Pathetically Pandering to our Female Betters Vol 5
Further examples of suitably ingratiating behaviour by humble, male footslaves towards our beloved Female Masters & Betters!
The twenty-something, slim and svelte, blonde girl climbs up onto the street-corner, shoelick-throne of power in front of me like a natural (though not, if truth be told, like a natural blonde – her skin is a bit too dark for her to be a natural blonde; I fancy she may be of East European origins, and possibly even gypsy; but she has a natural air of East-European girl, haughty authority about her!)
She says nothing – another sign of her natural self-confidence and young-womanly authority – and so I assume the default position of worshipfully kissing her boots.
And very nice boots they are too – beige brown; suede leather; zip-up; calf-length; blocky-heeled and pointy-toed; and with a true touch of class about them, in the form of a small, purple-silken scarf tied around the upper of her right boot only, forming a protective triangle over the front of her boot which clearly delineates the scuffmarked, rounded toe-area (where I presumably must kiss) from the rest of her boot.
She looks down at me from on high, and from above her tight, black-woolly leggings and short skirt, as I respectfully avoid touching the silken boot-scarf with my lips, or even inadvertently brushing against it with my dirty, maleslave forehead which actually starts to clean itself through my perspiring – a sweat brought on by fear of the unknown! For serving an unknown, bleached-blonde-haired customer-mistress for the first time is always a frightening experience. Will she be cruel, or kind? Will she want to hurt me? For I am most definitely in her Tsarina-like power, and at her absolute mercy!
As soon as my humble, peasant-like mouth moves onto her left boot (the one without the decorative, silken scarf), the bleached-blonde mistress speaks – as I suspected with a strong, East European accent:
‘I am wearing the socks inside my boots, slave. Would you be liking to kiss them also?’
My heart leaps; she is, it seems, a kindly and considerate, blonde-haired mistress!
‘Oh yes mistress! Oh pray mistress! If it pleases you mistress?’
She smiles a smug, East-European girl grin down at me, and at my sycophantic, serf-like enthusiasm for the mere act of revealing, and then kissing, her sweaty socks inside her boots:
‘Ha! Ha! Very well, you the dirty slave…you may be unzipping side of my boot with your tongue, and kissing me on side of sock!’
‘Oh yes mistress! Oh thank you, blonde mistress madam! Praise be to you, madam!’
She twists the outer, zipper side of her left boot to one side so that the zipper-track is facing my face, indicating that this is the boot, and sock, I am to be privileged to unzip. I’m not going to argue, for unzipping her right, calf-length boot all the way down with my mouth would entail the even trickier manoeuvre of trying to untie the knot in the side of her purple-silken bootscarf – something I’ve never had to do before (though I have, thankfully, unzipped the sides of young women’s ordinary, undecorated boots with my mouth before on several, happy occasions!)
It is with a degree of bootslave-peasant confidence, therefore, that I raise my lowly head up to the top of the young, blonde Tsarina’s left, calf-length boot and, keeping my gaze respectfully downwards, clasp the metal zipper between my lips (not with my teeth, mind – lest I damage the flimsy metal material – but with my soft lips) and gently start to pull the zipper down with my unworthy, maleslave mouth.
My eyes follow the zipper down the side of her black-woolly-legging-covered, outer calf-muscle to eventually reveal the creased and folded top of a beautiful, ankle-length, blue and white striped, thick, fluffy towelling-sock!
Perfect! Just perfect! What style and class this young blonde woman has when it comes to her feet and footwear! The blue and white stripes match none of her outer clothing – and clearly demonstrate that her socks are just something she casually flings onto her feet in order to absorb her sweet young-womanly footsweat inside her heavy, suede leather boots; and yet here am I – required to kiss those selfsame sweatsocks, whilst she is still casually wearing them on her shapely, East European anklebones!
Or one of them, at any rate; I can only assume she is wearing a matching, stripy blue and white sock on her right foot – but who knows with this particular young woman? After all, she isn’t wearing a matching purple-silk scarf on the outside of her left boot!
Whatever, I bury my nose and lips into the fluffy, blue and white softness of her now fully exposed, socked anklebone on her left foot, and repeatedly kiss and sniff it – anxious to get the scent, as well as the taste, of this unknown blonde girl’s East European sock-loveliness.
She laughs at me.
I always dread it when twenty-something, fat, black prison-officer mistress Belinda ma’am is on duty in the prison on a night-shift – not because she is most beautiful, fat; or black, though those are all good reasons to fear her; but purely because, unlike many of the other prison-officer mistresses, she never cuts me any slack on my individual footslave-treadmill during the night.
