Chinatown Footslave

唐人街脚奴隶 (Chinatown Footslave)

Introduction

I am owned by a dominant Chinese family, and they supplement their family income by pimping me out at night as a street-footslave in the back-alleyway that runs directly behind their successful restaurant in the centre of Chinatown.

Why don’t you join me on a typical evening in Chinatown whilst I lick and clean the shoes, boots and sandals of my female betters?

Remember though, I have absolutely no say in exactly who comes up to my makeshift, back-alleyway, public shoelick stand, or in what order.

All I can say for certain is that:

1) I shall be licking exclusively female feet (for although there are many free men living here in the Gynarchy, licking male feet is a criminal offence);

2) That I shall like some of the feminine boots and shoes which I service better than others; for I am only human, after all;

3) That each and every superior mistress who makes use of my footslave services will have elected to do so by deliberately entering my back passage (so to speak) with the sole intent (so to speak) of having her dirty shoes or boots licked clean by the dirty, backstreet, public shoelick – for there is no passing trade as such in this dark alleyway. It is a dead end, with only the back of my master and mistress’s restaurant leading out onto it;

4) That a girl by the name of Dao-Ming will be sure to stop by and utilise my services, for she does so every evening at about 8 o’clock without fail. She is one of my regulars; a slave-stalker even – not that there’s any law against that here in the Gynarchy!

My Chinese master – master Xi-Wang – who is the nominal head of the family - has cleverly positioned my makeshift shoelick-stand directly below a streetlight, the only one in the short, dead-end alleyway, so that even during the twilight hours both I, and more importantly my female customers, can see exactly what I am doing. My lady customers can thus make sure that my boot and shoe cleaning efforts are up to standard, and take remedial action if they are not (usually that means beating me with a nearby bamboo cane that my master has kindly left out for that very purpose).

It is entirely up to the customers how much they pay, if anything, for my services. There is no charge for my services as such – only gratuities, which everyone knows go straight to my Chinese owners.

And rightly so, for I have no need of money myself. I am, after all, just a slave, and survive on the scraps and leftovers from my owners’ restaurant – though I have to share those scraps with the alleyway rats.

It’s lucky that I like cold and greasy, rat-gnawed, throwaway Chinese food!

Having said that I don’t actually need to earn any money for myself - woe betide me if I earn anything less than 10 Fems of an evening! My Chinese masters rely on my tips for their little luxuries in life, such as new clothes; cigarettes; black-market CDs and DVDs etc.

So, anyway, what can we expect on this fine September evening in the dingy backstreets of colourful Chinatown?

Well, because it is mid September we can expect to see all different kinds of feminine footwear shoved under our nose. Some mistresses will no doubt still be showing off their bare feet in their summery, open-toed sandals, unperturbed by the increasingly crisp autumnal air.

Other less hardy souls will already have reverted to their winter wardrobes – so we can expect to see a goodly number of boots, tights and socks.

But as I indicated earlier – nothing is guaranteed!

This being Chinatown, of course, we are pretty much guaranteed that we shall be having to serve a disproportionately high number of Chinese and oriental women – although by no means exclusively so. Chinatown is, after all, one of the most cosmopolitan areas of the city!

I would also anticipate that we shall encounter a number of happy, courting couples – particularly later on in the evening when the restaurants, bars and clubs in the area start to open, for it is not unusual for young, courting couples to stop by on the way to a nightclub or restaurant in order for the dirty, back-alleyway footslave to spruce up the lady’s chosen footwear prior to her big night out with her beloved boyfriend!

Other than all that – who knows what to expect! We shall just have to take it as it comes. That’s what being a slave is all about – taking things as they come, for you can have absolutely no say in matters. A slave is completely powerless and at the mercy of others. Best, therefore, just to humbly submit to your fate!

It is now late afternoon and, as soon as I have finished tongue-polishing and mouth-washing all the dirty shoes and socks of my Chinese master’s wife and stepdaughters (my master has three grown-up stepdaughters – all in their twenties but all still living at home and working as waitresses in the family restaurant), miss Yao-Niang, one of the aforementioned stepdaughters, leads me roughly on a chain out into the alleyway at the back of the family restaurant and secures me on my hands and knees to the lamp-post over a makeshift footblock consisting of an upturned, low, wooden crate.

She laughs at me as she leaves me to my fate in the dirty alleyway:

‘Ha! Ha! You lick women shoe well tonight slave, or my stepfather whip you! Ha! Ha! You make sure earn good money for Yao-Niang so that Yao-Niang buy nice new shoes with slave money. Yao-Niang sneakers dirty and holey!’

The young mistress is not joking, as I can see her dark blue sneaker-sock peeping out from underneath various, little holes along the side of her tatty old, grey-white, lace-up keds beneath the hems of her waitress-white denim jeans.

My mistress Yao-Niang then places her right, sneakered foot onto the wooden footblock-crate, partly in order to test it and make sure it is still solid enough for a lady to rest her foot on it, and partly so that I can respectfully kiss her aforementioned holey, grey sneaker before she goes back inside the restaurant and prepares for her own evening serving customers – albeit service that is much less demeaning and humiliating than the type of service I must perform all evening for my customers.

As my lips gently touch one of the holes on the side of miss Yao-Niang’s dirty, canvas sneakers I make a vow to do my level best to earn enough money this evening for my young mistress to be able to buy herself a much-needed, new pair of sneakers.

12 Fems should just about cover it, I reckon!

The Chinese Punk-Rock Mistress – a girl with attitude!

My first moneymaking opportunity is not long in coming.

I can only describe my first customer of the evening as looking like a stylishly-dressed punk rocker. She is young, Chinese, in her early to mid twenties, and is wearing a very fetching outfit consisting of a frilly, white, sleeveless blouse; black, fishnet, fingerless gloves; black shorts; black knee-high socks; and black, calf-length biker-boots with lots of thick, silver buckles on them.

The young woman looks stunning – and rebellious. I like that in a woman – especially a Chinese woman – for oriental women, in my humble experience, are often the least aggressive and dominant when dealing with a male slave.

And that’s a pity – because I do like serving girls with attitude!

Which is just as well since this particular, young, Chinese punk-woman has a truly bad-attitude problem.

She marches arrogantly up to my makeshift, footblock-crate almost as if she was wearing jackboots rather than just biker-boots, unceremoniously plonks her heavy, right boot down onto the crate beneath my humbly kneeling face, and barks down her orders at me in a cute Chinese accent, almost as cute as my mistress Yao-Niang’s:

‘Slave clean boot! Lick off filth. Make boot shine.’

