Observations of Sundry Office-Footslaves Vol. 1
The first volume in a collection of pithy observations by various office-footslaves (be they office-corridor shoelickers; office-restroom shoelickers; at-desk shoelickers; or mobile, personal shoelickers) as they service everyday office-girls’ superior footwear in the glorious Gynarchy of Barbaria!
It is my first day as the new, office footslave.
The cruel, blonde-haired, office-manageress has gathered all her female staff around to introduce me to them – their latest, communal footservant:
‘OK, listen up everybody – this is our new office-footslave. His role is to look after our office feet and footwear. So feel free to use him to lickshine your dirty shoes or boots; to smell or straighten your socks or tights; to massage your feet; even to pedicure them if you’re getting ready to go out after work!
You are also welcome to whip him; kick him; verbally abuse him; and punish him in any way you see fit. Just call him ‘slave’, and remember, because he’s just a slave, it doesn’t matter if you hurt him, as he can’t answer back…’
A murmur of excited, female approval ripples around the room.
The blonde office-manageress continues her introductory speech by next addressing me, and giving me my second set of orders (my first had been to kiss her flat, black leather loafers beneath the hems of her plain, black trouser-hems on my immediate arrival at my new office):
‘Slave, you will now kiss the feet of all my employees, and show your respect for them!’
The office ladies – there are about a dozen of them – form an orderly line, and I duly kiss all their feet.
They are, in turn:
· A tall, bespectacled, black girl with brown, chunky-heeled and round-toed, zip-up, knee-high, leather boots; the brown boots taste slightly scuffmarked on the round-shaped toes, and I can just see a delightful pair of tan-coloured, nylon tights beneath the hem of her beige-coloured, knee-length skirt; her black leg-skin makes the tights look deliciously darker!
· A petite, slightly-built Indian girl with jet-black, shoulder-length hair and a red, painted spot on her pretty forehead, who is wearing the most stunning pair of red patent leather, block-heeled, slip on shoes with fancy, heart-shaped, silvery, decorative buckles on the sides, and plain, matt-black socks. I make a mental note to be particularly attentive and respectful to this young, Hindu woman, since her Indian feet are so incredibly cute and dainty, and daintily attired!
· A fat, red-haired girl with flat-heeled, round-toed, lace-up, black leather shoes and an incongruously bright pair of yellow and red, cartoon-themed socks peeking out beneath her black corduroy, office trouser-hems. I can’t quite make out the whole of the red cartoon character, but it appears to be some sort of caricature of an exotic, tropical bird – a parrot perhaps? Hopefully I will get to see more of these intriguing, fun socks in due course, if their redheaded wearer requires a foot-massage. Her surprisingly straight-laced shoes taste decidedly musty.
· Another petite, and somewhat frail-looking, Indian sub-continent girl – though I believe this one may be Pakistani, as she is wearing a fetching, black, dupatta-style headscarf and matching, black salwar-kameez, tapered trousers. Her delicate, wheatish-coloured feet are bare inside her somewhat scruffy and unkempt-smelling, beige-coloured ballet-flats, and I like the way her upper foot-veins twitch somewhat nervously as my maleslave lips make contact with her soft, beige shoe-toes. I also very much admire the glimpse of her dainty toe-cleavage!
· Yet another, South Asian girl – this time more brown-skinned, and dressed as a ‘liberated’ western girl in a crisp, white blouse and navy blue, bootcut trousers, with a delicious-tasting pair of heavily-buckled, black leather, calf-length biker-boots underneath. I like the feel of the reinforced toes of her boots, and the way they make her delicate, Indian feet seem oversized compared to the rest of her body; though I am disappointed that the length of her boots will mean I have no chance of ever seeing what type of socks she is wearing inside them – unless, of course, she ever orders me to take off her boots and smell her socks. Here’s hoping!
· A slim and svelte, blonde, East-European girl with her hair tied back in a tight ponytail. This girl I like because she deliberately hitches up her black, bootcut, office-trouser hem to afford me a view of her plain, white cotton bootsock-top inside the upper rim of her spike-heeled and pointy-toed, zip-up, black leather ankleboot as I kiss her on her outstretched, right foot. I like the way her sexy ankleboot wobbles on its heel as I kiss it on the pointy toe, simultaneously causing her white sock-top to crease and flex before my kneeling and respectful eyes.
· A mousey-haired, short and stockily-built, thirty-something girl with bare legs beneath a modest, grey-pinstriped, knee-length skirt and low-heeled, black leather courts, worn over a pair of ultra-short, barely visible, dark-coloured footie-nylons. Boring!
· A much more interesting pair of navy-blue courts with kitten-heels on tan-coloured, full-length nylons – more interesting nylons not only because they cover the middle-aged, office-mistress’s entire legs, but because they also contain the makings of a tiny ladder on the white woman’s shapely, left, outer anklebone. She’s a brunette – and no spring chicken from what I can deduce – but I somehow sense that this particular office-lady will be extremely demanding of my foot-servitude, as her foot deliberately lingers for several seconds beneath my face as I kiss it and admire her partially-laddered stocking!
