No Talking!
Ornamental footkissers come in all shapes and sizes nowadays.
They can be public (i.e. Female State owned) or private (i.e. owned by large corporations, or even just by individual entrepreneurs) ; they can be masked or unmasked ; mute or talking (though the vast majority are of the ‘traditional’ mute variety) ; stand-up or sit-down (i.e. from the perspective of the ‘customer-mistress’); and are located in a wide range of locations throughout the glorious Gynarchy – at airports ; at railway stations ; in town squares ; on street-corners ; in the lobbies of public buildings and restaurants etc.
But they each have their own individual, unique characteristics, determined by their female owners ; and here are mine:
· First of all, I am masked – in a pink-garish, rubbery footfool mask with the words ‘Fear’ ; ‘Weak’ ; & ‘Humble’ emblazoned on it in big, bold black letters
· Secondly, I am mute – there is a sign on the wall above my ankle-level head which reads ‘Please do not converse with the slave’
· Thirdly, I am, somewhat unusually, based in a private footkissing cubicle, yet the customer-mistress has her feet kissed whilst standing up (most private-booth, ornamental footslaves have a sit-down facility for the footmistress)
· Fourthly, I am located in a busy shopping mall, and owned by a female management company
Being a masked, muted, cubicled, shopping-malled, ornamental footkisser, all I do is kiss ladies’ feet all day long! Furthermore, unlike some of my more fortunate ornamental-footkisser colleagues, I am not permitted to pick and choose which areas of sweet feminine shoe or boot I kiss. Indeed, I am specifically only permitted to kiss the toe-area of a lady’s footwear.
On the plus side, however, I am thankfully not restricted to a limited or pre-defined number of footkisses ; I may continue to kiss a female foot which is outstretched on the wooden footblock beneath my prostrate face for as long as it remains there. And some of them, despite the fact that a lady has to stand in front of me, can remain there for a very long time indeed (anything up to half an hour, on occasions!)
Please feel free to stay and watch me at my humble work inside my private footbooth-cubicle for a while:
My first customer-mistress, as you can see, is a tall and attractive, young black woman – in tight, blue denim jeans with bright pink, high-top, converse sneakers on her largish feet (a somewhat ironic choice of black-girl footwear given that the sign on the wall behind me politely requests the customer-mistress specifically not to converse with the footslave!)
She locks the cubicle door behind her so that I am alone with her and her scruffy, pink sneakers (with grubby, white laces), and, hands posed dominantly on her shapely, athletic hips, silently projects her large, right foot out onto the wooden footkissing-block beneath my ‘fearful’, ‘weak’, and ‘humble’, rubbery lips.
I, for my part, equally silently lower those lips to her rubbery-white sneaker-toe (the toe and sole areas of her pink, converse sneakers are white rubber; only the canvas uppers are pink), and immediately proceed to ornamentally kiss it.
The tall and athletic, black mistress has no need to verbalise her orders down at me; as I said before, kissing feet is all I do, and the mere act of extending her pink, high-top-sneakered foot beneath my lowly, masked face is indication enough that I have her divine, female permission from on-high to start kissing; indeed, it is her black-female expectation that I shall kiss-worship her dirty, converse sneakers without any delay!
One of the joys of kissing a stretched-out, female foot is that one ordinarily gets a glimpse of female sock beneath the raised trouser or jean-hem, and this case is no exception; I get to see a slither of multicoloured, thinly-striped, soft cotton anklesock beneath the lofty, black mistress’s raised, blue-denim jean hem on my face’s ignominious way down to her shoe-toe. The frustration is that, again as I indicated earlier, I am not permitted to kiss sock or hosiery of any kind – only shoe, boot, or sneaker-toe.
So I can look at female sock which is right in front of my rubbery face – but not touch it!
That’s true cruelty on the part of my corporate owners and customer-mistresses alike – and they all know it! Which is why the latter always show off their socktops to me, even when they are wearing trousers with ankleboots! They want me to suffer the sight of untouchable sock, even if it’s just a tiny slither of girlsock above an upper ankleboot-rim!
I must try not to think, therefore, of the beautiful, young black woman’s beautiful, stripy sock or I shall go orna-mental! Instead I must focus on the tantalizing task in mouth – that of repeatedly kissing her on her grubby-white, converse sneaker-toe.
An ornamental-footkisser’s ornamental footkisses must, by law, be:
· Crisp and respectful
· Non-lascivious
· Thoughtful; and
· Palpable
In other words, a customer-mistress must be able to feel my lips on her dainty, socked, feminine toes through the material of her outer footwear; yet my kisses must not be so hard as to be uncomfortable or distressing for her. It’s a delicate balance to strike with one’s rubbery lips!
