Thinking Footslaves’ Dirty Thoughts Vol 5
My beautiful, black mistress and her manly, white husband have just bought a new TV. They are sitting huddled up together on the sofa, flicking through all their new, wonderful channels, and getting to grips with their exciting new piece of kit.
I, of course, am not permitted to watch television – being a mere household footservant – and must instead to continue to see things in black and white as I kneel next to, and focus in on, my mistress’s white leather, laced-up, low-top, sneakers and cheap, black anklesocks.
I am blinkered, just in case my eyes are distracted from my mistress’s feet and footwear, but I don’t really need the blinkers! For there is plenty to entertain the likes of me in my beautiful, black mistress’s sneakers and socks – plenty of subliminal movements, in both the sneakers and the socks; plenty of creases and folds in the black anklesocks above the sneaker-rim; lots of bobbling on the socks; a loose stitch here and there along the uneven, elasticated tops of her socks; greying and thinning where the socks are starting to wear down along the insteps (only just visible in places along the sneaker rim); and the memory of the socks’ smell and feel on my nose – though actively nuzzling my black mistress’s socks whilst she watches TV with her white husband is forbidden, unless I have her explicit permission to do so (which, sadly, I currently do not!)
If I get bored I can always start to count the visible stitches in each of my mistress’s black socks – and then mentally calculate how many hidden stitches there must be in total, leading me to deduce an overall figure for my mistress’s black sock-stitches!
So you see – pathetic, sock-obsessed, household footslave that I am – I have no need of television or other electronic, audio-visual entertainment; I have my pretty, black mistress’s sneakers and socks to keep me lowly-entertained – the sneakers and socks of my female owner and better!
Addendum: Incidentally, in case you are wondering, I cannot hear the television programmes either, since my clever master-sir has fitted me with electronic earpieces which are connected to my mistress’s left sock, and to his and her lapels; all I ever get to hear, therefore, is the rustling of my mistress’s left, black sock, interspersed with any necessary commandments and criticisms from the master-sir and mistress-madam above me, delivered through their tiny lapel-microphones. Which is precisely how things should be!
The slave obediently sniffs his mistress’s discarded, sweaty sneakers whilst she rests…
Obedient Sneaker Sniffer by patheticus on GoAnimate
My new office deskmistress – who is of pretty, Chinese origins but fully Gynarchised – is introducing me to her office sneakers, shoes, socks and whip!
- She first points out that her sneakers – which she apparently wears for comfort whilst commuting to and from work (though I, of course, shall never have the honour of accompanying her on her daily commute since I am her permanent 'at desk' footslave) – are black leather, with red trims; tabi-toed (with a split down the middle, delineating her big toe area from the rest of her toes); Velcro fastened, with a single, sock-revealing strap across the uppers; and somewhat scuffmarked and well-worn, which is why she has to change (or rather have me change her) into her much smarter, office shoes once she is actually in the office.
- She stresses to me, however, that I am nonetheless to respect her scruffy sneakers every bit as much as I shall respect her officewear shoes, especially since the sneakers tend to build up an aroma of her footsweat during her commute into work – an aroma that I shall be forced to inhale as she will always leave her discarded sneakers next to my kneeling face underneath her desk!
- She also points out that I am only ever to kiss her sneakers on the aforementioned, clearly delineated, big-toe areas, and woe betide me if my lips should ever stray onto the remaining tabi-toe area (even inadvertently!) And I shall kiss her sneakers – 20 times in total – both before I take them off, and after I put them back on, her Chinese-girl, socked feet; by way of a public demonstration of my respect for my deskmistress’s scruffy, daily- commuting, red and black sneakers.
- She then shows me her smart, officewear shoes – actually a pretty pair of kitten-heeled, backless, slip-on mules (again, she points out with absolutely no sense of shame, highly sock-revealing footwear, only this time at the backs – exposing her socked heels to my kneeling-footslave gaze). She draws my footslavish attention to the fact that her mule-toes are more chiselled than the rounded, tabi-style toes of her Chinese sneakers, but reassures me that, because of this, I shall be permitted to kiss the whole of her mule-toe area – again 20 times each; and again every time I take off or slip on her mules beneath her oriental-girl ankles.
- As a side issue, my new Chinese deskmistress then highlights the fact that her black leather mules are grooved, and she forewarns me that those tiny grooves tend to collect dust and grime as she moves around the office during the day (our outside during her lunchbreak), so I must inspect them thoroughly every time she returns to her desk, and lickshine them as and when required, thereby removing any accumulated dust and dirt from the leather grooves with my tongue, and disposing of it by swallowing – as befits a slave.