· The first pair of practical, office ballet-flats worn with socks – plain, black socks in this case, and belonging to a young, oriental woman with long, dark hair. I like the way her black socks are slightly bobbled and greying in places (e.g. along the insteps) as this indicates that they are a well-worn and thinning pair of oriental-girl, office socks – seeped in her far-eastern, foot DNA. I hope to sniff them later, if she’ll let me!
· More black leather ankleboots – chunky; wedge-heeled; chisel-toed; laced-up, and worn by a sassy-looking black girl along with opaque, black nylon knee-highs beneath a pair of sexy, frayed, pale-blue, denim shorts. The sassy black girl’s evil smile is indicating to me that I will get to serve her knee-high nylons at some point during the day, as she is clearly the sort of young woman who will enjoy imposing her sweaty, nylon, popsock-stink on a helpless, maleslave’s face!
· The second ballet-flats/socks combo of the day – this time a pair of shiny, green ballet-flats worn with a pair of matching, pale green, full-length anklesocks beneath the bright red trouser hems of a garishly-dressed, and clearly somewhat eccentric, spikey-haired blonde girl . I later find out that she is an apprentice from the local business-college, and just 19 years old – which makes me respect her shiny, green ballet-flats and pale green anklesocks all the more, given her youth and power over me (she subsequently comes to brighten up my life every day as she turns out to have a multicoloured collection of socks to wear with her bright green ballet-flats!)
· And last, but not least, a pair of cheap, plain black, low-top, lace-up sneakers, worn with ultra-short, pink sneaker-socks – the elasticated tops of which are only just visible above the sneaker-rim. The wearer’s ankleskin is deliciously olive-toned beneath her somewhat frayed, black denim jean-hems, and I later discover these are the black sneakers and pink socks of the hard-working office cleaner-girl – a Bolivian miss called miss Consuela. Miss Consuela will turn out to be one of my most demanding office-mistresses – requiring her hot and sweaty, soft, pink-socked feet to be sniffed and massaged at the end of each long, hard working day, and teaching me how to understand female orders in Spanish along the way!
And so I begin to familiarise myself with my new office-ladies’ feet. I shall doubtless get to know their shoes and socks before I get to know them – but that’s exactly how it should be. For I am their footslave – not their office colleague, or their friend; and they don’t give a damn who I am – providing I show proper respect for their superior, female feet and footwear.
Swish…Crack!
I receive my first, stinging crack of the office-whip from the stockily-built, modestly-dressed, mousey-haired girl with the dark nylon footie-socks and black leather courts!
See what I mean?
Most, if not all, office-mistresses expect their at-desk, office footslave to be wholly respectful of their office footwear as he kneels in front of his female better beneath her desk whilst she is seated comfortably above him in her office swivel chair working on her computer.
But my own fat, blonde, full-time office mistress - mistress Annabelle - demands more than just outward signs of respect (such as repeated kissing and sniffing and licking of her black leather, chunky-heeled and round-toed ankleboots); she demands that I inwardly respect her common-or-garden, everyday office-footwear by thinking about her feet and footwear as I kneel and stare at her dusty and scuffmarked, black leather boot-toes!
And these are my thoughts as her right, anklebooted foot hovers in the air directly in front of my kneeling and mesmerised face:
- I am thinking about how privileged I am to be so close to your beautiful, blonde-fat-girl ankleboot, mistress Annabelle, that I can smell its sweet feminine mustiness. To be forced to breath in your outer boot-air for a living is truly an honour, goddess office-mistress Annabelle!
- I am admirous of the way your right boot swivels and flexes subconsciously in front of my kneeling and unworthy face as you concentrate your pretty, blonde-female mind on much higher things - such as your social networking site.
- I am indebted to you for the occasional glimpse of silvery-black bootsock beneath your slightly raised, navy-blue, office trouser-hem, as that sparkle in your sock reflects the sparkle in your eyes, blonde goddess-mistress Annabelle, and reminds me that, although I can never be permitted to have fun with you - for I am but a slave - you are, nonetheless, a fun-loving girl, with lots of friends and freemale admirers, who hanker after more than just your boots and socks!
- I yearn to discover how your precious, fat, office-goddess feet must smell inside those hot and heavy, fully zipped-up, chunky-heeled, black leather ankleboots! They must surely be greasing and perspiring inside those silver-sparkly, black socks! Oh what I wouldn’t give right now to accompany you to the office-restroom where I would, with your blonde-female permission, divest you of your boots and socks so that I might lick-sniff the sweaty and odourous foot-bacteria off your pasty-white and, hopefully, veiny feet (for I do like a nice, prominent foot-vein that I can trace my tongue along!)
- I am wondering where your boots have been, and take every opportunity to taste the dirty bottoms of your bootsoles so that I may at least gain a flavour of where you have been walking. I like it when you walk in dirt, for your bootdirt helps to fill my empty stomach, mistress. Unlike you, I am not beautiful and fat and well fed; on the contrary I am ugly and thin and malnourished - as befits a common-or-garden, at-desk footslave - and so each and every soupcon of dirty streetmud which you kindly bring me on your bootsoles is very much appreciated, most sweet and kind, slow-to-whip mistress!
