Big Ifs


I must say, regular customer-mistress Ms Paramjit Madam is looking resplendent in her business attire this evening. As she towers over me in the seat of public-shoelick power I am particularly enamoured by her grey socks, and use my footslave licence, which permits me to initiate a conversation with my customers about their shoes or socks, to politely enquire as to the provenance of her grey socks and the frequency with which she chooses to wear this particular pair?

Her response is merely to bark down at me:

‘No talking, slave. Just licking!’

I shut up and obey the customer-mistress, who clearly is no mood to indulge in idle chit-chat with a lowly, down-in-the-dirt, public shoelick such as myself about such banalities as her socks!
Oh if only I were 50 years younger! If only I weren’t a slave! If only I was attractive to women! 

Perhaps, in another life, in another world, I might even have been the sexual partner of goddess customer-mistress Ms Paramjit Madam. Her equal. Enjoying her love and respect, and able to converse with her about many things. Important things, of mutual interest. Not things like her socks!

But, needless to say, those are all big ifs. This is reality. I am nothing more than her public shoelick; down at heel and down at sock. When I have finished lickshining her businesslike ankleboots to her satisfaction she ups and leaves without saying a word, or without giving me a second thought. I bow my head in humility.

Oh, if only…











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