I do like the way my beautiful, 23 year old, brown-skinned, South American mistress’s frilly-topped, black, knee-high socks merge with the cellulite on her upper kneecaps and lower thighs!
It’s as if the frilly cuffs of the socks are designed to frame and highlight the cellulite! And why not? for it is the cellulite of a superior and beautiful, if slightly chubby and overweight, young Colombian mistress who knows full well that I, her personal slave, must focus on the lower areas of her kneesocks – such as the vertical lines of thick, cotton stitching emanating from her upper, black leather ankleboot-rims; and, of course, the smelliest parts of her socks deep inside her ankleboots.
Her sexy, above-the-knee cellulite is not for the likes of me – but is for the quiet contemplation and delectation of all those superior, free Latino-men who are her lovers. I have no business in admiring her fat, brown legs above her chubby, booted ankles – I’m just her scrawny, white footslave!
The forty something, slim and svelte, jet-black haired Spanish mistress is examining me in the footslave-market before deciding on whether or not to purchase me as a 21st birthday present for her daughter.
Her daughter is not present – but from the lady’s description of her, she too is a feisty Latina lady! And if the daughter is anywhere near as beautiful as her mother, I must say, it would be a great honour to be the younger woman’s personal footservant!
Madam is seated on a chair in front of me as she quizzes me, with her right leg crossed dominantly and confidently over her left. I, of course, am on my hands and knees before my prospective purchaser, and so I have a nice, close-up and personal view of the zipper side of the attractive, middle-aged woman’s right, black leather, block-heeled ankleboot – and even her plain black sock-top just below her slightly raised black cotton, bootcut trouser hem – as her right foot swivels subconsciously in the market-room air next to my face!
Again, if her 21 year old daughter wears nice pairs of stylish ankleboots and socks like these, it will be an honour to be her birthday-present footservant!
But the mother, quite naturally, wants to know more about just how respectfully I would treat her daughter, and so she fires off a whole series of inquisitive questions towards me.
Below are her questions, together with my humble answers. I hope I pass the test!
Q: How would I greet her daughter first thing in the morning when she awakes?
A: By respectfully kissing her feet, and enquiring of her as to the footwear she requires me to fetch for her that day.
Q: Would I not first offer to wash and pedicure her feet, in order to remove any overnight dead skin?
A: Oh yes, madam! If I am permitted to touch the young mistress’s bare feet!
Q: And just how would I apply my young mistress’s socks and boots onto her feet?
A: By kneeling with my head humbly bowed over her feet, and by gently rolling up the socks over her shapely toes, insteps and anklebones (unless they are ultra short footie-socks!), and by then placing the boots onto each smoothly-socked foot and humbly zipping them up the sides with my teeth.
Q: Would I ever dare to look my young mistress in the eye whilst I sock and boot her?
A: No, Madam. I would not deem myself to be worthy ever to look my superior, young Spanish mistress in the eye!
Q: And how would I continue to demonstrate my inferiority towards her throughout the day?
A: By accompanying her on my hands and knees to heel, madam, and by licking off any dust and detritus from the surfaces, and the soles, of her boots immediately it appears! (To reinforce this message I humbly lick a dead, dry leaf off the wet sole of the mother’s ankleboot as it hovers in front of my face, thereby demonstrating my bootlicking ability! She seems quietly impressed at my lack of squeamishness when it comes to boot-dirt!)
Q: And what about her socks? Would I just leave them to languish and gather sweat inside her boots all day, or would I attend to them also?
A: I would do my ankleboot-level best to ensure that the young mistress’s socks remained straight and comfortable inside her boots, but would never deem it appropriate to undo her boot-zipper and attend to her lower socks without her express, young-womanly permission (I realised this was a trick question, but think I managed to avoid falling into the trap!)
Q: What about the whip? Can I wear the sting of the female whip without complaint and moaning, yet in a way that demonstrates my fear and agony resulting from its cruel application to my maleslave-back? (Madam warned me at this point that her daughter loves to whip, as does she!)
A: I have been trained to suffer the whip in silence, but with a suitably pained and downcast expression on my face. I am also trained to praise and bless a mistress immediately following my physical correction, and to worshipfully kiss her boots despite being in acute agony!