- And yet, I hunger and thirst for more humiliation - for your spicy, feminine toe-jam; for your chewy, feminine toenail-clippings; for your dry, dead footskin; for your black sock lint!
- Oh - another feminine boot-crease as your right foot once again swivels subliminally in the air; I’ll bet your sock is simultaneously creasing inside your boot - though, sadly, only the sparkly, elasticated top of your ankle-length bootsock is visible to me above the upper rim of your mobile, black leather ankleboot. Still, I can imagine the creases and folds on your sock - and dream of maybe one day getting to touch its warmth and sweatiness with my bare fingers, as I cup my hands around your socked foot and venerate it. Oh the stinky foot-air I would be immersed in then! Truly I live in the fervent hope of one day getting my hands on your socks, office goddess-mistress Annabelle!
- But, until then, the smell of your boot will have to do. God bless you, mistress Annabelle, and all who sleep with you!
I am employed as an ornamental footkisser in a busy, female-office corridor.
I admire and respect all the office-footmistresses whose feet and footwear I must humbly kiss on a daily basis:
- I admire blonde-airhead, offfice-junior mistress Alison because she is young (unlike me), female (unlike me), blonde (unlike me), slim (unlike me), and thick, as I kiss her black leather ballet-flats and plain black anklesocks beneath her black cotton, office trouser-hems;
- I admire chubby, black-curly-haired mistress Amy, because she is self-centred, fat and lazy, and constantly twiddles with her hair as I kiss her black leather, wedge-heeled, slip-on shoes and tan-coloured nylons beneath her black, bootcut trouser-hems;
- I admire quiet and intelligent, blonde-ponytailed mistress Rebecca because she is clever and pretty, as I kiss her navy-blue leather, double-strapped, chunky-heeled mary-janes and bare, white, veiny feet beneath her navy-blue trouser-hems;
- I admire loud and belligerent, blonde-ponytailed mistress Joanna because she shouts obscenities down at me (often with her mouth full); always hitches up her plain, black cotton trouser-hems; and all too frequently picks her nose (often flicking it down at me) as I kiss her black leather ankleboots and deliberately exposed, multicoloured, cartoon-themed socktops;
- I admire stuck-up, mixed-race, long-dark-haired and flat-chested mistress Mariella because she is so stuck-up, flat-chested, mixed-race and has long, dark hair, as I kiss her plain, black leather, musty-smelling, flat, slip-on shoes and black socks beneath her black trouser-hems;
- I admire ginger-haired mistress Mary-Anne because she wears black-leather, chunky-heeled, round-toed, zip-up kneeboots beneath her grey-pinstriped, knee-length office skirt, and I very much enjoy kissing her office-manageress boots;
- I admire tall and black, religious mistress Jocelyn because she preaches down at me - the 'dirty sinner-slave' - as she towers above me whilst I am kissing her plain, black leather courts and opaque, black woolly tights beneath her modestly calf-length, office skirt;
- I admire black-leather-miniskirted, bleached-blonde mistress Marian because she is a well-known slut, and mutton dressed up as lamb, as I kiss her black, patent leather, high-heeled, court shoes and tart-black, fishnet stockings;
- I admire modestly-headscarfed, Muslim-Pakistani mistress Zubeeda because she is short, petite, unassuming and Muslim, as I kiss her modest, black-leather ballet-flats and soft, bare, brown feet beneath the tapered hems of her traditional, Pakistani, black-silken, salwar-kameez trousers;
- I admire pregnant, black-haired, oriental mistress Ling-Chi because she has clearly had sex (unlike me), as I kiss her black suede, calf-length stretch-boots beneath her black cotton trouser-hems - and even though I never get to see her socks because of the length of her boots! If fertile miss Ling-Chi cruelly chooses to hide her oriental socks inside her calf-length boots, and can't be persuaded to display her bootsocks to me, it's no skin off my girlsock-sensitive nose - though she could have me flayed alive for talking like that!
- I admire upper-crust, dirty-blonde-haired, bad-breathed, slim and svelte mistress Portia because she has halitosis and is self-evidently better than me, as I kiss her surprisingly scruffy and scuffmarked (for a rich girl), black leather, low-heeled, lace-up ankleboots - occasionally catching a glimpse of the unkempt, elasticated tops of her surprisingly grubby-looking, white cotton anklesocks beneath her half-mast, black cotton trouser-hems.
In short, I admire and respect all these different office-mistresses because, each in their different ways, they are my manifest betters, since I am but a lowly, male slave and they all have one thing in common - they are superior females!
That's why I am employed to kiss their feet.
It's always nice when a successful, young woman (who has moved on in life from her humble beginnings as an office clerk in the office where you work as a permanent, ladies’ restroom-footslave) unexpectedly returns to her old stomping ground to gloat over you!
It happened to me the other day. I recognised her glorious feet instantly as she climbed up onto the office-restroom shoelick chair (after performing her ablutions) in front of my kneeling and footfool-masked face - the shape of them; the texture of the bare, white skin, even though they were no longer clad in her formerly ubiquitous, plain black leather ballet-flats, but were now, some two years on, adorned by a pair of much smarter, executive-businesswoman, shiny-black, patent leather high-heels!