They are also, of course, as I explained earlier, repetitive kisses – and, in my case, repeated until the customer-mistress herself decides to withdraw her foot from the footblock. Yet I must give her sufficient time in between each individual footkiss to make that female decision. So, each kiss, by law, as I have explained above, must be deep and crisp and even; but I must then raise my fearful and humble, pink-masked head up off the shoe-toe, and wait for a full second (‘Mississippi one’) before lowering my lips to the dirty, female sneaker-toe once again if it remains stationary on the footblock, thereby signalling a silent invitation to another maleslavish footkiss.
My pathetic, pink-rubber head is therefore constantly bobbing up and down like a yoyo at one second intervals whilst the customer-mistress enjoys having her street-footwear worshipped. It must surely be a real feminine ego-boost for her?
This particular, young, athletic, black customer-mistress in the non-athletic, pink-converse sneakers certainly seems to be enjoying herself, for her right sneaker-toe is still outstretched after some 30 kisses! Some customer-mistresses, in the privacy of the footkissing-cubicle, even unashamedly rub themselves off whilst having their feet kissed! But not, it seems, this particular, chaste, young black woman; she’s presumably saving her lust for her husband or boyfriend later on this evening?
And rightly so!
In my peripheral vision I can nevertheless see her multicoloured, stripy socktop creasing and flexing with unmistakable, lascivious delight as my pink-rubbery, maleslave lips make repeated and worshipful contact with her grubby-white, rubbery sneaker toe; the toe of an ordinary, everyday sneaker, on an ordinary, everyday young woman – but a young woman who is being made to feel very special!
Eventually, after the 45th kiss to her right, converse sneaker-toe, she switches feet beneath me – and I’m pleased, though frustrated, to report that her stripy, multicoloured anklesock is even more creased on the top of her left ankle inside the dusty, pink canvas upper of her high-top sneaker, than her right sock had been!
I wonder whether she is silently counting my respectful, slave-kisses to her sneaker-toes? Will she go for a symmetrical 45 kisses on her left sneaker-toe, to match those on the right? It’s all up to her, of course; and down to me!
Incidentally, her right sneaker-toe – the one that has already been kissed 45 times – now looks considerably cleaner and less grubby than her left one, thanks to my footkissing saliva, so she would do well to have the left toe-area kissed every bit as much (in my humble opinion!)
In the event, the young, black lady only requires 33 kisses to her left sneaker-toe. Perhaps she is getting tired standing; or is just bored having her feet repeatedly kissed? Like they say, the first footkiss is the deepest. Anything after that inevitably has less of a ‘shock-effect’!
She could, of course, if she wished, repeat the whole process, by presenting me with her right sneaker-toe for a second round of ornamental kisses. But I rather suspect this young, black woman – for all her apparent athleticism – is actually somewhat lacking in stamina. Or maybe she just wants to get on with her shopping – to purchase a brand new pair of silvery, high-top sneakers to replace her pink scruffy ones; the ones I have just so laboriously mouth-worshipped!
Whatever, she suddenly turns and exits the cubicle – thankfully leaving the door to swing wide open, which at least means that I shall get to see, out of the corner of my prostrate eye, the feet and footwear of all those shopping-mall mistresses who don’t deign to call in for a private footkissing session as they nonchalantly walk on by, past the open door to my private foot-kissing booth behind me.
This is another frustration of my position, however – seeing the lovely, fully-clad feet pass by of lots of beautiful, young women outside, whose footwear it would be an absolute privilege for me to kiss! In the next five, frustrating minutes alone I see walking behind me:
· The scruffy, black leather ballet-flats, black anklesocks, and frayed, black denim jeans of a young, blonde-ponytailed woman who is with her macho boyfriend (he would be welcome to accompany her into the cubicle in order to watch me kiss his blonde girlfriend’s feet, if he so wished; but the couple are evidently too much in love with one another to even notice me!) The crying-out-to-be-kissed, ballet flats just plod on by!
· The click-clacking, stiletto-heeled, pointy-toed, patent black leather ankleboots and fishnet stockings of a black-miniskirt-wearing, redheaded girl, laden down already with several bags of shopping from some of the mall’s designer clothes shops. I suppose she may have been more inclined to use me if there was somewhere inside my cubicle for her to sit and take the weight of her stiletto-heeled feet for a few moments? But, whatever, her spike-heeled ankleboots just click clack on by!
· A gaggle of identical, girly white and orange, lace-up sneakers – about 5 pairs in all, most of them seemingly sockless inside (at least from a distance), but with one of them definitely containing a pleasing pair of bright red, angular sneaker-socks which are clearly visible above the bright-orange, low-top leather sneaker-rims! God I would just love to have all 10 of those identical, girlgang sneakers inside my booth at once, taking their turns to be kissed! Who knows, maybe the others are wearing angular red sneaker-socks as well inside their white and orange themed sneakers, but their socks may have simply experienced some slippage, due to their unfortunate, sneaker-generated footsweat? Sadly, I shall never know – for the identical sneakers just gigglingly sneak on by!
