My Three Betters
All of my customer-mistresses in my ‘sit-down’, public shoelick-booth are my infinite betters, deserving of my footslavish respect – albeit in their own, individualistic ways.
Here are just a few:
Little Bow Sock
She looks the business as she approaches my stand – texting busily away on her mobile phone.
Mid-twenties; dirty-blonde, shoulder-length hair; wearing a short, blue and grey jacket; denim shorts; and long, orange and black stripy socks on her shapely legs. On her feet she is wearing a delightful pair of chunky-looking, beige-brown, laced-up, leather ankleboots – boots which I can tell, even from a distance, have seen better days, for they look decidedly scuff-marked and worn in places, with the beige-brown leather looking patchy and faded in places, yet darker in other areas – such as on the area surrounding the thick, reinforced, round-shaped boot-toes.
The blonde customer-mistress doesn’t even deign to look down at me as she effortlessly climbs up onto the shoeshine-seat in front of my kneeling, male frame and positions her brown-booted feet onto the concrete footblock just inches from my humbly-bowed face:
‘Shine them up, cretin!’ is all she says, as she continues to text away on her mobile phone. Yet another superior, multitasking mistress – she can text and order a public footslave about at one and the same time!
Classy!
‘Yes, blonde mistress. At once, blonde mistress! Thanking you kindly, blonde mistress madam.’
I, of course, being a stupid and lowly, male slave can only concentrate on one thing at a time – and right now I must be concentrating on my classy and stylish, blonde customer-mistress’s boots. But, being a cretinous, male slave I am also easily distracted – and what grabs my footslavish attention on the way down to her scuffmarked, beige-brown, boot-toe leather is that the young lady’s over-the-knee, stripy socks actually have little orange bows at the tops!
I hadn’t noticed them at first, since they are so high above me on her legs. But I have spotted them now – little orangey, feminine bows at the tops of each sock, attached to the stripy elastic.
My God, this arrogant, blonde girl truly has class and a wonderful sense of style! The faded beige of her manky, old boots contrasts so sweetly with the bright stripiness of her long, sexy socks – truly I am not worthy to look such a classy and stylish, young, blonde woman in the eyes; only in the eyelets of her laced-up bovver boots!
I yearn to pay my respects to her over-the-knee, stripy black and orange socks by sucking on the little orange bows at the tops, but, sadly, my mouth must descend much lower down – to the toes of her boots, beginning with her right boot. The intriguing little, lace bows would have been a nice aperitif, but I have effectively been ordered to go straight to the main course, as it were – the young woman’s beige-brown bootleather.
As I diligently taste and smell the mustiness of her well-worn ankleboot-leather, however, I can’t get my mind off her colour-coordinated leggings, especially as the socks now seem to tower above me in all their stripy-patterned glory! And those little, orange bows! Oh the bows! I bow down before them – such utter class on a young, blonde woman’s upper legwear!
I spend some ten minutes tongue-shining each of her beige-brown boots – my saliva helping to temporarily darken some of the more faded leather areas. Meanwhile the superior, female owner and wearer of the boots continues texting in silence – ignoring my pain and frustration at her boots; the pain and frustration of my face being so near, and yet so far, from the tops of her classy, young-womanly socks.
Then suddenly – joy of joys – she stops texting, glances down for the first time at my tonguework on her boots, and changes tack completely:
‘Stop licking now, slave, and take off my boots and smell my socks.’
Oh my God, I can hardly believe my ears! The seemingly disinterested foot-mistress is actually ordering me to unlace her boots and sniff her glorious, black and orange, stripy socks! What a privilege – and what an honour!
I gush forth my appreciation – verbally, you understand, not physically, since I am just an impotent, male slave:
‘Oh mistress! Oh pray, sweet mistress! God bless you mistress!’
‘Just get on with it, dirty slave, and make sure you concentrate on sniffing the sweatiest parts!’
This is almost too good to be true! I am about to sniff the hottest, moistest areas of a pair of sweet, feminine, blonde-girl, black and orange striped, over-the-knee socks – socks with little, orange, feminine bows on top which I didn’t even know existed just a short while ago! Sock-bows I had missed as they had marched nonchalantly up to my shoelick-booth inside their beige-coloured, boot coverings:
‘Oh yes, mistress! At once mistress!’
My hands are literally trembling with pathetic and easily-pleased, footslavish excitement as I fumble with the young lady’s bootlaces and gently pull her right ankleboot off her shapely, right ankle to reveal the sweaty, inner black and orange, stripy sock beneath!
