Warm-Hearted; But Cold-Blooded?
She’s such a sweetheart!
Naïve and innocent, twenty-something, mixed race, regular-customer mistress Aurelia pops into my public footbooth on her way into work for a ‘quick lick and a shine’ of her plain, flat-heeled, black suede leather, lace-up, workday shoes almost every weekday morning (and sometimes also on Saturdays). She works on the tills as a check-out clerk in a nearby supermarket.
She is always early – and invariably my first customer-mistress of the day – as she seems to prefer doing early shifts at the supermarket. This morning, it is particularly dark and cold outside as she pops into my booth and takes up her raised seat of shoelick-power in front of me, but her winsome, young-womanly smile soon warms the cockles of my footslave heart.
She has both her grey-gloved, dainty hands wrapped around a warming cup of takeaway coffee, but, of course, she has not brought me any warm beverages, since it is illegal to feed or water a slave (only my official ‘minder-mistress’ is empowered to do that – and she often ‘forgets’ to come and feed me my one bowl of cold, tasteless slave-mush of a morning, such as she appears to have ‘forgotten’ again this very morning!). So I could do with a warming sip of kindly and chatty miss Aurelia’s early morning coffee – but, no chance!
Instead she merely shoves her dainty and soft, black-suede-shoed, and black-sneaker-socked feet onto the metal footplate at my kneeling face level, and utters her usual order:
‘Just lick all the filfth, an’ that, off the toes and the sides, slave!’
‘Yes, goddess-mistress Aurelia. At once, pretty goddess-mistress Aurelia!’
As I start to lick the chiselled, black suede leather, toe area of her soft, right shoe, she kindly enquires after my well-being:
‘Is you not cold, slave? I’m, like, freezin’, an’ that, in this here stinking boof!’
I too am freezing – there is no heating in my cheap, public footbooth (which does, I have to agree, whiff a bit – largely due to it remaining uncleaned by my so-called ‘minder mistress’ for long periods of time) and the holes in the rusty-metal walls of the booth let the cold, winter draughts whistle through! But a slave, unlike the bitter, arctic winds, must never bemoan his fate; a slave must always be upbeat – or get beaten up, for being a complaining and insolent slave!
‘Oh pray, mistress…lick…lick… if it pleases you pretty mistress Aurelia…lick…lick…lick…lick… truly this slave is indeed feeling the cold, madam…lick...lick…lick… but is all the warmer for being graced by your beautiful, female presence once again, young mistress …lick…lick...lick…’
She giggles, and takes an ostentatious slurp of comforting coffee out of her disposable coffee-cup. I notice how her short, black, angular sneaker-socks crease and fold with sunny delight at the warmth engendered within her, both by my footslavish flattery, and the warm beverage!
‘I don’t know how you can stand it, an’ that, slave? What wiv you bein’ all semi-naked, an’ that? Ha! Ha!’
The observant, young, mixed race mistress is referring to the contrast between her own state of warm, thick clothing (an anorak; gloves; two layers of jumpers; and thick, black cotton slacks) and my pitiful state of maleslavish semi-undress (male slaves in the Gynarchy only ever get to wear a flimsy pair of white slave-shorts – to hide their offensive, and redundant, private parts from their sensitive mistresses; oh – and chains – they get to wear chains, also; the more chains the merrier on a day like this, quite frankly, since even iron chains would at least cover a part of one’s freezing, exposed skin!)
‘Yes, mistress! Indeed, mistress!...lick…lick…lick… Pray forgive my nakedness, mistress ...lick...lick...lick…’
‘Ha! Ha! Maybe you’d like me to whup you, an’ that? Just so as to warm up your bare back, an’ that?’
I think she’s just being mischievous – as is her perfect, young-womanly right! She has, of course, a perfect young-womanly right also to ‘whup’ me with the public-use whipping stick hanging over my head on the inner, footbooth wall, but I rather think that miss Aurelia is just teasing me. She certainly has never shown any inclination to beat me in all her previous visits to my booth!
Nevertheless, just in case she is serious, I must nip her kind offer in the bud, since I would rather shiver and freeze than experience the fiery burn of the female whipping-stick on my bare back and shoulders, any day of the week!
‘Oh pray, mistress Aurelia…lick…lick…lick… truly the mistress is very kind, mistress …lick…lick…lick…lick… but this slave would not wish to impose on the sweet mistress’s time and energy at this ungodly hour of the morning, mistress… lick...lick...lick… And besides, mistress, the mistress is trying to drink her coffee, isn’t she mistress? ...lick...lick…lick…’
She laughs at me:
‘Ha! Ha! Don’t worry, slave – I is only joshing you! You ain’t done anyfing bad to deserve the whip yet, an’ that, innit though? Ha! Ha!’
She carries on slurping her hot coffee, and I carry on licking her black-suede shoeleather – now with trembling lips not just because of the cold, but because of all this loose talk of the whip! I hate it when young ladies get the whip into their pretty, feminine heads! Can’t we talk about something else?!
Fortunately, sweet and self-obsessed miss Aurelia has some happy news to tell me. She deftly places her coffee cup onto her lap, and pulls off one of her grey, woollen gloves. She then reaches down – not, as I had first feared, to slap me (hence my involuntary and cowardly flinch was uncalled for!), but in order to show me a ring on her finger:
‘Ha! Ha! Anthony proposed to me last night, slave; and we is gonna get married, an’ that!’
