The Public Footslave
Submitted on 05/10/08
Part 1
He awoke early that morning. As he lay face down in the dark compartment in
which he was confined he could hear the first stirrings of activity in the
town square directly outside. The free citizens of Barbaria were beginning
to go about their daily business, which meant he would be starting work soon
also.
She would be here soon to open up the hatch - ready for him to stick out his
head. He was familiar with the routine by now. Sure enough he heard
footsteps approaching outside, followed by a bright shaft of light suddenly
engulfing the gloomy confines of his prison.
Miss Julianna, a young black girl about 20 years old, was his 'minder' - the
one who fed him in the morning, washed his face and shaved him and prepared
him each day for his public service.
As soon as she had lifted up the hatch he stuck his head out into the warm,
fresh air. His head was now about 12 inches off the ground, hovering
directly over a strip of wood known as the footblock - where his 'customers'
would be placing their feet all day for cleaning.
As his eyes accustomed themselves to the light they focussed on Miss
Julianna's feet. She was wearing her usual dirty white sneakers and white
ankle socks, with the cuffs folder over at the top. He watched as her socks
creased as she moved in front of him, preparing a basin of water in order to
wash and shave his ugly slave face. He had never actually seen her face, but
he sensed that she was a good looking girl. She had such pretty feet and
ankles, and her black calves were so shapely, he could not believe that she
would be anything other than beautiful.He guessed that she must be wearing
either shorts or a very short skirt, as, from his admittedly lowly vantage
point, her legs seemed to stretch up forever.
Of course, she, for her part, despised him. A public footslave is considered
the lowest of the low in Barbaria. She always made sure that hers were the
first feet he kissed every day, and she spoke to him only to give orders or
to mock him. Being a 'minder' to a footslave was just a part time job for
her, before she headed off to college every morning and again when she was
required to lock him up in the evenings, but she did enjoy her job and the
feeling of power it gave her.
She stretched out her right foot until the top of her sneaker was on the
wooden block situated directly under the footslave's nose. They both knew
that she didn't need to order him to kiss her dirty sneaker; but equally
they both knew that she wanted to give that order. So he respectfully
waited.
"Kiss my foot, dirty footslave". Her voice was young, high-pitched, but
dominant.
He immediately lowered his face the few inches to the top of her sneaker. He
noticed lots of small details. The dirt on her shoelaces. Scuff marks around
the toe of her sneaker. The contrast between the dirty white of her sneaker
and the bright whiteness of her ankle sock. Yet even that sock had little
imperfections - a tiny tear in one of the stitches just where it stretched
over her ankle bone;a speck of dust on the cuff of the sock. They were, of
course, imperfections that nobody else, not even Miss Julianna herself,
would notice, or even care about, that day or any other day - but the
footslave has no choice but to notice them.
He saw her sock crease slightly and felt her foot flex as he gently and
reverentially placed his lips on the top of her sneaker covered toes. His
first kiss of the day - and there would be many more like them.
Julianna giggled with delight. Such power! What a pathetic creature a
footslave is. She would really like to punish him in some way - whip him or
something like that. But there just wasn't time. She had to wash him, feed
him, and then get herself to college. There was only time to humiliate him a
little further by getting him to kiss her other foot.
As she withdrew her right foot and replaced it with her left the slave
raised his head slightly thereby getting a fleeting glimpse of the contrast
betwen the smoth black skin of her lower calf and the creamy whiteness of
the top of her sock. But soon he was lowering his lips again ready to place
a respectful and humble kiss on her left sneaker.
Again he awaited the command,
"And this one, slave". She sounded truly at ease in her dominance - and why
shouldnt she? He was nothing but an inconsequential footslave - fit only to
kiss, lick and clean the dirty feet and footwear of the female citizens of
Barbaria.
After he had paid his respects to his young mistress in this way, she
quickly washed and shaved him and then spoon-fed him the bowl of cold slave
gruel that would be his only meal of the day. Within 10 minutes everything
was finished and she was ready to leave. Before she did so, however, Miss
Julianna couldn't resist teasing him. She reminded him that whilst he, the
footslave, would be spending the entire day with his ugly head sticking out
of a hatch and would be tasting and smelling the dirty boots, shoes and
socks of whichever young ladies chose to place their feet on his wooden
'footblock', she, by contrast, would be free to sit, stand up or walk around
as a superior human being, enjoying the warm spring sunshine.
She added that, because the weather was already quite warm, she anticipated
that it would turn out to be quite a hot day, meaning that her feet and
socks would be getting quite sweaty. However, she explained to him that this
didn't concern her as she could always leave her sweat-stained socks in his
mouth overnight for a good wash when she returned that evening to lock him
back in his compartment.
For his part, the slave could only thank his mistress for taking the time to
wash and feed him. Inspite of her obvious cruel streak, he knew that as a
publically-owned footslave he was lucky to have such a beautiful young
mistress as his 'minder'. Some footslaves were 'minded' by much older and
even crueler women.
As he pondered on this she was gone - heading briskly towards the college
that was situated two blocks away from the town square.
His 'footbooth' was situated on the right hand side of the main square in
the centre of the town. It was a busy spot, guaranteeing him lots of
'custom' throughout the day. In the mornings he would serve office girls on
their way into work, with their stockings and their black stilletto pumps or
ankle boots; by mid morning there would be more female college students
heading off to their morning lectures in jeans and sneakers. In the
afternoons the housewives and single mothers would be placing their tired
and aching feet in their flat shoes onto his wooden footblock. And in the
evenings it would be the party girls, all dressed up in their party frocks,
bare-legged and in strappy sandals.
However, that particular morning his first customer (or rather 'customers')
did not fit into the usual trend. His heart sank somewhat as he saw them
both approaching - a young man and woman of oriental appearance, presumably
boyfriend and girlfriend, walking merrily arm in arm up to his booth.
He of course could only see their legs approaching from his lowly vantage
point, but he knew they were asian for two reasons. Firstly they were
speaking in what sounded like Japanese or Chinese, and secondly the girl was
wearing purple knee-socks and black baseball boots. It only ever seemed to
be oriental girls who wore knee socks nowadays. Western girls invariably
seemed to prefer ankle, calf-length, or even 'no show' socks with their
shoes and sneakers.