Q: What if her daughter was surrounded by other, beautiful young women? Would I allow my eyes to stray onto their pretty feet and footwear?
A: No, I would remain focussed at all times on my own sweet mistress’s boots and socks – unless she specifically orders me to kiss or attend to her friends’ footwear.
Q: And what if her daughter wanted to make love with her boyfriend? Would I assist with their foreplay?
A: Only if specifically ordered to do so, since sexual activity is only permissible in a footservant if he is ordered to partake of it by his masters and betters. Otherwise I should retire to a corner of the master-bedroom with my mistress’s discarded boots and socks, and humbly sniff them.
Q: What if her daughter commits a crime e.g. robbery or arson? Would I take the blame, and the punishment on her daughter’s behalf?
A: Yes, since, under the Female Laws of the Gynarchy, I am to blame for my female master’s crimes. And besides, as far as I would be concerned, her daughter could do no wrong (I think madam was quite impressed at my knowledge of this aspect of the Female law!)
Q: Would I lay down my life for her daughter?
A: Yes – and for her boots and socks; for they too are my betters.
I still don’t know if I’ve got the job, for madam explained that she had other slaves to see. But I’m quietly confident that, by this time next week, I shall be crawling to heel behind a 21 year old, Spanish girl’s black leather ankleboots, with a whipmarked and sore back!
As my 24 year old, dark-haired, Albanian mistress Donjeta is seated on the bar stool chatting up a real man above me – a virile young man who can satisfy her sexually – I kneel at the base of the bar stool with my impotent maleslave-face level with her feet, totally besotted by her as, petite and slender of stature though she is, she seemingly towers over me:
- I am besotted by the dirty soles of her flat-heeled, round-toed, black leather ankleboots, because they are still wet from the dirty rainwater outside in which she has been walking (and in which I have been crawling behind her to heel, like an obedient puppy-dog)
- I am besotted by the little splashes of brown rainwater sullying the sides of her black leather ankleboots – particularly the dainty insteps
- I am besotted by the multitudinous creases in her well-worn bootleather
- I am besotted by the many street-dust and dirt particles stuck to the grey, felt zipper-tracks running up the sides of her crossed-over-at-the-ankles, relaxed boots – particularly on the boot-zipper right next to my kneeling face, the right one
- I am besotted by the movement in the metal zip-pull on that same, right ankleboot as it jiggles in response to my mistress Donjeta's laugher and merriment as she enjoys wooing her man above me on the neighbouring bar-stool
- I am besotted by the musty smell of her wet, rain-dampened boots – a smell which, for me in my lowly kneeling position with my face right next to her boots, drowns out all the other barroom smells
- I am besotted by the slither of black, office-girl sock peeking out above the upper rim of her right ankleboot (the sock inside her left boot is not visible and must have slipped further down her sweaty, workaday anklebone, because these socks and boots have been on my mistress Donjeta's, Albanian-girl, office feet throughout the long, working day), for the visible area of black, elasticated socktop is twisted and creased around the top of her pretty ankle – which is a humble reminder to me of how little she cares about the state of her humble bootsocks whilst she is chatting up a free man above me. Presumably that's because, unlike me, he's not interested in her socks, but in her pretty, Mediterranean facial features, and in her shapely body and breasts! But her twisted, black cotton socktop looms large in my pathetic consciousness – particularly as there is an intriguing particle of white street-dust stuck to one of the creases. I hope it doesn't fall off, so that I can taste it later!
- I am besotted by the even tinier slither of Albanian-girl, bare leg-skin on show between the exposed socktop and her black cotton, officewear trousersuit hem – so deliciously swarthy and smooth looking, yet totally out of bounds to my male-footslave lips (I am forbidden, under pain of the whip, to touch my 23 year old Albanian footmistress above the ankle – by hand or by mouth). Who knows, perhaps the stranger master-sir above me will get to fondle and kiss that smooth, lower legskin if we both get lucky tonight, and if he is permitted to make love with my mistress whilst I get to sniff her sweaty, discarded boots and socks in the corner of her bedsitting room later this evening; at least I shall then have the honour of sniffing some of her dead footskin-cells on those socks whilst he caresses her living, breathing skin on her soft breasts!