It was that familiar, little black mole on her outer, right anklebone which was the clincher, though, leaving me in no doubt that it was, indeed the erstwhile, Scottish-blonde, freckle-faced, office-junior mistress Jennifer (just plain ‘Jenny’ to her friends and admirers – but ‘office-junior mistress Jennifer’ to me), who was once again, after a gap of some two years, climbing imperiously up onto the ladies-restroom shoelick throne of power in front of me. Her Celtic feet may have put on a bit of weight in the intervening period, but there's no mistaking a distinctive, feminine mole on the side of a young Scottish lady's shapely, bare, white anklebone.
She sneers down at me in a distressingly familiar voice - distressing because it invokes such unpleasant memories in me; memories of her young-womanly cruelty with the office whipping-stick (a time-darkened, whipping stick still hanging above my head, both literally and figuratively, on the office-restroom wall behind me!)
'Ha! Ha! Are you planning on going anywhere, dirty male slave, or could I possibly impose upon you to buff up my executive shoes with your tongue? What do you think? Ha! Ha!'
She always was a sarcastic sneerer, office-junior mistress Jennifer! But no longer an office junior, it seems - but a Scottish 'executive', at the tender age of 23! All I can say is that it's well-deserved promotion, given her blonde and freckled, feminine beauty, and even if she's not exactly the brightest bulb in the chandelier!
I must, of course, avoid any hint of a sarcastic or witty response to her moving comment about my not going anywhere - and instead express my delight and honour in serving her feet and footwear again, from behind my black leather, footfool mask:
'Oh pray, goddess-mistress Jennifer!... Oh pray!... Truly this slave would be honoured to lick the shoes of such a successful human-being, if it would be so pleasing to you, goddess-mistress Jennifer!...And many congratulations on your evident, well-deserved promotion, goddess-madam!'
I decide that terms such as 'goddess-mistress' and 'goddess-madam' would be more appropriate for an arrogant and ambitious, young, fat blonde, Scottish lady climbing so rapidly up the career ladder, rather than still addressing her as 'office-junior mistress'. Her executive, high-heeled shoes demand my humble, footslavish respect, even if her feet are still pasty-white and veiny, just like they always were!
I'm right - as evidenced by the smug smile on her pretty, round face (a smile witnessed by others since I am forbidden to look any mistress in the eye!)
She continues to humiliate and harry me as I start to lickshine her already shiny, black, pointy-toed, high-heeled, blonde-executive-girl shoes:
'Ha! Ha! That's right, foot-gimp (a reference to my footfool-mask, no doubt) - lickshine away all the street-filth, and make sure you don't miss any bits, unless, of course, you miss the sting of my whip, and yearn to feel it on your back again? Ha! Ha! Do you miss it, slave? Do you miss the bite of goddess-mistress Jennifer's cruel whipping-stick? Ha! Ha!'
She emphasises the word bite just to remind me of her uncanny ability with the office whipping-stick. I've never known any girl before or since who could overlay a stripe so accurately on a footfool's back, creating a very sore tartan-pattern of wicked whip-weals!
'Oh pray, mistress, if it pleases you, mistress, this slave does indeed yearn for the bite of the mistress's whipping-stick, but not that much mistress! Please don't beat me, mistress!'
'Ha! Ha! Then lick my shoes for all you're worth, slave! Lick them hard, or I'll whip you! Ha! Ha!'
Another, Scottish-female voice exits a cubicle and suddenly bagpipes up, flushed with excitement:
'Jenny! Long time, no see!...'
Fortunately for me, one of goddess-mistress Jennifer's former, female colleagues and compatriots recognises her, and runs over to embrace her whilst I am still dutifully lickshining her shoes:
'...My God, you look fabulous!'
The conversation turns away from me and the dreaded whipping-stick, and onto girly gossip - at which point I get to hear about goddess-mistress Jennifer being pregnant.
Ah - so that explains the fat, veiny ankles!
I have even more respect for executive goddess-mistress Jennifer and her shiny, black high-heeled shoes now, since she is, unlike me, no longer a celibate virgin!
I love ‘lumpy’ boots - boots that are well-used and worn, and full of creases and crevasses in the outer bootleather which a slave’s tongue can truly enjoy exploring whilst the beautiful-female wearer of the boots is still wearing them on her smooth-socked feet!
Dark-haired office-mistress Angelina is one such ‘lumpy-boot’ mistress - black leather, blocky-heeled, round-toed and scuffmarked, zip-up ankleboots which she shoves unthinkingly in front of my face whilst I am kneeling beneath her office desk, requiring me to lickshine them.
Her right ankleboot, in particular, is fully exposed to my face, since she is seated with her right leg crossed over her left, and the bootcut-hem of her black polyester, office-trouser leg is therefore slightly raised above the upper rim of her boot - revealing the smooth, black cotton of her unruffled socktop against the backdrop of her even smoother, mixed-race (African-Asian) legskin.