Most of her fellow officer-mistresses are, naturally, tired themselves during the night – and therefore are disposed to just sit high above me on the treadmill-supervisor’s chair, with their heavy, black leather, laced-up, uniform-booted feet resting on the metal footrest in front of my permanently imprisoned face whilst I repeatedly kiss said boots; they can’t be bothered to whip me, or make me actually walk the treadmill for hours on end, as they would be during their daytime shifts!
But black prison-officer mistress Belinda ma’am seems to be quite the opposite – alive and full of beans on her night shifts (and, paradoxically, lazy and somnolent during the daytime!). She truly comes alive at night – which means a hard day’s night for me in my footslave-dungeon, and no rest for the wicked, convicted footslave!
And so my heart sinks whenever her young boots enter my middle-aged cell at the start of a long, tedious nightshift!
She also has a few other ‘endearing’ little quirks:
· She insists (in case you were wondering) on my calling her by her self-appointed, full title of ‘prison-officer mistress Belinda, ma’am’, preceded by some flattering epithet e.g. ‘most beautiful, prison-officer mistress Belinda, ma’am’; or ‘most beautiful and kind, prison-officer mistress Belinda, ma’am’ – even though it’s quite a mouthful for an exhausted and overworked treadmill-slave to have to say, especially in the middle of the night! An endearing little quirk it may be, but if I forget to comply with her idiosyncratic stipulation in this regard, even in the dead of night, her not-so-endearing, and not-so-little, female-prison-officer quirt will soon be regaling my imprisoned bare back and shoulders as she sits over me, cutting me open and leaving me with open sores on my shoulderblades for the rest of the working night (and day!)
· Speaking of mouthfuls, she herself eats a lot, and concomitantly breaks wind a lot, at both ends, during her night shifts with me, thereby oftentimes filling my treadmill-cell with her delightful inner-girlgut aroma, as well as the perennial aroma of her black bootleather in front of my face.
· Unlike other prison-treadmill officer mistresses, she does not find the vibrations caused by my walking the treadmill off-putting to her hearty appetite, and so I am still obliged to labour and walk even whilst she is eating – like I said, there is no respite for the wicked during one of black prison-officer mistress Belinda ma’am’s night shifts!
· Even though she will quite unabashedly fart and belch in front of me, she is endearingly coy about showing me her black, female-prison-officer socktops beneath her navy-blue, prison-officer-uniform trouser hems, and never fails to frustratingly adjust her trouser-hems just as soon as she takes up her position of absolute female-supervisory power and authority in front of me, almost as if she is ashamed to impose her socked ankles upon me! She has no need to be ashamed, for her ankles, though fat like the rest of her, are by no means unshapely (also like the rest of her), and any footslave worth his salt would be honoured to kiss her black cotton socktops! But, there you have it – the young, black lady is not for sock-kissing! (Perhaps it’s just out of a sense of cruelty that she hides her beautiful, black socktops from me; perhaps she knows how the very thought of her plain and ordinary, black cotton girlsocks hidden deep inside her laced-up ankleboots, drives me mad with desire for her – an impotent desire, of course, since I’m in absolutely no position to do anything about it; even ‘jerk off’, as a free man would so crudely put it!)
Yes, a nightshift at the booted feet of beautiful, black prison-officer mistress Belinda ma’am invariably leaves me knackered, sore and humiliated, which, actually – when you think about it – is a glowing testimony to her suitability for the role of night-time treadmill-taskmistress!
Certainly her superiors seem to think so, as I happen to know she got a big, fat bonus in her pay-slip last month, based on the number of stripes she left on my bare back and shoulders immediately prior to an unannounced inspection by a member of the Gynarchy Prison-Board!
Please accept my whip-felt congratulations, most diligent and proficient prison-officer mistress Belinda, ma’am!
<
I am employed as an ornamental footkisser-cum-kickface in the ladies’ restroom of a busy, city-centre office.
What that means in practice is that, once I have kissed a lady’s shoes or boots as she is exiting the restroom, I must humbly beg her to kick me in the face, using the following obsequious slavespeak-words:
‘Oh pray, pretty mistress, if it pleases you pretty office-mistress (followed by the pretty office-mistress’s name, if I know it), pray will you do me the honour of kicking me in the face, mistress? I deserve it mistress!’
I am obliged to beg for my face to be kicked in even if I don’t want it – though nine times out of ten I do, as the office-mistress will be wearing nice shoes or boots with socks on her pretty feet.
