Familiar Feet; Unfamiliar Footwear

Regular customer-mistress Ms Mukta madam presents my menial mouth with her familiar feet, but unfamiliar footwear, to kiss-respect. I have never seen these red high top sneakers before, although they appear well-worn, with ingrained dirt on the soles.

Her brown socks I do recognise!

A new pair of bright red, high-top sneakers to kiss-respect on Ms Mukta's feet

What an honour!

I say 'new', but they do appear well-worn!

It is just my menial mouth, therefore, that is new to them!

I study the red canvas high-tops in great slavish detail

All of my regular customer-mistress Ms Mukta's shoes and boots are of immense interest to me!

I sometimes wish I could be her personal footslave, and thus get to know all her shoes and boots intimately...

...the interiors as well as the exteriors!

But, for now, I must content myself with tasting the outsides of her sneakers

'Look up at my sock, slave!

Ms Mukta loves humiliating me by making me study her socks!

She even hitches up her jean leg to afford my lowly eyes a better view of her plain, brown socktop

My slavish view of her sock

I certainly do recognise these socks!

She has worn them many times in my presence before...

...often with her black leather ankleboots!

Having respectfully eye-worshipped her sock, I resume mouth-kissing her shoe

Ms Mukta glories in her power over me...

...the power of her shoes and socks!

She triumphantly turns her back on me...

...and walks off feeling suitably smug!

I, meanwhile, lower my head in shame behind her departing sneakers and socks...

...as befits a lowly public footservant who is deemed unworthy to serve his betters' inner footwear!

My humbling view of the backs of Ms Mukta's sneakers and socks

The face of a sneaker-kissing, sock-admiring fool!


Popular posts from this blog

See-Through Footstool

Image
I am a helpless footslave at a bus stop. My customers can see right through me, just as I can see through the glass footstool at the soles of their feet! Here you see three superb young women imposing their bare feet on my glass-confined face. So near, and yet so far! Lying on my back in the dirt - helplessly awaiting the arrival of my next 'customer' at the bus stop! A gaggle of girls approaches. They laugh out loud at my ignominious position The black goddess is first to kick off her flip flops and sit regally over me on the bus-stop bench The sole of her bare left foot is now resting on the glass immediately above my humble head I can see she has red-varnished toenails But it's the base of her toes that dominates my lowly field of vision Her foot is almost  resting on my face. So near, and yet so far! I wonder if her feet smell? Oh to be able to respectfully kiss and lick her bare black foot sole! I would endeavour not to tickle her sensitive sole with my footslave tongu...
Read more

His Slave's Place

Image
When a master sir is gently caressing his pretty girlfriend, the slave’s place is at his master’s feet, staring at his hairy ankles and toes. The slave adopts his lowly default position at his master's feet whilst master is caressing his lovely girlfriend The slave must STUDY his master's hairy ANKLES and TOES And must do so reverentially These are, after all, the hairy ankles and toes of his superior - of his master and owner! Haha, how utterly demeaning and degrading for the slave! The feet the slave would much rather be studying... ...The feet of the master-sir's pretty girlfriend! But slaves can't be choosers, so hairy feet it is! The slave's utterly humiliating view! Haha, observe how downcast the slave is! You can almost smell the cheesy, sweaty STINK emanating from the master's rotting toenails!
Read more

The Indentured Footservant

Part 1 – A new life Roger sat nervously in the back of the limousine observing the sights of Jakarta as the car sped through the streets of the Indonesian capital. The uniformed chauffeur was a heavily-built black man in his early 30s. The car had been sent to meet him at the airport. The chauffeur wasn't saying much, and so Roger decided he would break the ice with, what he thought, was a fairly innocuous question: 'Have we far to go?’ The smartly dressed chauffeur paused for a moment before replying in a thick West African accent: 'I suggest you keep quiet, slave, and learn to speak only when you are spoken to by your betters.' Roger's heart sank to the pit of his stomach. Slave! It was the first time ever in his life he had been called a ‘slave’, and it was a somewhat ominous development. He was, after all, as he understood it, going to be a household servant – not a ‘slave’. But how had he come to this humble position at the age of 45? He thought back through t...
Read more