My humble tongue is truly enjoying its long and languorous trip around the hills and valleys of the outside of mistress Angelina’s boot - revelling in the thought that the contours of her dirty, exterior bootleather match perfectly the contours of her pretty foot and ankle inside, moulded as they have been to the individual shape of her young-womanly foot through repeated wear and tear!
And it’s not just the feel, the sight and the taste of her well-used bootleather that I like - it’s the musty smell; for it comprises the aroma of bootleather mixed with her individual, mixed-race, foot-DNA which has seeped from her hot and sweaty footpores, through her black socks, and into the very fabric of her boots after hours and hours of wearing this favourite pair of office-boots on her exotic feet!
The absolute pinnacle of her right ankleboot as far as I am concerned, however, consists of the greying, scuffmarked, leathery protuberance on the lower, right side of her right boot caused by the constant pressure of her dainty, little toe from within! In licking that rough little patch of worn-away toe-leather, I am tracing the very essence of her hidden-from-view, little toe. I can virtually feel it through her worn and thinning bootleather and black sock on the sensitive membranes of my experienced, bootlicking tongue - and it is such an honour!
For this is the unsightly toe-leather protuberance of a superior, dark-haired, African/Asian woman in her mid twenties - and therefore of my ultimate better - and my tongue is truly blessed to feel its leathery-scuffmarked roughness on its sensitive nerve-endings.
Yes - licking a young lady’s boot-lumps beneath her desk whilst she goes about her daily business above me; what more could an office bootslave ask for?
Licking office-ladies' kneelength, black leather, office boots can be a jaw-breaking experience or, at the very least, jaw-aching), but it does have its compensations:
- It is immensely humbling, as the boots seem to tower above one’s kneeling and bowed, bootlicking head - even if the lady wearer of the kneeboots is short and petite of stature (e.g. Indian or Chinese)
- It overwhelms the footslave tastebuds and leaves one’s mouth tasting of dirty, bitter bootleather
- The communal, office-footslave's sense of smell is, likewise, overwhelmed by the musty smell of well-worn bootleather (or, less frequently these days, by the overpowering aroma of black boot-polish!) as one’s personal airspace is dominated by arrogant, female boot
- It requires the humble slave to effectively lick a lady's shapely calf-muscle - a huge honour not often bestowed on a public or communal footslave whose mouth and tongue are normally restricted to a lady's upper ankle-level (only private footslaves might normally expect to be permitted to raise their heads to a mistress's upper calf-level - whilst, for example, massaging her lower calf-muscles!)
- It means one has to wait until one’s working-tongue reaches the upper rim of the boot just below the lady's kneelength, officewear skirt-hem before one can ascertain whether or not the superior mistress is wearing any hosiery inside her black leather (for officewear boots, in my humble experience, are inevitably black), fully zipped-up ( for officewear boots, in my humble experience, are inevitably of the zip-up variety - though the zips may be on the backs of the boots instead of the sides), kneehigh boots - and, if so, whether that feminine hosiery consists of thick, cotton, kneelength socks; thick, woolly tights; or dark, or tan, coloured nylons. One then has the utter indignity of imagining how that stinky hosiery must smell deep inside the boots one is licking - since it must, inevitably, smell, being trapped well within the confines of a heavy pair of kneehigh officewear boots all throughout the working day? (Again, only a mistress's privileged, personal footslave will actually get to smell and to sniff her damp, warm, inner hosiery at the end of a long, working day - after he is ordered to divest his mistress of her boots and sniff and massage her sweaty, nyloned or bootsocked toes!)
- Of course, even if there is no evidence of hosiery at the top of a lady's boots, there remains the mystery as to whether or not she is actually bare-legged and/or bare-footed inside her heavy, kneelength boots - for she could be wearing short socks deep down inside her boots. Either way it's a win-win situation for her lucky personal footslave back home (who will, of course, know the score since he will have washed and dressed his mistress's feet first thing in the morning before 'booting her up'!) - for, if she has been bare foot inside her heavy kneeboots all day, her sweet, feminine feet, however aesthetically dainty, will reek of female sweat and bootleather when he deboots his mistress on her return home and applies his footslave nose and mouth to them; or he will get to sniff sock - be it nylon, cotton or wool. So the private, personal footslave can't lose - unlike the communal, office footslave (i.e. me!) who can only dream of his office-mistresses' intimate, inner footsmells!
- Above all, however, licking kneelength boots is a jaw-dropping experience, as one kneels in awe beneath the booted feet and lower legs of an office-goddess, whose boots make her feel strong, dominant and sexy - but put you firmly in your bootlicking place!
My middle-aged, Indian desk-mistress is, righteously, fuming - for she has just observed me admiring the black leather ballet-flats, and black and yellow patterned anklesocks, of the young, blonde-ponytailed, messenger-mistress who was delivering some newly requisitioned stationery to my hardworking mistress's desk as I knelt on the office floor beneath said desk and beside my Indian mistress's chunky-heeled, black leather, single-strapped, mary-jane-style shoes and boringly plain, black anklesocks!
'Why you are looking away from my shoes and socks at the socks of that girl, dirty slave?' fumes my short and stocky, middle-aged mistress in her thick, Gujarati accent. 'Are my shoes and socks not being good enough for you, isn't it?'