His heart sank because of the presence of the boyfriend. It was unusual for
young couples to come along to torment him first thing in the morning - that
usually happened at night after they had had a few drinks. The slave knew
from bitter experience that the presence of free 'boyfriends' would
inevitably lead to more suffering and humiliation on his part. Young men
loved to show their machismo in front of their young ladies - and what
better way to demonstrate your machismo and power than by ordering a captive
male footslave, more than twice your age, to clean your girl's dirty shoes?
The footslave guessed the couple to be in their early twenties -the girl may
have been a bit younger even - perhaps just 18 or 19. They stopped a few
feet away from him for a few minutes, talking in their foreign language, and
then suddenly both bursting out laughing as they came closer towards him.
The girl stood just inches in front of the wooden footblock, affording the
slave a better view of her purple knee-socks. They looked quite heavy for a
summer's day, but the stitching formed a nice pattern down the front of her
calves. Although she had them fully pulled up he could see that there were,
inevitably, creases just above the top of the ankle-length baseball boot,
and the left sock was also creased at the top just below her knee. She was
still too far away for him to notice any specks of dirt or dust on the
socks, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the socks may not have been
fresh on her this morning. Lots of girls would deliberately wear their socks
for several days before visting a footslave as they enjoyed the additional
anguish and humiliation their smelly socks would cause him.
The young master approached the footslave from the side and spoke in a thick
oriental accent:
"Siu Lee's boots dirty. Slave lick. Clean!"
With that, Siu Lee giggled, stepped forward and placed her right foot onto
the footblock directly under the slave's nose. He now had his first close up
look at her black,canvas baseball boots.The young master was not lying. Even
though they were black, the slave could see dried-on mud around the lower
edge of the boot, and dust and grime covering the top of the boot. He could
also now see that her sock, or at least the lower part of the sock, had
faint traces of mud splattered onto it. He guessed, correctly, that the
young couple had deliberately arranged for Siu Lee to walk though a muddy
field last night precisely in order to humiliate the footslave the following
morning. This was planned domination and humiliation - not 'spare of the
moment'.
The young woman squealed with delight as the middle-aged, male footslave
lowered his slave face and began licking the top of her dirty boot. The
young master laughed as well as he enjoyed seeing an older man humiliated
and degraded at his girlfriend's feet. The slave licked hard. He knew that
he had to keep the young master and mistress happy or they would be sure to
hurt him. He tasted canvas; he tasted rubber; he tasted mud and dirt as his
tongue did what it was designed for and removed the offending dirt from the
young woman's shoe. She moved her foot around on the footblock, positioning
it to afford him a better view in order that he could be sure to get all the
dirt off. As she did so her sock creased around the calf. From his lowly
vantage point the purple knee-sock towered above him. Even her sock was
better than him and he was lower than her sock.
The young mistress got even bolder, reaching down to point with her slender,
manicured finger to the parts of her boot that she wanted cleaned.
"Slave lick here! Kiss Here! Worship here! Dirty slave obey!". She laughed
in triumph as he did just that, first with her right foot, then with her
left.
For some fifteen minutes he licked both the dirty boots. But there was more
to come.
The young master intervened and invited his girlfriend to step back from the
block and then take off her boots. As she did so, he lowered his face close
to that of the humble footslave and said:
" Siu Lee's socks dirty. Socks sweaty. Slave smell!"
With that the young mistress placed her socked, right foot onto the wooden
block under the slave's lowered nose. The smell was quite overwhelming. Very
tart. Very vinegary. She must have been wearing them in those boots for
days. She wriggled her toes to release more smell as the slave prepared to
give an audible sniff.
"Slave sniff ten times" the young mistress barked.
"Slave sniff hard! Loud!", added the young master in a threatening tone. He
wanted this slave to know who was in charge and who had all the power.
The slave obeyed, taking ten audible sniffs of the socked toes, raising and
lowering his head slightly each time to ensure the young master and mistress
both saw and heard each sniff.
He then had to repeat the exercise with her left foot. How the young couple
were loving every minute of his humiliation. And rightly so, for they were
both better than him.
"Ha! Ha! Slave smelling stink of Siu Lee's sock! Slave a dirty
sock-sniffer!" mocked the young oriental master.
"You my sock-slave. You nothing but a worthless foot-lick!" added the young
mistress.
She was now clearly becoming emboldened and did something on her own
initiative for the first time without being prompted by her boyfriend. After
the slave had finished his tenth humiliating sniff of her left sock, she
left her foot in place, resting on the wooden footblock, and slowly rolled
down her sock to just above her ankle.
"Slave roll up Mistress's sock with his face!" she ordered.
Her boyfriend was ecstatic. He clapped his hands with joy and shouted
excitedly,
"Slave obey Siu Lee. Slave roll up sock with face!"
Of course, the footslave had no choice but to use his nose and face. His
hands were immobilised behind his back. But he knew that if the young lady
wanted her sock rolled up he had no choice but to obey or be severely
punished by her and her boyfriend. They could easily report him and have him
whipped. And so he placed his slave nose under the rim of the rolled down
sock and slowly sought to roll it back up again. It was proving very
difficult, but the young couple were urguing him on, mocking his
powerlessness at such a degrading task and exalting in their power.
Eventually he managed to get the sock half way up her calf, but the collar
and chain around his slave neck just would not allow him to lift his nose
and head any higher. The young mistress appeared to accept this. After all,
it was only right and proper that a footslave should be prevented from
raising his head too high off the ground - the ground that she walked on.
The young master and mistress had had enough fun for now. Siu Lee withdrew
her foot from the footblock and finished off what the good-for-nothing
footslave was incapable of doing - she rolled her left sock back up to her
knee. She then put her baseball boots back onto her feet, straightened both
her knee socks, and placed first her right foot, and then her left foot,
onto the wooden footblock for one last parting kiss from the miserable
slave.
The young couple then departed hand in hand, talking excitedly in their own
language about the fun they had just had, and what they would do to the
slave next time.
As they left, the footslave's next customer approached.
Part 2
His next customer was one of his favourites - a regular by the name of Lisa.
He knew a lot about Mistress Lisa, purely because she loved to chat to him
whilst having her footwear cleaned. She was a lovely, bubbly young woman of
about 25, and, he surmised, a bit of a 'stunner' to look at.
