Muddy Boots (And Socks!)

 Muddy boots and socks for the public footslave to tongue-attend to on a rainy night!















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Roman Villa Footslave

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The lady Julia, the senator’s 20-year-old daughter, has her sandalled feet kissed by the villa footslave – much to her proud father’s approval! 'Kiss my feet, slave!' 'Yes, domina Julia madam. I obey you, domina Julia madam. Please don't have me whipped, madam!' The proud senator watches on as his haughty daughter has her feet kissed by the villa footslave! He has brought her up so well! He rather fancies that she is now ready to manage her own slaves! For his humble part, the villa footslave anxiously kisses ms Julia's feet...  ...in an effort to be pleasing to both her and her father! For, in this Roman villa, the WHIP is never far from his back! Better to kiss Roman feet than to feel the mighty STING of the Roman WHIP! The slave has already been broken by the WHIP! The senator congratulates his daughter on her humiliation of the footslave She listens proudly to her father's praise, for she respects her senator-father, just as she despises her father's
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Socks Massager

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A domestic footslave is busily massaging his pretty, Asian mistress’s white-socked feet whilst she relaxes on the sofa in front of the TV. The slave has already had to remove his mistress's hot and sweaty sneakers from her socked feet Now he must gently, and unobtrusively, massage her sweaty socks... ...whilst she is still wearing them! The socks feel warm and moist He admires the reinforced stitching around the toes He is not fit to look at his pretty, Asian mistress above the socks Her socks are his life! What a privilege, what an honour for a slave like him to touch such a superior pair of feminine socks! Meanwhile, the socks wearer is glued to the television She doesn't care if her socks smell It's only the slave's nose that has to inhale them! See how he mentally worships the sock as he studies the stitching
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A Footslave's Reflections

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  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 mistr
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