Anthony is her slightly older boyfriend – a fellow supermarket-worker, though he, by all accounts, prefers his late shifts and his lie-ins. I know all about him, even though I haven’t yet met him, because mistress Aurelia hasn’t stopped talking about him since they started going out together just two weeks back! I know, for example, that he’s really ‘handsome’; that he likes football; that he has a large penis; and that he ‘hates’ slaves like me, because he apparently thinks we give males a bad name (he’s certainly right about that last bit!)
A public footservant is obliged by law, of course, to always share in a customer-mistress’s happiness and good news, and congratulate her on her good fortune:
‘Oh pray, mistress Aurelia!...lick…lick...lick... Oh pray! Oh how exciting, mistress!...lick...lick... I hope that you and master Anthony sir will be very happy together, miss!...lick...lick...lick…’
She beams with pride, and her black socks crease up again with ecstasy:
‘Ha! Ha! Yeah – he’s really good lookin’ an’ that! Not like you, slave. He’s young, an’ that! How old is you anyway, slave?’
‘Oh pray mistress…lick...lick...lick… if it pleases you, mistress Aurelia…lick…lick… this slave is 55 years old, miss…lick...lick...lick…’
‘Ha! Ha! Gawd, that’s like, ancient, or somefing, slave! Ha! Ha!... Lick my other shoe now!’
She suddenly projects her left, black suede, shoe toe further forwards on the metal footplate as a signal that my ‘ancient’ tongue is to turn its attentions towards her other ‘youthful’ shoe.
‘Yes, mistress! At once, mistress Aurelia!’
I suppose 55 must seem ‘ancient’ to a twenty year old! I certainly feel and look ancient – being a public footslave is a hard life in the Gynarchy!
‘So, will you, like, never get married, an’ that?’
What a sweetly naïve question!
‘Oh no, mistress!...lick…lick…lick… A slave can never get married, mistress!...lick...lick...lick... He’s just a dirty slave, miss!...lick…lick...lick
‘Ha! Ha! I’m stupid! No woman would ever look at you or marry you, slave! Ha! Ha!...’
You said it, mistress Aurelia!
Before I can reassure her, in amongst tongueshining her left, suede leather shoe, that she is not stupid – being a supremely beautiful, young woman – she continues to learn more from me about the condition of being a male, public footslave in her happy, female homeland of the Gynarchy:
‘So, does that mean that you will, like, always be a slave, an’ that?’
‘Oh yes, mistress…lick...lick…lick… I shall never be free, mistress...lick…lick...lick… The best I can hope for is to see out the rest of my days lickshining the dirty shoes and boots of beautiful, young women like yourself in this humble, public footbooth, miss Aurelia…lick...lick…lick…’
‘Ha! Ha! Wot – you mean you can never retire, an’ that like?’
‘Oh no, mistress!...lick…lick…lick… if it pleases you mistress Aurelia…lick…lick…lick… A slave must remain a slave all his life, mistress…lick…lick…lick... If I ever become too old and decrepit to lickshine shoes, miss…lick...lick…lick… I shall simply be sent to the underground slave-mines, miss… lick…lick…lick... to be worked and whipped to death, miss…lick…lick...lick… if it pleases you, miss?...lick…lick…lick…lick…’
Again, miss Aurelia’s short, black, angular sneaker-socks twitch with delight at this thought:
‘Ha! Ha! So, if I was to, say, complain about you, or somefing? And say that you wasn’t able to lick my shoes properly an’ that? You mean you’d be, like, forced to work in them underground slave-mines, an’ that?’
My heart sinks. There is, surely, only one thing worse than a young woman getting ideas about the whip into her pretty, but somewhat vacuous head; and that is getting ideas about banishing her friendly-neighbourhood, public footslave to the slave-mines?!
‘Oh pray, mistress… lick…lick...lick… Oh pray!...lick...lick...lick.. Oh mercy, mistress!...lick…lick...lick.. Oh yes, mistress, I would indeed be condemned to the mines, mistress!...lick…lick…lick...lick... But I trust the pretty mistress is satisfied with my efforts on her shoes this morning, miss? ...lick…lick…lick… Look how clean they are now, miss!...lick...lick...lick…’
She casually examines her flat, black suede shoes by withdrawing them from my mouth and stretching her legs out into the cold and frosty, footbooth air front of her, whilst swivelling her socked feet around at the ankles in order to assess my suede-shoe, licking abilities!
‘Mmm… I suppose you done alright, slave! But you talks too much, an’ that!... Now straighten my socks!’
‘Yes, mistress Aurelia. At once mistress Aurelia! Pray forgive me, mistress Aurelia!’
Phew! I seem to be off the hook – providing I manage to straighten her short, black sneaker-socks inside her suede leather shoes, and make them look nice and even below her mixed-race anklebones! Easy!
……………………………………………………………………………………………..
Addendum: Three days later I was unceremoniously bundled off in chains to the slave-mines! Apparently an unnamed customer-mistress had complained about my lack of shoelicking skills, and opined that I was just too old to do my job properly any more!
I still don’t believe it was miss Aurelia who complained about me, though! She’s much too warm-hearted a young woman to have betrayed me like that. It must have been some cold-blooded and heartless monster of a customer-mistress!