‘Yes mistress. At once mistress.’

I must always be obsequious and polite to my female betters, however brusque and dismissive their attitude may be towards me.

For the female customer is always right!

Now that I can see the Chinese girl’s black leather, calf-length boot close up I admire it even more; thick treads on the soles; black laces beneath the various metal buckles, although I don’t think the laces are actually required to secure the boot onto the mistress’s precious leg – I’m sure they must be purely decorative; and various little logos plastered seemingly at random on the surface of the boot – an American flag here; a red triangle with some Chinese writing in it there; a red and blue circle with the number ‘75’ on it – for some reason!

Above all, though, the large and heavy boot makes the petite and comely, oriental girl’s dainty leg and foot look much bigger and stronger than it actually is. Her boots are clearly sending out a message to boyfriends and slaves alike – don’t mess with me!

Yes, I am sure I have never served this girl’s boots before, and it is a truly exciting new experience for me. They don’t, actually, appear to be all that dirty – but any pair of boots worn on the streets can always benefit from a lick and a shine. The streets of our modern cities are just so polluted and dirty these days, don’t you think?

Without further ado I lower my lips to the slightly – but only slightly – scuff- marked toe area of the young, Chinese punk-woman’s boot with attitude, and begin to lick it and ‘make it shine’.

It tastes bitter – like girlboot-leather always does. Bitter – and yet sweet, for it is the sweet, biker-boot leather of a beautiful and superior, Chinese mistress.

As I make my way up the Chinese boot I have to be careful whilst licking in and around the buckles – careful not to get my tongue caught on one of the sharp, metal edges of the buckles lest it bleed over the young mistress’s precious boot! What a complete and utter disaster that would be!

But I am, fortunately, a footslave of many years’ servitude, and my tongue, I’m slavishly proud to say, has shone many a female boot buckle in its day. The boot is perfectly safe in my mouth!

As I approach the upper rim of the Chinese punk-girl’s boot she offers me some friendly words of advice:

‘Slave not touch sock. Ching-Lan sock better than slave. Slave not worthy touch Ching-Lan black sock with mouth. You a nothing. You just a slave. I better than you. Sock better than you.’

The young woman is not speaking in jest. She is deadly serious and, of course, deadly correct. Her black, cotton kneesock is better than me for it is closer than I can ever be to the soft, feminine skin of its delectable owner’s lower leg. I do admire and envy her sock for being in a position to absorb the young Chinese punk-rocker’s inevitable footsweat inside her heavy, black biker boot.

I only wish I could be that sock!

But I make sure not to touch it with any part of my mouth or face as I deftly lick around the upper rim of the young woman’s calf-length boot – for I have been ordered not to.

I wonder where this young woman is off to this evening? Meeting up with her boyfriend, no doubt, and keen that her boots should look nice and clean for him?

What a privilege and an honour it is for a sad, middle-aged manservant like me to clean the boots of such a delightful, young Chinese woman for the benefit of her boyfriend – and all whilst she is still wearing them!

I must spend about 10 minutes on each boot before the young woman tosses a 1 Fem coin down into the gratuity basket lying beside me on the ground. She then marches off in her Chinese boots out of the alleyway and out of my backstreet-life without saying anything more to me. However I can rest on my knees knowing that she must be reasonably satisfied with my efforts – else she wouldn’t have left me a tip!

1 Fem down – 11 to go; then my master’s stepdaughter - mistress Yao-Niang - will be able to afford that new pair of sneakers she so badly needs.

I just hope she lets me keep the old ones!

The Delicate Lotus Blossom

My mouth continues to taste of Chinese punk-girl boot leather for quite some time after my first encounter of the evening. Hardly surprising when you consider the sheer amount of boot leather I had to lick on those heavy boots!

But my next customer is an altogether much more delicate, oriental flower – demurely dressed in a lightweight, lotus flower-patterned, knee-length summer dress, and deliciously pink, high-heeled, peep-toed mules with matching little pink leather bows on the tops. She is also bare legged and barefoot so, delicate flower though she may be, she is clearly not feeling the mid-September cold!

This young, Chinese mistress has a whole different attitude from that of her predecessor – despite being of a similar age. Her voice for example, like her clothing, is much softer and gentler.

Her dainty right foot, however, is soon every bit as much in my face as the booted foot of her punk-rock antecedent.

As miss lotus blossom’s, mule-clad foot settles itself onto the footblock-crate, I can see that, although the main body of the mule consists of pink leather, the two-inch heel at the back is made of what appears to be solid steel. Even more intriguingly, however, I can see all the tiny lines and veins in the young Chinese mistress’s bare foot, especially around her ankles and heels - thanks to the backless mule shoe.

It is not a foot I recognise. She must be another first-timer to my footslave-stall, and possibly a first-timer period, for she sounds quite bashful and unsure of herself:

‘Slave kiss Mei-Zhen toes?’

It is a question, rather than a command. Even though the young woman clearly wants her bare toes to be kissed (why else would she have ventured into my alley) she seems to lack the confidence to actually command me to do so.

Perhaps she needs a bit of the attitude of the punk-rock girl’s heavy boots to rub off onto the sole of her pretty, but submissive, pink shoe?

I seek to reassure this delicate flower of a Chinese mistress that kissing her pretty, bare toes is exactly what I am here for – should she so wish it:

‘Yes mistress. At once mistress – if it is so pleasing to you mistress Mei-Zhen.’

I wouldn’t normally presume to start addressing a first-time, customer-mistress by her name so soon in our mistress-customer relationship. But I just feel that this particular young lady needs the confidence-building boost of hearing her sweet, Chinese name preceded by the word ‘mistress’. She needs to know that she is in charge and I am her slave – here purely to do her bidding.

I lower my lips to her pretty, pink-lacquered toenails on her proffered right foot just below the pretty, pink leather bow of her mule-style shoe. My tongue must be ticklish on her delicate, painted toes as she giggles and the big toe twitches involuntarily underneath my lips.

Her lotus-blossom feet smell fresh - clearly they have been perfumed. Not for my benefit I hope! I am only worthy to smell young women’s sweaty, stinky feet. I mean, it’s not like I am their lover or boyfriend, or something. I’m just a common or garden footslave!

Or should that be ‘common or backstreet’ footslave?!

I make a point of kissing each of miss Mei-Zhen’s delicate little feminine toes in turn - although her little toe is so petite and tiny it is difficult to get both my lips onto it simultaneously.

As I humbly and respectfully kiss her bare, Chinese toes I admire the way her soft, oriental skin is creased around the back of her shapely ankle– caused by the outstretched positioning of her dainty foot onto my wooden footcrate.

