My customer-masters’ summer sandals are every bit as
deserving of my slavish respect as those of their female counterparts. Ana
again, my lips must NOT touch bare footflesh, unless I am specifically ordered
to do so!
‘Kiss my sandals, boy, and kiss ‘em good!’
‘Yes, master sir. At once, master sir. Sir, I admire your
feet, sir!’
‘Lips on leather, boy! Only on leather!’
‘Yes, master sir. I obey you, master sir.’
As the customer-master's hairy calf brushes against my forehead, I take submissive solace from the thought that footslaves like me have been kissing their masters' sandalled feet since time immemorial - in Ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome. I'm just part of a long tradition!
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| Kissing a burly customer-master's sandalled feet |
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| 'Lips on leather', as he so succinctly put it! |
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| The sandal smells musty... |
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| ...the feet and toes smell vinegary! |
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| My humbling view of the hairy feet I must kiss-respect! |
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| I can see the shimmer of sweat on the master-sir's footflesh and heelflesh |
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| but my menial municipal mouth must NOT touch them |
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| Only sandal leather! |
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| As the master's hairy calf muscle brushes against my feckless forehead... |
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| ...I take submissive solace from the knowledge that I am just the latest in a long line of footslaves throughout history... |
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| ...who have been required to kiss their betters' sandalled feet! |
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| Better to kiss feet than feel whip, as the old footslave saying goes! |
