Five A Day – Day Four
Your five portions of footslave-fantasy per day – for seven days on the trot!
Day 4
The way I think of it – as I dutifully lickshine my anonymous and snooty, but exceptionally beautiful, blonde-haired, regular customer-mistress's left, chunky-heeled and round-toed, laced-up, black leather ankleboot whilst she is seated, nonchalantly reading her paper, on the public shoelick-throne of absolute female power above me – is as follows:
The 1,713th stitch in her manky and thick, plain grey, cotton bootsock (counting downwards in a circular motion from the epicentre of the scrunched-up and untidy, elasticated top of her sock), even though it is just one thick sock-stitch amongst many in her left sock, is still better than me, and worth more than me, because:
- It is a stitch in the precious sock of a beautiful, young woman
- It is thus higher up the social scale of importance in the Gynarchy (as well as being physically higher than my bowed and humble, lower-bootlicking head)
- It means more to the anonymous customer-mistress than me, forming as it does a part of her sock, thus comforting and protecting her soft, feminine ankleflesh inside her boot
- It is in much more intimate contact with the mistress than I could ever hope to be
- It is saturated in its mistress's foot DNA and, no doubt, elements of her superior footsweat (for it must surely get warm inside her black leather, lace-up ankleboot?)
- It is located on a temporary crease, thereby elevating its status even further
- Unlike me, it is not in constant pain and loneliness, and subject to the arbitrary sting and humiliation of the whip
- It has the respect of others, being a stitch in the thick, grey bootsock of a beautiful, young, blonde woman (well, it has my undying respect, at any rate!)
- It is still untouched by human-slave mouth – though I yearn to kiss-worship it, along with all the other stitches in her left sock
Yes, I truly envy the 1,713th stitch in my snooty, anonymous, blonde customer-mistress's left bootsock, but know that I can never aspire to be such a lofty thing! Why, this snooty, young woman would never even deign to talk to me, let alone wear me as a part of her superior, grey bootsock!
And rightly so – for I am nothing compared to her sock, and each of its individual, component stitches, as the whipmarks on my back clearly testify!
The boot and sock eventually rise up and silently walk away from me, leaving me destitute and forlorn. But I shall be thinking about the blonde customer-mistress's 1,713th sock-stitch on her left bootsock throughout the day, and perpetually wondering what it is doing!
Prison-officer mistresses Joanna and Irina love flogging we male prisoners.
Specifically, at the moment, they are enjoying whipping me 80 times, as I hang by my wrists from the punishment cell ceiling:
· Goddess officer-mistress Joanna – a petite, mousey blonde – is left handed, and therefore whipping me on my left flank
· Goddess officer-mistress Irina – a tall and lithesome blonde – is right-handed, and therefore whipping me on my right flank
· Between them, therefore, they have my back covered in red welts
· They begin by whipping me alternately – for the first 20 strokes
· Then goddess-officer Joanna whips me exclusively on my left flank for a further 20 lashes, whilst goddess-officer Irina moves to stand in front of me so that:
Ø She can have a bit of a breather
Ø She can enjoy watching my face contort in pain, misery and humility
Ø I can see her dusty, black leather, laced-up and chunky-heeled ankleboots beneath her navy-blue, uniform trouser-hem
· Next it’s the turn of goddess-mistress Joanna to rest her weary, left whipping arm whilst breathing heavily in front of me, as her colleague-in-chastisement, the fully rested, right-handed goddess-mistress Irina, moves behind me to belabour my back with 20 fresh cuts of the whip to my bare, and already semi-raw, right flank (it is fully raw by the time she has finished)
· Finally, they deliver my last 20 lashes again from alternate sides, but taking great pains this time to ensure that each cut overlays, or at least criss-crosses, an earlier, stinging cut
· It’s like a cruel competition between them – to see who can hurt me the most (I know they are both keen squash players!)
Having cut me up with their whips, they then enjoy cutting me down from my bonds; and I enjoy crawling over to their respective boots and respecting them – by kissing them:
· First alternating between their boots, 20 times each (5 respectful, alternating kisses to each dusty boot-toe)
· Then kissing goddess-mistress Joanna’s boots 20 times (again 10 kisses to each boot, only this time consecutively – beginning, out of respect for her left-handedness, with her left boot-toe)
· Then kissing goddess-mistress Irina’s boots 20 times (again, 20 times in total, but consecutively – and beginning, of course, with her right boot, out of slavish respect for the power of her right arm)
· Finally, I kiss the two ladies’ boots alternately again – 20 times (10 times to each lady; 5 per boot) this time making sure to kiss the areas of boot-toe I have hitherto neglected (thus actively seeking out boot-dirt)
The two happy and joyous prison-officer mistresses laugh at me, and comment on their scuffmarked and unkempt boot-toes as I kiss-worship them whilst they coil up and put away their warm whips.
I feel sad and ashamed when they exit my cell, leaving me alone to literally lick my wounds (or, at least, those I can reach with my bootleather-stained tongue, on the sides of my criss-crossed ribs!)
I’m a bit of a queer outsider. I like to nuzzle the outside of a customer-mistress’s boots at my public bootlick-stand, rather than the more conventional socked areas of their shapely, feminine anklebones.