Yes – I have to admit that I do, on the whole, prefer socked feet to bare feet. I think you will have already gathered that! There is just so much more variety to young women’s socked feet! The wrinkles and lines in a young woman’s bare feet are as nothing compared to the wrinkles and lines that can appear in a girl’s sock!

But if I had to serve one pair of bare feet all the time, this would be them – the soft, bare oriental feet of a gentle and exotic oriental flower.

This young woman really is my better, and she has no need to tell me so! Nor would I feel comfortable taking any money from such a delightful young woman. She can have this first public footkissing session on me!

Just as well, really – since she doesn’t bother to leave me a tip!

A Couple of Poseurs

As I think I mentioned earlier, dominant couples are a frequent feature of my humble, public footslave-existence in busy Chinatown.

And next I am approached by my first happy couple of the evening. Early birds, so to speak – for most couples tend to present themselves at my makeshift shoelick-stand much later in the evening – when the clubs are opening.

But then I suppose the early bird catches the worm – the worm being me, of course!

This couple also happen to be my first non-Chinese customers of the day - for the man is white, and the woman is black. I can sense almost immediately that they are just a couple of posers – not that I mean that in any derogatory way. A free, young, dominant couple have every right to pose and gloat over me in public. For they are both my betters!

Basically, the stylishly dressed, young black woman just wishes to have her photograph taken with me grovelling at her feet. And very pretty feet they are too – pretty, black feet inside cream and white-coloured, high-heeled, peep toe shoes. Her black footskin looks smooth and flawless (apart from one or two little sores along her insteps – the aftermath of insect bites I think), and her toenails are painted a startling, bright red to match her stunning, bright red, knee-length summer dress.

I like the fact also that her hair is quite short and she is wearing glasses. The glasses make her look intelligent – certainly cleverer than me, though that wouldn’t exactly be difficult!

It is her male partner, of course, who initiates the camera pose. He is clearly going to be the photographer who will take the picture.

He gives his black girlfriend some directions:

‘Stand with your right foot on that crate underneath his nose, honey…That’s right…and now rest your right hand on your hip and look over towards me…That’s it…you’ve got it…and…smile!’

His digital camera clicks and whirls.

‘Now let’s have one of the slave actually kissing your foot, sweetheart,’ he suggests.

The young, short-haired, bespectacled black woman laughs. She speaks with an African accent:

‘OK, honey. What do I have to do?’

Now it’s the man’s turn to laugh:

‘Ha! Ha! You don’t have to do nothing, honey! Just stand where you are and look pretty and I’ll move the dirty slave’s lips onto the side of your shoe!’

With that the superior, free man walks over towards me – his inferior – crouches down, grabs hold of my greying, middle-aged hair, and roughly pushes my face down onto the cream-coloured leather on the outer side of his African girlfriend’s arrogantly outstretched, high-heeled, peep-toe shoe:

‘Keep your dirty slave-lips pursed on the side of my girlfriend’s shoe while I take a picture, slave! You got that?’

‘Yeth mather,’ I mumble into the side of the superior, young, black woman’s shoe.

I hear her laugh:

‘Ha! Ha! Hurry up and take the picture Martin. I’m getting cold!’

I am delighted to note that the young woman is not in the least bit concerned about my well-being – stuck down on my hands and knees in the dirt at her feet, naked but for my flimsy, white slave-shorts, my mouth stuck to the side of her high-heeled shoe as she poses for a beauty snap for the family photo-album.

I notice while I’m waiting for the picture to be taken, a faint whiff of female footsweat up my nostrils. The African mistress has clearly not taken the trouble to fragrance, or even wash, her bare feet prior to visiting my public shoelick-stand.

But as I said before – I have no problem with that! I am just honoured to be a part of this happy scene – albeit the humblest part, the part of the dirty footslave kissing the side of the superior, young African woman’s shoe! And although I would dearly love to get my slave tongue in and around those sweaty, African, red-painted toes and those dusty, cream-coloured high-heels, I am nevertheless content to be at least touching the side of the young woman’s superior, elevated shoe with my dirty lips and smelling the aroma of her sweet foot-odour with my unworthy nose.

The irony is that she will probably be one of those mistresses who actually leaves my makeshift shoelick-stand with her shoe dirtier than it was before she came up to me – thanks to my dirty lip marks on her cream-coloured shoeleather!

But hey – the photographer still tosses me a 1 Fem coin after he has finished taking his photographs – so I must have been doing something right!

Woolly Tights!

There have been too many bare feet for my liking thus far this evening! I know the night is still young, but I want to see more female sock! And not just see it, but touch it; kiss it; worship it!

I almost get my wish with the next female customer, for she is wearing thick, purple, woolly tights beneath a prim and proper, calf-length, navy-blue dress. And on her feet – a pretty pair of plain, black, round-toed leather flats.

She is another Chinese girl, also wearing spectacles like the black model before her. However this young woman is much more dowdily dressed than any of her predecessors thus far this evening. In fact, she could be described as rather plain-looking – for a Chinese girl. She looks almost like a bookish, middle-aged, librarian-mistress, although I’m convinced she is actually only in her mid to late twenties.

Nothing wrong with that! Even dowdy-looking, bookish mistresses are my betters, and deserving of my slavish respect and admiration.

And I do admire this dowdily-dressed, young Chinese woman! As you know, I have been hankering after girls’ socks. But if I can’t have sock, then thick, woolly tights are the next best thing, for they can have the appearance of socks when you are, like me, kneeling on the ground over the young woman’s superior, feminine feet.

Of course, I would much prefer it if they were actually purple socks – even knee or thigh-length socks – as I would then have the honour of knowing that I was serving exclusively foot-and-leg-covering, female garments, as opposed to full-length tights which also cover other less interesting parts of a superior young woman’s anatomy.

Less interesting to me, that is – a pathetic, foot and shoe obsessed, down in the dirt, humble footslave!

But, happily, with this particular young woman I can easily pretend that the purple, woolly tights are knee-length socks, since the tights disappear up inside her dowdy, calf-length, navy blue dress.

Of course, being something of a sock-aficionado I can even tell from the stitching of the tights that they are not socks! Tights just don’t seem to have the same patterns in their stitching as socks do - not these sorts of woolly tights anyway! The stitching is much narrower and (if you’ll forgive the pun) tighter in a pair of woolly tights than it would be in a pair of woolly, knee-length socks – cable knit socks for example!