The slave knew this, not because he had ever had the privelege of seeing her
beautiful face, but because of the reactions of the free men as they walked
past whenever he was shining her shoes with his tongue. There would be
wolf-whistles and lewd comments from the men, commenting on her shapely ass
and inviting her to perform all manner of sexual acts with them - acts which
the footslave, of course, would never be in a position to carry out. He was
permanently confined in his footbooth - for life. Indeed, the humble
footslave was embarrassed to even think about such things. Sexual
intercourse with a Mistress was out of the question for a mere slave such as
he. No woman would ever dream of intimacy with a down-in-the-dirt footslave.
However, it was clear from her reactions that Mistress Lisa was not at all
distressed by the profanities and lewd behaviour of the 'free' males, the
real men, as they passed by. In fact, she was clearly quite flattered by
them and enjoyed the attention she generated, often giving the men as good
as she got verbally.
What else did the slave know about Mistress Lisa? Well, he knew that she was
blonde - again, not because he had ever seen her long blonde hair cascading
down from her pretty face - but because she had spoken to him of her
occasional 'blonde moments', when she had been forgetful or behaved
stupidly. The slave knew also, because she had told him so, that she was
very much in love with her young man - a solicitor called Robert - and that
she was going to be marrying him in a few months' time. The slave actually
knew quite a lot about the details of the wedding plans as Mistress Lisa
loved nothing more than to talk about her forthcoming big day. Yes, Mistress
Lisa was a truly sweet girl, full of the joys of life and happy to share her
joy with anyone who cared to listen. The footslave actually enjoyed serving
her, and felt that he knew her better than any of his other customers.
For her part, Lisa knew nothing about the footslave. What was there to know?
He was a slave, and he cleaned feet. She didn't hate him, but she had no
respect for him either. In fact, she rather despised him. To be perfectly
honest, she didn't even think of him as a human being. He was a slave, an
object, a thing - there to perform a service: to clean her dirty boots and
shoes. That's just the way it was. Lisa was such a sweet-hearted girl, that
she really could not see how ordering a public footslave to clean her dirty
boots was in any way degrading to him. It was, after all, what he was there
for. Nor did she see any cruelty in informing the slave of the excitement
and happiness in her own life - which was, of course, in sharp contrast to
his wretched existence. As far as Lisa was concerned slaves were not
entitled to happiness. They were there to work and to obey.
As Mistress Lisa approached his booth the slave could see that she was
wearing her pin-striped trousers and black leather, zip-up ankle boots with
spiked heels. He guessed that she was on her way into work, and he knew that
was in some sort of office in the town centre, but he didn't know exactly
where as this was one area of her life the young Mistress seemed to prefer
not to talk about.
"Hi, slave" came her cheery voice. The slave knew that these next few
moments really would be the highlight of his otherwise miserable and
humiliating day. How many Mistresses were prepared to say 'Hi' to a public
footslave? Not many! The most he could expect from other mistresses was a
series of perfunctory orders - "Clean my feet"; "Lick my shoes"; "Suck my
toes" etc. But Mistress Lisa truly was different. The slave thought,
wrongly, that she quite liked him.
"Good morning, Mistress Lisa", he humbly replied, as she positioned her
booted foot onto the wooden block beneath his nose.
"Just a quick shine today, please."
'Please!' This all-powerful young mistress was saying 'please' to the lowly
footslave! Truly this girl was a one-off!
As she spoke to him, she pulled up her trouser leg to just above the top of
her boot. The slave's heart started to beat a little faster. He knew that he
was about to serve a beautiful young goddess, and he thought that she had
raised her trouser leg to afford him a glimpse of her beautiful white skin
just above the top of her black bootsock. In fact, she had pulled up her
trouser leg merely to ensure that the slave was able to shine the whole of
her boot with his dirty slave tongue - not just the lower part. But the
ignorant, pathetic slave didn't know that.
The slave also felt priveleged at the glimpse of the top of his young
mistress's sock. Not all Mistresses would raise their trouser legs to reveal
the top of their socks in this way - yet, in his own mind, it was important
for the slave to see the socks. Even though a mistress may simply want him
to clean her outer footwear, the slave knew that he was always the potential
servant of her inner footwear too, and beyond that, of her very footflesh
itself.
Besides, he admired young women who wore socks. His job as a footslave
perhaps meant that he could not avoid becoming obsessed with ladies'
footwear. He had come to admire and to wonder at the sheer variety of female
footwear, the many different styles of boots and shoes and of hosiery. But
socks were his favoutite. There were just so many different styles and
colours, thay literally brought colour into his otherwise restricted and
miserable world. Moreover socks with boots or sneakers were the preference
of young women nowadays and he did very much prefer serving at the feet of
young women in their twenties and early thirties - young women like the
goddess who now towered over him, Mistress Lisa.
He knew that convention stated he must begin at the upper part of her ankle
boot and work down to the bottom, where most of the dirt usually was. As he
lowered his slave lips to the upper edge of Mistress Lisa's boot, his slave
nose brushed the elasticated top of her black bootsock. Many a mistress
would have been furious at such an 'indiscretion'. The slave had not been
ordered to touch her sock with his nose. But Mistress Lisa let it pass. She
knew that this lowly footslave worshipped her, and she enjoyed it. If
brushing his nose aginst the top of her sock gave him a cheap thrill, so be
it. Besides, her sock deserved to be worshipped. Was she not a goddess?
Her boot was not particularly dirty, just a few specks of mud and some grass
stains on the lower part, plus some dust had accumulated in the zip area. As
the slave eagerly sought to please his kind young mistress by removing the
grime and the dust and by licking her black boot into a nice shine, she
spoke to him. Not, of course, with him. But to him. No young mistress, not
even Mistress Lisa, would ever condescend to have a conversation with a
slave.
She told him that there were now only 33 days left until her wedding day,
and that her fiance, Robert, or 'Master Robert' as she referred to him in
front of the slave, was getting measured later that afternoon for his
wedding-day suit. Mistress Lisa then, as was her wont, went off into a
dreamy monologue about her man, about how wonderful he looked, how strong he
was.