Take, for example, the 27 year old, petite and slender, Indian office mistress – miss Indrani – whose oversized, black leather, reinforced, biker-boot toes I have just respectfully kissed. She always gives me a good, hard kicking, and enjoys doing so, though she will always politely wait to be asked (unlike some of my regular office-mistresses who launch their shoe or boot-toes into my face without so much as a by-your-leave!)
Let us analyse the whole process of my face being kicked in by a girl in slow motion:
1) Having respectfully kissed each reinforced, rounded boot-toe upon her egress from the office restroom, I cringingly and sycophantically beg petite and slender miss Indrani to graciously kick me in the face, using the humble-slavespeak formula outlined above.
2) I then brace myself, as I know from previous experience of being kicked in the face by her that, even though her oversized, Indian-girl, biker-boot toe (which she wears to make herself look bigger and stronger than she actually is) is rounded, and not pointy, it is still going to hurt, as she tends to kick me with extreme vigour – and most certainly with all the sweet young-womanly venom she can possibly muster on the day; in short, pint-sized Asian girl miss Indrani thoroughly enjoys kicking me in the face!
3) I am then obliged to watch as miss Indrani slowly (in reality it is quick, but, remember, we are analysing all of this in slow motion!) withdraws her right, biker-booted foot behind her in readiness to launch her reinforced boot-toe onto my prone and vulnerable, ground-level face.
4) She is wearing a short, black skirt, black cotton leggings, and red, calf-length socks with her black leather, decoratively buckled, calf-length biker boots this morning, and so I have the added indignity of watching her bright red cotton sock-top creasing and folding temporarily, in tandem with the backwards movement of her boot, as she prepares to launch her boot forwards towards my face! I suppose she will also, instinctively, be scrunching up her dainty, Indian-girl toes inside her red socks as she prepares to kick me – not that she really needs to protect her delicate, young-womanly toes, as the reinforced toecap of her heavy biker-boot will do that! But she can’t help herself – it’s only natural.
5) The temporary creases in her bright, red sock-top then disappear as, after what seems like an eternity, her right leg is finally launched forwards through the air towards my braced face.
6) Such is the speed of her boot coming forward that, even in slow motion, it only takes a second before her reinforced boot-toe makes its painful impact with the side of my face!
7) Miss Indrani – an experienced kicker – has not gone for the bridge of my nose, or my mouth, but rather for the fleshy side of my right cheek. You might think that this is because she is a sweet and kind young woman who wishes to show some bootgirl mercy and compassion towards me – mindful as she no doubt is of the potentially damaging power of her heavy, reinforced biker-boot – but actually she is seeking out an existing boot-bruise on the side of my face, as she knows that a further boot-blow to the already damaged tissue will hurt me even more! Indeed, miss Indrani always kicks me on the right side of my face – so the existing bruises are, in all probability, ones that she herself made earlier!
8) I feel my cheek implode as her thick, round, black leather boot-toe makes its initial impact with my face, but the pain itself only kicks in a few seconds later as my inner cheek is forced up against my teeth. I suppose I’m quite lucky to still have all my teeth – given the amount of times they get kicked every day – but I do sometimes wish I didn’t have any teeth, as I can’t help feeling the whole process of my being kicked in the face would be a lot less painful without them! As we all know, the teeth are full of sensitive nerve-endings, and no amount of face-kicking seems to dull the pain they emit inside my jawbone! Besides, I don’t exactly need any teeth, since my diet consists exclusively of tasteless, soft slave-mush, which doesn’t need to be chewed! But, be that as it may, I am still a relatively young man (in my forties) – and, remarkably under the circumstances, still have all my teeth!
9) Ironically, most of the pain hits as soon as miss Indrani’s boot is withdrawn from my face – again accompanied by a highly visible creasing of her red socktop – as that is when my face really starts to throb. Any concussion caused by the bootkick quickly dissipates, and – throbbing face or no – I am obliged to immediately thank and praise the petite, Indian mistress for kindly kicking me in the face, again through the verbal medium of humble slavespeak:
‘Oh pray, pretty mistress! Oh thank you pretty office-mistress Indrani. God bless you for kicking my face in so brilliantly, most sweet and kind Indian mistress!’
10) She laughs at me as her booted foot comes to rest on the tiled floor of the restroom once again, and the temporal creases in her bright red socktop once again disperse. She might even stick around for a few seconds to admire her biker-bootwork on my face – the developing redness and bruising (I have even known some less experienced office-mistresses to take photos of my boot-bruised and smarting face on their smartphones!) – before gleefully proceeding out of the restroom and back to her more mundane office chores.
And so there you have it – a snapshot of my humble existence as a kickface-slave who must kiss the many female-office boots and shoes that kick him when he’s down!
