Office Lobby Footslave






























I am an office-lobby footslave. My job is to kiss the feet of the office masters and mistresses as they enter and leave the building, or as they are simply standing outside enjoying a cigarette break.

In this scene I have just been kissing the feet of the smartly dressed master-sir who is now making his way into the building, and his manly shoes have been replaced in front of my menial mouth by the high-heeled pumps of an office mistress. Note how the latter does not acknowledge me or talk to me as I pay my labial respects to her office shoes. On the contrary, she is completely engrossed in her telephone conversation high above me, and in any case it is not the done thing for a superior master or mistress to converse with a dumb, ornamental  footkisser like me. The master-sir before her had also not deigned to speak to me as I kiss-respected his office, leather shoes.

To compound my humiliation, I had not been able to observe what type of socks the master-sir was wearing inside his shoes, but fortunately for me the office-mistress’s socks are clearly visible – short, purple cotton anklesocks with several creases in them. I would dearly love to verbally extol the virtues of her socks, and convey my humble thanks to the office-mistress for wearing them on her pretty feet today along with her smart business attire, as her socks brighten up my otherwise miserable life. But just as my masters and mistresses are discouraged from speaking to me, I, by law, am absolutely forbidden to speak to them. I must therefore admire the office-mistress’s socks in abject silence – as befits a public humble head – and just get on with my job of kissing her outstretched foot.

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