Pleasing Examples of Premier Foot-Servitude
Being shining examples of best foot-practice on the part of dutiful footslaves
Regular foot-customer mistress, mistress Joy – a stunningly attractive, if slightly podgy, black, African-Caribbean lady in her early forties – had forewarned me that she would be bringing her two, 20 year old nieces, who were over on holiday from the Caribbean, to visit me on my local, sink-estate, public shoelick-stand, and she had advised me that I must show proper respect for her nieces’ feet and footwear when they present them to me for public kissing!
Her exact words were that I ‘must show the same respec (sic) that I show to her own, low-heeled, black leather pumps and dark, nylon stockings’. Now that’s deep respect, for I very much fear black mistress Joy and her punishing whip – the female end of which (the handle) never seems to be far from her podgy, black fingers; the male end of which (the tail) is forever hovering close to my naked, maleslave back!
Unlike most customer-mistresses on the estate, mistress Joy prefers to discipline me with her own, brown leather, single-tailed, cowhide whip, rather than rely on the overused and consequently frayed, public-use whipping stick which, she believes, has lost its ‘bite’ over the years, thanks to repeated wear and tear on my bare, kneeling back! And, as always, she’s right – the sting of her well-oiled, well-cared-for, cowhide whip is much mightier than that of the frayed and worn, public whipping-stick (even if the latter occasionally leaves skelfs in my flesh!)
When the two overseas black girls were eventually presented to me, respecting their feet and footwear wasn’t exactly difficult, since they were both tartily dressed in revealing tops which shamelessly exposed their deliciously brown-skinned midriffs; short, frayed, blue-denim hotpants; knee-length socks; and purple, ankle-length DMs (in the one case) or white, high-top, converse sneakers (in the other)!
The young, black lady in the DMs – the stouter of the two, who therefore most resembled her aunt Joy in her build – had on a pair of thick, black woolly kneesocks with ribbed, vertical stitching up the fronts and sides; kneesocks which I surmised must surely be unpleasantly hot, moist and sweaty in their lower foot-parts given the heat of the day and the heavy, purple leather of her tightly laced-up, ankle-length, Doc Marten boots (it is mid-summer here in the Gynarchy, after all – though admittedly not as hot as in her native Caribbean!),
The other, more slender and less physically-imposing niece, was wearing a fetching pair of light-cotton, pale-grey kneesocks with flowery-patterned grey stitching running all down the fronts and the sides. Her socks were also more ‘slovenly’ looking than the fat girl’s (the latter’s socks were neatly pulled up over her fat ankles and calf muscles, whereas the skinny niece’s pale-grey socks were all twisted and creased over her much more slender and shapely, lower leg muscles!)
Either way – both pairs of black-girl kneesocks towered imposingly over my kneeling and bowed head as I kissed the scuffmarked toes of their respective purple DMs and white, high-top sneakers, enjoying the different feel and smell of the leather, and then the canvas, as my humble lips paid homage to their unseasonal, Caribbean-girl footwear!
But what really engendered a deep respect for them inside me was not their kneehighly-appealing socks and scruffy, unkempt shoes, but their devil-may-care attitude towards me as I – the pathetic, elderly, bald, white man in his fifties – stooped to kiss their twenty-something, soiled footwear in full public view on their aunt’s inner-city estate, all whilst their beloved aunt Joy stood watching my humble lipwork, the male end of her cowhide-whip, as ever, dangling threateningly close to my already whip-striped, bare white back!
The young women’s righteously disdainful attitude towards me manifested itself in several ways:
· Both were chewing gum – and noisily so – as I kissed their footwear; and they did not stop masticating;
· Both were looking down at me contemptuously through their pretty, Caribbean noses like I was something nasty they had just walked in (which is ironic, when you consider that I was now, on the further orders of their whip-wielding aunt, having to lick whatever they had just been walking in off the dirty soles of their DMs/sneakers!);
· And both, despite their total inexperience in handling male slaves (being from the Caribbean where slavery has long since been abolished, and men are, happily, born free), were not averse to giving me plenty of lip as I lipped their dirty footwear.
For example:
The Fat One: ‘Slave-bwoy, lick them there darty bits roun’ my boot-heels, an’ that! Shine they up good an’ proper, bwoy!’
The Skinny One: ‘Yo, slave-bwoy! Straighten my socks, an’ make they look neat, an’ that, on my legs; you dig, bwoy?’
‘Obey she, bwoy!’ chirps in madam Joy (before I can slavishly respond to the skinny, black mistress) whilst playfully tracing her familiar, brown cowhide-whip across my bare back and shoulders as if to remind me not to take any unwarranted footslave-liberties whilst straightening her attractive and slender niece’s pale grey kneesocks (for instance, by touching her soft, black, 20 year old, Caribbean leg-skin with my dirty, middle-aged, European-maleslave fingers!)
But the joyless aunt needn’t have worried – whip or no, I am in a state of truly deep, slavish respect for these two burgeoning, young slavemistresses from the Caribbean, with their sluttily-tall socks and ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude. Showing my profound respect for their haughty, gum-chewing, young-mistressly attitude is not a problem; I am self-evidently their middle-aged-male inferior, and the world of the Gynarchy is now at their 20 year old feet – should they decide to overstay their tourist visas and remain here with their aunt indefinitely!