I have thus become known throughout the land as ‘The Queer Boot-Nuzzler’, and ladies come from far and wide just for the experience of having me nuzzle and sniff the outsides of their boots!
How they (and their boyfriends) laugh at me and mock me, and call me all manner of names, as I indulge my passion for female-boot nuzzling. Some even try to ‘tempt’ me with their socks – but they never succeed (unless I am specifically ordered to switch to nuzzling their socktops – by either the wearer of the sock herself, or her freemale partner; then, of course, I have no choice but to obey!)
The Boot-Nuzzler by patheticus on GoAnimate
20 year old, blonde-ponytailed, junior officer-mistress Hazel must always be looked up to by we prisoner slaves – paradoxically by continually looking down at her sneakers – as she is the favoured protégé of the prison-governor sir.
· Thus she gets away with wearing her own, non-regulation sneakers to work
· She can have a prisoner whipped at the click of a finger, the flutter of an eyelid, or the pout of a lip
I have to say, though, that junior officer-mistress Hazel is highly look-uppable-to in any case, because of her youthfulness and great beauty. I, for one, have no trouble admiring her in the non-regulation, pink and white sneaker, or the red and white sneaker-sock. But the mere fact that she has the prison-governor sir twisted around her little finger, makes we prisoner-slaves even more fearful of her and respectful of her when she enters our lowly presence.
For her part, of course, she looks down on us – being better than us.
I've got a date!
Well, more of a pre-date, really. Regular customer-mistress Penny has kindly promised to visit me at my pubic shoelick-stand this evening on her way into the town centre where she has a date with her hunky, young boyfriend – master Warren sir – a much better man than I will ever be, despite his being some 30 years my junior.
Mind you, talkative and friendly, blonde-haired miss Penny was telling me just the other day, whilst I was diligently lickshining her brown leather, fancily-stitched cowboy boots, that he is not quite the man she first thought he was when she started going out with him over a year ago, and that she might have to 'whip him into shape!'
She giggled to herself at this point, as she knows that for me – a slave – a whipping is no joking matter (as the copious whip marks on my bare, kneeling back and shoulders, left by other customer-mistresses to my public- shoelick stand, eloquently testify!)
I do hope miss Penny is wearing her designer, brown leather, cowboy boots over her stonewashed, blue denim jeans again when she visits me this evening, as I love the feel of the uniquely ornate boot-stitching on my tongue. I also tend to get a sneaky peek of her thick, grey socktops inside her brown cowboy boots – thanks to the V-shaped, upper bootrims! And, let's face it, however disillusioned she may be with master Warren sir, she's never going to want sexual intimacy with a dirty, male slave like me – a sub-male! So the taste of her boot-stitching, coupled with the sight of her sensuous, grey socktops, is probably the most intimate contact I shall ever have with her!
It's getting late, and there is still no sign of her. Oh I do hope she isn't going to stand me up, but rather will soon be standing up in front of me – her right, cowgirl-booted foot arrogantly stretched forth and resting on the wooden footblock beneath my perma-kneeling face, as I give it a complementary lick and a shine in preparation for her hot date with the real man in her life.
I'm quite sure that, whatever difficulties they may be having, she hasn't stood him up!
...............
Addendum: Goddess customer-mistress Penny never did show up for her 'date' with me that evening, but when I next saw her a week or so later she explained that her hot date with master Warren sir had gone ahead as planned, and that she had simply forgotten about her promise to come and see me first.
She further gleefully explained to me that her relationship with her mighty and potent boyfriend was now back on track, and that her sex life was once again exciting and fulfilled.
She was not wearing her jeans and her sexy, brown leather, fancily-stitched, cowgirl boots with thick, grey bootsocks as she explained all this to me, but rather her flat, no-nonsense, workaday, plain black loafers on her bare, pasty-white feet beneath her black cotton, trousersuit hems. I was, nonetheless, thrilled and excited to be of public service to her again as I lickshined the street dirt and dust off the outsides of her office shoes, and I heartily congratulated her, in between my humble licks to her loafers, on the newfound spark in her longstanding relationship with master Warren sir.
She then spent the next 10 minutes or so extolling the virtues of his magnificent penis whilst I dutifully tongue-shined her plain, black shoeleather, happy just to be in the presence of her sexually-active feet and footwear - the feet and footwear of a fulfilled, young woman who had no real need of me, but who nevertheless graciously deigned to stop by me - a sexually impotent, middle-aged, public footslave - in order to tell me all about her superior love life with a sexually potent, and much younger, free man.
Truly it is an honour for a down-in-the-dirt , public footservant such as myself to lickshine the dirty shoes of a superior, free man's beautiful, blonde girlfriend. Miss Penny even gave me a few, sharp cuts of the public-use whip across my bare back, which, she informed me, were a 'present' from her boyfriend, to remind me to do a good job on his girl's shoes, since he can't stand a young woman with dirty and unkempt footwear!
I wear master Warren sir's delegated stripes with foolish pride on my back, since he is clearly a winner in life, and I am but a loser.