She sounds genuinely perplexed that I would allow my kneeling eyes to stray away from their designated, office footwear (since I have been assigned to mistress Devi's desk for some thirteen months now), but she must surely realise that the black and yellow socks of a pretty, young, slim and svelte, blonde-haired, office junior are always going to have a certain appeal over the plain black shoes and socks of a middle-aged, greying, Indian woman?
Not that I can say as much, of course, though there is equally no point in denying my wandering office-footslave eye:
'Oh pray, mistress Devi! Oh pray! Pray forgive me, my most admired and respected desk-mistress Devi! Truly this slave respects and admires the shoes and socks of his esteemed, Indian mistress, if you would be do kind and merciful to a weak-willed slave, mistress?'
And, somewhat pathetically, I then attempt to ingratiate myself with my desk-mistress Devi's slighted shoes and socks by festooning them in humble and penitent kisses.
But the Indian-woman shoes and socks are having none of it - they step back from my mouth in disgust, thereby denying my drying-with-footslave-fear mouth the solace of her soft, black socks and warm shoeleather:
'Be following me this instant to the punishment-room, dirty slave! I am going to be giving you the cane, isn't it?'
Oh no! The office cane! My worst fears have been realised! I am to be beaten for my blatant shoe-and-sock disloyalty - for admiring the office ballet-flats and socks of a younger woman, and for turning a blind eye on my designated footmistress's middle-aged (though admittedly still youthful-looking) shoes and socks!
There is no point in pleading for any more mercy - I shall deserve all I get, and what I get shall be painful, for I already know from previous, bitter experience that my office-footmistress Devi sure knows how to swing a came down onto a disloyal footslave's buttocks (this isn't, I'm ashamed to say, the first time that my demanding, middle-aged, office mistress has had occasion to find fault with me and discipline me in the office-basement punishment room!)
And so I have the indignity of having to crawl behind my Indian office-mistress's angry, chunky-heeled, mary-jane shoes and socks, beneath the hems of her black cotton, officewear trousers, as she leads me like a footslave-lamb to the slaughter along the office corridor towards the lift leading to the basement punishment room where the whippy, rattan punishment-cane awaits!
In the lift we bump into my office-mistress Devi's fellow Gujarati mistress - the appropriately-named, office cleaning-mistress, miss Priti, who is, indeed, a very pretty Indian girl of about 20. Needless to say, being an utterly incorrigible admirer of young women's shoes and socks, I still can't help myself from studying the shoes and socks of the sweet, young Gujarati cleaning-woman as I kneel penitently behind my considerably older, Gujarati desk-mistress's shoes and socks in the office lift!
And very nice young-Indian-cleaning-woman shoes and socks they are too - hardworking, plain black leather, scuffmarked loafers, and grey and red patterned, low-cut, sneaker socks, the elasticated tops of which are only just visible to the furtive footslave-eye above the black leather shoeline. And such shapely, young-womanly, brown ankles below the calf-length hems of the Indian cleaning-girl's black cotton leggings! (I rarely, if ever, get to see my office desk-mistress Devi's bare, brown ankleskin since she always wears full-length anklesocks beneath her full-length trouser-hems - perhaps that's part of the problem!)
The two Indian women are now chatting away to one another in Gujarati above me, with my desk-mistress Devi no doubt explaining to her fellow Gujarati-female why I am being taken down to the basement punishment room which is next to the cleaning-girl's storeroom.
She must also be inviting miss Priti to witness my forthcoming punishment, for I am subsequently ordered to kiss the 20 year old, Gujarati cleaning-girl's musty-smelling, plain black loafers in the lift as it is still descending towards the basement, and to praise and bless her for agreeing to assist my mistress Devi with the infliction of my well-deserved caning-punishment - which is somewhat ironic, when you think about it, given that I am about to be caned for focussing on another young, blonde-haired woman's forbidden shoes and socks, and yet here I am being specifically ordered to kiss the distracting shoes and socks of a dark-haired, Asian babe!
Be that as it may, I do very much admire miss Priti's slightly twisted, grey and red socktops as I eagerly kiss each of her imperiously outstretched, scuffmarked, rounded, black leather loafer-toes in the moving lift - the socktops and loafer-toes of a young, Gujarati woman who is about to enjoy watching me being physically chastised:
'Ha! Ha! Soon you are going to be being beaten hard, isn't it dirty slave? Ha! Ha! Many pain, isn't it?' she gloats in her broken English above me.
I think she too appreciates the irony of the situation , as she senses my quivering and weak, non-stiff, English upper lip on her musty-smelling, black shoeleather, and my undisguised admiration for her short, twisted, grey and red, Indian-girl socks, as they accompany me down to the basement-level punishment room of impending pain!
28 year-old, bespectacled, buck-toothed, short and stocky miss Bunko may not be the prettiest Japanese secondee that I have ever served in this Gynarchy, venture-capitalist office – but she does, nevertheless, make a concerted effort to be sexy by dying her hair blonde; by wearing short skirts; and by wearing pretty, black patent leather, chunky three-inch-heeled, lace-up shoes (to give her more height) and scrunched-up white anklesocks (to disguise her fat ankles) to work.