As she replaced her right boot with her left boot on the footblock she then
took pleasure in telling the kneeling footslave about how she had witnessed
Master Robert punish a recalcitrant slave yesterday afternoon with his
bull-whip. Lisa was genuinely not a cruel girl, but she did enjoy watching
slaves being whipped, especially when it was by her 'man' - their fear,
their helplessness their faces racked in pain as the whip struck across
their bare backs. She thought it was quite funny the way they squirmed at
the whipping post as if that was going to help them avoid the blows. She had
never whipped a slave herself, but she knew that she would like to - one
day - and she assumed that the humble slave that was currently licking clean
her boot would be interested to hear about the whipping. After all, he was a
slave, and slaves get whipped. So she told the kneeling footslave all the
gory details of what she had witnessed.
The slave redoubled his efforts. He feared the whip, and hearing Mistress
Lisa talk so excitedly of seeing a slave being whipped reminded him that she
was not his friend, nor his equal, but his master, who could have him
severely whipped if it so took her fancy.
Having been a slave all his life he had, of course, felt the whip's sting on
several occasions - although mercifully not for several years now.
Nevertheless the experience of being whipped was deeply emblazoned on his
mind and it was an experience he did not want to repeat. In fact,
immediately after his last whipping, some 3 years ago, he had resolved to be
a good, humble slave and to serve his betters however they wished and
whenever they wished. The whip had taught him his place, and it was at the
feet of women, so that was where he would stay.
Mistress Lisa pulled her left foot away from the footblock and inspected her
boots, which now glistened in the sun with the slave's saliva. She was happy
with his work, and told him so. Then she bade him farewell, and left.
She did not thank him, of course. Not even the angelically sweet Mistress
Lisa could ever bring herself to thank a slave. But he still felt good. His
Mistress had expressed satisfaction with his humble work. For a few seconds,
he revelled in that thought.
His next customer, however, soon brought him back to earth with a bump!
He heard her approaching before he saw her. It sounded like a young
Pakistani woman, talking animatedly on her mobile phone. He recognised that
she was speaking Urdu, and the tone of her voice caused his slave's instinct
for danger to kick in. This young woman was not in a good mood, and someone,
perhaps he, was going to suffer because of that.
She was in view now, having approached his booth hurriedly from the left
hand side. He saw shapely legs covered in dark nylons and ending in patent
black leather high-heeled shoes. She was wearing a smart business suit
consisting of a black pin-striped jacket and skirt. In one hand, held up to
her right ear, was the mobile phone she was shouting into. In her left hand
she was carrying a black briefcase.
The slave guessed her to be about 30 years old, and she was clearly a young
woman in a hurry. He started sweating. Experience told him this would be a
difficult customer.
The young Pakistani woman slammed her right foot onto the wooden block under
his nose. She tempoarily interrupted her tirade down the phone in Urdu, to
give her orders to the footslave in English:
"Clean the filth of my shoe, boy!"
Then she was back on the phone again, shouting, almost screaming at someone,
in Urdu.
Although he recognised the language, the slave didn't understand Urdu, but
if he could have understood it, he would have heard Miss Shaheda complaining
down the phone to her husband about their lazy good-for-nothing house slave,
who had failed to clean her shoes properly ahead of her important business
meeting that morning. She wanted that house slave soundly whipped and then
put in the stocks for three hours. How dare he neglect his duties in this
way. Her husband was promising his beloved young wife that the slave would
be staked out on the ground for her to trample all over when she returned
home from work that evening. He assured his beautiful wife that by the time
he had finished with him the slave would truly wish he had never been born.
Of course, what Miss Shaheda and her husband did not care about, was the
fact that her shoes had been perfectly clean when she had left the house
that morning. The unfortunate fact was that Miss Shaheda had stepped into a
puddle of mud on her way into work- and that was what had caused the muddy
streak down the side of one of her shiny high-heeled shoes. Their house
slave was entirely innocent of all charges of neglect, but in Miss Shaheda's
household that would make no difference. That slave would be severely
punished, and, it has to be said, rightly so. For a slave should always
anticipate his Mistress's distress.
As the public footslave now lowered his face to the offending shoe he could
not help but focus momentarily on the young mistress's shapely ankle. Her
stockings were of the finest denier, and he observed the way the fine
stitching of the material stretched over and around her beautiful ankle. Of
course, the slave could not be sure they were stockings. They could have
been pantihose. But for a footslave this was a complete irrelevance. Only
real men, free men, needed to know whether a lady was wearing stockings or
pantihose. For the footslave all that mattered was the material covering the
area of the foot and the lower leg. He would never need to concern himself
with what a lady was, or was not, wearing over her private parts. His only
legitimate concern was with her feet and footwear.
The second or so that he spent admiring this young woman's stockinged ankle
was, unfortunately, for him long enough to upset her even further.
The young Mistress kicked him hard in his right cheek with the pointed toe
of her leather shoe.
"Get a move on, dirty footlick! Get that muck off my shoe now!"
"Yes Mistress ! At once Mistress!" he cried out in pain and shock.
Miss Shaheda was now ranting in Urdu down the phone to her husband about how
she was having to rely on a useless, dirty public footslave to get the filth
of her shoe. She made her husband promise to start their house slave's
punishment straight away, and with that hung up.
The footslave was now furiously lathing the side of the young Pakistani
businesswoman's shoe with his tongue, which, unfortunately, was quite dry
with fear.
Unlike his previous customer, this young woman was clearly not satisfied
with his efforts.
"Useless wretch!" she shouted down at him."Get that tongue around my heel.
Lick off all the filth. I want my shoe gleaming! Do it now!"
She graciously twisted her foot to allow him access to the heel. He saw her
stocking crease around the shapely ankle as she did so, but he realised now
that he had no time to admire this particular young lady's foot. The heel of
her shoe needed a good sucking to get off a short blade of grass that had
become wedged between the metal at the bottom of the shoe heel where it
joined with the leather spike.
"Lick it!" she screamed, "Suck my dirty heel. Useless, worthless pig! Get
that muck off my shoe now or I'll have you flogged!"
Her heel was now deep in his throat, causing him to gag, but still he did
his utmost to comply with her demands. He knew he must satisfy this angry
young mistress or face a lot of pain. And if he didn't satisfy her he would
deserve that pain. She was the Mistress. Her shoe was dirty. He was the
footslave, and his job was to lick clean her shoe. There were no excuses for
a slave. A slave either did exactly as he was told or rightly suffered the
consequences.
