Commuter Sneakers


 


































My superb young mistress is returning home from work. She stops by me in the porch of her front door for a few brief seconds, merely to have her feet kiss-respected as she re-enters her home. I can see her sock – including the individual lines of stitching in the sock. But by far the greatest humiliation must surely be having to taste where she has been walking in her so-called ‘commuter sneakers’ – comfortable sneakers she changes into solely for her commute to and from work. I know for sure she has a pair of smart, black leather pumps in her handbag above me for wearing whilst she is working in her office – but I never get to see those as, humiliatingly, she has a more advanced footslave to lickshine her office pumps. I am, literally, just her front-porch feetkisser slave.

Note how my magnificent mistress does not speak to me as she towers over me. Feetkissers are considered the lowliest of all slaves and beneath contempt, since all they are fit to do is kiss the feet of their betters. Therefore there is no need for a master or mistress to speak to them – not even to order them to kiss their feet, since it is obvious that is what the feetkisser-slave must do. It’s all a feetkisser-slave can do.

As my Muslim mistress shuts the door behind her and heads on in to her living room, I dare not even look at her disappearing filthy sneaker-sole, since I am not worthy to turn my head away from the dirty doormat beneath my confined face containing her residual sneaker dirt. Instead I must study that fresh dirt from the bottom of her commuter sneakers now stuck to the doormat along with the dirt from her and other people’s previous shoes, and contemplate what a lowly and despised creature I am. I’m filth, and it is an honour for the likes of me to have such a brilliant young woman’s vile-tasting sneaker dirt on my undeserving, feetlackey lips!

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