Observations of a Restroom-Footslave

A collection of pithy observations by a common-or-garden, office-restroom footslave

Observation no. 1 – Contemptuous

Mistress Kerry is a lovely girl - everyone says so; blonde-haired; blue-eyed; slim and attractive. But above all she's a friendly, outgoing and gregarious sort of person. She basically loves people - being with them; helping them when they are in need; laughing with them; crying with them; sharing all their triumphs and tears!

She's quite touchy-feely also – not afraid to give out kisses and hugs to those around her; a very sweet-natured and kind, ‘girly’ girl, who basically thrives on human contact and likes to see the best in everyone.

Everyone apart from me, that is – the office-restroom footslave! To me she never says a word; she just marches up to where my footslave-head is protruding from the wall (after she has performed her ablutions, of course) and glumly presents her black leather, office-anklebooted feet to my confined and bowed face for humble kissing, one after the other.

Just a single, quick, respectful kiss to each scuffmarked, black leather boot-toe below the hems of her navy-blue, bootcut trousers, and then she moves off without a word or a smile (well, perhaps with a supercilious and smug smile on her pretty, blonde face!).

And she does so with a clear conscience as well as an empty bowel, because she knows, and accepts, that I am nothing more than a dumbass piece of human furniture – much too lowly a being for even an outgoing and super-friendly, young woman like her to talk to or interact socially with.

Yes, the delightful mistress Kerry may be kind to people and to animals, but she is, quite rightly, contemptuous of the piece of human-restroom furniture that must respectfully, and silently, kiss her boots every time she has been to the toilet!

Observation no. 2 - Pink

Miss Nadia, the 20 year old, East European girl with the short, bright, shocking-pink hair, always wears short, pink sneaker-socks to match inside her scruffy, white, lace-up, keds-style sneakers. She gets away with such un-officelike, casual attire only because she is one of the office cleaners.

But she is, despite her appearance, no slouch, and is therefore no less deserving of my footkissing respect than the next office woman - either after she has been cleaning the office-restroom, or using the facilities herself - since she is young, pink-haired, female and attractive, and therefore my infinite better.

I truly admire and respect her pink, elasticated socktops as I kiss, and smell, her grubby, rubbery-white, keds-sneaker toes next to her ubiquitous and smelly mop-head.

Observation no. 3 - Acting up

Auburn-haired office-mistress Samantha - the company director´s bitchy, 23 year old daughter - demands an extra degree of footslavish respect from me, and not just because of her pedigree, but because she is one of the office-manageresses (albeit only on temporary promotion).

I must kiss her common-or-garden, black office ballet-flats with a lingering respect, as befits a permanent, office-restroom footslave, paying appropriate homage to a temporary, young, redhaired office-manageress immediately after she has ‘eased herself’, even though she is wantonly and shamelessly sockless inside her soft, black leather ballet-flats!

As I do so, I can observe her blue-blood footveins beneath her black cotton trouser-hems, along with the dolphin-shaped ankle-tattoo on her brazenly naked and rebellious, right foot.

Such a superior, if over-promoted and talentless, young woman! It is right and proper that my unworthy, footslave lips should linger a while on such soft, feminine shoe-leather, for this young woman shall doubtless one day inherit her father´s company and all that comes with it - including me!

Observation no. 4 - Going-Home Sneakers

The two, beautiful, dark-haired Indian office-girls, misses Reema and Sangita, have popped into the restroom prior to heading off to their respective husbands and homes at the end of their joint, Indian office-girl, working day. They are both standing side by side at the wash-hand basins, jabbering away to each other in Hindi.