Perhaps luckily for him, at this point in the proceedings Miss Shaheda's
mobile phone rang. It was her husband again, informing her that the house
slave was currently suspended from the whipping post in their back garden
awaiting the first of 50 hard lashes. Miss Shaheda, to the relief of the
footslave, withdrew her foot from his footblock and stormed off, listening
down the phone to the sound of her house slave's screams as her husband's
whip tore into his lazy bare back.
The public footslave heaved a sigh of relief. How lucky he was, how glad he
was, that another slave was bearing the brunt of Miss Shaheda's wrath.
However, he was unable to relax for too long, as his next customers were now
approaching the booth.
Part 3
Miss Selima and her mother, Mistress Fatima, were making their way across
the town square towards the public footslave. Miss Selima was a 20 year old
exchange student from Turkey. She was studying medicine at the university as
she was a good, kind girl who wanted to devote her life to helping and
caring for other people - people, that is, not slaves. She didn't care what
happened to slaves.
Her mother was over visiting her from Turkey for the first time, and Selima
was in the process of showing her all the tourist sights in the town. They
had just been looking around the historic Town Hall and its museum. They
were now about to go shopping for gifts for their family members back home.
But first, Selima wanted to show her mother the public footslave - a 'must
see' on any inquisitive tourist's agenda.
Miss Selima was determined to impress her mother by humiliating the
footslave. She wanted her mother to see what a strong young woman she had
become. To that end she had deliberately put on that morning her oldest pair
of well-worn black anklet socks. She normally wore these socks with her
white sneakers, but today she had decided to wear them with her navy blue
open-toed sandals as she wanted her mother to witness the slave kissing her
socked feet. Moreover, she had been wearing these same socks for the
previous two days as she wanted to truly degrade the public footslave in
front of her mother - to show her that the slave had no choice but to
worship whatever footwear a woman chose to present to him - however manky,
however dirty, however smelly.
The footslave saw the two pairs of legs approaching him - a young woman
wearing blue canvas sandals and black ankle socks with black trousers cut
just below the knee, and a middle aged woman in her forties who was barefoot
in a pair of brown leather sandals and wearing a brightly coloured dress
that came to just above her ankles. He heard the younger woman speak as they
came closer:
"Look, Mama, this is the public footslave I was telling you about".
He heard the older woman giggle, perhaps somewhat nervously. He gathered by
the girl's accent that these two women were foreigners - perhaps tourists?
The younger woman wasted no time in stepping up to the footblock and placing
her right foot onto the wooden strip beneath the kneeling slave's face.
"Watch this mama!" the girl shouted excitedly.
"You, the slave, kiss my sock".
The footslave, as he always did, absorbed so many details about the young
woman's footwear as he lowered his face towards her haughtily extended foot.
He could see instantly that her black sock was well worn. It came to just
below her shapely ankle, and he noticed that a piece of white fluff had
attached itself to an area of the sock just above one of the blue canvas
sandal straps that crossed the top of her foot. The stitching of the black
sock was minute and he could only start to see the individual stitches when
his lips were practically touching the sock. Both the sock and the sandal
looked somewhat unkempt, an impression which was reinforced by the
unmistakable odour of stale feminine foot sweat as his nose got closer to
the young woman's socked foot. However, he did not flinch. He was a
well-trained and deeply respectful footslave who was well used to kissing
the unkempt and dirty footwear of superior young women auch as the young
lady now towering over him.
He placed his lips on top of the reinforced area of her sock that covered
her toes. He felt the hard nail of her big toe under the soft material of
the sock. As a well-trained footslave he made sure the kiss was gentle and
respectful - with both his lips touching the dirty sock simultaneously.
The young mistress had not told him how many times to kiss her sock, so the
convention was that he would carry on raising and lowering his lips to her
sock until she ordered him to stop - crisp but gentle distinct kisses to the
toe of her black sock until she was satisfied that he had been sufficiently
respectful.
As he lowered his slave lips for the second kiss he heard the girl's mother
laugh with delight. How proud she must be of her powerful young daughter who
is able to humiliate a 'man' more than twice her age in such a public way.
Except, of course, that he wasn't a 'man'. Fatima understood that now - this
pathetic foot kissing creature was merely a male slave, fit only to kiss and
smell her daughter's dirty socks.
After five kisses of her socked foot the young woman gave him another order:
"Keep your lips attached to the toe of my sock, slave boy".
He obediently rested his lips on the soft, but smelly, material covering her
toes. The girl then addressed her mother:
"Mama, take a picture!"
He then heard the older woman take something out of her handbag and out of
the corner of his eye saw her step back a few paces, presumably to get the
right angle for a souvenir picture of her daughter having her socked foot
worshipped. The older woman then invited her daughter to smile as the camera
clicked.
"Your sister and your cousins will love that", said told her daughter.
Miss Selima then stepped away from the footblock and desired her mother to
step before the footslave.
The footslave suddenly saw a slightly larger and dusky foot placed on the
wooden block under his nose. The woman's dress had ridden up as a result of
her extending her foot to reveal that she too still had quite shapely
ankles. The slave noticed that there was dust on the lower rim of her brown
leather sandals, and that the buckle on the strap covering her foot was
slightly bent - a sure sign that,l ike her daughter, this woman was wearing
a well-worn pair of sandals.
"Order him to kiss your foot, Mama" chirped the young woman, her voice
betraying her excitement at witnessing her mother humiliate and degrade the
pathetic footslave.
"You heard my daughter. Kiss my dirty foot, slave boy", ordered Mistress
Fatima, now elated with her own feelings of superiority and power over the
humble creature at her feet.
As the slave lowered his lips towards the top of the woman's big toe he
again caught the unmistakable whiff of female foot odour. He also couldn't
help but notice that beneath her unpolished toe nail there was an
accumulation of black toe jam, and there was even a strand of dead skin at
the top right hand corner of her big toe nail.The slave within him longed to
lick out that toe jam and remove the piece of dead skin with his slave lips,
but he had not been ordered to clean her feet - merely to kiss them,
respectfully, reverentially - as befits a humble slave. And so he just did
as he was told -he planted a soft worshipful kiss onto the middle-aged
Turkish woman's dirty toe.
