The Foot-Butler
My name is slave Jeeves, and I am a household foot-butler (or ‘footman’ in the Gynarchy vernacular!)
My lord and master – master Jay sir – is a very popular man with the young ladies of the Gynarchy. A popinjay, you might say! That’s because he is everything I am not – young; good-looking; virile; dominant. They flock to him like bees around honey, and even seem happy to ‘share’ him with other women, so adept is he at flattering them; and entertaining them; and, above all, at pleasuring them – again, something I would never be able to do.
What I can do, as his official, household foot-butler, is make my 25 year old master Jay look even more strong and masterful, by simply doing his bidding – especially whenever his attractive, young ladies are present, and with particular regard to serving them as a lowly, downtrodden footman; for that always seems to excite them i.e. witnessing a rich and handsome, young man bossing about a pathetic and ugly, decrepit old servant at their pretty, feminine feet; and that in turn, of course, helps to get them ‘in the mood’ for some serious lovemaking – with my masterful master Jay, of course!
Let me be clear – none of the beautiful, young women who fall at my master Jay’s feet would ever give me a second glance. And rightly so; for I’m just a tired and worn-out, elderly foot-butler – a thing to be despised, in a Gynarchial society.
This evening my master Jay has several, consecutive dates with some of the young women he is currently ‘courting’. The first is miss Leanna – who, at just 19, also happens to be the youngest and, perhaps, most naïve of his ‘harem’. She really thinks, poor girl, that my master is in love with her – and only her! That his other women are just hangers-on, and she is his special one!
But who am I to disabuse her?
Master Jay sir has ordered me to repeatedly kiss miss Leanna’s feet whilst he gets himself ready for her in the neighbouring bedroom of his penthouse apartment (did I mention that he is a very wealthy young man? Though I’m sure that plays no part in his attractiveness to young women!)
I must say, miss Leanna is looking particularly fetching tonight with her long, blonde, curly hair; her short, green-coloured, bosom-revealing dress; her tan, nylon stockings; and her shiny green, high-heeled, peep-toe shoes. She has clearly dressed to impress – being master-sir Jay’s ‘special girl’.
I know she is certainly a very sensitive and ticklish, young woman, and so I take extra care, as I am repeatedly kissing the shiny-green, leather surfaces of her shoes, whilst she is still wearing them on her feet, not to let my dirty butler-slave lips stray onto the coarse material of her finest denier, tan nylon stockings, thereby inadvertently tickling her, even though her tempting toenails are painted a pretty hue of bright pink beneath the finest-denier, see-through nylon and are just itching to be caressed!
I know for a fact that miss Leanna doesn’t like her feet or toes being tickled by a mangy, male servant’s mouth – since she actually complained to the master-sir about my butler-lips being ticklish during his previous date with her, and then wantonly enjoyed watching him whip me at her feet by way of his righteous indignation for my accidental ‘tickling of her fancy’; that’s his job, I was told!
Miss Leanna is, on this occasion, seated on the cream-leather couch above me drinking another glass of sparkling white wine, her green-shoed feet resting demurely side by side on the opulent, living room carpet, since she has absolutely no intention of giving herself, body and soul, to me tonight!
I’m just her boyfriend’s household foot-servant!
In fact, I can always sense just how much her young ladyship despises me; and why shouldn’t she? After all – not only am I currently kneeling on the living-room carpet in front of her feet, at my master’s behest, the whipmarks she caused me to receive last time still adorning my back as I respectfully kiss her high-heeled, green, peep-toe shoes and slavishly admire her fine tan-nylon stockings; but soon, after she strips for rampant rumpy-pumpy with my young master sir, I shall be consigned to the corner of the master bedroom where I shall be ignominiously ordered to sniff those recently discarded tan-nylon stockings around the crumpled-up toe areas, desperately and pathetically seeking out the residual aroma of her sweet young-blonde-womanly foot and toe odour whilst my magnificent master-sir enjoys her soft and sensuous, perfumed body.