I hope they do, for such stunning pairs of black-girl boots/shoes and socks deserve to be publicly worshipped by the likes of me each and every day of the week. They are, self-evidently, my betters!
Even though I am about to be publicly whipped, I have nothing but respect for the feet and footwear of those anonymous mistresses who have come to gleefully witness my fear, my flailing, and my flogging.
I demonstrate that respect and admiration for their passive-watching cruelty by kissing their feet as I am led on my hands and knees down the jeering line where they are all impatiently standing, towards the dreaded, and phallic, male-whipping post in the centre of the dusty square.
I always kiss the both feet of each and every mistress lining the square – one dainty, female foot after the other – as each mocking mistress, hands on shapely, feminine hips, presents her dainty ladyfeet to my crawling and penitent face in turn. And, in between each footkiss, I verbally praise and bless the superior mistress for bothering to attend my public castigation and humiliation.
So, on this unhappy occasion:
· I kiss the shiny, black patent leather, low-heeled courts of the smartly-attired, black-ponytailed, Indian business-girl, admiring as I do so the prominent, blue veins in her bare, brown feet beneath her black cotton, business-suit, trouser hems (veins pulsing, no doubt, with the anticipation of observing my forthcoming suffering!) ;
· I next kiss the rich, black cotton, vein-hiding, cotton sock-material of her fellow, twenty-something, Indian-girl compatriot who is standing beside her, in between the T-Bar straps of her flat-heeled and round-toed, mary-jane style shoes; the no-nonsense black sock gives me some succour, for it is incredibly soft on my dry and parched-with-fear lips;
· Emboldened by the feel of sultry, black sock on my lips, I next kiss the short, white, pink-trimmed sneaker socks and pale pink, plastic crocs of the slightly overweight, blonde-ponytailed woman who is busily eating a greasy burger; her pretty, white face is pockmarked with tiny holes, rather like her pretty, pink crocs; but at least the designer holes in her crocs expose more of her white sock-stitching to my humble gaze;
· I next kiss the matt-black, round-toed, high-heeled courts and finest-denier, dark-hued nylons of the thirty-something, smart-trouser-suited, black-African woman whilst she takes a humiliating picture of me on her mobile phone – another photograph for her social media website: ‘Ha! Ha! This is the dirty prisoner-slave having to kiss my feet immediately prior to his public whipping! Ha! Ha!’ The nylon rasps against my lips unsympathetically, in comparison to the foregoing pairs of soft, cotton socks;
· I next kiss the shiny, bright red high-heels and tan-nylon stockings of a uniformed, Sri Lankan air-stewardess, stopping off on her way to the airport to watch all the whipping fun before she once more flies out of the Gynarchy and back to reality! Her pretty, red shoes, like her pretty, white teeth, are gleaming in the afternoon sunshine, and her tan-nylons appear to be shimmering (with sweat?).
· I next kiss the two-inch-heeled, pointy-toed, black leather pumps and almost invisible, finest-denier, flesh-toned nylons of the blonde-haired, bank clerk mistress in her Gynarchy Bank, corporate wear uniform consisting of a smart, crisp white blouse; a purple neck-scarf; a purple jacket with the ‘GB’ logo on it; and her equally smart, knee-length, purple skirt. Unlike the Sri Lankan girl’s tan-coloured nylons, the blonde girl’s tan-nylons are almost see-through, revealing the tiny little pink blotches on her otherwise pasty-white foot and ankle skin beneath the thinly veiled veneer of fine quality nylon; I note also how her foot muscles twitch with young-womanly delight as I deliberately kiss a nylon-covered foot vein on her imperiously outstretched, left foot; this young woman is really going to enjoy watching me being flogged – you can bank on it!
· I next, by way of complete contrast, am obliged to kiss the shapeless, musty-smelling, street-soiled, beige-brown ugg boots of a seemingly disinterested oriental girl, whilst she is gabbling away to someone on her phone in Chinese. What could possibly be more important to her than having her feet kissed by a prisoner slave just prior to his public flogging? (her love life, perhaps?) I am disappointed in her haughty and dismissive attitude towards my impending suffering, and by the fact that her blue denim jeans are callously tucked into the uppers of her calf-length ugg boots, for it means that I have no way of knowing, as I kiss her soiled, rounded boot-toes one after the other, whether or not she is wearing any socks inside her beige-sheepskin boots – and, if so, what colour and texture they might be! She is very petite and beautiful, though, and the misshapen and oversized ugg boots only add to her aura of young-womanly power and oriental beauty.
And so it goes on, and on, and on – seemingly endless miles of gloating young women’s shoes, boots, sandals and socks to kiss, all of them baying for my back-blood, until I eventually get to the shoes and socks of my two designated female whippers:
· The dusty, unkempt, black leather, low-top, lace-up sneakers and matching, low-level, plain black sneaker-socks of the pint-sized black girl – socks which disappear at an angle down the backs of her sneaker-heels; the left one even more so than the right one. She may be pint-sized and have uneven socks, but in my fearful experience the more dainty and untidy they are, the harder they whip!
· And the equally dusty and unkempt, black leather ballet-flats and black and pink patterned sneaker-socks of the medium-sized, freckle-faced, ginger-haired, white girl.