But I mustn’t be too anal about all of this. The superior young Chinese woman who has deigned to grace me with her presence this evening has chosen to wear purple, woolly tights on her Chinese legs, as she feels they beautify her ankles and calves, and I am blessed and honoured that she is now imposing them on me, insofar as she is obliging me to examine her tights close-up as she stands over my humbly kneeling frame.

I notice as she readies herself to position her right foot onto my wooden footblock-crate that her thick, purple tights are covered in little fluffy balls of purple lint, suggesting the tights have been worn many times before!

I am warming to these tights all the time!

Indeed, the purple tights almost completely divert my attention away from the young woman’s equally fetching, plain, black, flat, leather shoes, but just as soon as she stretches her right foot forward onto the footcrate directly underneath my nose, the strong, musty smell of the scuff-marked, black, feminine shoe leather brings me back to my shoelick senses:

‘Slave shine my shoe,’ barks the bookish, oriental librarian-mistress down at me over her thick, black-rimmed spectacles, her foot muscles involuntarily twitching slightly inside her thick, woolly tights causing the purple woollen material to crease and fold just below her shapely anklebone before my very footslave eyes.

‘Yes mistress. At once mistress.’

It’s a simple enough task on a simple enough shoe. I should have no difficulty in tongue-shining this pretty, black shoe – no buckles or laces or logos to get in the way this time!

The only potential distraction remains those increasingly pretty, purple woollen tights, for I am truly longing to find out how they would feel on my lips. Soft and fluffy, I should think, with all those little lint-balls!

You must understand that I can’t help myself! As I said before, I am beginning to suffer sock-withdrawal symptoms – a well documented condition in pathetic footslaves such as myself. I have now been without sock on my lips for over an hour or so – since I finished mouth-washing my master’s stepdaughters’ dirty socks – and since then I haven’t been able to have even so much as a furtive sniff of a pretty, feminine sock!

The nearest I got, as you know, was the pleasing sight of my mistress Yao-Niang’s navy blue sneaker-sock through the holes in her sneakers, followed by the tops of the Chinese punk-girl’s black kneesocks inside her calf-length biker-boots, but as you also know she specifically forbade me from touching or kissing or sniffing her socks.

That’s why, I’m afraid, I am now allowing my selfish footslave mind to wander and be distracted by my new customer’s purple, woolly tights. I must pull myself together and concentrate on the task in mouth which is to lick her sweet, Chinese-girl shoe leather!

I am gratified to see yet more little creases and folds developing in the bespectacled mistress’s dowdy, purple tights around her ankle and heel as she twists her right foot around to one side in order to grant my tongue access to the inner side of her pretty, black shoe.

No - I’m afraid it’s just no use! I simply have to surreptitiously brush the tip of my nose against the thick, woolly material of the young, bookish woman’s purple tights along her shapely instep whilst I am ostensibly licking the inner side of her black leather shoe!

It is such a relief! At last! Womanly sock (or at least tights) on the end of my nose!

The young, librarianesque, Chinese woman, of course, as we have already established is not stupid – unlike me - and she can feel my impertinent nose straying onto her tights:

‘Slave not touch Jia-Li tights! Only lick shoe!’ she barks down at me angrily!

I immediately apologise to the mistress for my footslavish impudence:

‘Oh pray mistress. Please forgive this dirty, impudent slave for his indiscretion, mistress. Oh pray, mistress. Please don’t beat me mistress!’

Clearly, in view of what the librarian-mistress has just said, a kiss to her tights is out of the question, so I shall just have to make do with the memory of her woolly tights on my impish nose!

I complete my humble task of tongue-shining the shoes of the dowdy librarian-mistress without further incident, and she magnanimously chucks a 1 Fem coin down into my gratuity-basket – a generous tip indeed given the insulting behaviour towards her tights by the tip of my nose!

Familiarity Breeds Contempt

Hah! What did I tell you? It must be 8 o’clock for here come the familiar, bright blue cowboy boots of my regular mistress – my ‘stalker’ – mistress Dao-Ming!

Regular as clockwork and just as unavoidable as the inevitable passage of time!

She is smiling, as per usual, as she approaches my kneeling frame. Mistress Dao-Ming always has the outward appearance of being a happy-go-lucky, young woman. She is always smiling – but it is a wicked, cruel smile hiding, I suspect, some deep-seated hatred of men in general, and of male slaves in particular.

For the reason she is smiling, I suspect, is that she knows she has me exactly where she wants me – on my knees, chained up and helpless at her blue cowboy-booted feet. I’m sure, also, that’s why she visits me every single evening.

She just likes having a man on his knees in a back alleyway, and at her mercy!

She always wears the same, blue cowboy boots - come rain, hail or shine – but the rest of her outfit will differ from evening to evening. This evening she has chosen to wear a distinctive, flower-motifed, multicoloured anorak and black denim jeans. The jeans are tucked into the tops of her bright blue cowboy boots.

Some dark sunglasses complete the ensemble, even though the sun is now well down in the evening sky and there is certainly no need for sunglasses in my dark and dingy alleyway! Perhaps she thinks the sunglasses make her look cool?

I have to admit the blue cowboy boots certainly make her look cool – cool and quirky – a bit like miss Dao-Ming herself. She is pint-sized – petite even by the usual standards of beautiful, oriental women. But she makes up for her physical slightness by being quite capricious and cruel in her mistressly character.

That’s why one just can’t help respecting and admiring miss Dao-Ming – she is a mistress who knows her own mind, even if that mind is somewhat dangerous to know!

She looms large only when she is standing directly over me. Now she feels strong and powerful, for I am the one who is physically small as I cringe helplessly at her cowboy-booted feet.

She laughs at me:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave frightened of Dao-Ming? Slave ready to serve Dao-Ming dirty boots?’

Miss Dao-Ming is one of those mistresses – and they are legion – who like to know that a slave is frightened and afraid in their presence. They like to see us quaking over their boots.

I never disappoint mistress Dao-Ming, for I do genuinely fear her. Her blue cowboy boots always seem to produce a Pavlovian-like response in me whenever they approach my face – a mixture of salivation and apprehension. For – predictable though she is in many ways – one never quite knows what such a strange young mistress might be capable of in such a position of absolute, female power!

But what do I actually know about my regular, cowboy-booted customer? Well, I know that she is in her early thirties; that she lives alone (surprise! surprise!); that she has never – to my knowledge - had a boyfriend (or at least she has never mentioned one to me); that she works as some sort of low-level office clerk in a fashion agency – though I can be pretty sure she doesn’t do any fashion modelling work herself, being so short in her physical stature; and that she is on some sort of regular medication for her nerves.