- She then focuses my full attention on her socks, which, she points out (whilst swivelling her ankles in front of my kneeling face) are full-length, plain black cotton anklesocks, with vertical stitching.
- She further points out that her socks are somewhat creased and uneven on her feet and ankles, and explains to me that that is how she likes them (I suspect because they mask her slightly shapeless and podgy ankles – not cankles as such; just lacking in definition and prominence of anklebones!)
- My oriental office-footmistress opines, correctly, that in any case the 'designer' creases in her socks are a good thing for me, as I shall be spending lots of time staring at her black-socked ankles beneath her desk, and the creases will give me something to admire and study since they will be slightly different every day and throughout the day. She warns me, however, that I am never to kiss or nuzzle her socks with my dirty-slave lips or nose, however much I might be tempted to do so, without her explicit, female permission, as she tends to be ticklish on the sock (that's a blow!).
- She also warns me not to balk at the smell of her socks (which, she admits, can 'whiff a bit' on a hot day after her busy commute), and never to look at her smooth, bare ankleskin above the twisted and folded, black sockline – under pain of the whip!
- And speaking of whips, my pretty, Chinese office-mistress with the cheesy feet then proceeds to take out her whip from her handbag, and gleefully show me its three, black-leather strands, each containing three knots within said leather. She points out that this means a punishment of 20 strokes would effectively mean 60 stripes across my bare back and shoulders, and an accompanying total of 180 cuts – caused by the three knots on each lash!
- My mathematically-minded, Chinese deskmistress further acknowledges that there isn't enough room to swing a cat beneath her desk, but reminds me of that which I am already only too painfully aware – that there is plenty of room to swing a whip in the purpose-built, basement, office punishment room nearby.
- She then kindly offers to take me down to the basement in order to give me a taste of the three-thonged whip right now – not because I have yet done anything wrong, but just to 'acclimatise' me to the pain; an offer which I respectfully decline, though, as she points out, on my back be it, since the initial shock of the pain will doubtless be all the greater if I haven't experienced a 'practice' run-through with her fearsome, oriental whip!
So there you have it – my intriguing introduction to my new, Chinese deskmistress's sneakers, shoes, socks and whip! What she doesn't do is introduce herself to me by name, since I'm just her below-desk sneaker, shoe and sock slave, and therefore, quite literally, beneath her – and beneath contempt!
My middle-aged master-sir seems to get very excited whenever he makes me sniff his 27 year old girlfriend’s dirty and used, white anklesocks (whilst she is still wearing them on her pretty feet) in front of him:
‘Come on slave… Sniff your mistress’s white socks on her feet!... Sniff them hard… Begin with the reinforced toe area on her right sock… Now run your nose along her sweaty instep… Linger there a while, so that you may fully appreciate the pungent aroma of your pretty mistress’s white sock… Now slowly sniff the side of her sock, up as far as her shapely ankle… That’s right!... Sniff good and hard, dirty slave… Feel her soft, white, sock material on your nose… Now nose the elasticated top of her sock around the upper rim… Make sure you don’t neglect the back of her sock… Now trace your nose all the way down the diamond-patterned stitching in the back of her white sock, right down to the dust-stained base of her dirty white sock-heel… That’s right, socksniffer-slave… Debase yourself… De-humanize yourself… Humble yourself and know your place, sniffer of beautiful young women’s stinky white socks!’
I sometimes wonder if the master-sir secretly wishes he could put himself in my humble, sock-sniffing position? What do you think?
As the cruel, short-black-miniskirt-wearing, dark-haired, young goth-woman exits the nightclub ladies’ restroom, she stops to have me – the nightclub-restroom, ornamental footkisser – respectfully kiss her flat-heeled, calf-length, heavily buckled, black leather, biker boots.
As I admire her accompanying, scrunched-up, black cotton, calf-length bootsocks, she rightfully disrespects me:
‘Ha! Ha! Look at you down there, footslave – just a lonely head-in-the-wall licking the germs off girls’ shoes and boots! Ha! Ha! What a loser! I’m glad my boyfriend is nothing like you; he’s a real man – and he’s waiting for me outside. I’m gonna let him lick me somewhere else – somewhere you’ll never get to lick, if you know what I mean? Ha! Ha! Dirty bootlicker and girls’ sock-admirer! I spit on you, slave!’