Needless to say, I kiss my two female whippers’ feet with enhanced submissiveness and humility, since they are the ones who hold my pain-fate in their pretty, whip-wielding hands. I am slightly disappointed that the two female police officers are in civilian clothes, for it is surely much more of a spectacle for the gathered female crowd to witness a male slave being chastised by two young ladies in sexy, navy-blue, Female Police uniforms?. But I suppose they don’t want to get their uniforms dirty – and whipping a slave at the whipping post can be a dirty job, especially if some of his male back-skin and sinews were to sully their nice clean, female-uniform shirts!
And so I must make do, it seems, with professional whippers in civilian clothes, even though they have full police powers of whipping (meaning they can whip totally without mercy!)
……………………………………………………………………………….
After the whipping, I kiss all the same variously-shod ladyfeet yet again, beginning with those of my two punishers, and then back down the line of now jubilant and triumphant witnesses – exactly the same pairs of feet as before, only now dustier and sweatier, thanks to their jumping for joy with every cruel crack of the female whip on my bare, tethered back!
By stretching forth the mud-splattered, rounded-toe of her black leather, mary-jane style, T-bar shoe beneath my kneeling, public-footslave nose, the pleasant-looking, thirty-something, dark-haired, white mistress in the purple, knee-length dress and black, woolly tights is effectively telling me:
‘I regard you as nothing more than dirt, slave – the dirt beneath my feet! I therefore require you to lick the dirt and the mud off my plain, T-Bar, black leather shoe – and swallow it. For my everyday, common-or-garden shoedirt belongs inside your worthless, maleslave stomach, rather than on the precious outer surface of my superior, female shoe! The cleanliness of my female shoe is of paramount importance, and I couldn’t care less if the dirty mud tastes foul inside your ugly, maleslave mouth, or causes you to have a horrible tummy-ache. Ha! Ha!
Poor slave! You will swallow my lumpy shoedirt, and you will like it or lump it! For I am your female master and better, and, right now, you are my lowly, public slave and footservant.
Ha! Ha! Lickshine my shoes for my husband, dirt-slave, so that he doesn’t have to see his beloved wife in dirty, unclean shoes!
Ha! Ha! What a loser – licking and swallowing the mud off the shoes of a real man’s wife, for the benefit of the real man! Ha! Ha! That’s all you’re good for, you dirty, women’s shoelicker!’
The mistress with the long, dark hair and the muddy T-bar shoes may not actually verbalise any of the above, but I know that’s what she must be thinking. And her haughty attitude inspires me to ever more vigorous licking as I obediently endeavour to remove-by-mouth every last morsel of offending shoemud from the bitter-tasting, black leather surface of her casually-outstretched, mary-jane shoe!
How she must be laughing internally at me! Even her thick, black, opaque, woollen tights are creased up with laughter at me around her shapely, feminine anklebones and just above her buckled, mary-jane, black leather shoestrap.
She's not my girlfriend – the pretty, black customer-mistress with the corn-row hair who visits my sit-down, public shoelick-stand ever day at about 4 P.M. in order to have her grey leather, low-heeled, round-toed, kneehigh stretch boots diligently lickshined.
She's not even my friend. She's my better.
I don't even know her name – nor she mine. But she is, most definitely, 'my type' of young, black woman, and I can't help feeling that in a different world, in more normal circumstances, if I were not a slave and she were not a customer-mistress, we would get along like a house on fire, even though under current circumstances she both literally, and figuratively, looks down upon me as I must do as she says, and humbly lickshine the exteriors of her dirty boots.
In fact, those are the only words she ever says to me:
'Shine my boots.'
She utters those same words to me every day, just as soon as she has settled herself down into the raised shoelick-chair of female black-power above me. And she utters them peremptorily; disparagingly; contemptuously – for she truly despises me – the anonymous, bald-headed, bare-backed, whip-marked, public footslave whose tongue is sullied by the boot and shoe dirt of thousands of women!
This pretty, black girl never smiles at me; or converses with me; or appears to take any pleasure out of using me as her public bootlicker – even though she keeps on coming back! In her disdainful eyes I'm just a public service, designed to lick the street-dirt and grime off her boots as she sits sullenly, and silently, above me!
She doesn’t even acknowledge me as a ‘slave’; I’m just an object to her – a bootcleaning object!
And there is quite a lot of Gynarchy street-dirt, caught between the thick, leather folds of her light-grey coloured, kneehigh stretch boots (I have the feeling they are kneehigh, but I never get to actually see the uppers of her boots beneath her black, bootcut trouser-hems; I’m just going by the shape of her black trousers. I don't even have the honour of knowing for sure whether or not this fantastic-looking, slim and slender, but incredibly surly black girl is wearing any socks inside her boots, though I'm guessing she is – and I'm guessing they're black, to match both her ankleskin and her mood!)
Oh in a different world I would woo her! Use my silken tongue to court her and capture her heart, instead of just capturing the dirt stuck between the leather folds of her boots! I would get to know the aroma of her beautiful body – including her feet – as my freemale-tongue went places where a public bootlick's tongue may never go. We would be equals (well, almost-equals, since the male can never quite match up to the female!), and enjoy an intimate relationship of mutual respect and love, as opposed to our current customer/slave relationship of wholly unrequited love (on my part).
After some 5 minutes she ups and leaves, without any words of thanks or gratitude, even though the visible parts of her erstwhile dull, grey leather boots are now glistening in the afternoon sunshine with my respectful saliva! She's off to see her real-life boyfriend, no doubt; a real man; a free man who is equipped to bring a smile to her face through his manly lovemaking! Whereas I am left with a bitter taste in my mouth – the taste of her dull-grey leather stretch-boots; until the same time tomorrow.