· They are quickly followed by a much more sombre pair of plain, black leather loafers and modest, thin, grey cotton anklesocks. These appear to be the everyday loafers and socks of a pretty, salwar-kameez-wearing and demurely-headscarfed, Malaysian girl – just as appealing, in their own way, as the strident, bright orange sneakers, and slutty red sneaker-socks, of her European-girlgang cousin; but, sadly for me, loafers and socks which are just as uninterested in stopping by my ornamental, footkissing booth. It’s a real shame, because I always afford particular respect to any, young Muslim women who enter my booth in order to have their dirty shoes or boots kissed, since they are so pure and holy; good goddesses walking on earth! But, like I said, in this case, also walking on by.
My sad daydreams of Muslim-girl loafer-kissing and grey-sock observance are rudely interrupted by a fat, middle-aged, brunette-haired, white woman in a black-pinstriped, business-suit with black patent leather, chunky-heeled and round-toed, zip-up kneeboots, who does appear to have the precious, female time to stop by me and have her feet kissed!
Having closed and locked the booth door behind her (not all customer-mistresses do – some are quite brazen about being seen in public having their feet kissed!) she attractively hitches up her knee-length, black-pinstriped, skirt hem to reveal a pair of no-nonsense, sheer, dark-nylon stockings.
It is patently clear to me that this middle-aged mistress, and her boots and stockings, mean business – and I must afford them exactly the same degree of respect that I would have done to the demurely-headscarfed, and much younger, Malaysian Muslim-girl in the matt black loafers and plain grey anklesocks, had the latter deigned to step in to my footkissing booth prior to the businesswoman-mistress.
I therefore lower my lips to a prominent scuffmark on the rounded toe area of the outstretched, brunette-businesswoman kneeboot, and kiss it – not because I harbour any footfoolish illusions about possibly being able to remove that scuffmark merely by kissing it (even repeatedly), but because deliberately kissing an offending scuffmark is always a good way of expressing one’s humility and respect for a mistress’s otherwise pristine and shiny, black footwear – be she young or middle-aged; Muslim or non-Muslim; fat or thin (the passing Malaysian girl had, incidentally, been thin, like the cotton material in her socks; I just can’t get her out of my mind!)
It is, moreover, particularly important, I think, to convey one’s footslavish humility vis-Ã -vis a mistress through the medium of humble-slavemouth-on-scuffmark, when the wearer of that superior, scuffmarked footwear cannot see one’s submissive face (thanks to the ridiculous, rubbery footfool-mask!), and when one is legally barred from talking, and therefore from verbalising, one’s innate submissiveness.
Meanwhile, the patent black leather kneeboot towers domineeringly above me, hugging the brunette businesswoman-mistress’s outstretched, fatted calf-muscle. Actually, in some ways, I prefer kissing fat boot, as the sight of calf-stretched bootleather is always quite pleasing to the lowly, footslave eye. Fat women’s footwear always seems to mould and shape itself much more overtly to the contours of their fleshy feet, ankles and calves, producing, in this case, leathery stretchmarks all the way up the shiny, black bootleather as far as her knobbly, dark-nylon-stockinged kneecap!
And just imagine how moist and sweaty those reinforced toe-areas of her sultry, dark nylons must be deep inside such unforgiving kneeboots, which prevent her nyloned toes from breathing! That stimulating thought of entrapped, moist footair causes me temporary breathing difficulties of my own, and compels me to kiss the fat, brunette businesswoman’s outer boot-toes with all the more respect for her portly, entrepreneurial pulchritude!
Sadly, this overweight, brunette, forty-something, smartly-dressed businesswoman in the tall, shiny black leather kneeboots only stays for 10 measly kisses to each domineering boot-toe. I expect she’s actually in a bit of a hurry, perhaps on her way to some important sales pitch or other, and just wanted a quick confidence-boost through having her boots worshipped and kissed by someone much lowlier than herself?
She chose wisely!
The Malaysian Muslim-girl is back! I recognise her from her plain black loafers and thinning, grey cotton anklesocks (it’s how I recognise all my customer-mistresses – from their footwear! Pathetic, isn’t it?)
Perhaps her first by-pass had merely been a reconnaissance trip – to see if she felt safe and happy entering my booth (for it must be somewhat unusual for a traditional, Muslim girl to be alone with a strange, masked man in a cubicle; not that I am a ‘man’ in any meaningful sense of the term, being trussed up in a wall with only my pink-rubbery, masked head protruding, and thus absolutely no threat whatsoever to her Muslim-girl chastity and purity!)