- I am besotted by her happy, friendly, chatting-up, Albanian-girl voice as she courts the free man in her broken English – even though that same voice, when addressing me, is only ever used to snap down orders, or to angrily berate and scold me for not cleaning her boots properly, or for not focusing on her socks hard enough
- I am besotted by the still burning and stinging whipmarks on my back – delivered by my angry and disgusted, Albanian mistress to me in the office female-toilet as she had accused me of lustfully glancing over towards one of her female office colleague's cute, red leather ballet flats and white socks earlier in the day (I was guilty as charged!). It's alright for my mistress Donjeta to have lusts, but not for me; I'm just a slave, and she will beat obedience and loyalty towards her office boots into me!
Don't get me wrong – my mistress Donjeta is not some perfect, divine goddess; her feet smell like anyone else's! It's just that, well, as you can see, I'm besotted by her!
Feisty, slim, long-dark-haired and beautiful, thirty three year old, regular Tamil customer-mistress – mistress Thamilmangai – always seems to be somewhat embarrassed about the muddy condition of her flat-heeled, chisel-toed, black leather, zip-up, office ankleboots on her way into work (caused by her taking a shortcut through a muddy field to get to the local bus-stop near her home), but she certainly has no compunctions whatsoever about requiring me – the public bootlicker conveniently situated right outside her city centre office’s front door – to lick all of that mud off her dirty boots!
Indeed, if I fail to lick any of the mud off her boots she simply wipes her dirty bootsoles on my hair and face – none of which I mind since it is an honour to have a Tamil girl’s dirty bootmud adorning any part of one’s humble, maleslave head!
Pleasingly, the field-mud has often dried on the soles and uppers of her boots by the time she gets off her bus and approaches me for a bootshine, and so it is much easier to lick the dried mud off her boots than it would be if it were still wet and sticky.
The other thing I like about being her de facto ‘bootscraper’, is that when she imperiously stretches forth her anklebooted foot onto the wooden footblock beneath my kneeling face for lickshining, she always simultaneously hitches up her black cotton, office-trouser hem in order to ensure that my tongue has full and unimpeded access to any part of her boot’s upper that may have been inadvertently sullied by dirty mud. But this, of course, also has the side-effect of revealing her otherwise hidden, inner socktops to me, and Tamil mistress Thamilmangai owns a large collection of ankle-length bootsocks, so I never quite know what colour or style of socks she may have on before she graciously presents her early-morning boots to my mouth!
My heart always jumps for joy when I discover she is wearing either her no-nonsense plain white, or plain black, cotton bootsocks – but even her multicoloured, patterned anklesocks are a boon to me! The socks I like least of all are her blue and white spotty socks – but only because they always look so ropey and unkempt on her shapely, brown, Tamil-girl anklebones!
Some days she is wearing a brand new pair of socks that I haven’t seen on her before, and we have a little discussion about them, during which I praise and bless her socks and politely enquire after their provenance. Tamil mistress Thamilmangai is always happy to indulge me and talk about her socks – providing I don’t endeavour to touch or sniff them (not even if they too are splashed with mud from the field), and simply continue to focus my mouth on the outsides of her dirty, muddy ankleboots. I think it amuses her that I take such a pathetic, slavish interest in her socks, and so she humours me – even sometimes cruelly teasing me by telling me that, when her socks are old and worn and ready to be thrown out, she will bring them to me as a keepsake.
Or as ‘keepsocks’, as she so wittily puts it (Tamil-mistress Thamilmangai is a very intelligent, as well as being a stunningly beautiful, young woman).
However, I have to say, in all the years I’ve known her, she has never yet actually carried out her promise to gift me an old and unwanted pair of her stinky bootsocks – and those spotty blue and white socks I mentioned before must surely be well past their ‘use by’ date by now!
But even the broken promise of owning a pair of her discarded, Tamil-girl bootsocks is enough to ensure my undying devotion to my regular, Tamil customer-mistress Thamilmangai, and to make me so foolishly proud to lickshine her disgustingly muddy, black leather ankleboots in public!
My 25 year old, tall and slim, blonde-haired Finnish footmistress – mistress Onnea – just loves making me sniff her dirty, sweaty socks in public, whilst she is still wearing them on her feet.
