Out of my League
Whilst it is true that allmy customer-mistresses are well and truly ‘out of my league’, that is particularly the case with the backpacker-mistress whom you see in front of me right now. This is because:
· She is clearly a highly intelligent, young woman – as evidenced by her spectacles and the fact that she is carrying a health food magazine. (Of course, all women are brainier than me, but I do feel particularly stupid in the presence of a self-evident brainbox like this backpacker mistress!)
· She has a great sense of style, as evidenced by her clothing and overall appearance. Why, she’s even wearing kneepads as a fashion accessory! I have to assume they are merely a fashion accessory as a bright and intelligent, young woman such as this would never need to crawl around in the dirt on her hands and knees; only male slaves live on their knees in the Gynarchy (and they aren’t supplied with kneepads to protect their knees!). Such class! Such style – though I do regret that her classy kneepads obscure my view of the elasticated tops of her argyle-patterned kneesocks. Still, you can’t have everything as a slave!
· She is ginger-haired – a much prized trait in the Gynarchy. As are her freckles!
· She clearly holds me in utter, young-womanly contempt, as evidenced not just by her arrogant stance as she shoves her dirty, filthy hiking boot onto my menial mouth for cleaning; but also by the fact that she has a refreshing drink in her hand – a drink she will NOT be sharing with me as she does not wish the vile taste of her musty-smelling boots to be expunged from my mouth!
Yes, I am in the presence of class here, and my tongue is all a-tremble as I do my ground level best to extricate the hiking dirt from the outer surfaces of her boots and into my mouth, where it belongs. Her long woolly socksweat belongs inside my mouth also. But, sadly, I’m just a public footservant, and so I rarely get to taste, or even sniff, my customers’ socks. Such privileges are largely reserved for personalfootslaves in the privacy of their owners’ homes, whilst we public footservants much concentrate on our betters’ outer footwear. Oh how I dream of being a fully-trained, fully qualified, domestic sock sucker!
But I must stop daydreaming and get on with the job in mouth – lest I get an angry and impatient kick to the face from this demure and chaste, but highly superior, young woman! I do hope she will visit me several times during her sojourn in this town, for I fear her beat-up boots will need several tongue-licking sessions to get them back into a reasonable state! *
*Author’s note: What the stupid slave doesn’t realise, because he’s stupid, is that this young woman’s beat-up and well-worn boots are an integral part of her personal fashion style. Stupid, ignorant slave – she’s not imposing her boot on your mouth in the expectation that you are actually capable of cleaning it! She purely wants to humiliate you, you ignoramus! What a dunderhead you are! What a cheap cluck! You really are out of your league!