I shall literally be sniffing her dirty, used nylons whilst she makes love in the same room as me with another man – a real man. Surely any bright and attractive, young woman such as 19 year old miss Leanna would feel compelled to despise me in such demeaning circumstances – the elderly, household foot-butler (or ‘footman’) sniffing her stinky, used stockings in the corner of the master’s bedroom!
I sense she is almost too embarrassed for me to even talk to me, and is content to merely sit and wait on the living-room couch for her knight in shining armour – master sir Jay – to summon her to his boudoir, whilst casually sipping on her glass of wine as I fervently sup on her shiny, green leather shoes. They, incidentally, smell as new as they look – the pungent aroma of fresh, young-womanly shoe leather, which, sadly, overpowers any anticipated natural aroma of sweet-young-womanly foot odour which might otherwise be emanating from beneath her exposed, nylon stockinged toes up my kneeling, manservant nostrils!
Knowing miss Leanna as I don’t, I’m guessing she probably showered immediately before coming round to the master’s place, for she probably wants to smell her best for him. Little does she know that he actually quite likes ‘a bit of rough’ (as you will observe when his next ‘appointment’ arrives – miss Stacey – if you can stick around long enough!)
But sweet and demure miss Leanna represents the gentler side of femininity; she probably won’t even make a particularly good slave-mistress when she is old enough to own a personal footslave (21), for I couldn’t see her saying boo to a goose – let alone whipping a slave; even one whom she utterly despises. She strikes me as a watcher of whips; not a wielder of whips!
Even tonight she has been perfectly content to let my master-sir boss me about and issue the orders:
‘Kiss my girl’s feet, footman – and keep on kissing them until I’m ready for her!’
His girl! How she swoons and flutters her feminine eyelashes at him! She equally appears content to wait submissively in the living room, until my master-sir is ready for her, so great is the prize of being made love to by him!
You’ve got to admire him – though probably not as much as miss Leanna does!
Suddenly – just as my obedient, butler-slave lips are attending to the lower instep of mistress Leanna’s left, shiny-green shoe, she receives the summons from the master bedroom:
‘Okay honey! I’m ready for you now! Come and get it!’
So romantic, don’t you think?
Miss Leanna promptly puts down her wine glass, and leaps to her feet, her tan-coloured, nylon stocks creasing ever so slightly around her shapely, young anklebones as she does so, though I must now crawl behind her to nylon-stockinged heel as she totters her way towards the master bedroom.
Once inside, she strips off her clothes and climbs into bed beside my master, leaving me, as I had predicted, with her crumpled-up, discarded, tan-coloured, nylon stockings and bright green, peep-toed, sling-back shoes for company. I discreetly carry them in my mouth over to the far corner of the master bedroom where, still humbly kneeling (for I am never permitted to stand up or walk like a man in this apartment), I set them down on the floor and, facing the wall, begin audibly sniffing them.
I am under standing instructions to sniff them out loud – as it turns my master-sir on to hear me sniffing his girlfriends’ divested hosiery and shoes whilst he is making love to the owners of the female foot and legwear, and it consequently makes him more virile. His theory is that it turns the ladies on as well, so that they respond even more willingly to his ministrations, though I’m not so sure about that! I think they only have eyes and ears for him when he’s got them into bed, and I personally doubt that they even give me – the dirty, nylon-stocking sniffer in the corner – a second thought!
Somewhat ironically, miss Leanna’s still warm nylon stockings do smell more of her natural, feminine foot-essence now – now that I can isolate them somewhat from the protective covering of her strong-smelling, new-leather shoes; her residual, blonde-girl footsweat now wafts most delectably up my nylon-sniffing nostrils!
The harder, and noisier, the young couple make love, the harder, and noisier, I sniff – for, as I indicated before, my master-sir does like to hear me sniffing his girlfriend’s hosiery whilst he copulates; it helps him to climax!
Speaking of which, the young couple seem to both be spent rather quickly this evening – judging by their mutual screams and gasps of orgasmic pleasure, followed by their relaxing sighs, after just a few, precious minutes of rampant lovemaking!