By ‘in public’ I mean in front of her friends and family, including her husband.
She has even christened me ‘Slave Socksniffer’, to the enormous amusement of her friends.
And yet, she doesn’t make me smell her stinky-socked feet to amuse herself – she takes it all deadly seriously! She also likes to cause me maximum distress whilst she is humiliating and degrading me with her socks, and so she ensures her bootsocks are suitably ‘ripened’ by a full day’s wear before permitting me to unzip her brown leather ankleboots and to start audibly sniffing her socks.
Her degrading sock-sniffing instructions to me, delivered in her cute, but unsmiling, Nordic accent, are always very precise and specific:
‘Slave Socksniffer, take off my boots and smell my socks on my feet! Begin by smelling the toe areas out loud, particularly underneath my toes, and make sure you sniff any yellowy-brown sweat stains on my white socks.
You will pause after each sniff for several seconds whilst you appreciate the sweaty stink – and I want to see you grimace with the smell.
Then run your nose all along the insteps of my white socks, sniffing up any loose sock-lint into your slave-nostrils.
Then sniff the upper parts of my white socks, beginning on the crown of my foot and continuing up to the elasticated tops of the socks. Do not let your nose touch my bare legskin, dirty slave!
After 10 minutes sniffing around the tops of my socks, begin again at the toe-ends – and repeat the whole process of smelling my sweaty, white socks until I tell you you can stop!’
Her friends and family gaily encourage her:
‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, Onnea! Make the fool sniff your stinky socks out loud in front of all of us! Show him who’s boss! Ha! Ha! The queer socksniffer!’
‘Ha! Ha! Do you mind if I leave the room, Onnea? Your socks are truly minging! Ha! Ha! No wonder your sockservant looks queasy and sick! Ha! Ha!’
‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, Onnea darling – rub your stinky socksweat all over his face; transfer the sweat into his facial pores, and make his ugly, slave face stink of Finnish-girl socks! Ha! Ha!’
And to me, they offer the following kindly advice:
‘Look only at your superior mistress’s socks while you are sniffing them, Slave-Socksniffer! Sniff them intelligently, and think about what you are sniffing – the stinky socks of your female better!’
‘You missed a bit, Slave-Socksniffer – down there, at the back of her heel!’
‘Ha! Ha! Look at you down there, Slave-Socksniffer – the pathetic sockslave, eagerly sniffing the stinky, fetid smell of your blonde, Finnish mistress’s still warm and clammy bootsocks, whilst they are still on her pretty feet! Ha! Ha! If you’re lucky she might let you drink all the salty footsweat out of her stinky, white socks when she eventually allows you to take them off her feet just before she goes to bed tonight! Ha! Ha! They can soak in your mouth overnight and stop you from snoring while you sleep in your humble footcell! Ha! Ha!’
I am forbidden to answer my critics, since my orders right now are merely to smell my mistress’s socks on her feet.
Please feel free to stay and watch me too, if you so wish, as I obediently sniff my blonde, Finnish mistress’s grubby-white socks:
Sniff!... Sniff!... Sniff!... Sniff!... Sniff!... Sniff!...Sniff!...Sniff!...Sniff!...Sniff!...Sniff!...
Sniff!... Sniff!... Sniff!... Sniff!... Sniff!... Sniff!...Sniff!...Sniff!...Sniff!...Sniff!...Sniff!...
Sniff!... Sniff!... Sniff!... Sniff!... Sniff!... Sniff!...Sniff!...Sniff!...Sniff!...Sniff!...Sniff!...
‘Slave Socksniffer, take off my boots and smell my socks. Sniff my sweaty sock-lint up your nose!’
My sweet and kind, brunette, regular customer-mistress of some 20 years – the forty-something, but still youthful, regular customer-mistress, mistress Donna – is seated above me on the public shoelick-throne of power on a natural high. She is uber-excited and buzzing, having just been to a concert featuring her favourite Gynarchy pop band whom she has followed since the days of her actual youth!
Although I am of a similar age to her, needless to say I personally have never been to see the band, or heard them play, since I have been a public footslave since the days of my youth, and have been permanently stuck here on this street corner lickshining ladies' dirty shoes and boots, including those of regular customer-mistress Donna. Unlike her, I can never be granted any time off work, or have any outside interests, since I'm just a slave.