With any luck I shall have a few minutes to recover from mistress Indrani’s bootkick, as there are no other women utilising the female office-restroom facilities at this point in time – but sometimes they are queuing up to have their pretty boots or shoes kissed; and then to kick me with them in the face!
My fat, lazy, 30 year old, blonde-haired mistress Sharon is forever changing her mind!
This week, for example, she has issued me with the following instructions as to which items of footwear she wishes prepared for her on each forthcoming day:
Day/Time Items of footwear
| Monday A.M | Black leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up ankleboots & black anklesocks with green logos (her usual office-workday attire) |
| Monday P.M | Brown leather, spike-heeled kneeboots & dark nylons (she is going out to a dinner party with her husband in the evening) |
| Tuesday A.M | Black leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up ankleboots & black anklesocks with orange logos |
| Tuesday P.M | Ditto (not going out in the evening, therefore will wear the same boots & socks all day) |
| Wednesday A.M | Black leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up ankleboots & black anklesocks with blue logos |
| Wednesday P.M | White gym-sneakers and short, pink and white sneaker-socks (off to the Gym to try to lose some weight!) |
| Thursday A.M | Black leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up ankleboots & thick, red anklesocks (she’s heard that the weather will be cold) |
| Thursday P.M | Ditto (not going out in the evening) |
| Friday A.M | Black leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up ankleboots & thick, woolly black tights; green rubber wellies to be on stand-by (weather predicted to be even colder – possible snow!) |
| Friday P.M | Brown leather, spike-heeled kneeboots (she will keep on her thick, black woolly tights) – going out for a meal in a restaurant with her husband & some friends – weather permitting |
| Saturday A.M | Brown leather pixie boots and full-length, white anklesocks (her normal ‘day off’ casualwear) |
| Saturday P.M | Ditto (likely to be going out to the cinema on Saturday evening with her husband, but same attire will do) |
| Sunday A.M | Black leather, court shoes with the two inch heels, and dark nylons (her ‘Sunday Best’ for going to church) |
| Sunday P.M | Brown leather pixie boots and full-length, white anklesocks (back to her normal ‘day off’ casualwear; she doesn’t go to church in the evenings NB: She means another pair of fresh, white socks – not the same pair she had on all day yesterday!) |
However, the next thing I know, her instructions have changed as follows:
Day/Time Items of footwear
| Monday A.M | Black leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up ankleboots & black anklesocks with orange logos (not sure why she’s switching from the black socks with the green logos – possibly because of a change of top, but more probably just on a young-womanly whim!) |
| Monday P.M | Brown leather, spike-heeled kneeboots & dark nylons (no change here; still planning on going out to the dinner party) |
| Tuesday A.M | Black leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up ankleboots & black anklesocks with green logos (see comment for ‘Monday A.M’ above!) |
| Tuesday P.M | Brown leather pixie boots and full-length, white anklesocks (now going out to the cinema with her husband on the Tuesday evening, rather than Saturday, as originally planned; something to do with the weather, and possible travel problems later in the week?) |
| Wednesday A.M | Black leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up ankleboots & black anklesocks with blue logos (no change) |
| Wednesday P.M | White gym-sneakers and short, pink and white sneaker-socks (no change) |
| Thursday A.M | Black leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up ankleboots & thick, purple anklesocks (a change of top from red?) |
| Thursday P.M | Ditto (not going out in the evening) |
| Friday A.M | Green rubber wellies now to be the default footwear, but with her black leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up ankleboots to be ready for her to change into at work (therefore, they need to be in a carrier bag). Clearly the weather forecast for snow must have firmed up! Still to be worn with her thick, woolly black tights. |
| Friday P.M | Green rubber willies, but this time with her brown leather, spike-heeled kneeboots on stand-by as she still plans on going out for a meal with her husband and friends, but may not be able to walk in the snow in her spiked heels! Will still continue to wear her thick, black woolly tights. |
| Saturday A.M | Brown leather pixie boots and full-length, white anklesocks (no change) |
| Saturday P.M | Ditto (even though no longer planning a trip to the cinema, she can still lounge around the house in her pixie boots and socks – or possibly just her white socks!) |
| Sunday A.M | Black leather, court shoes with the two inch heels, and dark nylons (her ‘Sunday Best’ for going to church), but, in addition, her brown leather pixie boots and thick, black woolly tights to be on stand-by in case of snow (unusual for her to wear her scruffy pixie boots to church, but she feels it would be inappropriate for her to wear her green wellies to church, and her brown leather kneeboots with the spiked heels might be too difficult to walk in in the snow!) Note also this means that I shall have to mouth and handwash her black woolly tights on Saturday, just in case she needs them on Sunday, as she only has one pair and plans to wear them all day on the previous Friday! |
| Sunday P.M | Brown leather pixie boots and full-length, white anklesocks (or black woolly tights if she decides to wear them to church in the morning – she’ll just keep them on all day in that case; but the white socks need to be on stand-by – luckily she has several pairs of white anklesocks, so no need to panic about immediately laundering each pair after she has worn them!) |
Then, wouldn’t you know it – she changes her pretty, blonde mind again!