As for her hobbies, well – apart from tormenting me every night – I believe she likes watching slave punishment floggings on TV, and is a big fan of ‘The Bondsmen’ – a popular, historical soap opera about slaves in the Ancient Gynarchy. I think she likes it because of the many whipping scenes – they really knew how to treat slaves properly in those ancient times, or so she keeps telling me. Proper, hard floggings etc. At least, that’s how mistress Dao-Ming sees it!

Anyway, none of this is really any of my business! It’s just that mistress Dao-Ming does sometimes like to chat. I think she is quite lonely at times, and prefers to have conversation even with a dirty, low down slave like me rather than with no-one at all!

I suppose that is one part of the service I provide to my regular mistresses, but my main business right now, of course, is to service miss Dao-Ming’s blue leather cowboy boots, as she has just pointed out.

But that reminds me. I still haven’t formally answered mistress Dao-Ming’s rhetorical questions: Am I frightened of her and am I ready to serve her dirty boots?

‘Oh pray mistress Dao-Ming. God bless you mistress Dao-Ming. This slave does truly fear the superior mistress, and is indeed ready to serve her most beautiful boots, if it would be so pleasing to the sweet and kind mistress?’

These are genuinely respectful and truthful answers on my part to miss Dao-Ming’s, entirely rhetorical questions – for no slave in his right mind would ever dream of doing anything to upset mistress Dao-Ming or her boots. The consequences of upsetting or disrespecting such a powerful and psychologically fragile young woman don’t bear thinking about!

That’s why my confirmation that I fear her is also heartfelt.

Mistress Dao-Ming laughs triumphantly down at me, and steps forward to place her right, cowboy boot onto the makeshift, wooden footblock beneath my trembling footslave nose.

It is, of course, a boot which I know only too well – since I get to see it and serve it every night! But I know too that I must study it closely every night, for every night the dust and dirt is in different places on the surface of the boot – dust and dirt which I shall be obliged to seek out and swallow!

It is, in keeping with miss Dao-Ming’s overall, womanly petiteness – a relatively small cowboy-boot, even though it now seems to tower over my head in all its calf-length glory. Tonight the dirt and the dust appears to be mainly confined to the rounded toe area, although there is at least one, faint trace of street-mud along the lower side of the boot.

Faint trace or not, mistress Dao-Ming shall expect it to disappear completely into my footslave-mouth!

The blue cowboy boots are, naturally, showing more general signs of wear and tear, since they are a well-worn and favourite pair of boots. As I said earlier, I have never seen mistress Dao-Ming wearing any other footwear in the 5 years or so that I have been serving her at my back-alleyway footslave stand.

It could just be, of course, that she wears the cowboy boots only when she is visiting me - maybe because they make her feel and look powerful and dominant – and that she has lots of other pairs of boots and shoes in her shoe-cupboard back in her flat. But I somehow doubt it. Mistress Dao-Ming is something of an eccentric young woman, and I strongly suspect that these boots are just about the only footwear that she ever wears.

I like that thought – for it means that the blue, cowboy-boots are well-moulded to her feet. The creases and contours in the blue boot-leather reflect the shape of her pretty, Chinese feet inside her boots, and her feet are therefore completely comfortable in them.

I do like my mistresses to feel comfortable whist I am serving their shoes and boots!

The only other thing to say about the boot now towering in front of my kneeling face is that it is remarkably plain for a cowboy boot; none of the usual fancy stitching that one normally associates with such boot-attire; just a single, blue, wavy line of stitching dividing the foot area of the precious boot from the calf-length upper.

I suspect they are a rather cheap pair of cowboy boots, but then mistress Dao-Ming probably doesn’t earn much in her low-level administrative job – though, obviously, she earns more than me!

Be they cheap or not, however, the familiar V-shaped rim at the top of the blue, leather boots, into which the mistress’s black denim jeans are tucked, along with the bootstraps for pulling on the boots, both denote these boots as most definitely being a pair of traditional, western-style cowboy boots – even if the colour is hardly traditional in the Wild West!

So, I have studied the right boot beneath my kneeling face in some detail; I now know where the dirt is located; all I can do now is humbly await my orders, for the gleefully smiling mistress Dao-Ming always likes to make me stew for a few moments before putting me out of my footslave misery and permitting me to start licking boot.

Sure enough after what seems like an embarrassing eternity, but is probably only 60 seconds or so, my quirky mistress-stalker snaps down her orders at me:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave start licking Dao-Ming boot now. Lick off all the filth. Swallow filth from Dao-Ming pretty boot. You begin now!’

‘Yes mistress Dao-Ming. At once mistress Dao-Ming.’

Always best to toady and fawn to mistress Dao-Ming and her calf-length boots. She brooks no disobedience, being fed on a diet of real-life and soap-opera whippings on TV!

I make straight for the dusty boot-toe area, and manage to get nearly all of it inside my mouth in one go – even though it is round-shaped and not particularly pointy. I think both mistress Dao-Ming and myself like the fact that her boot fits into my mouth. It makes for a more thorough cleaning.

Miss Dao-Ming’s posture whilst having her boots licked is always the same – she likes to stand with her right arm resting casually on her outstretched, jeans-covered thigh whilst I am licking her right boot (and vice versa with the left) as it means that she can lean down a bit and get a better view of my cowboy-boot sucking and licking efforts.

The blue boot tastes bitter and foul – but then girl bootleather always does, whatever its colour.

Miss Dao-Ming is clearly in one of her better moods today. Hopefully she has taken her medication. Her smile is not entirely false this evening, for she is clearly enjoying herself tonight at my expense, and wants to toy with me:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave want to know what type of socks Dao-Ming have on inside boot?’

Ah – the ‘guess the colour of my socks’ game! She has played it with me a few times before.

I brace myself – for it is a game which I invariably seem to lose.

I have, of course, absolutely no way of knowing what type of socks mistress Dao-Ming may be wearing inside her boots - for her boots never come off in my presence, and any sweet feminine socks are, sadly, well and truly hidden down inside the boots.

I do have to admit that a part of me quite enjoys this game, however, even though I always lose. I like to try and imagine what style and colour of girly sock such an eccentric mistress might be wearing inside her boots.

First of all, however, I have to confirm my ‘willingness’ to play along with the mistress and her socks (like I have any choice in the matter!) in between continuing to suck and lick on her dirty, blue boot:

‘Oh pray mistress! Oh yes please mistress! Please enlighten this dirty, pathetic slave as to the nature of your socks inside your most beautiful boots, if you would be so kind mistress Dao-Ming.’

It is, of course, a kindly act on the part of a superior mistress to inform a public footslave as to the type of sockwear, if any, she is wearing inside her boots at any given time – for she is under absolutely no obligation whatsoever to divulge such intimate and privileged information to a dirty, public bootlicker!