The sock, rather like the boot which accompanies it, is showing signs of being faded and well-worn in its private parts, especially around the reinforced toe area – greying, instead of the rich black and orange which adorns the upper, public areas of her lengthy sock!
To be made to smell a young customer-mistress’s inner socks in public is such a classy thing for her to do! It serves no other purpose than to humiliate and degrade me, for my sniffing her stinky socks will not make them any less stinky! If she was to let me suck on the faded, black toe-end of her sock it might, temporarily, darken it up – rather like the way my saliva has, temporarily, darkened some of the lighter patches of her well-worn, beige bootleather. But this young woman has not ordered me to suck sock; or even to kiss sock; merely to sniff it – for her arrogant delectation and amusement.
And all the while I am forced to audibly sniff the stale, stinky sweat from her faded sock-toes, I am still frustratingly humiliated by the out-of-reach, little orangey, lace bow fluttering in the winter breeze at the top of her sock high above my bowed, socksniffing head!
A truly classy sock on a truly classy, young woman. I bow the knee, and the head, to her!
Pure Black Beauty
My next customer can be summed up in just one word – beautiful!
Or rather in the following words:
Black; African-Caribbean; haughty; superior; a real looker; a stunner; a black goddess; a super-model; my infinite superior and better!
She has long, straight, black hair with a red ribbon at the back, and is wearing matching, bright red lipstick on her pretty mouth. She is clothed in a frilly, white, businesswoman blouse; a matching, black and white, frilly, knee-length skirt; flat, black, shiny, slip-on shoes; and dark-coloured, fancily-patterned, nylon stockings.
Her soft, brown-skinned leg and foot skin underneath the sheer, finest-denier, dark-coloured, nylon stockings gives her African-Caribbean legs and feet a most delicious hue…
I can tell she is African-Caribbean not just from her justifiably proud and haughty features, but also from her cute, Jamaican accent as she barks her orders down at me, having settled herself into the seat of power so recently vacated by her smelly-socked, blonde, fellow-female:
‘Lickshine my shoes, dirty slave!’
‘Yes, black mistress. At once, black mistress! Thanking you kindly, black mistress madam.’
She then just leans forwards and relaxes with a smug grin on her pretty, African-Caribbean face – the smug grin of a superior, young woman in a seated position of absolute power and authority – as I publicly suck-clean her successful-young-businesswoman, no-nonsense, flat-heeled, pointy-toed, black patent leather, office shoes.
I wonder if she isn’t feeling the cold in just her lightweight blouse and skirt? I am concerned about this customer-mistress’s well-being, since she is just so beautiful, and it is such an honour and a privilege to serve at the feet of black beauty such as this!
Meanwhile, this supermodel-like, black girl turns free men’s heads also as they walk past the public shoelick stand. I can hear their wolf-whistles and shouts of appreciation towards her:
‘Cor, darling, you’re gorgeous you are!...Phwoah, I’d like to lick more than just your shoes, honey!...Ha! Ha! That’s right darling – you get your shoes all nice and clean so that we can see the reflection up your skirt! Ha! Ha!...’
I feel like defending the honour of my lusted-after customer-mistress, but I can sense that she actually quite enjoys all the freemale attention, even though her face doesn’t exactly crack into a warm smile. Only the smug, supercilious smile remains on her bright-red-lipsticked lips.
Now, I know what you’re thinking – wouldn’t it be great if this beautiful, young African-Caribbean woman followed the example of her classy, blonde predecessor, and ordered me to remove her outer footwear in order to smell her inner, nylon stockinged toes? Just imagine the warmth and sweat there must be inside this busy, young black-businesswoman’s black, patent leather shoes! But you don’t really think I’d get that lucky twice in one day, do you?
This young woman is much too full of black pride to ever permit me – a humble, public footlick – to sniff sweaty, nylon-stockinged toes! So I, and you, will just have to make do with admiring the little creases and wrinkles in her dark-hued, fancily-patterned nylons as I lick the street dust and dirt off her smart, black, pointy-toed, flat-heeled, slip-on shoes. I’m trying my best to inhale the aroma of her dark-coloured nylons as I do so, so that I can describe her African-Caribbean footsmell to you, but to be perfectly honest all I am picking up is the aroma of rich, black-girl shoeleather.
Oh well, you can’t have everything in life; except in your fantasies, of course!