At least I will get to see her – and to serve her – again!
My 22 year old, personal footmistress, mistress Samantha, is getting ready to go out on a date with her latest beau, 25 year old master Richard sir.
She is seated at her dressing-table in her student bedsit, applying her make-up to her arguably somewhat plain, if beautifully blonde-framed, face. Meanwhile I am tasked with beautifying her, already naturally beautiful, feet by pedicuring them. Specifically, I must:
- First wash her dainty, soft, feminine-white feet in a bowl of lukewarm water (and subsequently drink that dirty footwater before it gets cold!)
- Dry her freshly-cleansed feet in a fluffy, white towel
- Pumice away any remaining areas of hard skin on the backs of her pinky-white, and somewhat wrinkled heels
- Mouth-paint her toenails bright red to match her bright-red lippy, and tart-red miniskirt
- Fetch, and then apply to her bare feet, her lacy-topped, white anklesocks – the ones she always wears when going out clubbing with master Richard sir since he admires them very much – taking great care to ensure the delicate socks contain just the right amount of designer creases as they cover her shapely, young-womanly anklebones (my mistress Samantha is very particular about that!)
- Fetch, and then apply to her socked feet, her three-inch-heeled, strappy, open-toed and sling-backed, red leather, designer sandals (her 'clubbing' sandals – again, so beloved on her feet by the lucky master Richard sir!), making sure to respectfully, and decorously, do up the buckle-strap across the crown of each white-socked foot without dithering or fumbling, or inappropriately brushing my fingers against her nice, clean white socks
- Kiss her red-stiletto, sandal leather when I am satisfied my mistress's now fully-shod feet are ready for her critical inspection.
I have nothing to worry about – even though her household whip is nearby – for I know that I always do a good job on pedicuring and dressing my mistress Samantha's feet! She scrubs up well - and, thanks to my humble efforts, I can safely say her shoes and socks will unquestioningly be pleasing to the young master-sir (and, likely as not, will gain her a few more freemale-admirers in the noisy nightclub where I shall continue to monitor the state of her feet and footwear as I kneel with my middle-aged face unobtrusively next to her dancing feet!)
There are six pathetic, ornamental footkissers all laid out in a row (side by side, though their ugly, male, footkissing heads are separated by dividers) at the entrance to the Gynarchy Museum in Barbaria.
Each ornamental-footfool is wearing a pink-rubbery face mask describing in big, bold, black letters his particular 'speciality' in just one humiliating word; either
|Boots| Shoes | Sandals| Socks| Nylons| Bare|
I happen to be the public, ornamental-footfool known as:
|Boots|
As my humble name suggests, my role is to greetfully kiss the boots of all those superior, young women who are visiting the museum of Female Domination wearing boots!
These are the same young women who choose not to have their socks or nylons inside their boots kissed – merely the exteriors of their dirty boots (If they wish their socks, or nylons, to be kissed and greeted they go to my|Socks|or|Nylons| colleague as appropriate!)
Needless to say, mine is, nevertheless, one of the most varied roles of the submissive six, given the huge variety in modern, feminine boot-styles. I get to kiss ankleboots; calf-length boots; kneeboots; thighboots; pixie boots; cowboy boots; ugg boots; moon boots; biker boots; desert boots; combat boots; snow boots; wellington boots; chelsea boots; doc marten boots; black boots; grey boots; red boots; white boots; brown boots; beige-coloured boots; cream-coloured boots; leather boots; sheepskin boots; snakeskin boots; suede boots; synthetic boots; rubber boots; zip-up boots; lace-up boots; buckle-boots; stretch-boots; flat-heeled boots; wedge-heeled boots; kitten-heeled boots; stiletto heeled boots; boots with pointy toes; boots with chiselled toes; boots with rounded toes; boots with squared toes; scuffmarked boots; shiny, patent leather boots; fresh-smelling boots; musty-smelling boots.
If it can be called a ‘boot’ – I kiss it. I have even, on occasion, been required to kiss pairs of short, below the ankle, feminine 'bootees' – much to my shoe-kissing colleague's chagrin!
So far this morning (and the museum had only just opened for business) I have had the privilege of kissing:
- The black leather, pointy-toed, spike-heeled, zip-up ankleboots of a tall and lithesome, black-African girl
- The fancily-stitched, heavily scuffmarked, brown leather cowboy boots of a fat, freckle-faced, ginger-haired, American girl
- The calf-length, musty-smelling, beige-coloured, broad-toed, ugg boots of a nose-picking, white, blonde-haired girl
- The heavily-buckled, calf-length biker boots of a feisty brunette (who actually arrived at the museum of Female Domination as a pillion passenger on her biker-boyfriend's powerful motorbike!)
- Two identical pairs of soft, blue, suede-leather, pixie boots worn by a pair of blonde-ponytailed, identical twins
- The kneehigh, black leather, chunky-heeled, stretch boots of one of the museum attendants – 35 year old, black mistress Claudette
- The highly-polished, white leather, pointy-toed, spike-heeled, zip-up ankleboots of a giggling, Japanese tourist-girl
In each case I am permitted just one respectful kiss to each feminine boot-toe, though my lips would dearly love to linger longer on all of the boots of my female betters!