I, of course, cannot understand a word they are saying – since I am but an ignorant and illiterate, male footslave – but two things I do know for sure are that:

1) They will not be talking about me - since I’m just a piece of everyday restroom-furniture that one doesn’t even give a second thought to as one stops tohave one’s superior, female feet kissed on exiting the restroom; and

2) I am really looking forward to kissing the feet of miss Reema, since she has already changed out of the black leather, chunky-heeled and round-toed, zip-up, office ankleboots which she had been wearing during her earlier visit to the restroom just before lunch (her lunch-break – not mine; needless to say I don’t get, or deserve, a lunch-break!) and into her ‘going home’, white and green, low-top, lace-up sneakers. And that means I can expect to have a fleeting, close-up and personal view of her green and black patterned anklesocks as she presents each of her Indian-sneakered feet for me to kiss beneath the grey-pinstriped, bootcut hems of her office-suit trousers! Disappointingly, the other girl, miss Sangita, is still wearing her calf-length, heavily buckled, brown leather biker-boots, with her navy-blue, office corduroy trousers fetchingly, but frustratingly, tucked into the tops of them, so I still have no chance of even a fleeting, furtive glimpse of her Indian-girl socks as she departs the office after a long, hot day of sweat and toil, slaving away on her office computer!

The two Indian girls dry their hands using the automatic dryers, and, still jabbering away to each other in Hindi, almost subconsciously present their restroom-exiting feet for me to kiss.

It is miss Sangita who takes the lead – presenting me with the scuffmarked, brown leathery, reinforced, rounded toe areas of first her right, and then her left, biker-boots. The dark brown boots seem to tower over me as she does so, even though she is quite a petite, young Indian woman, with presumably small feet inside those heavy, oversized buckle-boots!

She quickly moves on, politely waiting whilst her Indian cousin, miss Reema, presents her much anticipated, South Asian, sneakered feet one at a time for my humble kissing. Sure enough I get to see close-up sock – in particular the green triangle of sock disappearing down the back of miss Reema’s otherwise plain, black, office-anklesock!

The sock looks deliciously bobbled and well-worn, and I find myself longing to accompany miss Reema to green and white, sneakered heel back to her home, where I would gladly divest her of her going-home sneakers and massage her tired and warm, green and black, socked feet – paying particular attention to the sweaty, green, reinforced toe areas of her socks (for the toe areas must surely match the heels in their bright greenness?)

Sadly – I shall never know, for I am stuck here 24 hours a day; 365 days a year; a humble, hole-in-the-wall footkisser, who lives for a furtive glimpse of superior, Indian-girl sock!

Observation no. 5 - A footslave in love

I could be so much more to her than a mere office-restroom footkisser!

Every time I kiss her, inevitably germ-laden, flat-heeled, round-toed, black leather, slip-on loafer shoes, and catch a glimpse of her matching, black office anklesocks beneath the hems of her black polyester trouser-legs, I can't help feeling that Mauritian mistress, miss Mirabelle, is the ultimate, personal footmistress for me - slim; dark; petite; morose; full of her own self-importance; and totally disparaging of others. I'm in love!

I think it's the way she subliminally hitches up her black trouser hems every time she presents her Mauritian feet to be kissed, thereby affording me a clear and uninterrupted view of her shapely, socked anklebones; it makes me want to get hitched - not all girls would bother to do that for a slave!

But, of course, I'm deluding myself. Being a stuck-up and haughty, young, brown-skinned tropical-island woman she barely even notices me; I'm just the ´thing' that kisses her dirty, black shoes on her departure from the gloomy restroom after she has relieved herself and reapplied her make-up to her beautiful Mauritian face (for, even though she is happily married, she still likes to make a good impression in and around the office, and turn freemale heads wherever she goes. She's a bit of a flirt, by all accounts - the office restroom is a great source of girly gossip, all of which I get to hear since the incredibly bitchy, office ladies often forget I'm there; or, more accurately, don't even care that I'm there, since I can't talk!).

But, even if I could talk I would never bitch about the beautiful miss Mirabelle; on the contrary, I would praise and eulogise her to her socked foot, and offer to be her personal, household footservant - washing and caring for her Mauritian feet and footwear whilst her manly husband took care of her sexual needs.

I would wash and iron her black, office socks every night; place them on, and take them off her pretty Mauritian feet; lickshine the germs off her shoes (rather than just kiss them as I do now), and just generally enhance her authority and reputation throughout polite, Female Society by being seen at her feet at all times!

Yes - the Mauritian girl's devoted, personal footslave - that's what I would love to be!

But what I actually am is a pathetic and ignored office-restroom footkisser, with ideas way above his station!