But I know full well that mistress Dao-Ming is not doing this out of the kindness of her heart. She is teasing me; toying with me; dominating me.

That’s why she won’t just tell me straight out what socks she is wearing, and I shall have to play her silly game:

‘Ha! Ha! I not tell you straight away, slave! First you guess. You guess what colour of sock superior mistress Dao-Ming wearing inside boots today. You guess right - I not whip you. You guess wrong - I punish you! Ha! Ha! You guess wrong and you get whip! Ha! Ha!’

When she says ’get whip’ I know exactly what mistress Dao-Ming is referring to. She is not, thankfully, referring to the bamboo cane so kindly left out by my master Xi-Wang for the use of dissatisfied female customers and/or their male companions on my bare back.

No – mistress Dao-Ming always brings along her own ‘whip’ – a broad, short, brown leather strap which she uses to slap me across the face.

For all her love of severe and cruel slave-whippings on TV, you see, she is basically a pussycat at heart. Yes, she likes to hit me and beat me – but not so as to cause me any permanent damage, perhaps so that she can beat me again with impunity the following evening! Hence the worst punishment she ever actually inflicts on me is a couple of strokes with her broad, leather strap across my prone and vulnerable face.

At least – that’s how it has always been thus far, though I always fear mistress Dao-Ming will go further one of these nights. I haven’t seen her really upset yet, when she may have forgotten to take her medication!

The strap is specifically designed for maleslave face-slapping, and such straps are widely in use throughout the Gynarchy. They allow the mistress to discipline her slave with a stinging blow, but without damaging or hurting her own, fair hand.

Or her Chinese hand, in miss Dao-Ming’s case.

Sure enough, miss Dao-Ming produces her short strap from her jacket pocket. She might as well, for we both know it is itching to make contact with my face, and will do so sooner or later.

Nervously I try to guess the colour of miss Dao-Ming’s hidden socks inside her boots. I tend to rule out the obvious with miss Dao-Ming. She is, in my view, much too eccentric a young woman to wear socks that match the rest of her attire – and certainly in all our previous ‘sock-guessing’ games she has never admitted to wearing socks which match her boots, trousers or jackets.

So I can safely rule out blue, black or flowery-patterned socks.

Indeed, I strongly suspect that I can rule out any of the obvious ‘primary colours’ – for mistress Dao-Ming does so like to be different!

So I must just take an educated guess – a ‘footslave-educated’ guess, based on my experience of girls’ socks, since that is the only education I have ever had; licking and kissing and worshipping strange women’s boots shoes and socks on the streets.

Miss Dao-Ming is clearly becoming impatient. I can see her fiddling with her punishment strap out of the corner of my eye as I momentarily stop licking and tongue-shining her blue leather, cowboy boot and hazard my feeble guess:

‘Oh pray mistress Dao-Ming – if you would be so merciful mistress Dao-Ming – this dirty slave believes that the mistress might be wearing lilac and burgundy coloured socks inside her boots, if it is so pleasing to you most beautiful mistress.’

It’s a long shot I know, but I have given my reasons for that above.

Mistress Dao-Ming keeps me on tenterhooks for a few moments before bursting out in a gleeful fit of victorious laughter:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave wrong! Ha! Ha! Stupid slave get punished! Ha! Ha! You not guess right! I winner of sock-game; you loser. Ha! Ha! Now I whip slave stupid face! Ha! Ha!’

And with that she delivers a stinging blow across the side of my cheek with her broad, leather strap, followed swiftly by another stroke – a backhander – across my other cheek.

She laughs out loud at my gormless, slapped face – as well she might, for she has just, quite literally, slapped me silly!

I am, as mistress Dao-Ming has so eloquently put it, a stupid slave and a loser.

I am, however, still anxious to know the correct answer. Just what colour of socks is my regular Chinese tormentress wearing inside her blue, leather cowboy boots this evening?

The sweet and kind mistress Dao-Ming soon puts me out of my misery – as she always does in such situations. She tells me the correct answer, although I have no real way of knowing, of course, whether or not she is telling the truth, for she will not take off her boots and show me her socks!

But I just have to accept the mistress’s answer on trust – for a mistress’s word is her bond, just as a slave’s words are his bondage.

‘Ha! Ha! Dao-Ming wear lilac and white socks with orange hoops inside blue cowboy boots! Ha! Ha! Why you not guess right? You a ignoramus? Ha! Ha!’

Yes mistress Dao-Ming. I am indeed an ignoramus – for I don’t think I would ever have guessed the orange hoops, though I came perilously close with the lilac!

Perilously close because, if I had guessed right, God only knows what you would have done to me with your leather strap. No mistress ever likes to lose – especially not to a slave!

My cheeks are blushing bright red – and not just from the sting of your face-strap, but from the shame and embarrassment of being a sock-ignoramus in your superior presence, mistress Dao-Ming. That’s because you are clearly better than me, sweet mistress; better, cleverer, stronger, and more high-class.

I am the worthless dirt beneath your cheap cowboy-boots, mistress Dao-Ming. No wonder you hold me in such contempt!

Pray forgive me mistress!

As usual I receive no tip from mistress Dao-Ming.

The Russian-ing Girl

Miss Dao-Ming leaves me for another night, back to her lonely flat with her freshly-polished cowboy boots.

Meanwhile I recover quickly from my stinging face, only to be confronted by the dirty, plain white, lace-up, low-cut, canvas sneakers of another jeans-clad mistress. Dirty, white keds worn by a dark-haired, slim Caucasian girl – not a customer I recognise or believe I have had the honour of serving before.

Like her immediate predecessor - miss Dao-Ming - this new customer is wearing black denim jeans - but unlike her predecessor her jeans and footwear don’t quite hide her socks – so I can just make out a tiny slither of sweet, light-grey sneaker-sock underneath the jean hems.

Phew! That’s a relief – all this talk of mistress Dao-Ming’s socks had been making me sock-hungry!

It’s a classic combo for a young, twenty-something, white woman - jeans, sneakers and socks. Unbeatable really! I love them!

I particularly love the way the young woman’s grey sock becomes even more visible inside her filthy, white sneakers as she hitches up her right jeanleg in order to place her right, sneakered and socked foot onto my wooden footblock-crate.

The light grey sock lies low on her shapely, white foot – just high enough for the elasticated top to peek out over the upper rim of the young woman’s low-cut, canvas sneaker along her shapely instep, before disappearing down into the body of her sneaker as it approaches the heel area.