Although she doesn't mean to be cruel, she unthinkingly rubs it in to me as I rub her post-concert, black leather ankleboots with my tongue, and am forced to look at the twisted and creased tops of her grey-cotton socktops beneath the deliberately hitched-up hems of her black denim, casualwear jeans:
'Honestly, slave, you should have been there – it was brilliant! Me and my friends were bopping away in the aisles! They did all their big numbers, and, at the end they came back and did a 15 minute encore! It was just fabulous! Ha! Ha! Don't you wish you could have been there?!'
'Oh yes, mistress Donna!...lick...lick... If it pleases you, mistress Donna!...lick...lick... Truly this slave is envious of the mistress-madam!...lick...lick...'
Actually, I really do wish I could have been there at the concert with goddess customer-mistress Donna – not in order to see the pop band (since I have no idea who they are or what their music is like), but because it would have truly been an honour and a privilege to kneel on the floor by her feet and observe her boots and socks at close quarters as she 'bopped' the night away in the aisle.
Even now, as I enthusiastically lickshine her boots out on the street, I can't help contemplating how sweaty and moist her feet and socks must be inside those warm, chunky-heeled, round-toed, fully zipped-up ankleboots. Those grey socks – the socks of my better – must be truly greased with her personal footsweat after dancing away to the music in the concert hall? They certainly look dishevelled inside her boots (normally customer-mistress Donna's socks are neatly pulled-up inside her ubiquitous, black leather ankleboots – whether she is at work or at play!)
Pathetically, I espy a rare opportunity to actually touch her socks:
'...Oh pray, mistress...lick...lick... if it pleases you goddess customer-mistress Donna...lick...lick... would the mistress like the slave to straighten her socks for her, mistress?...lick...lick...lick...'
Right now, being on such a buzz, I honestly think customer-mistress Donna would even agree to have sex with me, if I wasn't impotent and if it wasn't illegal for a mistress to have sexual intercourse with a slave!
'Ha! Ha! Yes, slave, go ahead – but just don't touch my bare ankleskin!'
'Yes mistress. No mistress. Thank you mistress!'
I have never touched customer-mistress Donna's bare skin, and I never will; just as I shall never get to go to a pop concert.
But I am about to touch a beautiful and vivacious, young woman's sweaty, grey bootsocks!
I’m afraid I am an incorrigible seeker-out of female, office socks!
As I perform my daily rounds as the officially designated, female-office shoe and bootlick, I unashamedly seek out those desk mistresses whom I know will be wearing socks – probably dark, sombre-coloured socks – inside their pretty, but likewise dark-hued, office shoes or boots.
Like, for example:
- Miss Tatiana – the blonde-haired Russian girl – who is always so immaculately dressed in her dark navy-blue, office trouser-suit, but who is one of those twenty-something girls whose shabby and scruffy black leather ankleboots and matching, black socks always seem to ‘let her down’. I like her incongruously unkempt footwear – for such neglected footwear, to my humble slave-mind, merely serves to reinforce her righteous, young-Russian-womanly contempt for me! After all, she knows I shall be required to tongueshine her shabby and disgusting, well-worn and well-used, zip up ankleboots at some stage during the working day – and that my face shall be next to her scruffy, black sock-tops as I do so – and yet she still comes to work in such unashamedly shoddy footwear! It’s like I don’t matter to her – but, as I said before, somewhat perversely, I actually like that about her! I like her haughty and dismissive attitude, and Siberian coldness, towards me, and the disrespect her slovenly footwear demonstrates for me – the office footslave. That’s why I always make a beeline straight for goddess-mistress Tatiana’s boots and socks just as soon as she sits down at her office desk!