For my part, I continue to audibly sniff miss Leanna’s stockings and shoes even after the young couple have achieved orgasm – lest the master-sir may wish to make love to the lovely miss Leanna again.
Just as the happy couple are lighting up a post-coital cigarette, however, the doorbell rings, and my master-sir brusquely despatches me to answer it:
‘That’ll be miss Stacey, footman-slave! Go and let her in, and then attend to her feet while miss Leanna gets dressed again!’
‘Yes master Jay sir. At once master Jay sir! I obey you, sir!’
How does he do it?! You’d think miss Leanna would be jealous, angry and upset, wouldn’t you? He’s had her – and now it’s time for another young woman to enter the same bed, so she must get dressed and leave!
But she just loves him so much – and he is evidently able to satisfy her so much – that she doesn’t seem to mind! None of them do!
Or am I missing something here?
I crawl back out of the master bedroom and through the living room towards the front door of my master’s penthouse apartment. On reaching up to open the door from my knees, sure enough I am greeted by the sight of 20 year old mistress Stacey’s familiar, scruffy, pink and white striped, low-cut, lace up sneakers and plain, black sneaker-socks just peeking out above the upper rims of her sneakers as far back as her somewhat dry and cracked, pinky-skinned heels, where the same socks then disappear completely at an angle below the rims of her slovenly sneakers.
Also, as per usual, miss Stacey is wearing her black, lacy, ankle-length leggings beneath her matching black, ra-ra skirt. A fetching, pink T shirt finishes off the ensemble.
Unlike miss Leanna before her, miss Stacey really hasn’t made the effort – but, also unlike miss Leanna before her, miss Stacey realises that my master sir quite likes the casual, grunge look. As, indeed, do I – though I’m quite sure miss Stacey isn’t wearing her scruffy, scuffmarked sneakers and plain black, angular sneaker-socks for my benefit!
‘Good evening miss Stacey, Milady’, I humbly greet her as she pushes her way past me into the flat. ‘The master-sir will be ready for you shortly, miss.’
She looks down at me with a disparaging grimace of utter, young-womanly contempt:
‘Tch! Whatever, flunkey!’
I should explain that miss Stacey – another blonde (though, unlike miss Leanna’s naturally, blonde hair, miss Stacey’s comes out of a bottle) – although she is a white girl, talks like a black girl. To put it bluntly, she speaks the glorious language of the street – another turn-on for my master, I strongly suspect.
‘Can I get you a drink while you are waiting, beautiful young mistress-madam Stacey?’
I am, as I have explained, master Jay’s official household foot-butler – since males can’t legally own slaves, as such, in the Gynarchy (even if, in the privacy of the master’s apartment, I am often unofficially referred to by all and sundry as a ‘slave’!) So making drinks for my master’s young-female guests is one of my official duties; a Gynarchy foot-butler doesn’t just shine shoes and boots, and kiss guests’ feet; he also ‘butles’ in the more traditional ways – polishing the silver; greeting his master’s guests etc!
‘Tch! Shut up, dirty foot-flunkey! Just get the f*** over here an’ start kissin’ my dirty sneaks, yeah?’ responds the delightful, bleached-blonde, young white lady as she takes up her seat on the very couch where miss Leanna had earlier been seated so silently and demurely.
I am, of course, happy to obey – since kissing scruffy, streetwear sneaker is always an honour and a privilege for a clapped-out old footslave like me, and I feel much more at home kissing scummy sneakers than making classy cocktails!
I believe miss Stacey is a student of fashion design at the nearby ‘Young Ladies Fashion Academy’ in the centre of the city – though her scruffy and unremarkable attire perhaps belies her interest in high fashion! Be that as it may, I always feel that I am serving the footwear of a truly hip and trendy, young Gynarchy-woman when I attend to the ostensibly neglected sneakers and socks of miss Stacey; largely, I suspect, because of her ultra-modern street slang and concomitant slovenly attitudes – she’s quite the beauty business (and she knows it!)