Observation no. 6 – Catherine the Great

Not all my office ´customer-mistresses´ make use of me subliminally and unthinkingly. Some relish having their dirty shoes or boots kissed.

Take blonde office-mistress Catherine, for example. She's a big girl - tall and quite portly, but in a sexy sort of way. She's sexy because she is full of self-confidence and belief in her own innate, feminine superiority - as well she might be, seeing as how she has risen to become one of the senior managers in the company at the age of just 31 (needless to say, at the age of 51, my 'career', by way of contrast, is going nowhere!)

She therefore, perfectly justifiably, likes to tarry for a few seconds whilst having her somewhat incongruously beat-up looking (for a successful manageress) and scuffmarked, chunky-heeled and round-toed, pale-grey, leather ankleboots respectfully kissed below the hems of her brown cotton, bootcut, office trousers upon her executive egress from the ladies' restroom.

I'm sure she wears her beat-up, grey-leather ankleboots deliberately to add to my humiliation, for she clearly enjoys 'lording it over me'! She's not allowed to speak to me, of course, or to verbally boss me about, but the supercilious expression is all but palpable on her smug, fat, free-woman face as her equally fat, anklebooted foot lingers on the area of floor beneath my malnourished and confined-in-the-wall, restroom face.

The unspoken rules are that I must kiss a lady's foot once for every two seconds that it lingers on the floor beneath my face. Manager-mistress Catherine's scuffmarked, grey leather ankleboot is likely to linger for anything up to ten seconds - necessitating five humble bootkisses on each fat foot.

I can sense her cock her bleached-blonde head to one side above me in order to gain a better view of my maleslave humiliation as I respectfully apply my lips to her scuffmarked boot-toes, my bald head pathetically bobbing up and down every two seconds over her well-worn, bland-looking, but bitter-tasting bootleather!

Other people might bitch about her, her blonde hair, and her unpolished boots, behind her managerial back - jealous of both her rapid rise to power within the company hierarchy (allegedly facilitated by her sleeping around with some of the senior, male executives), and of her rotund beauty. But I am obliged to demonstrate nothing but the utmost respect for her fat personage and her scruffy boots – and she very much likes that; as do I.

Observation no. 7 – Moccasins

She’s a new one on me – the fat, native-American bird – but I do like her brown-coloured moccasins beneath my face as she presents them to me, one at a time, for kissing.

I particularly like the way the little, brown-string bows over the rounded toe-areas tickle the bridge of my nose as my lips make contact with the unusually soft, suede leather of her Indian-squaw style footwear.

The ticklish, brown moccasins are complemented by her black, opaque tights running all the way up her fleshy, but still shapely, legs until they disappear beneath her tartan-themed, short skirt. The opaque tights shimmer in the unnatural light of the windowless restroom, but nothing can distract me from my task in mouth – that of kissing her feet as she readies herself to depart from the restroom.

And how do I know she’s native American? Because of her Canadian accent as she gabbles away on her hands-free, mobile phone! I had thought, initially, that she was some sort of female nutter – talking away to herself – until I realised from the pauses that there was someone chatting back to her in her hidden earpiece!

The native, American-girl moccasins are with my mouth all too briefly – just one, quick kiss to each Indian-moccasin shoetoe before she marches gaily off for a refreshing mocha or perhaps an espresso in a nearby coffee-bar. Clearly a high-powered, visiting, Canadian businesswoman of some repute – much too important a young lady to linger with the likes of lowly, old me in the basement restroom!

Observation no. 8 – Mud

It must be raining outside. Poor, pink-haired miss Nadia will have her work cut out mopping up all those dirty shoe and boot marks on the tiled flooring of the ladies’ restroom!

But never mind her – what about poor, old me? I too shall have my work cut out trying to avoid the mud stains on my customer-mistresses’ shoes as I humbly kiss them! I’m no public shoe or boot licker – it’s not my job to lickshine a lady’s dirty, office shoes or boots! My job is all about showing slavish respect for a mistress – by kissing her on the shoe-toe! Streetdirt-licking is not meant to play a role in my humble, footkissing existence!