- 40 year old, brunette-haired goddess-mistress Fiona – but only when she is seated with her right leg dominantly crossed over her left, so that her tight, black, fully-pulled-up sock is visible on her upper right calf-bone thanks to the raised hem of her black polyester trouser-hem above the upper, V-shaped rim of her calf-length, heavily stitched, chunky-heeled and pointy-toed, brown leather cowboy boot. I like the combination of brown and black in office-mistress Fiona’s hovering footwear, but it is relatively rare to see the black of her sock, given the height of her brown boots; hence the need for me to crawl over immediately to her right cowgirl-style boot and to offer to lickshine it from top to toe! (the black cotton sock is so finely stitched that, even close up, it’s hard to detect the individual pattern in the stitches; it looks almost nylonesque – a shimmering, black nylonesque beneath the bright, office lights!)
- Miss Jaswinder – the pert, 18 year old office junior with the perennial, black leather ballet-flats and black socks with little multicoloured squares patterned all along the insteps. How I adore lickshining the Indian girl’s ballet-flat insteps – even if they don’t particularly need shined – just so that I can get close-up and personal with her multicoloured, black, low-cut, sneaker-style socks inside them. They are the rebelliously fun office-socks of an Indian goddess-mistress, and I love counting the bobbles in the cotton stitching as I tongue-attend to her outer, equally low-cut footwear. I am always guaranteed a bobbled sneaker-sock and musty-smelling black leather ballet-flats when miss Jaswinder is at work!
- The plain black loafers, and pale pink towelling socks, of her 38 year old mother – mistress Radhi – whose common-or-garden shoes and ropey socks I have been tongue-attending to for many a year prior to the recent appointment of her beautiful 18 year old daughter to the role of office-junior! I can see where miss Jaswinder gets her good foot-looks from, for her mother mistress Radhi’s socked anklebones are delectably shapely – even in thick, ropey-looking, pink towelling socks! (I also like the perma-scuffmarks in goddess-mistress Radhi’s plain, black loafers!)
There are exceptions to my shameless ‘sock-surfing’ around the dirty, office floors! I do occasionally stop for a non sock-wearing, office mistress – either because I am ordered to, or because the footwear concerned is just too sexy to pass by, even without socks!
Take cold and standoffish, thirty something, Scottish-goddess, office mistress Maureen, for example – no footslave worth his salt could ever crawl by her deliciously sexy, knee-high, black patent leather, chunky-heeled, round-toed, zip-up boots – even though they are worn with tan coloured nylons beneath her knee-hem skirt (rather than a nice pair of black, woolly kneesocks!).
The mere thought of her sweaty, entrapped, nyloned, Scottish toes deep inside those domineering, knee-high boots is enough to drive even an inveterate sock-admirer like myself mad with footslavish desire and admiration for her dominant, Scottish beauty! And those black, patent leather kneeboots were just made for lickshining, be they worn over socks, or nylons, or bare Scottish-girl leg!
So, I’m not a complete sock-freak!
Not all public footservants on the streets of the Gynarchy are Female-State owned; a number of us are owned by private individuals and are designed to make a profit for our private masters (be they male or female masters) through our humble street shoe and boot-licking services.
I, for example, am owned by a 43 year old mistress – mistress Carol – who has grown fat on the small premiums a privately-owned, public footslave can legally charge for his humble services!
But because we charge for our services, our conditions of servitude have to be even more harsh than those of the State-owned, public footslaves. These are mine:
- The kneeling footslave shall be kept masked at all times in a ridiculous and degrading-looking, footfool mask composed of garish-green rubber, which contains a permanently sad-shaped mouth; a pig-shaped snout; wonky and misshapen eyes and ears; unsightly, synthetic, bright red and sore-looking boils and pustules; and the humiliating words 'boots', 'socks', 'stockings', 'tights', 'stink', 'dirt', 'slave' & 'queer' printed on it in big, bold, yellow lettering.
- The sides of the mask shall contain black, rubber blinkers to prevent the footslave from looking anywhere other than at the feet and footwear of its customer-mistresses.
- The footslave shall be kept permanently cangued in a heavy, wooden neck-collar which will prevent it from looking up above its customer-mistresses' anklebones as they are seated in the raised shoelick-chair above it.
- The footslave shall never speak unless spoken down to, and even then shall respond in suitably fearful, respectful and wimpish slave-speak.
- The footslave shall never exhibit any contentment with its lot, but shall convey an attitude of perennial humility and resignation, combined with a reluctant eagerness to serve.
- The paying customer-mistress is always right, whatever her chosen style of footwear and footservice-preferences, and so the footslave shall honour and respect those choices.