Indeed, miss Stacey is such a modern and immodest, young Gynarchy woman that she even lets me kiss the elasticated tops of her short, black socks whilst I am worshipping her street-soiled, outer footwear. She has none of the ticklish, or prudish, tendencies of her predecessor, miss Leanna. If anything miss Stacey is more prima donna-ish and pricklish, than prudish and ticklish!
I settle down on my hands and knees in front of her and begin kissing flaky, scuffmarked sneaker-toe. Again, quite unlike the demure and modest miss Leanna, the slovenly and immodest miss Stacey is seated legs akimbo on the couch – and so I must deal with her right sneakered-foot separately first.
Furthermore, she is seated with both her low-top-sneakered feet girlishly resting on their outer sides, so that the beige-coloured treads of her sneakersoles are clearly visible above the carpet-line. I am immediately attracted to a piece of blackened chewing gum stuck to the thick treads of miss Stacey’s right sneakersole, and so, after I have paid all due respects to her flaky, right sneaker-toe, I move my mouth onto the flavoursome gum.
It matters not to me whether this discarded, walked-in chewing gum was expelled from the mistress Stacey’s pretty, if often foul, mouth or not – for one thing I can be absolutely sure of is that it once graced the insides of a female mouth, since chewing gum is illegal for males, including free males, throughout the Gynarchy! I think it’s something to so with the slovenly act of chewing gum being seen as dominant and sexy. At least, I for one find any young woman noisily chewing gum highly attractive!
I rather wish miss Stacey was chewing gum now, but instead she is lighting up a joint.
As I taste the residual mintiness of the discarded chewing gum on the dirty sole of miss Stacey’s playfully turned up sneaker, it strikes me as somewhat ironic that this is probably the one taste in the Gynarchy that male slaves (and servants) can enjoy which free men cannot – the taste of chewing gum! Not that most free males would want to taste chewing gum off a girl’s shoe, let alone any of the other dubious footslave-tastes denied to them – female footsweat; female toejam; female toenail; female shoeleather; female sock-lint.
Ah – sock-lint! Thee appears to be a goodly amount of lint stuck to the sides of miss Stacey’s plain, black sneaker socks which – again thanks to the partially turned over positioning of her slovenly sneakered-feet – are socks which are more expansively visible down the sides of her feet than a pair of low-cut, supposedly ‘secret’, sneaker socks would normally be.
I am, of course, still concentrating on miss Stacey’s right foot, since my tongue has been fixated by the blackened chewing gum, but that doesn’t stop my footslave-eyes from counting the numerous little bobbles of black sock-lint stuck to the sides of both her well-worn, sneaker socks. Oh, I’ll bet these short, black socks smell ammonic and vinegary deep inside her scuffmarked, pink and white sneakers! No delicate, perfumed, tan-nylon aromas here – just stinky and sweaty, plain black girlsock! Sock from the streets! Just the way I like it!
Suddenly the chilled out, right sneaker and sock kicks me harshly in the face:
‘And the other one, yeah? F***wit!’
I presume miss Stacey is drawing attention to her other sneaker on her left foot! She’s quite right, of course – I have been tongue-neglecting it!
Shame on me!
Sadly I only just get my lips onto it when miss Leanna emerges from the master bedroom and declares to her successor:
‘You can go in now!’
Miss Leanna then happily and contentedly exits the apartment. Extraordinary! How does he do it?!
Miss Stacey leaps to her feet and saunters in to the master bedroom, her joint still in hand and, of course, with myself in tow behind her flaky, sneakered heels. My only regret in this humble ‘to heel’ position is that I cannot see the backs of miss Stacey’s ultra-sort, black socks as they have slidden down completely beneath the rims of her grubby, pink and white, sneaker heels.
But I know it’s only a temporary separation from white girl black sock – for those sneakers will soon be kicked off (without, incidentally, being unlaced), and the stinky, black socks will then soon be adorning my nose as I kneel in the corner of the master bedroom and sniff them in the raw whilst master Jay and miss Stacey make love!