Day/Time Items of footwear
| Monday A.M | Black leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up ankleboots & black anklesocks with green logos (i.e. back to her original plan – and the colour of her sock logos is important to her – and therefore it must be to me – even though her office socks are ordinarily hidden beneath her black polyester, bootcut trouser-hems!) |
| Monday P.M | Ditto. Dinner party now cancelled! No need for the brown leather, spike-heeled kneeboots & dark nylons to be laid out for her! |
| Tuesday A.M | Black leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up ankleboots & black anklesocks with orange logos (see comment for ‘Monday A.M’ above!) |
| Tuesday P.M | Brown leather pixie boots and full-length, white anklesocks (still going out to the cinema with her husband on the Tuesday evening) |
| Wednesday A.M | Black leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up ankleboots & black anklesocks with pink logos (no reason given for change of colour in sock logo; probably just another ‘blonde’ moment!) |
| Wednesday P.M | White gym-sneakers and short, pink and white sneaker-socks (no change – her Wednesday Gym appointment rarely changes; I could pretty much guarantee she will order her white sneakers and pink and white sneaker socks to be ready for her every Wednesday evening – whatever the weather!) |
| Thursday A.M | Black leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up ankleboots & thick, purple anklesocks (no change) |
| Thursday P.M | Ditto (not going out in the evening) |
| Friday A.M | Green rubber wellies now to be the default footwear, but now with her brown leather, pixie-boots to be ready for her to change into at work (therefore, they now need to be in her carrier bag, instead of her black leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up ankleboots ). Clearly the weather forecast is still for snow, and she feels she doesn’t want to risk ‘losing’ her nice, black leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up, office ankleboots by inadvertently leaving them behind at work in her carrier bag, therefore her ‘expendable’, cheap & scruffy, brown leather pixie boots will be her spare pair for the day instead (to be fair, my mistress Sharon can be a bit scatter-brained at times!) Still her green wellies or brown pixie boots are to be worn with her thick, woolly black tights. |
| Friday P.M | Green rubber wellies, but this time again with her brown leather, pixie boots on stand-by as she still plans on going out for a meal in the forecasted snow with her husband and friends, but doesn’t wish to risk spoiling her expensive brown leather, spiked-heel kneeboots! Will still continue to wear her thick, black woolly tights whatever the weather! |
| Saturday A.M | Brown leather pixie boots and full-length, white anklesocks (no change) |
| Saturday P.M | Ditto (no change) |
| Sunday A.M | Green rubber wellies & black woolly tights. She has decided she will go to church in her green wellies after all – if it is snowing. However, her black leather, court shoes with the two inch heels, and dark nylons (her usual ‘Sunday Best’), must now be on stand-by, in case the snow has melted! NB: This still means that I shall have to mouth and handwash her black woolly tights on Saturday, as she may well now need them on Sunday! |
| Sunday P.M | Brown leather pixie boots and full-length, white anklesocks (or black woolly tights if she decides to wear them to church in the morning – she’ll just keep them on all day in that case; but the white socks still need to be on stand-by, for she won’t wear her dark nylons all day long, assuming she ended up wearing them to church along with her usual Sunday Best, black leather court shoes. My mistress Sharon finds that her dark nylons get too sweaty on her feet if she is wearing them all day! My footslave-nose can testify to that!) |
Phew! So there you have it – the current state of play with my mistress’s footwear-demands for the forthcoming week! But it is, of course, a young woman’s prerogative to change her sweet, feminine mind about things!
How confusing it is, however, for the inferior maleslave brain! But, one thing I can absolutely guarantee you of is that, if my mistress Sharon thinks I have made a mistake, and therefore disobeyed her orders, she will undoubtedly have me sorely whipped – even if she has forgotten that she had changed her mind about something as simple as the desired colour of her sock logos.
For a blonde-haired mistress is always right – even when she’s wrong; that’s also her prerogative!
They’re both being a bit naughty, really – the attractive, dark-haired, twenty-something Nepalese girl, and her equally good-looking, Nepalese boyfriend!