True to her disparaging word, she then spits on me as she turns on her flat, biker-booted heels to walk away from me, leaving me with the bitter taste of her germy bootleather in my mouth. I feel honoured, and hope I catch something from her boots!
They do say that if a stranger customer-mistress walks purposefully up to your public shoelick stand, and immediately positions her right foot onto your wooden footblock for kissing and/or licking without a moment’s hesitation – it means that she ‘likes’ you – even though you’re just a dirty street-slave! For her foot is, after all, willingly pointed towards you; she could have just ‘walked on by’. So the mere fact that she stopped to use you must surely be a good sign?
I certainly hope so, in the case of the style-conscious, young, 20-something, blonde-haired (yes blonde-haired) Japanese mistress, in the black fedora hat; the yellow and black checked sweatshirt; a below-the-knee, black cotton skirt; and chunky, black, zip-up ankleboots with cute, pastel-green anklesocks. For I am certainly enamoured by her, even if the feeling is not mutual!
I think, however, that I may be in luck – for her chunky, rounded ankleboot-toe is most definitely pointing towards my face, almost inviting me to lickshine it!
I must formally wait, of course, for the verbal order to lickshine ankleboot, but just as soon as said order is forthcoming (in a cute, Japanese accent), my tongue leaps onto the scuffmarks on her outstretched, right boot-toe. I then eagerly move my mouth around to the platformed instep, where I have espied a particularly nasty-looking dirt stain that simply must be removed.
All the while I am conscious of her twisted, pale-green socktop inside her upper bootrim, towering over me. My head is lower than the top of her anklesock, as well it might be – for it is the sock of my better; the sock of a beautiful, Japanese girl with unnaturally bleached-blonde, dyed hair.
After some 5 minutes of assiduous licking to the entire outer surface of her boot, she graciously withdraws it from my face and replaces it with her left boot. Again, this must surely be a good sign? She likes me; or, at least, she likes having her dirty boots lickshined by me!
Once again, I lower my lips to the scuffmarks on her presented boot-toe, whilst admiring her pastel-green, twisted socktops on the way down.
Oh I do hope this beautiful, young, Japanese woman will come back and visit me again sometime! Perhaps even become a regular customer? For I would love to get to know her various pairs of socks within her overseas-student-girl boots. Just about any style of sock would go nicely with these boots, but the pastel green suggests an enhanced sense of Japanese-girl style and class. It wouldn’t even surprise me if the little twists and creases in the tops of her pale green bootsocks were deliberate – designed to titillate me, because she knows that I can look but not touch, being licensed merely to lickshine dirty, female shoes and boots.
Yes, I very much like her, and her footwear; and I’m optimistic that this superior, young woman likes using me too!
The master-sir is intensely angry with me, because his beautiful – if admittedly somewhat drunken – pink-haired, punk girlfriend has just inadvertently tripped over my ornamental-footkissing head outside the Central Bank, and she almost fell on her shapely, black-leather-miniskirted ass!
Of course, her loss of dignity was only momentary – when compared to the more sustained loss of dignity she is suffering due to her evident inebriation – but the master-sir is, nonetheless, perfectly within his rights to encourage his punk-girlfriend to belabour me with kicks from her boots to my jutting face, by way of a punishment for my ornamental-slavehead getting in her way!
Fortunately for the petite and delicately-framed, young woman, she is wearing reinforced-toed, calf-length, slovenly-laced, black leather ‘bovver boots’, with thick, pink fluffy towelling socks, on her delicate, punk-girl feet – so there is no danger of her injuring her dainty, feminine toes as she kicks me several times in the front and on the side of my protruding face, ably aided and abetted by the gallant master-sir who helps her to keep her balance as she ‘puts the boot in’.
All I can see are flashes of black bootleather and pink towelling sock as her reinforced boot-toes make repeated, sharp contact with my imprisoned and helpless face. I can even smell the punk-girl’s musty bootleather, though, sadly, I can’t smell her pink socks inside the boots.
I do feel that I can only apologise to the master-sir and mistress-madam, not just for my accident-causing head, but also for the fact that their whips are virtually useless, as they cannot get to my bare back which is buried in the bank’s outer wall (only my neck and head are protruding out into the street beneath the ‘hole in the wall’ cash machine – my normal role is to respectfully kiss the feet of the Female Bank customers as they withdraw or deposit cash; and yes – all the customers are female, since only females are permitted to have bank accounts and/or savings in the Great Gynarchy of Barbaria! And rightly so!). So, to be fair to the unhappy, but simultaneously ‘merry’, couple, the only real option they have for an impromptu, drunken punishment of me is to ‘kick my head in’.