I was right – her socks do smell ripe! I can confidently say that miss Stacey, unlike miss Leanna, did not shower prior to coming to the master’s apartment this hallowed evening!
Speaking of Halloween, the doorbell rings again, and once more I am rudely despatched to answer it.
From low-tops to high-tops – the high-top, black and white, converse sneakers of black-haired, Goth-mistress Charlie greet me in the doorway, again beneath a pair of black leggings, only this time plain, black cotton leggings (not lacy); and leggings which are unnaturally stretched over fattened calf-muscles, for beautiful, 23 year old, nose-and-lip-pierced, Goth-goddess mistress Charlie is quite a fat, young woman!
Pleasingly so!
She stops to have her converse-sneakered feet welcomingly kissed at the door, one at a time, by her boyfriend-lover’s butler-cum-footslave. Unlike the other two girls I think miss Charlie quite likes ladying it over me. She actually has a lot of time for me – for degrading and humiliating me that is. I think it is her own sweet way of getting herself in the mood for some serious, passionate lovemaking with my master-sir!
As I kiss each outstretched, high-top sneaker I catch a glimpse of some multicoloured, stripy anklesocks inside the uppers rims of her outer footwear. Sweet! I shall be able to sniff all the different stripes individually once the socks are off and miss Charlie is getting it on with the master-sir – in order to see if the different coloured stripes smell differently.
I don’t expect they will – but it’ll be fun finding out; fun for a pathetic and impotent, old footslave-butler like me, that is!
I first remember my manners, and my official role, however, and offer miss Charlie a drink:
‘Greetings miss Charlie! The master-sir is entertaining another young lady at the moment, if you would care to wait madam? In the meantime, may I get you a drink, miss?’
‘No! You can wash my stinking feet, butler-boy! They’re mingin’!’
As you can tell miss Charlie, rather like miss Stacey (with whom, I believe, she is quite well acquainted) is from the rougher side of town, and speaks accordingly.
Still, at least, unlike miss Stacey, she cares about her feminine foot-hygiene – and doesn’t wish to risk turning off the master-sir with her stinky feet. And so, quite rightly, she will have his 66 year old ‘butler-boy’ wash her dirty feet. And not just wash her feet, but kneel down before her; untie her high-top sneaker laces; pull off her sneakers; then peel off her stripy, sticky anklesocks (from the crusty toe-ends); then tonguewash her bare, pasty-white Gothic feet with their black-painted toenails – socklines and all; before washing her feet properly in a bowl of fresh, lukewarm water which I will have fetched from the bathroom.
Miss Charlie has rather big, stinky feet with chubby toes to go with her large, young-womanly frame – and her Gothic toenails seem to produce an inordinate amount of stinky, black toejam. But I soon manage to spruce her feet up for her, and for the master-sir, such that she can enter the master bedroom (after miss Stacey has left) with a clear conscience and clean feet!
My humble reward is to follow after her bare, broad feet on my hands and knees, carrying her stripy socks and discarded sneakers in my mouth, so that I may carry out my aforementioned task of establishing whether or not the variously coloured stripes on a fat Goth-girl’s anklesocks smell any differently from one another, whilst she makes love to another, better man than me in the same room!
In the end I conclude that they don’t’ – they are all ‘minging’, as miss Charlie herself would no doubt delicately put it!
After she and the master-sir have made Gothic love, it is my inestimable honour to put those still stinky, unwashed, rainbow-coloured socks back onto mistress Charlie’s recently hand-washed feet – a humble reminder to me that I had cleaned her feet merely for the benefit of the master-sir, whom she very much respects and loves, and not for my benefit. Miss Charlie doesn’t much care if her feet stink in my presence!
For I’m just a humble foot-butler; not a stud-gigolo.
Oh, did I not mention that my master-sir entertains young women for a living?
It’s a funny, topsy-turvy kind of world, this Gynarchy – isn’t it though?
The End