It’s the dead of night, and they both clearly have nowhere to stay until their long-distance train leaves in the morning, for they have both decided to kip down for the night in my railway-station, public-footslave booth – she, on the raised shoeshine-chair directly in front of my default kneeling position; he, on the adjacent, raised chair next to her (my booth is a ‘double’ both with two chairs – in case two ladies require a boot or shoe-shining simultaneously!).
Both the young Nepalese are backpackers and are dressed in their dirty, hiking gear – thick anoraks; blue jeans; and, in the case of the young woman in front of me, dirty, mud-encrusted, heavy, laced-up, beige-brown hiking-boots and thick, burgundy-coloured, ankle-length towelling socks.
I know they have absolutely no interest in utilising my services by having their dirty hiking boots cleaned because:
a) The young man must know full well that it would be illegal, in any case, for me to lickshine a pair of dirty, male boots in this part of the Gynarchy; and
b) The young woman immediately unties her boots from her pretty, Nepalese feet, and lazily kicks them off onto the floor of my booth – frustratingly out of my reach – before stretching out her stinky, burgundy-socked feet directly in front of my face whilst lying back in the chair, and then falling asleep!
Her stinky-socked feet are, literally, resting on my face whilst she slumbers; I am clearly nothing but an overnight, kneeling foot-warmer for her!
Soon the young man sitting next to her is slumped in his chair and asleep also; snoring quite loudly, in fact!
I am a bit put out because – much as I feel honoured to be having a pretty, Nepalese girl’s stinky, red hiking socks in my face all night – her stinky-socked feet are resting on what would, ordinarily, be my pillow (i.e. the metal footplate in front of my kneeling face); so I have no way of getting my own head down for the night! Plus the powerful, sweaty, vinegary stench of her unwashed, burgundy-coloured, hiking-boot socks is bound to keep me awake all night!
Thank God her boyfriend is keeping his boots on!
Yes – they are taking liberties, these two young backpackers from exotic, foreign climes! But, then again, they are perfectly at liberty to take liberties – being two, free young people currently staying in the Gynarchy. Especially the girl – who is a member of the superior sex! And, being a mere, male, Gynarchy slave, I’m not exactly in a position to tell them to take a hike!
And so I resign myself to a sleepless night of impromptu, Nepalese-girl socksniffing.
And how do I know they’re both Nepalese? Because I heard them speak in Nepali to one another, before they dossed down for the night. I might be reduced to being a Nepalese girl’s silent socksniffer, but I do have a degree in the language!
They are perfectly treasonable questions on the part of the forty-something, Indian cleaning-lady mistress as she enters the office-ladies’ restroom where I am busy lickshining the tiled floor:
‘Why you are not kissing my feet when I am entering the room? Why you are not kissing me on the side of my sock, slave? Is it that you are thinking you are being too good to be kissing my socks? Am I not being high-class enough for you, dirty office footslave?’
Of course, the answer to all these questions is that I am just a stupid, ignorant, male slave who failed to notice her presence behind me as I was concentrating on licking the dirt marks off the floor from the shoe and boot soles of my female betters. No offence was intended to the Indian cleaner-goddess mistress, and I would most certainly be honoured to kiss the elasticated tops of her short, black and green sneaker-socks inside her beige brown, suede leather loafers!
But, needless, to say, I don’t have time to blurt out my cringing apology, and admiration for her shoes and socks, before she angrily whacks me across the face with her wooden mop handle!
And rightly so!
It’s written all over my pink-rubbery, footfool-mask face – literally so, in big black letters:
‘I Am The Eternal Slave Of My Mistress Joanna’s Boots & Socks’
and it provokes a lot of mocking curiosity from her freemale partners whenever they first see it. Like now, for example, as I am left alone in the living room with my 23 year old mistress’s latest black beau – master Romario sir – whilst my mistress (his ‘latest ho’, as I’ve heard him call her, much to her enjoyment and amusement) powders her pretty, white nose upstairs.
I am kneeling in my pink-rubbery footfool mask in a corner of the living room, with my wrinkly and whip-marked, middle-aged back politely turned towards the tall and manly, thirty-something master-sir – diligently sniffing my beloved, ginger-haired mistress’s recently discarded brown leather, low-heeled, lace-up ankleboots and multicoloured, stripy, ankle-length, cotton bootsocks – when he comes over to me, crouches down, and starts to poke fun at me through his bad breath:
‘Hja! Hja! ‘I Am The Eternal Slave Of My Mistress Joanna’s Boots & Socks’! Hja! Hja! What exactly is that suppose to be sayin’, bwoy?’
