Instructions

Whilst it is very rare for any of my superior customers to speak to me on Smokers’ Corner – even just to bark down orders to me – I do occasionally get a master sir giving me detailed instructions as to how I am to kiss feet, particularly if the master sir in question is keen to show off his freemale machismo and power to his accompanying ladyfriend.

Here you see one such fat master sir doing just that – showing off to his girlfriend. Nevertheless, I must concentrate on everything he says for the Law says he will inevitably speak wisdom, as he is a much better man than me, being a free male and, it seems, attractive to women.

The said master sir is kindly pointing out to me that, although his female companion is not a smoker herself, he most definitely is – and I am therefore beholden to kiss her feet as he, a smoker, commands it. He then goes on to point with his greasy, fat finger towards the scuffmarked and street-soiled toe area of one of the young woman’s sneakers, and he ‘strongly advises’ me to concentrate on kissing that area of the sneaker alone, and not to let my ‘dirty slave lips’ stray onto other, perhaps cleaner, areas of her shoe, lest they inadvertently touch her nice, clean socks – or, even worse, her bare ankleskin (for her off-white socks, as the magnificent master sir correctly points out to me, are short, below the ankle socks, thus leaving her bare anklebones semi-exposed).

The master sir threatens me that if my lips do touch his girlfriend’s socks or bare skin he will ‘personally cut them off’ – an idle threat, I know, since he would need a Female Court Order to do so, and the Female Authorities would never sanction the mutilation of a public footservant. Nevertheless, it is indicative of the strength of feeling the master sir has on this matter, and I must respect his entirely laudable desire to protect the foot and ankle chastity of his beloved ladyfriend.

Speaking of the latter, she appears to be much younger than the middle-aged master sir – perhaps in her early to mid twenties? I’m only going by what she’s wearing – tracksuit bottoms and sneakers. And, judging by the glimpse of her swarthy ankleskin, courtesy of her short anklesocks, I would also hazard a guess that she may be East European; Romanian or Moldovan, perhaps? She certainly isn’t giving any verbal clues as to her ethnicity, as she remains silent and somewhat diffident despite haughtily extending her left, sneakered foot on the dirty ground directly in front of my face, allowing the master sir to do all the talking for her. Indeed, I wonder if she may not even speak English, and be a new arrival in the Gynarchy? I’m thinking that purely because it is most unusual to come across a young Gynarchy woman who is shy about having her feet kissed.

She’ll soon change!

I too, of course, must remain silent and listen to the master sir’s manly instruction in female foot kissing, since I am, by law, a ‘dumb’ footslave, and forbidden to answer back – not even to acknowledge the master’s orders and confirm my slavish compliance with them. Nor am I permitted to betray any dislike or disgust for the humble act of sneaker kissing that I am about to publicly perform. I must remain stony faced, and convey an air of humility and resignation, as befits a slave.

Other points to note about this scene are that:

·         I am surrounded by litter in the dirty corner of the city where I live and breathe, and rightly so; for that’s what I am – a piece of trash

·         The master sir himself is bare toed inside a pair of brown leather, open-toed sandals. I must hope against hope that he doesn’t impose his own sweaty, fat toes on my menial mouth

·         The sneaker (or possibly sneakers) I am about to kiss are nominally white, but as the master sir has pointed out are nonetheless decidedly grubby, being the everyday footwear of this bright and intelligent, young woman (and she must be bright and intelligent by virtue of being female – that’s what the Law says)

·         Although you can’t smell the scene, I am getting an aroma of cigarette smoke, bad breath (from the master sir) and cheap rubber and canvas sneaker up my nostrils. We public footslaves develop an acute sense of smell since we must only breathe through our noses and not our mouths. Our mouths are only permitted to open when our lips pucker in order to kiss feet. That, too, is the Law of the Land

And now, if you’ll forgive me, that’s precisely what I must do – pucker up and kiss sneaker. All I’m waiting for is the bright, young woman to move her outstretched foot closer to my face. I have to, because a rusty, iron collar around my slave neck prevents me from stretching my head too far forwards from the wall.

It also prevents me from looking upwards at the young woman’s face, so you tell me please – is she pretty?