Footslave's Breakfast

Shortly after my early morning wake-up call (courtesy of the beautiful miss Florica), another familiar pair of feet – in the form of my regular minder-mistress, miss Suki – loom into view. She has kindly come to give me my one meal a day of bitter-tasting slave gruel, known as slave-mush. It contains all the nutrients a footslave needs, but is hardly what you would describe as appetising. And yet, I am obliged by law to eat it all up!

Before I get to ‘tuck in’, of course, I must pay my respects to minder-mistress miss Suki’s sneakers, by kissing them. Only then may I eat (and, despite all my protestations to the contrary, I amravenous – not having eaten since the same time yesterday morning, unless you count the inevitable shoe and boot dirt I have consumed during the past 24 hours or so!).

Miss Suki, as is her wont, is impatient to get along to her college, The Young Ladies’ College of Central Barbaria (YLCCB), where she is studying molecular engineering as a foreign student (from Japan, I believe). She certainly has the appearance of being a highly gifted, if somewhat surly, young woman – and so I eat up my gruel as fast as I can, in order to please her.

‘Srave hurry up!’ she enjoins me in her cute Japanese accent. ‘EAT-o!’

No sooner have I finished my breakfast-cum-lunch-cum-dinner-cum-supper, when who should appear before me but the local prostitute-mistress, whom I recently found out goes by the name of miss Carla. I don’t know whether that’s her real name of course, but I doknow that she originates from Romania, and that she wears nice boots. I would recognise those scuffmarks anywhere (since I have spent many an hour trying to lickshine them away!).

It’s a bit early for the streetwalker, miss Carla, to be up and about, but then I realise, silly me, that she is actually on her way home to her squat having finished her work for the night! Still, unlike miss Suki before her, miss Carla does not appear to be in any great hurry to get to where she’s going, and she kindly stops by for a ‘quick lick and a shine’.

No sooner have I started on her lovely boots, though, when a rich-looking man enters the alleyway, apparently looking for her. I don’t know whether he’s a potential punter or her business partner – but, either way, she quickly steps aside inviting him to step up to my footblock and have his shoes kissed. My two betters then go off together for I know not what.

Next a pretty jogger approaches me and orders me to kiss-worship her dirty sneakers. She seems very sullen, but I suspect that she enjoys lording it over me nonetheless. Her sneakers are more wet, than dirty, since the ground she has been running on is still laden with puddles from the overnight rain. Like her predecessors, she leaves me without any word of thanks or appreciation for my humble mouthwork on her rain-sodden footwear. And rightly so – for I am just a head-in-the-wall footslave; why on earth would any free person choose to engage me in a conversation of equals!

So off she runs, leaving me with a rain-splashed face from the backs of her jogging sneaker-heels.

Gosh – so many different types of feet to kiss and lick this morning; and it’s still only 7.30 A.M.!















































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