And her sartorial efforts are clearly paying dividends – since, right now, she is seated opposite one of the senior, company directors in the office cafeteria, shamelessly snogging him in front of the other office-workers as both their coffees go cold. The happy couple are clearly very much in love!
Congratulations miss Bunko!
My role in this particular scenario, in my humble capacity as her seconded, personal office-footslave, is merely to kneel unobtrusively below the coffee table with my face lowered to the side of her feet, and to study and admire her Japanese-girl shoes and socks. I am not to sniff them; nor am I to touch them; or kiss them – ‘ugly’ Japanese goddess-mistress Bunko is not a ‘perpetuant’ mistress (requiring constant oral contact on the part of a footslave to her feet and footwear). My orders are merely to observe her office shoes and socks as she goes about her daily business – and that includes whilst she is snogging the senior executive in the office cafeteria!
And so, exactly what am I observing during such an intimate moment? Well:
· I observe the way her cascading, pure-white, lattice-stitched, cotton slouch-socks crease and fold even further with every passionate kiss she shares with the real man above me, as her blocky, brown-wooden shoe-heels raise ever so slightly up off the cafeteria floor in front of my face with each embrace, and her lovesick, Japanese-girl, foot muscles involuntarily twitch with libidinous pleasure at being the overseas consort of an already married man;
· I observe a little, black spot on the side of her otherwise pure-white, right sock – the sock closest to my face. It is located on the 10th crease down from the rolled-top of her white, cotton slouch-sock (i.e. the 10th crease out of a total of 12 which ripple down as far as her upper shoe-rim). It appears to be a tiny piece of black dust – possibly from the street outside – which has somehow become attached to one of the latticed stitches on her sock. Of course, it is imperceptible to the free human-being eye – only a down-in-the-dirt footslave such as myself would ever notice it. Even the Japanese wearer of the ankle-enhancing, white sock is blissfully unaware of the tiny piece of foreign detritus stuck to its latticed side – but such an insignificant spot looms large in my footslave-consciousness, and, indeed, weighs heavily on my conscience, since, in the unlikely event that she or the master-sir did happen to notice it I could be legitimately sorely-whipped for ‘allowing’ such an unsightly spot to become attached to my Japanese office-mistress’s otherwise flawless, white sock! Out vile spot! But, as I indicated before – I am powerless to touch it; all I can hope and pray is that it will dislodge itself at some point during the course of my mistress’s busy, working day so that I can lap it up and ensure it ends up in my stomach where it can never sully my buck-toothed, Japanese mistress’s sock again!
· I find myself quietly contemplating my helplessness and powerlessness in the face of a tiny, black spot on my oriental mistress’s white sock – and that, in turn, leads me to ruminate on the lowliness of my position as a Japanese-girl’s sock-watcher! She is self-evidently my superior and better – despite being only half my age – since she is the one seated at the executive coffee-table, and I am the one being forced to study her shoes and socks on my hands and knees.
· I turn my slavish attention to her shoes, and observe how the tiny, perforated holes in the fancy stitching over the rounded, front areas of her shiny, black leather, fully laced-up shoes are, like her lily-white socks above them, fetchingly creased and folded due to the coquettish positioning of her Japanese toes on the floor whilst her chunky, brown-wooden heels are raised up in lust off the ground.
· The reminder that her stylish, blocky-heeled, black office shoes are lace-up, however, draws me back to her white socks – and the thought that they are probably not so snow-white and pure deep inside her closed-in shoes, but rather are moist and sweaty, for it is now mid-afternoon and these white socks have been adorning my Japanese office-mistress’s stocky feet for several hours now!
· Oh how I wish I could be a party to her vinegary, ammonic sock-smell when she finally kicks off her shoes at the end of the day! I expect the free master-sir above me has experienced her socked feet – maybe not in his face, but at least from a distance! He has probably even witnessed her bare feet from a distance as she undresses for him and climbs into her bed with him for some extra-marital lovemaking! But, sadly, I shall never be a party to her naked, or discarded, white slouch-socks, since I am but her strait-laced office footslave; her daytime footslave, if you will! My business is only with her fully shod feet – more’s the pity!
· Or should that be – ‘more’s the pretty’?! For, on reflection, mistress Bunko’s feet do look best in her shiny, black, chunky-three-inch-heeled shoes and thick, white, cankle-hiding socks – and her socks, if I could only touch them, must surely be as soft as any Japanese-girl footskin?
Yes – I am proud to be a rather plain-looking, Japanese girl’s public shoe and sock slave, kneeling discreetly by the side of her fully-clad feet, whilst she conducts an affair with the real man above me. I know my office place!
I don’t know what’s gotten in to me today, but I just don’t seem to be quite with it!
Normally, I pride myself on being a very attentive and alert, office-corridor footslave – kissing the feet of all those office-mistresses who deign to stop by my footblock with attention to detail and perceptiveness. I notice, and admire, every little nook and cranny in the mistress’s shoe or boot leather; every little crease or wrinkle in her nylon stocking around the shapely anklebone, or in her sock below the trouser-hem.
