Long Tradition

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!

Kissing a burly customer-master's sandalled feet

'Lips on leather', as he so succinctly put it!

The sandal smells musty...

...the feet and toes smell vinegary!

My humbling view of the hairy feet I must kiss-respect!

I can see the shimmer of sweat on the master-sir's footflesh and heelflesh

but my menial municipal mouth must NOT touch them

Only sandal leather!

As the master's hairy calf muscle brushes against my feckless forehead...

...I take submissive solace from the knowledge that I am just the latest in a long line of footslaves throughout history...

...who have been required to kiss their betters' sandalled feet!

Better to kiss feet than feel whip, as the old footslave saying goes!


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