She certainly seems happy and confident enough now, with a bold and unhesitant projection of her right leg beneath my protruding, pink-rubbery head. The naturally tapering and elasticated hems of her salwar-kameez-style, trouser hems make for a nice expanse of bobbled, grey, full-ankle-length sock beneath my forlorn face as she stretches forth her right, flat black loafer onto the multifaith, wooden footblock.
Like I said, I always, automatically, have enormous respect for Muslim girls’ footwear since they are my self-evident, infinite betters, being la crème-de-la-crème of female humanity – regardless of whether they are wearing cheap, black loafers and manky, bobbled socks, or sandals on bare feet.
And thus, as I lower my unworthy, non-Muslim lips to her dusty, black, musty-smelling, loafer-shoe toe, I deliberately ignore the tiny spot of soft, brown, Malaysian-girl ankleskin just visible inside a tiny hole near the middle of her well-worn, fully pulled-up, grey cotton anklesock, out of respect for its holeyness (and hers!)
Graciously, she keeps her right, flawed foot religiously fixed on the brown, wooden footblock beneath my pink-rubbery-masked face for some 5 minutes, and so I do get to repeatedly pay homage to her street-soiled, outer footwear whilst she, for her part, repeatedly and demurely adjusts her beige-brown, hijab-style, silken headscarf high above me.
She then repeats the imperious process with her left foot, though this time her ankleskin remains appropriately fully-covered by grey sock as it appears to be without holes, thus reducing the temptation for my sinful footslave-eye to lecherously stray onto magnificent, Malaysian-girl, smooth brown ankleskin underneath.
Fundamentally, I could happily kiss her left loafer-shoe beneath her sock all day, and would pass the time counting the various bobbles in the stitching of her motionless, plain grey cotton anklesock. But she has work to go to, I assume; unless she is a female asylum-seeker, living on Female State benefits?
She eventually leaves me, feet kissed, without saying a word. No talking!
I don’t believe it! Orange sneakers and red socks is back! And on her own this time! And she too steps into my booth, soon after the Malaysian girl has gone!
I am now confronted with a low-lying vista of full-frontal, bare white foot and ankleflesh – since the orange-sneakered and red-socked, young, twenty-something, white woman is outrageously bare-legged beneath her girlgang-uniform, bright orange hotpants, and her red, sneaker-style socks barely even cover the lower halves of her pockmarked anklebones (indeed, even her dry and pinky-chapped heels are completely exposed by her angular, ultra-short socks!)
Such an overtly soxual contrast to her demurely grey-socked, Muslim-girl predecessor!
What’s more, I can now see, close up and personal, that the bright orange, canvas sneakers have a message written all along the rubbery-white insteps, in pink felt-tip pen.
The message reads:
‘Tracy 
and it is emblazoned brazenly all along the feminine-shapely, grubby-white-rubbery, right instep.
In addition, a sensuous series of pink kisses:
‘Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx luv Daniel’
are emblazoned in female handwriting across the white-rubbery instep of her matching left sneaker.
I would, of course, show my own respect and admiration for the absentee master Daniel-sir, whose name is writ large on his girlfriend’s sneakers (presumably because he is the young woman’s current beau) by kissing his name on the side of her orange and white sneaker, were I permitted to do so. But, as you know, I am legally restricted to kissing female toe, and so the best I can do is convey my respects to the absent, young man by kissing the scruffy, orange-canvas toe of the bright, girly sneaker on which his lucky, manly name is so proudly written by enamoured, female hand!
It occurs to me that the young, blonde woman’s orange sneakers, and my pink-rubbery head, both have something in common, in that we have both been festooned by our respective owners in words summing up their thoughts towards the males in their lives: ‘Fear; Weak; & Humble’ in the case of the corporate footfool-mask; ‘Luv’, in the case of the boyfriend-celebrating sneakers.
I kiss the orange, scuffmarked sneaker-toes 10 times each; followed by a further 7 times each; followed by a further 5 times each – as the young woman repeatedly switches feet beneath me. She does so semi-subconsciously, since she is preoccupied throughout her visit to my ornamental-footkissing booth by a conversation on her mobile phone high above me with someone who, judging by the lovey-dovey tone of her high-pitched, feminine voice, could well be the very same master Daniel-sir whose name I am simultaneously indirectly honouring through the respectful kissing of his besotted girlfriend’s bright orange sneakers!
And I’m not even lusting after his girlfriend’s bright red, angular sneaker-socks; or her bare, white, pockmarked ankleflesh above them. For I am a good and respectful, ornamental footkisser; and this young woman is clearly already spoken for by a much better man than me.
And besides – I’m forbidden by law to woo her, or to speak to her; there is no such thing as freedom of speech for an ornamental-footkisser!
In fact, by rights, I shouldn’t even be speaking to you!
