Busy Day

This bright, young woman is mercilessly mocking me as I lickshine her sneakers.

She first of all ‘apologises’ for the fact that she is ‘only’ wearing a pair of plain, grey socks inside her sneakers, as she is ‘sure’ that a sock-fancier like me would much prefer it if she was wearing a more ‘interesting’ pair of brightly-coloured socks? She then goes on to explain, however, that she had dressed in a rush this morning as she was running late, and had therefore grabbed the first pair of socks that came to hand in her sock drawer – and it happened to be this plain grey pair.

She ‘hopes’, however, that I can at least see lots of creases and folds in her socks, and that those will excite me? I assure the mistress that it is an honour for a public footservant such as myself to be near any type of female socks, and praise and bless her for showing me her socks by hitching up her trouser hems. I also humbly confirm that I can indeed observe several creases in her socks, and praise and thank her for that.

She then queries whether I can even make out the individual stitches in her grey socks – if I really focus hard on them? Again, I confirm that I can, and that it is such an honour for me to observe a beautiful, young woman’s socks in such intimate detail. She further enquires whether I can see her bare leg above the sock, and deliberately hitches up her trouser-hem still further in order to expose said flesh. I have to confess, I lie to the customer-mistress at this point and tell her that, although I can sense her soft, bare, feminine legflesh atop the sockline, I am studiously avoiding looking at it, since a slave such as myself is not worthy to look at a bright young woman’s naked flesh, if she would be so kind and understanding to a male slave at her mercy? She laughs at me, and graciously informs me it is okay for me to concentrate on her sock.

She then proceeds to tell me all about her busy day ahead – about how she must rush into work after I have finished lickshining her dirty sneakers. She explains that she only wears her sneakers and socks whilst travelling into work, but will change into her smart, office courts once she gets there. So all my ‘hard work’ in tongueshining her dirty sneakers is quite nugatory, or ‘a bit of a waste of time’ as she puts it.

I feel humbled.

She further informs me that she will be meeting up with some friends at lunchtime, and will then be having dinner this evening with her boyfriend and his parents in a posh restaurant – all paid for by her future father-in-law. She explains that her boyfriend is very rich and handsome, unlike me, and that she loves him very much, again unlike me. They will be getting married in the summer, though they are already living together and having sex together. Indeed, she expects to have sex with him this very evening, as soon as they return to their apartment after the evening meal is finished.

I congratulate the customer-mistress on her manly boyfriend and forthcoming marriage to him, andon the fact that she will be enjoying intimacy with him later this evening. I explain it would be an honour and a privilege for me to lickshine his shoes also, if she would be so kind as to introduce me to him. She says she will think about it.

She then, mockingly, asks me what my plans are for the rest of the day – knowing full well that I shall be obliged to remain here in this dark and dingy alleyway licking and kissing the shoes and boots of my betters, and studying their socks, as I must do every day of my miserable life, day in and day out, 365 days a year. But she likes to hear it from my menial mouth – in between my licks to her filthy footwear.

As she eventually turns to walk away from me, she leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth – the taste of her street-soiled sneakers – and the memory of her creased, grey socks on her shapely ankles. I reflect on how those plain, grey anklesocks will soon be lying scrunched up inside her discarded, scruffy sneakers as she changes into her smart office courts, and shall remain there – unsniffed and unworshipped beneath her office desk – until she eventually puts them back on her feet for her journey home. No doubt she will then change into a smart pair of high-heels for her evening out with her boyfriend and future in-laws, again leaving those discarded socks lying around on the floor of the bedroom she shares with her fiancé. I contemplate how I would dearly loveto be a sock on the floor whilst she is subsequently making love to her boyfriend this evening. Even her socks have a more interesting and exciting life than I do!