Dazed and bruised, I watch the backs of the punk-girl’s, sloppily laced-up bovver boots, and fluffy-pink socktops, drunkenly stagger away from me, once she, and more particularly her boyfriend, are satisfied that I have suffered enough. Now all I can pray for is that the swelling in my boot-battered lips goes down quickly, as I’m sure it won’t be long before my next cash-machine customeress comes along to withdraw some cash – and kissing female footwear with bruised and swollen lips is so much more painful and difficult than with my customary dry and parched footslave-lips.
Still – I deserve all I get; I’m just a slave!
It’s only a small, terraced house in a run-down, inner-city, slum area of the city, so my young black mistress and master – both squatters in the house – keep me, the household footslave, outside in the former coalbunker.
It’s an ideal prison for a dirty footslave like me – for it has an aperture at the bottom for my head to poke out – should they need it to; for example if the mistress requires me to lickshine her dirty, white, high-top, converse-style sneakers or straighten her black cotton kneesocks (the aperture used to be where the coal could be shovelled out from!)
Likewise, it is incredibly dark and lonely in the coalbunker; and dirty; and damp; and cold. In other words – accommodation fit for a footslave. It also means that, whenever my 22 year old mistress does deign to visit me outside in my coalbunker, I am keen and enthusiastic to tongue-attend to her sneakers and socks if required, since I look forward to any opportunity to exit my coalbunker-confined head through the aperture at the bottom (unfortunately for me it is locked with a tiny, metal door from the outside – so I am reliant on my mistress, or master-sir, to open the latch so that I can stick my head out!)
The aperture really is ideally located at just the right height for a footslave to be able to attend by mouth to his mistress’s sneakers, for it is ankle-high. Indeed, if you were designing an outdoor prison-cell for a dirty, common-or-garden footslave, this would pretty much be it – a confined, box-like space, but made of concrete; with a padlocked wooden cover on the top; and a foot-level aperture at the bottom. No lighting; no electricity; no escape – without the say so of one’s terraced-house-dwelling masters and betters.
And so my heart leaps for joy when I hear the familiar sound of the kitchen door being opened, and the backyard light being switched on, for I know that my black mistress requires some late evening sneaker-service from me; and, if I’m lucky, some sock-service also!
The latch on the ground-level aperture outside is deftly undone (by foot), and, sure enough, I am confronted with the stunning sight of my pretty, black mistress’s grubby-white, laced-up, high-top sneakers and contrasting black kneesocks (not that I can easily see up as high as the tops of her socks whilst she is standing up straight; it’s only when, or if, she crouches down that I shall see the stretched tops of her socks, and the fleshiness of her beautiful, bare brown, thigh muscles!)
I love her tall, black cotton, ribbed-stitched kneesocks; they complement her rich, smooth, brown legskin so nicely, and provide such a pleasing contrast to the everyday, grubby-white of her high-top sneakers. My black mistress likes to wear black and white; even her shorts are black this evening, whilst her sweatshirt-top is white, with black sleeves. She looks the business – and she knows it!
As I project my eager head out of the lonely aperture, I can see, and now feel, that the ground is wet and it is drizzling outside. This is both good and bad news for me, for it means that:
a) My beautiful mistress’s sneakers will be damp and muddy from the dirty, wet ground of the back yard (that’s the good news!)
b) She may not tarry long in my presence, for fear of getting wet herself. So I shall have to be quick.
I verbally grovel and fawn to her, praising and blessing her for honouring me with her night-time presence (for it must have gone past 10:00 PM!). For her superior part, she graciously stretches forth her damp, right sneaker onto the dirt beneath my prostrate face and orders me to ‘lickshine off all the filf, an’ that!’
My tongue makes straight for the dirtiest part of her sneakers – the beige-brown sole – for, even if it can’t get to the very bottom of her beige-rubbery sole, it can at least lick along the edges of the sole, and taste the mud where she has been.