As he did so he heard her let out a tiny gasp of excitement. He could tell
that she was becoming sexually aroused by her act of domination over him. It
was always nice to provide a sexual buzz for ones customers - especially the
ones, like this lady, who were clearly having their feet worshipped for the
first time.
Again, he was ordered by the woman's daughter to keep his lips pressed
against her mother's toes whilst she took a picture for the folks back home
of her mother being foot-worshipped by a dirty public footslave.
The mother and daughter then left, satisfied by their acts of public
humiliation of the footslave, and with the photographic memories they had
taken of the event.It was now time for a coffee, followed by some shopping.
Of course, even though his slave neck and shoulders, not to mention his
tongue, were becoming increasingly strained and tired as the day wore on,
there was to be no such coffee break for the public footslave. He was there
to serve the feet of women - and to serve all day long, every day, until his
minder, Mistress Julianna, came to lock him up again in the evening.
As he contemplated his aching neck with the rough, uncomfortable collar and
chain preventing him from raising his head more than 12 inches or so above
the ground, he suddenly saw an older man in his fifties approaching him - a
free man - with some sort of carrier bag in his hand.
The man crouched down beside the slave. The slave noticed that the man had
bad breath. The man explained that his 21 year old niece, Miss Susan, who
was a trainee gym teacher, was having problems with her washing machine, and
she had therefore asked her uncle if he would arrange for her dirty gym
socks to be mouth-washed by the public footslave.
With that, the old man took a dirty, sweat-stained, feminine, white gym
sock, with pink hoops around the cuff, out of the carrier bag and held it to
the slave's nose, ordering him to sniff it.
Even for the experienced footslave the smell was quite overpowering. The
young woman who owned the sock must have been undertaking a serious work-out
when she was wearing that sock. The toe of the sock was visibly yellow and
crusty - saturated with the young gym teacher's foot sweat.
The man held it tight for several minutes over the slave's nose thereby
ensuring that the slave had no option but to breathe in his beloved niece's
foot odour, before ordering the slave to open his mouth and to suck the sock
clean.
As the man shoved the girl's dirty, putrid sock into his mouth, the
footslave's taste buds were assailed by the overpowering taste of the young
woman's salty foot sweat. He felt truly degraded to be forced to clean the
sock of a young woman who wasn't even present, but he nevertheless did his
best to suck out and to swallow all the filth and sweat that was contained
in the dirty white sock.
When the master pulled the sock out of his mouth some five minutes later,
however, he was not satisfied. He showed the slave that the area on the
underside of the toes was still yellow, and he asked the slave if he thought
this was acceptable.
The slave made to apologise, but the master said it was no good apologising
to him - he must apologise to Miss Susan's sock.
The man held the offended, now soaking wet, sock up in front of the useless,
lazy slave's mouth in order for him to apologise to it.
"Please, Mistress Susan's sock, I beg you, please forgive this wrtetched
slave for not cleaning you properly and for not removing all the sweat from
you with my dirty slave mouth".
The master said that the sock had accepted the slave's abject apology, but
he must suck it again, and harder. And so it went back into the footslave's
mouth - as did 6 pairs of dirty white gym socks - 12 filthy, sweaty socks in
all, one after the other.
After he had finished with him, the master asked the slave if he had liked
cleaning his niece's dirty socks with his mouth.
The slave was experienced enough to know that this was a difficult question
for him to answer satisfactorily. You might say it was a trick question. For
if he told the master that he had liked it, the man would probably be
offenmded as he was clearly hoping that the slave had not enjoyed his
humiliating and degrading experience. On the other hand, if he said that he
had not liked it, the master may be equally offended in that such an answer
would imply that the slave felt he was too good to clean the young woman's
dirty socks.
The slave therefore gave the only answer he safely could:
"I liked it, Master, but not that much".
The man walked off - satisfied.
The slave breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully he could now get back to
serving a woman in person.
He didn't have long to wait. Mistress Karen, one of his most long-standing
customers, was approaching his footbooth.
He recognised his regular customers by their footwear, and in the case of
mistress Karen, that meant flat, black slip on shoes, black trousers, and
flesh coloured stockings (or were they tights ? - he had no way of knowing)
underneath her trousers. Whatever they were, Mistress Karen rarely seemed to
wear any other combination of footwear. He had rarely, for example, seen her
in socks or with shoes on bare feet - except, perhaps, in the height of
summer.
She was, in fact, about the same age as the footslave - in her mid forties -
but, unlike the footslave, she had led an exciting and fulfilled life as a
free woman. Over the past 20 years or so she had married, raised a family,
divorced and married again. She had been hugely successful in her business
career - working her way up through the ranks of a major bank to the point
where she was now an area manager. As a result of living the 'good life' she
had put on a few pounds over the years, but she was still a very attractive
woman with plenty of male admirers that she was forced to keep at bay. She
was a woman who exuded power and authority, and she was extremely happy with
her lot.
She liked to visit the public footslave because of the contrast between her
exciting life and his wretched, humble existence. It was a fact not lost on
her that, during the same twenty years that she had been living life to the
full, the miserable footslave had been chained up in the same footbooth, in
the Town Square, kissing, licking and cleaning the dirty feet and footwear
of female passers-by, including herself. And he would be doing it for the
next twenty years as well. She liked that thought. If ever she needed
cheering up, a simple shoe shine from the wretched public footslave would be
guaranteed to do it.
Not that she needed any cheering up today. She had just been awarded yet
another huge bonus for her excellent work at the bank. The thought tickled
her that, no matter how well the footslave performed at his lowly task, he
would never receive a reward, or even a simple 'thank you'. It was a golden
rule - slaves are never thanked- only criticised and chastised when they
don't perform satisfactorily.
Mistress Karen positioned her right foot onto the dusty wooden footblock. As
she did so her trouser leg rose to reveal her stocking-covered ankle. The
slave noticed a tiny speck of dirt on the bottom rim of her trouser, but he
had never, in all the twenty years or so he had been a public footslave,
been ordered to touch or clean a lady's trouser leg. He was totally unworthy
of such an act, and he knew it. So he ignored it, and concentrated instead
on her stockinged foot and black leather slip-on shoe.
