Favela Kitchen Mistresses

Favela mistresses, in their respective kitchens, from a lowly footslave's point of view













 

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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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Teepee Feetwasher

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A slave humbly adjusts the hem of his mistress’s trouser leg prior to washing her feet in the privacy of her teepee.  It is, needless to say, very  important that the stupid slave doesn't soil his pretty mistress's trouser-hem with water! So, he must first carefully adjust it prior to beginning the humiliating (for him) reitual of washing her dusty feet She watches him carefully... ...her WHIP ready to strike him if he fouls up on his simple, slave task! It looks like this slave is forever fouling up, judging by the stripes already adorning his back? KMeanwhile, his mistress's pretty, moccasin shoes, which he has just removed from her feet, are festering nearby I'll wager there's a goodly amount of musty-smelling sweat emanating from the tops of those moccasins? Gently... gently... he adjusts her trouser leg Her toes await his menial ministrations in the water WORK, slave! Or be WHIPPED! Better to WASH FEET than be WHIPPED... ...even if it means your pretty mistress...
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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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