Vicarious Fetish
A loitering master-sir watches intensely as I lickshine a young blonde woman’s boots. Then, as she’s leaving, he compliments her on her degrading treatment of me, and she thanks him kindly for his kind remark.
As soon as she’s gone, the master-sir crouches down to my face (I can smell his stale smoker’s breath) and mockingly asks me how I had liked the taste of the ‘blonde bird’s boots’? I reply to the master-sir, most respectfully, that it had indeed been an honour for the likes of me to lickshine her boots, but that it had been a bittersweet experience, if the master would be so kind and understanding to an humble slave, as the leather had tasted foul!
The master-sir laughs at me, and then enquires as to whether I had noticed her brown sock towering over my humble head? I reply that the customer-mistress’s brown bootsock had indeed loomed large in my consciousness, if the master-sir would be so kind and understanding? He then asks me what I had thought of her sock? Was it better and more important than me? I reply that, of course, the mistress’s sock was more important than my life, since it is a ladies’ sock.
The master sir then asks me if I thought the ‘blonde bint’ had deliberately hitched up her right trouser leg in order to show me her sock whilst I had been licking her boot? I reply that the esteemed customer-mistress may well have done so, as a demonstration of her power and authority over me, since it very much added to my humiliation and degradation being so close to a girl’s mighty sock.
The master sir then commands me to describe her brown sock in detail – how many creases did it contain? What was the pattern in the brown stitching? How many stitches did I count above her bootrim? He further demands that I speculate as to the provenance of her socks (a gift from her boyfriend?) and as to what her socks are doing right now on her feet – apart from garnishing her footsweat? I reply that I very much hope that her socks were indeed a gift from her unknown boyfriend, as I would then be indebted to a much better man than me – a free male rather like the master-sir himself – for such a nice pair of female socks having been so close to my footslave face, if it would be so pleasing to the master sir?
I go on to speculate (in accordance with the master-sir’s wishes) that the young lady’s socks must now be creasing and folding even more inside her boots as she walks along the street – perhaps on her way to meet up with her aforementioned boyfriend? In which case I have just had the inestimable honour of lickshining her boots for the benefit of her manly boyfriend before their hot date together, as I am sure a realman like him would very much appreciate seeing his beautiful, blonde girlfriend in shiny boots?
The master sir laughs out loud at me and calls me ‘pafetic’, and a ‘sock moron’ – a ‘licker of other men’s girlfriends’ boots’ and a ‘blonde bimbo’s sock fancier’! He then blows his cigarette smoke into my captive face and walks off laughing out loud at my impotence and subordination to girls’ socks. To be honest, I rather suspect that the manly master-sir has a hankering after young women’s socks himself – but, of course, a man in his position i.e. a free male could never possibly admit to such a base and unseemly thing!
