As nighttime draws the curtain on yet another humble day
kissing and licking the shoes and boots of my betters, I humbly reflect on my
lowly life. I feel privileged to be a public humble-head, kissing the feet of
my superiors and getting to know their socks. Sure, if I was a personal
footslave to a master or mistress I would become much more intimately
acquainted with their feet and footwear – particularly their smells!
But ‘variety is the spice of slave-life’, as they say, and
as no two pairs of socks are the same, I certainly get to observe a lot of
variety! Every stitch, every crease, every area of bobbling on my esteemed
customers’ socks -some of whom are regular visitors to my confined face, others
just ships that pass in the night – is worthy of my slavish praise and
adoration, since it is a feature of the sock of one of my betters, I being
inferior to all!
It's an invaluable lesson for a slave to learn – his innate
inferiority, not just to his customer masters and mistresses, but to their
socks!
My deepest regret is my lack of experience when it comes to
the sting of the WHIP! All slaves should be whipped, and regularly so, as a
reminder to them of their lowly status and to inspire ever greater efforts in
their humble servitude towards their masters and mistresses. Being buried up to
my neck in brick wall, I am only occasionally taken out and whipped, whereas a
personal footslave to a master or mistress would likely have to endure the WHIP’s
mighty sting most every day!
But you can’t have everything in life – especially if you
are a slave. A slave like me must simply accept his lowly lot which is in the
hands of others, and seek to be the best slave he can be to all whom he
encounters.
Speaking of which, it seems my humble day of servitude is not
yet over despite the lateness of the hour, as a bright young woman approaches
me, as is her perfect right…
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My customers can approach me night and day. I am, legally, never off duty! |
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The pretty girl stops in front of me, surveying me from on high... |
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...whilst I humbly, and respectfully, survey her shoes and socks |
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Her white socks look clean, but her black and white sneakers are dirty |
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I shall have to ensure I kiss the dirtiest parts of her sneakers, if she doesn't require an actual lickshining |
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Sure enough, her right sneaker is silently pointed towards my menial mouth. The legal default position is that I must kiss her shoes, unless she specifically orders a lickshining |
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And so I kiss... |
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...whilst eyeing up her sock |
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It is a fabulous sock, hugging her shapely feminine anklebone! |
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The sneakers taste and smell dirty... |
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..a taste and smells fit for a footslave! |
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At first, she watches my humility from above... |
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...but swiftly turns her female attention to the contents of her phone... |
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...as I continue to repeatedly kiss-respect her dirty shoes |
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What a privileged position - kissing a stranger's shoes late at night... |
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...and getting an eyeful of her white sock! |
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My feckless face is so close to the face I can make out the individual lines of stitching! |
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Needless to say, I am not permitted to look at my esteemed customer above the sock |
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The wearer of the sock, meanwhile, concentrates on her text messages... |
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...switching her sneakered feet beneath my face almost subliminally |
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She occasionally tears herself away from her phone screen to inspect my lowly work |
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'Kiss only the dirtiest parts, slave!' |
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These are her only words to me thus far - female words that MUST be obeyed! |
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Satisfied with my compliance, she resumes her text messaging high above me |
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Eventually, she walks off... |
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...leaving me to rot in the dirt behind her... |
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...contemplating her socks... |
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...and reflecting on what it would be like to be her personal, full-time sock servant? |
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Imagine being permanently enslaved to those socks! |
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If only I were good enough and worthy enough! |
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But I must humbly accept my lowly station in life - that of a public footslave, entitled to only brief encounters with his betters' shoes and socks! |