Rich Bitch
The black girl may have been the strong, silent type, but her successor on the public-shoelick throne is quite the opposite – a mouthy brunette in her mid forties; not nearly as conventionally beautiful as her supermodel predecessor, but still deserving of my footslavish respect, as she herself makes very clear after she has plonked herself down onto the raised chair above my kneeling face:
‘Ha! Ha! Worship my shoes, footslave! Kiss them all over and worship them, and kiss my tights as well – kiss the tan-nylon on the sides of my ankles and pay your respects to me!’
‘Yes, white mistress. At once, white mistress! Thanking you kindly, white mistress madam.’
The brunette, white, middle-aged mistress, I should explain, is slightly plump and overweight, but her fleshy feet and ankles are still shapely and framed in a pair of delightfully blocky-heeled, black leather, single-strapped, mary-jane-style shoes with rounded toes. Inside her shoes she is wearing a pair of sheer, tan-nylon tights, only visible until they disappear up her bootcut, plain black trouser-leg.
I study her tan-nylon tights inside her shoes closely. The tights look expensive – yet another classy pair of female feet and legs for me to admire. I shall have no problem ‘worshipping’ them and ‘paying my respects’ to them with my humble, footslave lips!
Yes – some good, old-fashioned public foot-kissing. Classy and timeless – the eternal symbolism of male submission to the female foot!
The 40-something, brunette woman laughs at me as I obediently kiss her black, mary-jane shoes and tan-nylon-clad anklebones:
‘Ha! Ha! That tickles, slave! What a goofball! What a numbskull! Ha! Ha! Having to kiss a stranger’s feet in public! Ha! Ha! I’m better than you, slave – I’m rich, and you don’t even have a pot to piss in! Ha! Ha! Just look at you – kissing a rich girl’s nyloned feet and ankles! Ha! Ha! What a loser! Ha! Ha! That’s right, loser, keep on kissing the feet and ankles of your better. Worship them, and beg them not to have you whipped! Ha! Ha!’
‘Oh pray white mistress…kiss…kiss…kiss…please don’t have me beaten, white mistress…kiss…kiss…kiss…truly this dirty slave is at your mercy, mistress… kiss... kiss...kiss… and in your power, mistress…kiss...kiss…kiss…’
‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, slave – and don’t you forget it! I can have you whipped in the blink of an eyelid! In fact, I think I will! Ha! Ha!...Officer!...Officer!...Can you assist me please?’
My heart sinks as the knee-high, black-leather-booted feet of a passing Female Police Officer loom into view:
‘Yes, ma’am, can I help you?’ politely enquires the Female Police officer of the fat customer-mistress.
‘Yes, this dirty, public shoelick isn’t kissing my feet hard enough! I specifically ordered him to kiss the sides of my ankles, but I can’t even feel his lips through my tights! Would you whip him for me please?’
I know the brunette mistress is lying about not being able to feel my lips on her tan-nylon-covered ankles, for did she not just accuse me of tickling her? But she is rich and female – and living in the Gynarchy. So any accusation she makes must be regarded as true. Even I, the falsely accused, have to accept that!
The blonde-ponytailed, Female Police officer certainly needs no more evidence of my male crime before she feels she can meet out summary, female justice:
‘Certainly, madam! How many strokes would you like me to give him?’ she asks my false-accuser, unhooking her black leather, police-punishment whip from her belt.
‘Erm…I don’t know really!...Erm…twenty? Maybe?’
‘Certainly, madam! As it pleases you... Slave, lower your face onto your customer-mistress’s black shoes while I’m whipping you.’
‘Yes, officer-mistress. At once, officer-mistress. Thanking you kindly, officer mistress-madam.’
No point in arguing about it. I’ve been convicted of the heinous crime of public-footslave disobedience, and being instantly whipped at the feet of the female victim of one’s male criminality is standard procedure.
I cry and blubber with each stinging stroke of the whip into the rich bitch’s, strappy, mary-jane shoes, my only comfort being the rough feel of her tan-nylons on my bare cheeks.
The young, police-officer mistress remains stony-faced and professional throughout my punishment:
But my nylon-tormentress cackles mercilessly at me as she eventually steps down from her public shoelick-throne, after the whipping:
‘Ha! Ha! Let that be a lesson to you, footslave! Always show proper respect to the feet and footwear of your betters, or you’ll feel the biting sting of the whip! Ha! Ha! Loser! Whipped pauper! Ha! Ha!’
She gives the obliging, Female Police officer a large tip (50 Fems I believe – that’s more than the police officer would earn in a week, I expect!), and strolls away from the scene of the solved crime – happy at the cruel carnage which she has left behind on my poor back.
A cruel, rich bitch indeed – and, like my two other customers this morning, my infinite better.
The End