I think I have the best deal of the six slaves, but my 5 colleagues beg to differ.
See what you think – it’s over to them!
|Shoes|
My existence is equally as varied as that of my bootkisser-colleague in the partition next to me. I get to respectfully kiss slip-on shoes; lace-up shoes; court shoes; pumps; penny loafers; high-heeled shoes; low-heeled shoes; espadrilles; brogues; ballet-flats; clogs; mary-janes; moccasins; mules; lace-up sneakers; velcro-fastened sneakers; keds sneakers; converse sneakers; low-top sneakers; high-top sneakers; deck shoes; tennis shoes; leather shoes; cheap plastic shoes; black shoes;white shoes; red shoes; green shoes; yellow shoes; orange shoes; pink shoes; smelly shoes; clean shoes; shiny shoes; matt shoes – need I say more?
I also am kept the busiest of the six ornamental footkissers, since shoes tend to be in fashion in the Gynarchy all year round – whatever the female weather!
This morning I have kissed:
- The pink leather, heavily scuffmarked and musty-smelling ballet-flats of an airhead, twenty-something blonde-girl (in front of her much older boyfriend; such an honour!)
- The black patent leather, high-heeled, round-toed, double-strapped mary-janes of a charming brunette girl
- The plain, brown loafers of a brown-footskinned, Indian girl
- The chunky, wedge-heeled, black leather, laced-up, sneaker-style shoes of a pink-haired, Goth girl
- The cheap, red plastic loafers of one of the Latina cleaning-girls at the museum, miss Agnacia
- The scruffy, cream-white, loosely laced-up, keds sneakers of a skinny, and deliciously haughty, black girl
- The pink and white, low-top, velcro-fastened sneakers of a Chinese girl (with homemade flowers drawn all along the rubbery-white insteps in felt-tip pen – a nice, feminine touch!)
Okay, so my bootkissing colleague may be just as busy as me this morning, but it is wintertime – his peak period of the year. You should see him in the summertime – lazy, good-for-nothing sod, with virtually nothing to do!
He sometimes even has to steal the bootie-wearing mistresses from me, though, technically, they should be coming to my lips (the clue is surely in the word bootie!)
|Sandals|
It's the wintertime – I am temporarily redundant. Leave me alone – I want to go back into hibernation (though I shall have to wake up to deal with the occasional pair of winter, peep-toe sandals or cheap, plastic crocs! Grrr!)
|Socks|
God – I wish I could go into hibernation; at any time of the year!
Summer is my quietest time, I suppose – as many mistresses are ‘seasonal sockwearers’; but even then I have short, lightweight, pastel-coloured, summery-cotton socks to deal with!
Right now it's wintertime – and the thick socks are very much back on. Here are this morning's samples thus far (all of them kissed above shoe-rims or the tops of boots, of course – my customer-mistresses must make a concerted effort to expose their socks to me; if their socks remain hidden, my mouth can’t help them!):
- The plain black and bobbled, thick cotton socks of a blonde-ponytailed girl in black leather ballet-flats
- The stripy, multicoloured, fuzzy bootsocks of an ankleboot-wearing, bespectacled, frizzy-haired, thirty-something, librarian mistress (no doubt coming to the museum to do some academic research)
- The short, red sneaker-socks of a white-keds-wearing, black girl (very important not to touch her skin – I can’t stress enough how I am only licensed to kiss sock!)
- The thick, navy-blue woollen, kneesock-tops over skinny jeans of another beautiful young, black woman (the former’s companion) wearing stretch-leather, grey, kneehigh-boots. Bit of a stretch that one - for my scrawny, enchained neck muscles!
- The lacy, white anklesocks of a young, twenty-something blonde-bimbo woman wearing red, plastic crocs – why didn't she visit the sandal-kissing footslave instead? Give him something to do?
- The familiar black and grey patterned sneaker-socks (inside the black and pink striped, low-top, lace-up, sneakers) of the museum ticket-office mistress – 20 year old, ginger-haired miss Lisa
- The elasticated, white anklesock-tops of a white-stiletto-ankleboot-wearing, oriental girl (I believe she may have utilised my bootkissing-colleague down the line first? As is her perfect, female right!)
It's just a shame I never get to smell the sweatiest parts of my esteemed customer-mistresses' socks – the parts hidden inside their boot or shoe-toes (unless, of course, they're wearing peep-toe sandals with socks!). It is, sadly, considered uncouth for a lady to take off her shoe or boot in public in order to impose her inner sock-stink on a mere public footservant; such delights are reserved for personal footslaves, in private!
|Nylons|
This includes tights – even woolly tights, though some customer-visitors, frustratingly, confuse me with my sock-slave colleague, and present their tights for him to kiss! Bastard!
However, if truth be told, I very much prefer sweaty nylon to sweaty wool anyway! I just love the feel of sweaty, nylon feet on my lips! I like the way I can feel the mistress's foot veins flex and pulse underneath my ticklish footslave-lips (a sensation which is just not possible with socks – or with thick, woolly tights – I would venture to suggest!)
I can even tell the denier of a nyloned foot just by its texture!