‘Oh pray, master-sir, if you will forgive me, most magnificent and free master-sir, it means that I must forever obsess myself with the sight, sound, taste, smell and feel of my beautiful mistress Joanna’s – your girlfriend’s – socks and boots, master sir, as I am doing now sir, if you would be so kind and understanding to a lowly footslave, thank you for asking master-sir?’
‘Hja! Hja! What a dweeb! Hja! Hja! You is nothing’ but a ginger-haired bint’s dirty sock and boot sniffer! Hja! Hja! Aint you ashamed o’ yohself, boot-faggot?’
‘Oh yes, master-sir, very much so, master sir, if it pleases you master sir? I’m just a queer boot and sock sniffer for a beautiful, young woman, master-sir!’
‘Hja! Hja! Too right you is, bwoy! I mean, yoh mistress has nice tits and a nice ass! Doesn’t you ever wishes to ‘obsess’ yourself about she tits and ass, bootsniffer-bwoy?’
‘Oh no, master-sir! Certainly not, master-sir, if you will forgive me, master-sir? I am not worthy to even think about my glorious young mistress-madam above the ankle, master-sir, if you will forgive me most magnificent and normal master-sir? I’m not like you, master-sir! You are a much better man than me, master!’
‘Hja! Hja! You gots that right, slave-bwoy – you aint nothin’ like me! Hja! Hja! Yeah man! I likes poonanny, an’ that! Hja! Hja! Not bitches’ stinky feet and socks! Hja! Hja! Hja!...But, tell me bwoy, doesn’t you even hanker after bein’ yoh mistress’s knicker slave – sniffin’ an’ lickin’ her dirty, wet knickers, an’ that?’
‘Oh no master-sir, again I am not worthy to taste the bodily excretions in my mistress’s uppermost undergarments, master-sir; only those in her socks, master-sir, if you would be so kind and understanding to a lowly footslave, master-sir?’
‘Hja! Hja! The bodily excretions in she uppermost undergarments, master-sir! Hja! Hja! What a dork! You talks funny, slave, an’ that! Hja! Hja! But tell me, bwoy, what does it mean by ‘eternal’ on yoh ugly, pink-rubber face? How cain you be her ‘eternal’ boot an’ sock slave? Aint you ever gonna die, or somefink?’
‘Oh yes, master-sir, I most certainly will die, master, and hopefully much sooner than my much younger mistress-madam – long may she live and prosper, master-sir; and long may you live and prosper too, superior master-sir and consort of my mistress! But, when I do die, master-sir, my mistress has decreed that I shall be ignominiously buried, in an unmarked footslave-pauper’s grave, with her dirty and smelly, used boots and socks covering my face, master-sir, so that if ever my remains are inadvertently dug up everyone will see that my fate is eternally bound to the soles of my mistress Joanna’s dirty, unwashed boots and socks, master-sir, if it pleases you, master-sir.’
‘Hja! Hja! That’s a goodun’, slave! Buried wit’ yoh mistress’s stinky ol’ socks and boots on yoh poofy, pink-rubber face! Hja! Hja! Sweet!’
The master-sir then hears my mistress Joanna flushing the lavatory upstairs, and leaves me in peace so that I may resume my sniffing of her still-warm boots and socks.
When my time comes, I shall most certainly rest in peace in the ground for all eternity, knowing that my rubbery-masked, skeletal face is forever covered with my mistress’s dirty, stinky, discarded boots and socks!
My garish-green, rubbery footfool-mask, which is deliberately shaped like a donkey's head since a donkey is a humble beast of burden, contains the humiliating words:
'Mistress Anya's Boot & Sock Carrier'
and also has a whimsical wicker-basket attached to my ears by two straps on either side of my rubbery-masked face, which swings permanently below my chin and contains my mistress Anya's discarded, black leather, block-heeled, zip-up ankleboots and anklesocks (invariably pastel-coloured), ready for her to wear on her pretty, white feet again.
I am thus her boot and sock carrier!
Even when the hanging basket beneath my face is empty – because my beloved, blonde-haired, 27 year old, married mistress is wearing her boots and socks on her feet – it still smells of her boots and socks, and I am still obliged to look at the traces of her boots and socks in the bottom of the basket, such as little bits of sweaty, used sock-lint; or pieces of mud, dead leaves and other detritus that have fallen off the bottoms of her boots.
How everyone laughs at me, and mocks me – especially my mistress Anya's husband, who refers to me as his 'wife's boot-carrier'; or sometimes as his 'wife's boot-donkey'!
I am thus forever associated with my blonde mistress Anya's boots and socks, as I either crawl on my hands and knees after them whilst she is wearing them, or crawl behind her with her boots and socks ready for her to wear in my hanging basket. Either way they dominate my existence.