Whilst my tongue seeks out black-girl lower-sneaker mud, however, my eyes can’t help noticing the naturally-forming creases in her bobbled and well-worn, black kneesocks around the front and sides of her outstretched ankle. Inwardly, I start to salivate – for there is nothing nicer than the feel of a beautiful, young black woman’s black cotton sock creases on a footslave’s lips. I hope and pray that my mistress lets me kiss her sock creases this evening!
Needless to say, if such an order is forthcoming I shall lick my lips first – not out of eager anticipation of what I am about to do, but out of respect for her black socks, and the need to keep them free of any residual mud in my mouth from the bottoms of my mistress’s dirty, white sneakers! I mean, I am not employed to be a muck spreader!
I hear my mistress lighting up a cigarette above me; or is it a spliff? Only time will tell, when the aroma eventually drifts down to the dirty ground where I live. Her sock creases even flex before my eyes as she lights up – involuntary sock-flexes, unnoticed by her; but cherished by me – for they are the most exciting things I’ve seen all day (my master and mistress are not inclined to take me with them when they go to college or leave the house, preferring just to keep me confined in their dirty, isolated coalbunker – as is their perfect right!)
My mistress exhales her cigarette smoke down towards me (and yes, it is just a bog-standard cigarette; this time!), and simultaneously withdraws her right sneakered-foot from my face, replacing it with her left. I am initially disappointed that her right sneaker has been withdrawn from my face with all its concomitant black-sock creases, without my first being permitted to clean my lips and then kiss those socks on the lower, ankle-level parts. But my initial disappointment turns to deep, slavish joy when I see the state of that left sneaker – great, long stains of wet mud down the outer side! Mistress must have been walking through a muddy field earlier on – for her back yard isn’t that muddy; not even in the wet!
She positions her left sneaker at a cute angle so that my mouth can have easier access to the offending mudstains. And, of course, the action of positioning her sneakered foot at a side-angle means a whole multitude of deep-ridged creases in her thick-ribbed, black cotton kneesocks – again primarily around her black-socked anklebone!
I am in footslave heaven – mud and sock dominating all my senses; it almost seems a shame to have to lick the mud off the side of her sneaker, so pretty is her creased, black kneesock at this angle!
I surreptitiously brush my forehead against the creases in her lower sock – purely out of respect for them, you understand! Meanwhile my mouth fills with my black mistress’s bitter tasting, brown sneakermud – a meal fit for a domestic footslave!
I’m still hopeful of an order to kiss – or at least nose-straighten – her now considerably creased kneesock, when the black master-sir’s voice can be heard shouting from inside the kitchen door:
‘Yo babe! What’s keepin’ you out there? Come here honey; I’m, like, gaggin’ for it tonight!’
Damn!
The mistress’s still not fully lick-cleansed sneaker, and accompanying black kneesock, suddenly leave my mouth and forehead respectively, and she hastily pushes my head back into its hole with the side of her right ankle, like I was some sort of secret lover who needed hiding from her husband!
Except, I’m not her lover, of course – though I am in love with her sneakers and socks! The reason for her hasty retreat is merely because she too is ‘gaggin’ for it; she never could resist the hunky master-sir!
Still, at least I get to feel her right-socked, outer anklebone pushing my face back into the dirty and celibate coalbunker, before she battens down the hatch and locks it again from outside, leaving me alone with her sneaker-mud in my mouth, and some sock-tracks from the ribbed stitching of her warm, black kneesock on my forehead.
Her black anklesocks, worn inside her black leather, biker-style ankleboots, have intriguing little metal spikes all along the tops – presumably to stop my public-footslave mouth from straying up onto her bare, white legflesh?
Though she does have me suck-polish the metal sock-spikes, as she ‘wants to see them shine in the sunlight’ – so maybe they are just intended to dazzle me?
To be perfectly honest – this beautiful, blonde-haired, young customer-mistress on my public-bootlick stall doesn’t need shiny, metal spikes in her socktops to bedazzle me. I find her creased, black, ankle-length, cotton bootsocks quite dazzling enough, as I lickshine the common streetdirt off her lower, ankleboot surfaces. For the plain, black socks beautify her ankles, and remind me of my sock-level lowliness vis-à-vis all the superior, young, Gynarchy women whom I serve on a daily basis.
I have no aspirations above this bikerboot-chick’s socks; her ankles downwards are my only legitimate domain; as my downcast eyes clearly demonstrate.
When you’re a domestic footslave in the Gynarchy, you are little more than a footkissing piece of furniture – virtually ignored!
Virtually Ignored by patheticus on GoAnimate