Thus far this morning I have respectfully kissed:
- The veiny, dark-nyloned feet of a black-courts-wearing, middle-aged, pinstripe-pencil-skirted, white, businesswoman-mistress, carrying an executive briefcase
- The tan-nyloned feet of a black-patent-leather, mary-janes-wearing, blonde girl in her twenties (beneath the hems of her smart, black cotton, bootcut trouser-hems)
- The thick, opaque, navy-blue, bobbled, woolly tights of a thirty-something black woman with black high-heeled pumps on her shapely, black feet
Sadly, that's all thus far this morning – but back in the fifties, before the bobby-soxers came along, I was by far the busiest of the six, ornamental footkisser here at the entrance to the Gynarchy Museum! |Socks| didn't even exist as a separate entity in those halcyon days!
My footslave-colleagues teasingly say I should be a museum-piece myself, and, who knows, maybe after my death I will be? Stuffed and mounted before a female mannequin – kissing her dark-seamed, fifties-style nylons in her shiny, black high-heeled pumps!
I would like that!
|Bare|
Come on – I’ve got the best deal of all! I not only get to touch the mistresses’ unique and personal, bare-foot DNA with my maleslave lips; I also get to smell the personal aroma of their feet – all seven shades of sweat, which are, incidentally, in descending order of putridness:
i. malodorous
ii. ammonic
iii. vinegary
iv. tart
v. ripe
vi. cheesy
vii. bland
Luckily for me, the Gynarchy is a multicultural land, with lots of overseas visitors! I therefore get to smell and kiss all colours and textures of sweet feminine footskins – black; white; yellow; brown; olive-skinned; hard-skinned; soft-skinned; veiny; smooth; flaky. I also, on occasion, get to kiss foot warts, bunions, hammer-toes and verrucae!
Only, sadly, not today – it's too cold for sandals or shoes without socks! Can't wait for the summer!
……………………………………………………………………………………………….
So there you have it – six of the worst examples of self-indulgent, ornamental footkissers, all vying with each other to selfishly kiss the most female feet!
My new, 50 year old, Burmese mistress has decided to take early retirement, along with her 53 year old husband, as they can't be bothered to work anymore. They have therefore jacked in their jobs (she as a cleaner; he as a shopkeeper) and purchased me at auction as a street-footslave. Their intention – as my short and petite, Burmese mistress is just explaining to me in her broken English and with her thick, Burmese accent and as I kneel humbly in front of her black-leather-loafered and black-and-grey-anklesocked feet in the middle of her modest living room – is to make me work for their living, so that they can, quite rightly, lounge around and put their middle-aged, Burmese feet up (the master-sir is already having forty-winks upstairs, apparently):
'Ha! Ha! You now our slave! Ha! Ha! We own you! We make you work hard so we not have to! Ha! Ha! All the time you work – work or get whip!... (She lovingly fingers a single-tailed, black leather, bulls-pizzle whip at this point, kindly thrown in for free by the slave-auctioneer!)... Morning, noon and night you work. You not talk – only work. You not think – only work. You not eat – only work. You not drink – only work. You not sleep – only work! Ha! Ha!
You work by clean ladyfeet out on streets. You kiss lady dirty feet. You lick lady dirty shoe. You shine lady dirty boot! All the time I watch; husband not go out on streets – he have bad leg. He stay inside and relax. But I follow you round with whip – make sure you work hard; make sure you earn us lots of money!
Ha! Ha! You start with my feet now – you kiss and lick my shoes and socks, just like you kiss and lick lady, dirty shoes and socks out on streets, innit? Ha! Ha! You queer; you a queer, lady shoe and sock-kisser! Ha! Ha! I whip you; my husband whip you; everyone whip you and laugh at you – you a whipped fool! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!..'
With her mocking, Burmese laughter still ringing in my ears I lower my dry and parched lips to my new owner's somewhat unkempt and musty-smelling, black leather loafers and grey and cheap, black patterned anklesocks beneath her frayed, black denim jean-hems, and start to kiss them – just as I shall now, it seems, be kissing the outdoor shoes and socks of many such arrogant women from now on; all so that my new Burmese mistress and master can relax, put their feet up, and enjoy early retirement in their early fifties!
The irony is that I'm much older than them and well-passed retirement age myself – being in my mid seventies; except that, of course, slaves never retire! They work till they drop, and then they get replaced...
Swish...Crack!
'You lick sock as well as kiss sock, dirty slave!'
The bulls-pizzle whip cracks across my bare, kneeling back – exhorting my fluent, footlicking tongue to ever greater efforts on my smiling, Burmese mistress's unkempt footwear. I bite said tongue, and silently and uncomplainingly obey my pigmy-sized, Burmese mistress by licking the side of her soft, cotton sock on her leathery-brown anklebone, as I'm not allowed to answer back to my middle-aged youngers and betters!
I am often asked, in my capacity as a public footservant, why it is that so many young women in the Gynarchy so often wear socks?
The answer is threefold:
1) To protect their food-modesty! Any self-respecting, young Gynarchy woman worth her salt wouldn’t dream of baring her city-feet to a down-in-the-dirt, public footslave, except, perhaps in the hazy, libidinous days of summer! Her bare feet are ordinarily reserved for her boyfriend, and possibly also her personal footslave (though in a demeaning way) in the privacy of their Gynarchy home!
2) To publicly beautify their feet. Socks can add great beauty to a young woman’s feet – and help to hide a multitude of sins, such as unshapely ankles; hard skin; foot-blotchiness; verrucae; and varicose veins. Such intimacies should surely only be for the eyes of their boyfriends, who love them despite their imperfections (again, the same applies to their personal footslaves)!
