Festival Goers






































It's early morning, and I am rudely awoken by the familiar feet of regular customer-master, master Simon sir, and his lovely wife, Ms Mukta madam. Indeed, master Simon sir has to angrily kick me awake with his loafers and expresses disappointment that I was not already awake and ready to serve my betters. He says if he had his way a public footservant like me would never be permitted to sleep on the job!

I hastily beg the master sir's forgiveness and set about kiss-respecting his feet in front of his wife, before he gallantly makes way for her. Unusually, Ms Mukta madam is wearing brown leather sandals with her socks, and she kindly explains that she and her husband are heading off to a music festival to see some of their favourite bands.

She mockingly asks me who my favourite band are, and, of course, I am obliged to politely and respectfully inform the mistress (in between my humble kisses to her socked toes) of what she already knows full well - which is that I don't have any favourite band because I don't know of any. A 24/7 public footslave like me does not get to listen to music, unless he overhears it through the headphones being worn by a customer master or mistress - and even then he can only hear a tinny sound and has no idea which band or artist is playing. It's none of his business - the footslave's business is to lick and kiss feet. I apologise to the mistress for my inability to satisfactorily answer her question and she laughs at me. I even feel her toes wriggle with laughter through her grey sock on my menial mouth. I can see the individual stitches in her sock, just as I had observed the stitches in master Simon's socks.

Feeling suitably respected, the happy couple then turn and head off to the festival and their fun day out, leaving me wide awake in the dirty corner of Chinatown where I am permanently confined and ready to serve the next customer master or mistress who deigns to stop by me.


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