He observed the beginnings of a small ladder on her stocking in the area
covering her inner ankle bone. He realised that Mistress Karen herself was
almost certainly unaware, and unconcerned, by something so insignificant as
a small ladder in her stocking, but it was an important detail for the
footslave, as it strongly suggested that her stockings were not new and had
been worn several times before. That somehow added to his humiliation, as it
meant the Mistress wasn't in the least bit bashful about presenting him with
well worn footwear to worship and clean.
He awaited her orders, as a footslave must always do.
"Clean the dirt off my shoes, footboy", came her unmistakable voice. She
always referred to him as 'boy', or 'footboy' - even though he was her
contemporary in years. But she did so quite deliberately in order to
humiliate him, and in a tone which left him in no doubt that she totally
despised him.
As she watched the humble slave lower his balding head to the top of her
black leather shoe she lit a cigarette and revelled in her superiority over
the creature at her feet.
There were three types of public footslaves; those who knelt in front of a
raised chair in which a lady could sit and have her shoes shined ar even her
feet washed and pedicured; those who were buried in the ground face up,
usually at the entrance to public buildings, and whose faces could therefore
be used as 'door mats' to scrape off the filth from the soles of the ladies'
shoes; and the type she was now using, where the lady stands in front of the
slave, his head protruding from a 'hatch' , and places her footwear for
cleaning onto a wooden block beneath his nose. Mistress Karen liked to use
all three types of footslave, but her favourite was the current type. For
her, having her shoes licked clean was not so important as the act of
humiliating the slave - and she regarded the position she was now in,
standing imperiously with one foot extended, one hand on hip, smoking a
cigarette in her other hand, as being the classic dominant pose for a woman
humiliating a down-in-the-dirt male footslave.
Karen twisted her foot from side to side, pretending to inspect the slave's
work as he lathed her footwear with his tongue, but not realy caring if he
was doing a good job or not. So long as he realised that she was his master,
that she was better than him and that he was at her mercy, she would be
satisfied.
Needless to say the humble slave was well aware of his station in life, and
of this woman's superiority over him, and, rather like the many free men who
admired Karen from a distance, he realised that he too could express his
admiration for her, even if it was only by noticing the small ladder in her
stocking and by lifting the dirt from her black leather shoes with his slave
tongue and swallowing it.
And so that's just what he did, until she ordered him to stop.
Part 4
The footslave's neck and shoulders were beginning to ache now. It was only
just after midday, but he had been 'working' since the early morning - and
would not be put back into his 'hole' until late in the evening. He was
expected to endure a long day of public humiliation at the feet of women -
every day. It was just what he was for. He accepted it, and so did everyone
else.
Rather cruelly, his working booth was situated right next to a cafe in the
town square, and the smell of human food and strong coffee wafting through
the air was also making him feel hungry. The slave gruel he was fed every
morning by his minder, Miss Julianna, was his only 'official' meal of the
day and, whilst it was reasonably nourishing, it was not particularly
satisfying or appetising. Of course, it was no coincidence that the
authorities had positioned a footslave right next to a cafe. They were fully
aware that it would add to his suffering and discomfort. That was precisely
what they wanted - to keep the slave miserable and humiliated at all times.
However, if he was feeling hungry, help was soon to be at hand. Some kind
girl was at that very moment leaving the cafe and making her way towards him
with the precise aim of giving him some food. Of course, she would have to
make sure it was food fit for a slave, nevertheless she was kind-hearted
enough to be thinking of him and his inability to feed himself.
There were actually three young women making their way towards him, all in
their early twenties, and as they approached him the footslave, from his
lowly position kneeling in the dirt with his head respectfully bowed, could
only distinguish them by their differing types of footwear.
One of the young women, who appeared to be the leader of the group, was
wearing heavy, black, buffalo-style platformed sneakers with thick black
boot socks. She must have been wearing a short skirt, because her shapely
white legs extended up as far as the slave dared to look. The second girl in
the group, who was now standing to his left as he knelt humbly and
vulnerable before the girls, was wearing black jeans and ordinary white
keds. The slave could just see a hint of white cotton sock beneath the
jeans.The third girl, on his right hand side, was wearing blue denim jeans
which were folded up so that they just came down to the top of her black
leather ,zip-up, ankle boots, with thick blocky heels.
As he had no idea what the girls' names were, the slave decided to refer to
the three young mistresses in his own mind as 'Mistress Buffs', 'Mistress
Keds', and 'Mistress Boots' respectively.
'Mistress Buffs' was definitely the ring-leader, as she approached the slave
head on and placed both her feet on the wooden footblock under his bowed
face. As always, the slave assimilated in a split second a lot of
information about the state of the young lady's footwear. He had to - her
feet and footwear filled his field of vision and he knew anyway from long
and bitter experience that it was always best to familiarise oneself quickly
with the footwear of the Mistress one was about to serve.
So, he noticed lots of details about her buffalo sneakers - such as the fact
that one of her laces on her right sneaker did not appear to be done up
properly; the fact that there was a considerable amount of dirt around the
lower sides of the sneakers (although, then again, in this footslave's
humble experience young women's sneakers and shoes always were dirty); and
that the thick 'tongue' of her right sneaker was sticking out, whereas the
tongue on her left sneaker was neatly and correctly folded in. He noticed
too the thick folds in her black boot-socks that covered her shapely ankles
and lower calf. He even noticed faint marks on her right leg just above the
top of her sock where the elasticated top had obviously been until very
recently, suggesting that her sock had slipped down somewhat inside her shoe
during the course of the morning.
Overall, the impression was of a pair of sneakers that were rather unkempt,
but, of course, the footslave was well aware that no-one else in the whole
wide world other than him would be in the least bit concerned at that moment
about the state of this young woman's footwear - let alone the girl herself.
Such concerns were above her as a free young woman. It was only footslaves
who needed to concern themselves with the state of ladies' footwear. That
was the whole reason for their existence, and if a lady wanted her shoes
cleaned or shined it was usually as much out of a desire to humiliate a male
slave as out of any actual concern about having dirty footwear.
'Mistress buffs' appeared to be eating something as she mumbled down to the
slave her orders:
"Clean my Buffs, dirty footlick".
She moved her right foot slightly further forward indicating to the slave
that he should start with that one. The other two girls were watching,
enjoying the slave's humiliation, but not saying anything for the moment.
Mistress 'Keds' was smoking a cigarette.
