Thank God For Joggers

Thank God for joggers, for they can always be relied upon to stop off for their sneakers to be kiss-worshipped during their early morning run!












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Nice Footwear

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The public footservant has some nice footwear waiting to be lickshined in front of him this afternoon – after he has finished tongue-attending to the equally nice, black, patent leather mary-janes and white socks of the attractive Pakistani businesswoman at the head of the queue:           The brown leather, mudstained Chelsea-boots of a smartphone-obsessed, beautiful blonde girl          The grubby, black and white canvas sneakers of a magnificent, stubble-faced master-sir Lucky slave – to be serving a trio of such good-looking customers!
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Office Feetslave

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The office feetslave is at the beck and call of all the office workers, who know they are his superiors. They use him as a human footrest, and frequently have him kiss-respect their office feet! Here we see him humbly kissing an office lady’s ankleboots, whilst an office man-sir rests one of his smart shoes on the kneeling slave’s back. Kissing office feet and serving as an office footrest 'Haha, that's right feetyboy slave! Kiss Ms Abigail's office boots... ...And study her SOCKS while you're down there!' The mocking office master-sir's smart SHOE... ...and fancily-stitched SOCK! But it is the BOOTS and SOCKS in front of him that the office 'feetyboy slave' must focus on! The office BOOTS and SOCKS of Ms Abigail madam! Oh how humiliating! Oh how humbling for the slave - to have his head trapped in between Ms Abigail's SOCKED ANKLES! Whilst the SHOE and SOCK of the office master-sir rest on his kneeling back! The side of the slave's cheek brus...
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First Question Of The Day

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‘Am I to be whipped today, mistress?’ It’s the first question I fearfully ask as I kiss-greet my mistress’s slippered and socked feet by the side of her bed as soon as she rises from her slumbers each morning. The answer is always dependent on her mood. ‘Erm… I’ll think about it, slave. Kiss my feet!’ That doesn’t bode well for me! But the point is, of course, that the WHIP is never far from my back! I continue to grovel at her still-sleepy feet and kiss them, as it is my only hope of eliciting sweet feminine clemency in my otherwise WHIP-fond mistress! It also helps to remind her of my utter powerlessness and submission to her will. ‘The WHIP, mistress! Not the WHIP, I beg you!’ ‘Am I to be whipped today, mistress?’ ‘Erm… I’ll think about it, slave. Kiss my feet!’ 'Yes, mistress... ...The WHIP, mistress! Not the WHIP, I beg you!’ 'Oh the WHIP! Oh how I fear the WHIP, mistress!' I look cravenly at her SOCKS as I kiss her SLIPPERS I only hope my mistress can feel ...
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