The lack of sock-coverage over her heels and tendons also exposes her rough and chapped-looking, pink heel-skin to my humble view. Oh I do hope she orders me to soothe her chapped and somewhat sore-looking exposed heels with my bare tongue!

She speaks with an East European accent:

‘Clean the shoe, slave! Is nice shoe yes? But wery dirty. You lick clean my shoe and I pay you 2 Fems!’

2 Fems! I presume she means one Fem per shoe! A very generous mistress indeed – and how appropriate that by licking clean this attractive, young, East European woman’s dirty, white keds I shall be earning a significant amount of money towards paying to replace my mistress Yao-Niang’s dirty, holey keds!

I assure the dark-haired mistress at once of my desire to do a good job on her shoes – and not just because of the money, but because it will be an honour for me to have her East-European sneaker-dirt inside my slave-mouth:

‘Oh pray mistress. God bless you mistress. This slave will be honoured to remove the dirt from your pretty sneakers, if you would be so kind most beautiful young mistress!’

‘Begin’, she says.

I lower my face to the rubbery, cream-coloured toe of her right, canvas sneaker – where else – and begin to lick. As I taste rubber I admire the straight, vertical lines in the stitching of the elasticated top of the young East European woman’s light grey sneaker-sock. The mere sight of her sock inspires me to ever greater efforts – for the sock, or at least that part which I can see of it, looks nice and clean. It is only right and proper, therefore, that the young woman’s outer footwear should be made nice and clean to match her inner footwear!

Just as I start to run my tongue over the bitter-tasting, cream-coloured rubber sole along the side of her otherwise grey-white, canvas sneaker, the young woman’s phone rings – reminding me that she, unlike me, has a life outside this alleyway.

She answers it in Russian:

‘Allo! Igor! Kak ti pozhivayesh?...Ah?...Normalno!...Nyet!...Ha! Ha!....A kak zhe!...Nu ladno...Nu ladno…Da, skoro budu…Cherez pyat minut, navyernoye…Nu ladno….Poka!’

She snaps shut her phone and suddenly changes feet on my footcrate:

‘Hurry up, you the stupid slave! Do the other one!’

She then starts putting on some lipstick. This young Russian mistress suddenly appears to be in a bit of a hurry to leave! Clearly she now has more important things to do with her friend ‘Igor’, than to stay here with me having her scruffy, white keds spruced up by my tongue.

Pity – because I would have liked more time with her right sneaker and sock. At least, however, I now have the honour of observing that her sock is slightly higher up on the instep of her left foot than its counterpart was on her right foot and, joy of joys, that means that I can actually see a thin red line of patterned stitching along the middle of the otherwise plain grey sneaker-sock!

You see what I mean about girls’ socks? They can be so full of surprises! Who would have guessed that this young, Russian woman’s seemingly plain, grey sock had a red line running across the middle? Any more than I could have guessed that mistress Dao-Ming was wearing lilac and white socks with orange hoops (as opposed to lilac and burgundy socks) inside her blue leather, calf-length cowboy boots?

But sadly I don’t have time to admire all the intricate details on this adorable Russian girl’s socks – for she just has to rush off to see her boyfriend Igor. Probably a rendezvous in a pub somewhere – much more important than having her sneakers thoroughly tongue-shined!

True to her word, however, the Russian mistress still leaves me a generous 2 Fem tip – even though I have not been able to lick clean her dirty, white canvas keds to my own slavish satisfaction!

Coupledom

It is starting to get dark now and the lamplight above my makeshift, back alleyway, shoeshine pitch is beginning to burn brightly.

As I anticipated we are now entering the busiest period of the evening when more courting couples are likely to approach my humble shoelick-stand.

The first such couple are a white man and his platinum-blonde girlfriend in their early thirties. They are clearly dressed to go out clubbing, with the young woman wearing dark sunglasses (!), a short purple top, khaki-coloured loose-fitting slacks turned up at the bottoms, and brown, high-heeled, court shoes with white, towelling socks.

I strongly suspect they are her dancing socks – designed to protect her pretty feet and keep them comfortable in her high-heeled dancing shoes whilst she dances the night away with her manly boyfriend!

As she places her right foot forward onto the footblock, the platinum-blonde dancer with the dark glasses hitches up the turned-up, flared hem of her loose –fitting, Khaki trouser leg an inch or so in order, it seems, to afford me an even clearer view of her thick, white towelling sock underneath the lamplight.

The white anklesock looks decidedly inviting to my tongue and nose - thick and fluffy, definitely designed to absorb a lady’s foot perspiration on a hot and sweaty dancefloor. I can tell also that they aren’t a particularly new pair of socks by the many little loose strands of stitching in one or two areas of the sock, as well as the tell-tale, occasional little grey patches of ingrained dirt.

But they are, nevertheless, very nice socks and I do appreciate the mistress taking the time to show them to me. They beautify the platinum-blonde mistress’s shapely, white feet and ankles even further, I’m sure of it – even though I’ve never seen this particular mistress’s bare, white feet beneath these fluffy, white socks.

Her reason for displaying her right sock to me soon becomes apparent. Although her brown, court shoes look slightly scuff-marked around the toe areas, and could therefore probably do with a quick lick and a shine (in my humble opinion), that’s not why this dominant, young courting couple have deigned to approach my humble footblock on their way to the nightclub

The man, who I suspect may well be high on some illicit substance, as, indeed, may be his girlfriend, explains his girlfriend’s sock-revealing actions to me:

‘Slave, kiss my girlfriend’s white sock. Worship her sock and make her feel good!’

Simple and plain enough –rather like the socks in question. I am merely to worship the white man’s white girlfriend’s white socks; to kiss them and honour them as much, I suspect, for his benefit as for the young lady’s. For my humble grovelling over his cool girlfriend’s fluffy, white towelling socks will not only make her feel like a veritable sock-goddess, it will simultaneously make the young man feel strong and macho in his pretty, girlfriend’s sunglass-hidden eyes as she witnesses a fearful and helpless, male slave honouring her dirty socks on her manly boyfriend’s orders.

‘Yes master. At once master.’

It is always ultra-important in such demeaning situations to let the free man feel he is in complete control. I have to make him look good in front of his beautiful girlfriend, by obediently kissing his girlfriend’s socks whilst he simultaneously kisses her on the lips above me. We shall both be worshipping the young woman in our own ways – I, the male bondservant, at her feet; her free and easy boyfriend in her heart!

It’s the way it should be – the way nature intended.