What an honour!
‘WHY ARE YOU LATE, DIRTY SLAVE?’
I’m not, actually, late! I am doing my office-footslave rounds as per usual, at the usual time, and with the usual footslavish submissiveness. Nevertheless, I can see the fat, young, black office-mistress’s bare, brown foot-vein pulsating angrily inside her somewhat stretched and misshapen, black leather ballet-flat and beneath her flapping, black cotton trouser-hem; therefore, I must be late! After all, a mistress – especially an angry, young black mistress – is always right!
‘Oh pray, mistress! Please forgive me, black mistress!’
I don’t even know her name yet – she’s new here; only started a week or so ago. But, although this is about the fifth time I have serviced her office feet and footwear, it is the first time I have visibly angered her by my alleged tardiness!
Clearly she feels she has now gotten her fat feet under the table, and can criticise and bully me, like the other, more established, office mistresses. And quite right she is too!
She angrily whips her long, black, braided hair to one side, like a cat-o-nine-tails, and disparagingly clicks her teeth as she shoves her sweaty-fragrant, natural-smelling right foot, and its musty-smelling, well-used ballet-flat, directly beneath my kneeling and apologetic face:
‘TCH! WHATEVER, FOOTSLAVE! NOW THAT YOU ARE FINALLY HERE – LICKSHINE MY SHOE! I AM YOUR BOSS NOW!’
‘Yes, black boss-mistress! At once, black boss-mistress!’
She’s not, actually, the ‘boss’; she’s just a junior administrative officer, as far as I know! But she certainly is the ‘boss’ of me – being my female better. I therefore kowtow to her, and start to lick her misshapen, office-ballet-flat shoeleather, my humble, male forehead brushing tentatively against her still throbbing, female foot-vein as I do so.
‘I AM WATCHING YOU, SLAVE! YOU HAD BETTER NOT BE LATE TO YOUR FEMALE BOSS’S FEET AGAIN!’
‘Yes, boss-mistress. I mean, no boss-mistress!’
She has me all flustered now – for it sounds like I shall have to vary my routine, and attend to her floor (the 4th) before the 3rd Floor in future. The office ladies on the 3rd floor won’t like that! But if this anonymous, young black office-mistress swings her whip the way she swings her hair, I shall have little choice but to pander to her fat-bossy-young-black-womanly whims!
For – like she said – she’s watching me!
My sports-loving, 24 year old, blonde-ponytailed, personal footmistress Stephanie's low-top, lace-up, white-rubbery-soled, red canvas sneakers have two little, white-plastic-rimmed airholes on the outer sides, which allow her feet to breathe whilst she is wearing them.
My highly-privileged, but at the same time lowly, default footslave-position – whenever my personal footmistress Stephanie is seated or standing still – is to kneel on the dirty ground beside her right sneaker and to stare at her white sock through the airholes. This applies even if the white, elasticated top of her anklesock is visible beneath her raised, navy-blue tracksuit-bottom hem – I must still, under pain of the whip, focus on the two tiny glimpses of white side-sock through the airholes.
It is such a privilege and an honour because:
- I am being forced to look at a glimpse of her lower, 'inner' sock – a part of her white sports sock that is normally hidden from public view and from prying eyes, and which, by definition, is prone to her sweet feminine footsweat (hence the sneaker-manufacturers have deliberately placed the two airholes along the outer side of her warm, canvas sneaker)
- I am doing so in the full and intimate knowledge that her otherwise pure, white cotton anklesock is nevertheless brown-stained on its white sole as a result of her natural foot moisture after repeated wear and tear on her pretty, blonde-girl, sportswoman feet (I am a humble party to such intimate sock-knowledge because one of my humble, personal-footslave duties is to dress and undress my mistress's pretty feet every day – and to try sucking those dirty sweat-stains out of the bottoms of her white socks every night!)
- Less is more – and the fact that I am forced to ignore the more expansive area of her elasticated, white sock-top in favour of two glimpses of lower sock through tiny, plastic-rimmed airholes makes me appreciate the sweet feminine beauty of her female sock all the more! It also means I am conscious of her sock towering above me in my peripheral vision, and thereby of its being better than me; I am not even permitted to look at its elasticated upper, set against the backdrop of my superior mistress's smooth, white, fit-young-womanly ankleskin!
And so I am foolishly proud to be my mistress Stephanie's pathetic airhole-starer, obsessed by the glimpses of her inner, seemingly pure, but in reality sweat-soiled, white anklesock through the tiny holes on the side of her red, canvas sneaker. No wonder people call me her ‘peeping sock-tom’!