3) To absorb their daily footsweat, so that their boyfriends need not endure the aroma of their girl’s sweaty feet in bed (the discarded, sweat-saturated socks can be discreetly shoved inside the personal footslave’s mouth whilst the happy, free couple are making love above him!)
Take the demurely-dressed, young, twenty-something Japanese woman who is currently utilising my public shoelicking services, unashamedly and in broad daylight, whilst out courting with her boyfriend.
She is wearing a suitably modest, ankle-length, white summery dress, but – as she stretches forth her dainty, right foot onto the wooden footblock beneath my kneeling face, she coyly hitches up the frilly, white hem of her dress to reveal the top of her pure white, lattice-stitched anklesock which does all three things I have mentioned above: it protects her Japanese foot-modesty (even if the sluttily large stitches in her sock reveal a goodly amount of soft, feminine, Japanese-girl footflesh beneath the cotton sock!); it beautifies her foot, for who knows what manner of foot blemishes may lurk beneath the sock? (her boyfriend, presumably?) ; it absorbs, even as we speak, her natural foot-perspiration, as it will continue to do throughout the day, until it is placed in her housebound, personal footslave’s mouth back at home, for him to clean and launder. Lucky footslave!
All of these thoughts are rushing through my mind as I lickshine her pretty, white, ballerina shoe under the watchful eye of her loving boyfriend, and thereby beautify her feet even further for him.
Now do you get it?!
Amongst the multitude of female feet I must kiss on a regular basis in my capacity as the office-restroom, ornamental footslave, it is perhaps inevitable that I should have my favourites – and my favourite of them all is mistress Olga:
- I like her because, despite her Russian-sounding name, she is not tall and slavonic, but petite and black; very exotic!
- I like her because she is very chatty and outgoing (albeit only with the other office-mistresses in the restroom – not with me, of course; she's never even spoken to me, and never will, since I'm regarded, quite rightly, as being just a humble piece of dirty-footkissing, rubbery-masked, office-restroom furniture)
- I like her because she is one of the younger and poorer office-mistresses, being a lowly clerk of some description, and therefore her scuffmarked, black leather, block-heeled, round-toed, zip-up ankleboots are clearly second-foot, having seen better days on a previous mistress's feet
- Likewise, I like her because her anklesock-tops inside those black leather, scuffmarked ankleboots – which I only get to see fleetingly as she hitches up her navy-blue, bootcut, office trouser-hems whilst stretching forth each shapely leg in turn beneath my humbly-kneeling face, in order to present each anklebooted foot for kissing prior to her confident exit from the restroom after performing all her necessary ablutions – are invariably twisted and manky-looking, despite being brightly-coloured and often cartoonish in character; they look like decidedly cheap socks, though they also contrast nicely with her rich and smooth, bare black legskin!
- I like her because her dominant posture and demeanour whilst having said restroom-germ-laden boots kissed – i.e. with her hands on her hips and a supercilious and smug smile on her pretty, black face – betrays her sheer, young-womanly enjoyment at having her dirty, unkempt, office footwear worshipped by an inferior (I don't actually get to see her smug, white-toothed smile on her beautiful, black face, of course, since my rubbery-masked head must remain permanently bowed over the footwear of my female betters; but I can sense it. I shouldn't wonder that she, in fact, hitches up her bootcut trouser-hems not just to protect the precious, polyester material around her knobbly knees, but to add to my sense of slavish humility and degradation by the very sight of her manky and bobbled, cotton anklesocks inside her weather-beaten and well-used ankleboots; how those cheap socks must smell, deep inside the murky confines of her warm, moist bootleather!)
- I like her because, however much she enjoys having me pay labial homage to her black leather, office ankleboots, she quickly moves on – after just one, respectful kiss to each scuffmarked boot-toe – for she has much more important things to do than linger in the dirty office-restroom with the dirty, anonymous, masked, office-restroom footslave (such as updating her social-networking page on her office-desk computer; or filing her fingernails – for office-mistress Olga is a very girly black-girl!)
Yes, she's a natural, black beauty – mistress Olga – and I fall in love with her cheap ankleboots and socks every time she enters and exits the restroom!
My new, fat, middle-aged, greasy-bleached-blonde mistress, mistress Caroline, is just explaining to me, in her plummy, English accent, exactly how I am to greet my new step-mistress – her 21 year old stepdaughter, miss Emily – when she arrives home shortly from Art College:
'You will treat my stepdaughter with the same respect you will show to me, dirty slave! When she enters the room you will do her the slavish courtesy of kissing her feet. My stepdaughter is wearing her brown leather, calf-length, cowboy boots and navy-blue bootsocks to college today, so when she comes into the room in a few minutes’ time you will instantly crawl over to her, cup her boots respectfully in your dirty, maleslave hands, and kiss them worshipfully and respectfully, as you would mine!...'
I have already 'cupped and kissed' the black leather, stiletto-heeled, pointy-toed, zip-up ankleboots of my middle-aged, bleached-blonde footmistress beneath her smart, cream-coloured, trouser hems, and now, it seems, I must get ready to do the same for her daughter's cowboy boots – or the boots of my 'step-mistress', as my main mistress calls her!
I start to get all sweaty and nervous just thinking about it – the boots of a, hopefully, beautiful student-girl (more beautiful than her somewhat overweight stepmother, anyway!)