As the happy, loving couple embrace above me, the young woman’s right sock creases temporarily just above the toe area. I decide to kiss that little sock-crease first - partly because it has been generated by her subconscious action of reaching up on tiptoe in order to kiss her boyfriend on the lips; in honouring her sock-crease, therefore, I am honouring and respecting her love for her boyfriend, whilst at the same time expressing my humility at her socked feet.

But I have another, ulterior motive for kissing her newly emerging sock-crease. The sock feels particularly nice and soft to my lips on the area of the crease. Of course it does – it is now the thickest part of the young woman’s sock!

My only regret is that her white, towelling sock is not yet saturated with her sweet, feminine footsweat. It does not smell! I can only hope, therefore, that this dominant and self-obsessed, lovey-dovey couple will return to my public-footslave pitch later this evening, after their fun evening of dancing and frolicking in the hot and steamy nightclub – so that I may pay my proper respects to the blonde mistress’s sweat-soiled socks!

She changes feet below me without even giving me a second glance, so enraptured is she in her boyfriend’s manly embrace.

Self-obsessed though they may be, they are nevertheless an extremely generous and kind couple as they leave a full 3 Fems in my gratuity basket – 3 Fems, just for a few humble, slavish kisses to a young, thirty-something, blonde woman’s white, towelling socks!

Money for old rope – or rather for ropey old sock!

Spot The Sock!

After a slow start, this is actually turning out to be a good night – sock-service wise!

Ironic then, that even an avid sock-spotter like myself should get caught out on a night like this!

The next dominant couple to approach my footslave-stand are an altogether different kettle of fish from the last couple. Both the man and woman are stony-faced and hard-looking. Although they both look to be in their early twenties, they have the appearance of a serious-minded Chinese couple, with faces looking like thunder as they approach me.

Furthermore, somewhat unusually for a free Chinese couple, it is the woman who seems to be in the lead. She is not just stony-faced; she is also pock marked, as she appears to suffer somewhat from acne. She is dressed in black from head to toe – a black, woolly hat covering her bob-cut, rich black, oriental hair; a short, black anorak-style jacket; a short black miniskirt; black, cotton leggings; and black, lace-up, chunky-heeled ankle boots.

Disappointingly, I cannot see any socks above her ankle boots, so I allow myself a rather self-indulgent footslave-sulk!
The oriental woman in black marches straight up to my wooden footblock – arm in arm with her seemingly submissive Chinese beau – and angrily stretches forward her left foot onto said footblock.
It is only now that I notice that this somewhat sinister young woman is, in fact, not wearing ankle boots at all! Close up I can see that they are in fact a pair of black leather, lace-up shoes which only just reach the lower parts of her shapely, oriental anklebones. What I had missed in the twilight of the alleyway, believe it or not, was the fact that she is wearing black socks over the hems of her black, cotton leggings – black, ankle-length socks with tiny, little white polka dots on them!
Either I must be getting old or the lamplight was playing tricks on my footslave-eyes – for it really isn’t like me not to be able to spot a young woman’s sock from 50 paces, especially such a nice pair of spotty, black and white socks such as these; socks on full, public display but which merge almost imperceptibly with the black leather of her lace-up shoes and the black cotton of her leggings!
I can sense the young, pock faced, Chinese woman glowering down at me, understandably angry at my sulky demeanour caused by my abject failure to spot her spotty socks!

My reputation as a sock-slut has clearly preceded me! Chinese whispers?

The mistress remonstrates with me, apoplectic with justifiable mistressly outrage at my perceived slight to her pretty, Chinese socks:

‘You a whore! You a dirty sock-slut! Why you not like Hui-Fang socks? Why you not stare at Hui-Fang socks while Hui-Fang walk up to dirty shoelick-stand? Dirty feetlick-whore! You worship Hui-Fang black sock! You worship sock now! Kiss white spots on sock 100 times each! Dirty street-whore obey!’ she barks.

I am mortified with embarrassment! How could I possibly have been so thick and unobservant as to not spot such sweet socks on the mistress’s feet? It must be so insulting for her – especially when she has gone to so much trouble to display her socks over her black leggings!

It’s just not funny, although the sinister, young Chinese woman’s equally sinister Chinese manfriend seems to find something amusing in hearing his angry girlfriend berating me and ordering me to pay my proper respects to her socks, beginning by kissing the white polka dots on her left sock 100 times each! He laughs, looks nervously at his watch, and says something to his female partner in Chinese.

But she is clearly in no mood to be rushed. The dirty, public footslave, with a reputation for worshipping socks, has insulted her – and she will demand satisfaction! Hui-Fang’s fangs are out – and rightly so!

I decide I have neglected this pretty, young Chinese woman’s socks long enough. She has every right to be angry with me, and to call me a whore – a sock-neglecting whore – and my ignorant and penitent mouth is already seeking to assure the superior, young woman, in the only language I know, humble slave-speak, that it has all been a terrible mistake, that I most definitely do like her socks, and that I am going to worship and respect her left sock in just the manner she has decreed:

‘Oh pray mistress. Yes mistress. At once mistress! Truly this slave apologises to the mistress for not staring adoringly at her socks as she approached his humble shoelick-stand. This slave regrets that his eyesight is not as sharp as it once was, mistress. But he most humbly confirms that he does indeed admire and respect the mistress’s black and white, polka-dotted socks, and will kiss the beautiful mistress’s sock in the very manner she has commanded, if you would be so kind and forgiving superior mistress Hui-Fang. God bless you for wearing these beautiful socks, mistress Hui-Fang. Please have mercy on me, mistress Hui-Fang!’

I start with the lowest white spot I can find on mistress Hui-Fang’s left sock, for this is most definitely a low-spot in my public-footslave life.

…………………………………………………………………………………

I’m afraid I may be some time – there are literally dozens of small white spots to kiss on this sock – and the mistress has commanded that I respectfully kiss each and every visible, white spot one hundred times, which I am determined to do as I must make it up to her!

I expect, therefore, that you will wish to leave now as you’re probably getting bored watching me kissing and fawning over spotty Chinese-girl sock!

I’m afraid, I have no choice but to stay here on my hands and knees for several more hours – licking many more female shoes and boots and kissing many more socks and tights no doubt – for my mistress Yao-Niang has yet to finish her shift in her family’s restaurant, and she will not come and collect my earnings before then.

And besides, I have not yet earned quite enough money to pay for the new sneakers I promised sweet mistress Yao-Niang!

So I hope you have enjoyed this snapshot of my humble life as a Chinatown Footslave!

Perhaps I’ll see you again some time? Do drop by on me again, particularly if you know an attractive, young woman - Chinese or otherwise - with a nice pair of socks and sneakers that need worshipping or cleaning!