Front Porch Feetwipe

My master encourages his guests to wipe their dirty feet on me. My upturned face is thus permanently covered in other people's shoe and boot dirt.












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I humbly and nervously await my next orders from my drunken master and mistress, keeping my lowly eyes focussed on mistress’s feet, as befits a modern Gynarchy footslave. Drunken masters with a WHIP are always a dangerous thing for a lowly footslave like me, for they can be drunk with power! My master and mistress are intoxicated - both by alcohol, and by their POWER over me! As I humbly kneel on the floor by their feet with my WHIPPED back... ...my head suitably bowed next to my mistress's SHOE... ...I can hear her downing her latest alcoholic drink... ...and her handsome boyfriend, my magnificent master sir, raucously celebrating my beating! My magnificent master-sir's SHOE My magnificent master-sir's SOCK The WHIP!
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My mistress Mukta enjoys a relaxing coffee with her manly husband, master Simon sir, in their local café whilst I nurse my wounds from my latest punishment beating from the master-sir for insulting his wife by taking my eyes momentarily off her socks earlier this morning. I am feeling battered and bruised, but mostly ashamed. Ashamed of my insolence and disrespectful attitude towards my mistress. I am her personal sock slavey, after all. So master Simon sir was quite right to punish me. All I can do now to make up for my sins, is to study the backs of my mistress’s socks intently and make sure I don’t take my eyes off them again! God bless you master Simon sir, and thank you for correcting me, master! Nursing my wounds, and my slavish bruised ego, As my master and mistress enjoy a coffee together I must remain intently focussed on the backs of my mistress's SOCKS, as befits a good sock slavey And let's face it, what's not to like about my mistress Mukta's SOCKS? The...
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