Killing Time

February 29, 2024

Sometimes I am fortunate enough that a pretty customer mistress has time to kill and she is therefore open to having a chat – albeit a conversation of unequals – with a lowly, public footservant such as myself whilst I tongueshine her boots or shoes.

The current, friendly customer mistress is a good case in point. After giving me her orders (‘Tongueshine my boots, slave’), she proceeds to inform me that she has just been on a shopping trip to buy a birthday present for her beloved boyfriend, but that she now has an hour or so to wait for her return train from the adjacent train station. I praise and bless her (in between carrying out her female orders to lickshine her fabulous boots) for her thoughtfulness and kindness towards her boyfriend and humbly express the opinion that he is a lucky man to have such a fabulous and beautiful girlfriend as her good self, begging her female pardon for my slavish forwardness if she would be so kind and understanding to an humble footslave at her feet, madam?

She laughs and agrees with me that her boyfriend is indeed a lucky man! Her non-threatening reaction to my forwardness indicates that this bright young woman is in the mood for a chat – even with the likes of lowly me and even if only to kill time whilst she is waiting to catch her train. Therefore, I seize the moment and politely and respectfully ask her if she wouldn’t mind if I asked her some questions about her socks, explaining that as I spend all day and every day licking my customers’ footwear I have developed a pathetic ‘sockieboy’ fascination with my customers’ socks on their feet, begging her female pardon and understanding?

She continues to laugh at me and instructs me to ‘knock myself out’, meaning that I have her full and free female permission to ask her whatever I so desire about her socks inside her boots! I can see they are white, knee-high, nylon socks with pretty patterns in the soft, feminine stitching and with reinforced white nylon cuffs at the tops.

I humbly begin by asking their superb wearer how she came by such a fabulous pair of mylon socks? Did she purchase them herself or were they a gift to her from someone else? Her boyfriend perhaps? She has to think for a moment (since they are just a pair of socks that she rarely gives a second thought to) but then remembers that she bought them herself about 3 months ago as part of a pack of three. She kindly informs me that the other two pairs were red and black respectively, but she had chosen to wear the white pair today to go with her white dress. I heartily congratulate the customer mistress (whose name I still don’t know) on her stylish choice of sock.

I then humbly enquire whether the nylon socks are sweaty on her feet inside her boots, or do they keep her feet dry and comfortable? She replies that they feel a bit sweaty in and around the reinforced toe areas and I can feel her wriggle her toes inside her boots as she’s telling me this. I humbly inform the pretty customer mistress that it would be an honour for a slave like me, or indeed for any male slave, to sniff her sweaty nylon toes, though I hasten to add that I recognise, of course, that she can’t be expected to undo her boots and present me with her socked toes right here and now, since I am just a public humble head legally obliged to concentrate on cleaning her outer footwear. She laughs and chucklingly opines that I might not like the aroma of her toes as she is sure they must smell vinegary!

I assure her such a smell would be fit for a slave like me, but hastily move on to enquire as to her boyfriend’s opinion of her socks? Has he ever commented on them? Again she laughs (at me) and says that real men aren’t interested in their girlfriends’ socks. She explains that her manly boyfriend is much more interested in her ‘boobs’ and her ‘bras’. I apologise for my stupidity and redouble my tongue’s efforts on her bootleather as I acknowledge my patheticalness in being obsessed with her socks. She kindly says she finds me funny and is not offended by my inquisitiveness with regard to her socks, though she warns me that her boyfriend is very jealous and would likely ‘box my ears in’ if she informed him of my impudent questioning. I apologise once again to the pretty mistress and beg her not to inform her boyfriend of my slavish impertinence and she laughs and tells me not to worry; she won’t tell him.

Fortunately, her phone rings at this point and she immediately loses interest in me as she starts chatting with one of her ‘besties’ on her phone high above me, meaning I can now concentrate on my job of tongueshining her boots whilst having a bit more precious knowledge about her socks; knowledge that will be invaluable when my tongue, eventually, reaches the tops of her boots and my gaze can therefore be focussed on the stitching in her nylon socks – socks which I now know were part of a pack of three that she purchased for herself, and which retain her goddess footsweat in and around the reinforced toe areas!

I love my job sometimes!