But today, for some reason, I am apathetic in my servitude (as opposed to just pathetic!) – and some of the office-mistresses have noticed my ‘attitude-problem’, as evidenced by the red marks on my bare, kneeling back and shoulders from the communal-use, office-corridor, whipping stick!
Here are just some examples of why I have needed the stimulus of the female whip today:
· Failure to study and admire the creases in fat Indian mistress Sarala’s plain, black anklesocks as she presented me with her delightful, single-strapped, flat-heeled and round-toed, black leather, office mary-janes to kiss. There really can be no excuse for not admiring a young and portly, dark-haired Indian woman’s sock when so much of it is on display beneath her grey-pinstriped trouser-hem, thanks to the strappy design of her flat shoe – 3 lashes across my right shoulder blade for sock-neglect; and richly deserved!
· Failure to respond with positivity and warmth to bespectacled, blonde, office-manageress mistress Angela, and her black leather, low-heeled, court shoes and tan nylons beneath her modest, below-the-knee, tweed office skirt. Some mistresses – especially those of a certain age (and office-manageress Angela is in her mid forties now) – like to see a male slave excited and grateful when they bother to stop by him in order to have their perspiring, if uninspiring, office feet and footwear kissed, and a sullen, office footslave just will not do – 4 lashes of the whipping stick across my left shoulder (office-manageress Angela is, mercifully, left handed – so, at least my earlier whip wounds had some time to heal before the next onslaught!)
· Failure to even recognise the shiny, black loafers, and rich, black woollen socks of black-trousersuited, pint-sized, Pakistani mistress Haleema. Normally my tail would be well and truly wagging at the sight of petite, miss Haleema’s shiny shoes and rich, matt black office socks – she’s a real, Pakistani-girl beauty! But today – I barely even tasted her black, patent shoeleather, so cursory and lacklustre were my kisses to the shiny, rounded toes of her black, loafer shoes. My God – those Pakistani girls can’t half whip – even the petite ones; I received 6 of the best from miss Haleema – all on my right shoulder blade, and all of them overlays on the still tingling earlier stripes from her Indian cousin, miss Sarala.
· Even the oriental stunner – slim and svelte miss Cheng-Uang’s black leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up ankleboots, and black and red patterned bootsocks with Chinese lettering on them, couldn’t get me going – not even when she graciously hitched up the hems of her black, office trouser-legs, one after the other, in order to show off her sweaty, Mandarin-speaking girl bootsocks to me in all their young-womanly glory! No wonder, then, that she repaid my sockslave-indifference with a goodly number of cutting, red stripes (I lost count after 15!)
· The pain of the whipping-stick really should have snapped me out of my footslavish stupor, but, instead I seemed to sink even further into the slough of despond. Today, I hate my job of having to kiss ladies’ feet all day long, and compliment their boots, shoes, nylons and socks! I just want to be left alone; to have a day off – like they do every once in a while! (Even at weekends I end up having to worship the feet of the female cleaners – normally clad in cheaper footwear which appeals to my sense of self-degradation and humility; but today, in my current mood, I certainly am not looking forward to the weekend!)
· So what the hell is wrong with me?
I was later diagnosed by the slave-doctor with depression, and, thankfully, she found a cure for me – a series of ultra-painful electric shocks to my temples soon jolted me out of my nauseating misery and self-pity! I was once again glad to be alive – and glad to be of service to the female, office foot!
She hates me - the short and petite, but incredibly beautiful, 19 year old black girl, office-junior mistress Shona.
I don't know why she hates me - other than the fact that I am a slave - but hate me she does! It seems I can do no right by her:
- Sometimes she accuses me of not kissing her plain, black office ballet-flats for long enough; on other occasions she objects to my office-footslave lips lingering for too long on her precious shoeleather
- Sometimes she criticises me for kissing her on the black sock; on other occasions she criticises me for not kissing her on the sock
- She objects to 'my ugly and odious head' bobbing up and down below her over her shoes as I kneel on the floor before her, and kiss them; she objects to my ugly and odious head not bobbing up and down enough as I pay oral homage to her shoes
- She is offended by my unmanly screams of pain and shock as she slaps me hard across the face for some perceived misdemeanour on my part; she is offended when I stoically take the terrible, face-slapping pain in silence
- Above all, she objects to my very presence at her black ballet-flated and socked feet; and yet, she will, at times, complain to her managers about my unauthorised absence from her feet.
And so, like I said, when it comes to pleasing miss Shona, the surly black girl, I can do no right!
Bizarrely, I'm fast coming to the conclusion that there can only be one explanation for her extreme hostility towards me - she actually fancies me, but knows she can never have me, since sex with a male slave is forbidden by law in the Gynarchy! She is therefore frustrated by me, and my footslavish impotence (despite my hunky good looks!)
Ha! Ha! That must be it - she loves me!
I suppose I should be flattered, really; but instead I just get battered - day in and day out - by the palms of her pretty, black hands, as I vainly attempt to appease her sexually frustrated, black feet!
