burmese-girl, sweaty-footwear delights?…