- The footslave shall cerebrally study and admire the shoes, boots, sandals, socks, stockings, tights and/or bare footflesh of its customer-mistress as it attends by mouth to the mistress's feet and footwear in the manner she has prescribed. For example, if the customer-mistress is wearing dark socks inside her ankleboots, the slave shall count the creases in the tops of her socks whilst it is tongue-shining the uppers of her boots, and shall humbly contemplate how it is forced to be so humiliatingly close to the lowly socks of a woman, and is completely powerless and impotent in the face of such creased, feminine socks.
- The footslave shall admire and respect, and figuratively look up to, any freemale partners who are accompanying the customer-mistress, and shall obey their orders also in an equally cringing and fearful manner, as they are the chosen sexual partner of the customer-mistress and have her delegated authority to issue orders to the footslave on her superior-female behalf.
- The customer-mistress, and her freemale-partner if applicable, shall be invited to fill out a feedback form on the footslave's performance, and any negative feedback shall be severely punished with the whip.
- In addition, the footslave shall be constantly monitored by CCTV, and any deviation from these rules on the part of the privately-owned footslave shall likewise be harshly dealt with by the whip.
A beautiful, blonde, uniformed, high-flying air-stewardess mistress to a lowly, semi-naked, ground-staff footslave:
'Ground slave, my ankles are all puffed up and swollen inside my black leather kneeboots and tan-coloured nylons after my long flight from Dubai. Unzip my boots and soothe my sweaty, swollen anklebones with your slave-tongue this instant!'
The lowly, permanently-grounded footslave:
'Yes, beautiful air-stewardess mistress. At once, most admired and respected, hard-working air-stewardess mistress!'
He unzips her kneehigh boots, pulls them off her shapely, tan-nyloned legs, and dutifully lick-soothes the sides of her sweaty, swollen, nylon-covered anklebones, despite the tart smell!
Scene no. 10 - Worse Places To Be
To be crawling on your bare hands and knees on a cold and frosty winter’s morning, behind the angry, grey, scrunched-up anklesocks, and grubby-grey, jogging- sneaker heels, of your disappointed mistress as she leads you towards the local whipping tree on the village green, with a placard tied to your naked back declaring to all and sundry that you are about to be whipped for not keeping up with her whilst she was out jogging – is not a particularly good place to be; but I can think of a lot worse places to be!
To be lying, prostrate, on the dusty and dirty floor of a busy commuter train, with your left cheek acting as a footrest for your commuter-mistress’s right, black leather, block-heeled and round-toed, zipped-up ankleboot whilst her dusty, left boot rests on the floor of the carriage directly in front of your face, is not a particularly good place to be – but I can think of a lot worse places to be!
To be kneeling next to those same, office boots beneath your mistress’s office-desk whilst she works on her computer way over your head, and to have to observe the creasing and folding in her ankleboot-leather as she subconsciously swivels her ankle-muscles directly in front of your boot-mesmerized face – is not a particularly good place to be; but I can think of a lot worse places to be!
To be kneeling, hungry and thirsty, beneath a posh, restaurant table next to your mistress’s smart, red patent leather, high-heel shoes and tan-nylon stockings whilst she enjoys a slap-up, romantic meal with a real man seated opposite her, and whilst she plays footsie with him beneath the table – is not a particularly good place to be; but I can think of a lot worse places to be!
To be kneeling in the corner of the master-sir’s bedroom with your head buried in your mistress’s hastily discarded, vinegary-smelling, sweaty tan-nylon stockings and still warm and foot-moist, patent-red, stiletto-heeled shoes whilst she noisily makes love to him within your asexual earshot – is not a particularly good place to be; but I can think of a lot worse places to be!
To be confined in your mistress’s dungeon basement after she has, post-coitally, made her way home from the master-sir’s apartment, and to be surrounded by the ammonic aroma of her stinky footwear from the day just gone i.e. her sweaty, grey jogging-cum-boot socks; her grubby-grey jogging-sneakers; her black leather, office ankleboots; and her sexy red stilettos – is not a particularly good place to be; but I can think of a lot worse places to be!
Like living outside the glorious Gynarchy!