My less beautiful, middle-aged mistress continues teaching me the lessons of lowliness:
'... Having paid your respects to her brown leather boots, you will then kiss her on her navy-blue bootsocks, should she so desire it! If she does not, you will not – for, from now on, you shall obey everything she says. Like I said, she is to be your step-mistress , and her wish is therefore your command! She can do no wrong. Do I make myself clear to you, stupid, ugly, household-footslave?'
'Y...yes m...mistress C…Caroline, madam. As it pleases you, m…mistress Caroline m…madam!'
The front door can be heard slamming shut at this opportune moment, and a young-female voice shouts out from the hallway in a distinctly American accent:
'Hey mom, I'm home!'
'In here darling – I've got a nice surprise for you, dear! Come and see!' shouts back my middle-aged mistress from the living room.
As promised, in walk a pretty pair of flowery-stitched, block-heeled, calf-length, brown leather cowboy boots on a pair of shapely, mixed-race legs beneath a navy-blue miniskirt – with the scrunched-up tops of a pair of slovenly-looking, navy-blue, calf-length, cotton bootsocks fully exposed at the fronts of the brown leather, cowgirl boots thanks to the 'V' shape in the rims at the tops of said stylish girlboots!
My first impressions were of stunningly beautiful, dark-haired, young womanhood – the sort of young, twenty-something womanhood whom it would be a pleasure to footserve forever!
'Wow, what's that, mom?' exclaims an excited, high-pitched, mixed-race-girl voice as the boots belonging to the voice are still walking uninhibitedly towards me across the living room carpet.
'This is our new household footslave, Emily darling; he's called 'F***wit', and he's yours to command every bit as much as mine, honey!'
'Wow! Cool, mom! Can I whup him if he's disrespectful or disobedient towards me, an’ that?'
'Ha! Ha! 'Course you can, honey! Your father and I have even bought you your own slave-whip! It's upstairs lying on your bed!'
'No! That's way cool, mom! Ha! Ha! I've always wanted to whup a slave!'
'Ha! Ha! Well, now's your chance, honey; you're now of legal age to whip a slave! Ha! Ha! But why don't you make him kiss your boots first? Stretch your foot out beneath his face and make him pay his slavish respects to you! Show him who’s boss, darling! Ha! Ha!'
'Ha! Ha! Don't mind if I do, mom!... Don’t mind if I do!'
And with that the first of the two chisel-toed, cowgirl boots is presented to my kneeling face for kissing. I see what my main mistress means about her American stepdaughter's navy-blue bootsocks; they do look awfully tempting to the lips, being the scrunched-up, navy-blue bootsocks covering a beautiful, brown-skinned, mixed-race, young, North American woman's shapely shinbones! But I am equally aware of the words of caution previously uttered to me by my middle-aged, English mistress – to the effect that her student-stepdaughter's socks are out of bounds until and unless the female wearer of the socks specifically requires them to be kissed!
I therefore have to resist the temptations of the navy-blue girlsock as I lower my lips to the young-womanly, brown bootleather.
'Ha! Ha! This is so cool!' exclaims miss Emily as I cup my hands around her proffered boot on the living-room floor, and reverentially kiss it.
She quickly, and instinctively, switches booted feet beneath me. Oh the impatience of youth – I could happily have continued kissing that right, brown leather boot-toe for several more minutes (whilst drinking in the bobbled beauty of its accompanying navy-blue sock), but instead I must switch my attention to her, admittedly equally attractive, left boot!
'Ha! Ha! This is just so cool, mom! Wait till I text Angela about this; she'll be so jealous, though I might let her come round and have her dirty sneaks kissed by him. Ha! Ha!'
'Ha! Ha! Remember, he's my slave too, honey!' gently chides her, now slightly jealous, stepmother. You and your friends won’t have the exclusive use of him; we’ll all have to share him! Ha! Ha!’
'Sure thing, mom – but you don’t mind if I take him upstairs to my bedroom and try out my new whup on him right now, do you?'
'No problem, Emily darling – that's what it's for; to whip him! Ha! Ha!'
'Cool, mom! You're such a cool step-mom!'
Miss Emily then embraces and kisses her stepmother, before turning her attentions to me again (my hands still pathetically cradling her left, fancily-stitched, cowboy boot):
'Hey you down there, slave F***wit, follow me to heel up to my bedroom. I'm gonna whup you! I’m gonna whup yoh ass, boy! Ha! Ha!'
'Y...yes, miss Emily! At once, miss Emily!'
So, I'm not going to get to kiss those hot, navy-blue, Art-College, American-girl bootsocks just yet, it seems; but let's look on the bright side - at least I'm about to be ‘whupped’ by them!
Cool!
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Later that evening, as I lay alone on miss Emily’s bedroom floor – licking my whip-wounds and sniffing her now discarded, navy-blue, college-sweatsocks whilst she was out gallivanting with her British boyfriend – her stepmother came up to me and expressed her quiet satisfaction at my suitably submissive attitude towards her feisty and whipthirsty stepdaughter.
I kissed my main mistress Caroline’s pointy, black leather boot-toes in gratitude for her positive, mistressly feedback, for she didn’t have to do that. Nor did she have to hitch up each of her cream-coloured, trouser hems in turn to enable me to kiss her on the elasticated tops of her ankle-length, black cotton bootsocks!
I think I’m going to like being a footservant in this generous and thoughtful, exotically mixed-race, Gynarchy household!