Take the fresh-faced, portly, young blonde-woman (what is it with fat blondes today?!) who has just emerged from one of the cubicles. She is now hygienically washing her hands, but is she equally hygienically wiping the wet, sticky streetmud off her black patent leather, high-heeled pumps before presenting them to me for kissing?

Not likely!

She turns and walks over towards me, arrogantly stretching forth her right, black-trousered leg so that the pointy, mud-stained toe of her right, stiletto-heeled pump is teetering precariously on the dirty tile beneath my kneeling face. I can see her dark-nylon-stocking crease beneath the hem of her slightly-raised, black cotton trouser-hem due to the outstretched positioning of her fresh-faced, young-womanly foot.

But I must go down past the warm and inviting, nylon stocking and onto the fat, blonde girl’s cold repulsive shoe-mud; there is, I’m afraid, no avoiding it in this case – since there is not enough shiny-clean leather to kiss on the narrow, pointy shoe-toe.

How she must be feeling smug right now – this fat, pretty blonde-girl; having her muddy, rainsodden, black patent leather shoe kissed in a public toilet!

She victoriously withdraws her right shoe from my lips and replaces it with her equally muddy left shoe. Yet again, I must ignore creased, dark-nylon ankle-stocking, and go directly to muddy shoe-toe.

No point in bothering to clean my now dirty lips after this humiliating and degrading encounter – for there will doubtless be plenty more female shoe and bootmud for me to reluctantly taste on this miserable, rainy day!

Observation no. 9 – Pulling her socks up!

She looks down on me from above her long, black, ribbed kneesock as I kiss the tasselled, rounded toe-end of her soft, black leather loafer-shoe.

23 year old apprentice-worker, Miss Kiyoko, is instantly recognisable in the office as the only Japanese girl working here – and the only office lady to wear short skirts and kneesocks – though few get as up close and personal to her kneesocks as I do in my humble capacity as a ladies-restroom footkisser!

They do say that one of the lecherous, senior, male, company executives is now dating her, so he may, for all I know, have equally close and intimate contact with her pretty shoes and socks, even if only as he helpfully removes them from her pretty, Japanese legs prior to making Viagra-enhanced love to her. But he doesn’t get to see the socks from my uniquely humble, slavish viewpoint i.e. towering dominantly above me as I pay labial homage to their lower, black leather shoe-coverings.

Miss Kiyoko’s thick, black cotton kneesock creases untidily around her shapely, lower, Japanese anklebone as she stretches her dainty, Japanese-girl foot out in front of my hole-in-the-wall face and so, almost subconsciously, she reaches down to straighten it.

That’s right, young Japanese lady – pull your socks up high above me! You still have a long way to go in your fledgling career as a slave-mistress. Oh, and by the way – the secret of that tiny hole on the side of your outstretched, ribbed kneesock is safe with me; for I am just a dumb, restroom-footslave – forbidden to talk!

Observation no. 10 – Nightshift Boots

It’s dark now – pitch black, in fact! All the office ladies, including the pink-haired, pink-socked cleaner, miss Nadia, have gone home, leaving me on my own in their office restroom.

The light has been switched off – to save energy – but it will not necessarily be off all night, for one or other of the two night-time security guards – misses Shalonna and Dominique – may well have to answer a call of nature during their long shift.

I’ll be here – ready to kiss their black-girl, security-guard uniform boots, whatever the hour. For their knee-high, zip-up, black leather boots are strong and mighty – like them – and I’m just a weak and defenceless head-in-the-wall, vulnerable to attack from their reinforced-steel toecaps should either of them get the urge, through sheer boredom and the desire to have something to do, to kick my night-time, footslave-face in!

How I wish I could verbally entertain them – flatter them, and regale them with my stories of kissing female feet here in the ladies’ restroom. But, of course, I can’t – for I am just a dumb footslave; I have only my feverishly respectful kisses to their reinforced,steel boot-toes to protect me from their young-womanly boredom and anger!

Oh…the light’s just gone on, and I see, and hear, the spiked bootheels of goddess -mistress Shalonna marching past me towards one of the cubicles.

Oh I do hope she stops by me as she exits the restroom – for those highly-polished, dark, Jamaican-girl boots were just made for kissing in the middle of the night!