The slave obediently lowered his tongue to the muddiest part of the sneaker
he could see and tasted again the familiar, bitter taste of fresh mud
mingled with street dust. The slave had always hated the taste of mud more
than the taste of shoes themselves. Even the strong taste of newly polished
shoe leather wasn't as bad as pure mud. But like it or not he had no choice
but to eat mud, day after day. Even the cleanest shoes had some traces of
mud on them, although his custmers expected all of that mud to be in his
stomach by the time he had finished serving them.
As the humble slave ate her shoe-mud the young mistress ate her cheese and
tomato sandwich. She flexed her pretty foot from side to side in the
pretence of helping the slave to get a better angle for his dirty tongue,
but in reality it was just a way for her to get a better view for herself of
his demeaning and servile work on her shoes. She liked humiliating male
slaves - especially in public and in front of her friends, and especially
when the slave was so old. She guessed he must have been old enough to be
her father, yet, unlike her father, whom she obeyed and respected, this
middle-aged 'man' cowering on his knees at her feet had to obey and respect
her. She liked that thought, and it was why she had persuaded her friends to
come with her to the public footslave's stall even though they were keen to
get on with their day out shopping and hadn't wanted their shoes cleaned.
What her friends didn't know was that she had something special planned for
the slave that would make her look really cool in front of her two friends -
and she was confident it would enhance her much-prized reputation as a
'bitch mistress' when word of what she was about to do to this slave
eventually spread around her college.
As 'Mistress Buffs' withdrew her right sneakered foot from the wooden
footblock and replaced it with the somewhat tidier left one, she decided it
was time to put her big plan into action.
As the footslave lathed the side of her dirty black sneaker with his slave
tongue she asked him, in a tone of mock concern and as she continued to eat
her sandwich:
"Are you hungry, footlick? I mean, when did you last eat?"
The slave knew that it was highly unlikely that the young goddess standing
over him having her shoes licked was in the slightest bit concerned about
whether or not he was hungry. But he equally knew that when a mistress asks
a slave a question he must respond with humility and respect:
"If it pleases you, mistress, I have not eaten since early this morning"
All three of the girls laughed at the slave's obsequiousness.
"God, Sandra", said 'Mistress Keds', "leave him alone and let him get on
with cleaning your buffs. Who cares if he's hungry? We need to get on!"
So the slave now knew that 'Mistress Buffs' was actually called 'Mistress
Sandra', and Mistress Sandra appeared to be leaping to his defence:
"No, be fair, even a slave has got to eat, otherwise he might get weak and
be unable to do his dirty job".
The girls laughed again.
"I think he already gets plenty to eat. I mean he spends his entire day
eating the filth and the muck off ladies' shoes", chipped in the third girl,
'Mistress Boots'.
"Yeah, and besides, if he does get weak and start slacking I expect the
sharp sting of a whip would help him to find his strength again!", added
'Mistress Keds'.
The girls giggled and laughed at their witty remarks, and at the footslave's
powerlessness to do anything but accept their mockery and their teasing.
Nevertheless, Mistress Sandra remained adamant that the 'poor, helpless
footslave' had to have something to eat, and she crouched down so that her
beautiful young face was closer to the slave's ugly, bald head:
"Would you like some of my sandwich, footboy?" she asked, waving what was
left of the sandwich under his nose, and with her mouth still full of food.
The slave knew there was only one possible answer he could give to such a
kind offer from a superior young mistress:
"This slave would be truly priveleged to be allowed a piece of your
sandwich, most kind and beautiful mistress".
The three young women burst out laughing.
"God, Sandra, a slave thinks your beautiful! Aren't you the lucky one!
You've pulled!", shouted 'Mistress Keds'.
"Yeah", added 'Mistres Boots', "but don't get too excited Sandra. After all,
how does he know you're beautiful when he's only seen your feet. He's just
teasing you!"
"Are you teasing me, slave?", asked Mistress Sandra with fake offence. All
three of the girls were well aware that they were the ones doing the
teasing, but the wonderful thing was that they were quite right to do so.
The society they lived in encouraged free citizens to mock, tease and
torment its slaves. It all helped to keep the slaves in their place.
The slave sensed that Mistress Sandra did not really take offence at his
calling her 'beautiful', but, just to be on the safe side he knew it would
be best to continue with his grovelling flattery towards her. In his
experience women, ultimately, liked to be flattered, even if it was by a
lowly footslave:
"Oh no, Mistress, this humble slave would never tease its superior mistress.
It just knows that such a kind-hearted and thoughtful young mistress must be
beautiful on the outside as well as on the inside."
The three girls roared with laughter.
"He's quite a poet!", screamed 'Mistress Boots', "just think - a dirty
footlick with a brain!".
"Yeah, he's wasted on cleaning ladies' feet. He should at least be cleaning
ladies' toilets or something!", quipped 'Mistress Keds'.
When she had finished laughing at him, Mistress Sandra continued with her
torment of the slave:
" Oh, I'll definitely have to give you a reward now, slaveboy", she said,
and with that she spat out the food that was still in her mouth onto the
dirty ground in front of him.
"Of course, you're not good enough to enjoy the full taste of human food, so
I'll have to flavour it with something that slaves like - like the taste of
my buffs, for example".
The footslave had a close-up view as the young woman then squashed the
already unappetising, saliva-ridden mush of chewed cheese, tomato and bread
under the dirty sole of her heavy, black buffalo sneaker. Her friends
laughed with joy at this sight. Truly Sandra knew how to treat a slave. She
had been well brought up by her parents. She was a proper bitch towards
slaves, and they admired her for it, as did everyone who knew her.
In fact a small crowd of onlookers was now gathering to enjoy witnessing the
girls' teasing of the slave and his impending humiliation.
The slave saw how Mistress Sandra's thick, black boot sock creased as she
manipulated her heavy sneakered foot over the dirty mush that was about to
be his meal.
"There now,", continued Mistress Sandra, "I do hope that's soft enough for
you!".
The crowd laughed.
"Oh, but before I give you your 'sandwich' I need to get you some flavoured
bread to put it in, don't I slave? After all, you can't make a sandwich
without bread, can you?", she asked rhetorically.
"No, Mistress", replied the submissive slave, no longer feeling all that
hungry, or 'poetic'.
"No, Mistress", Sandra repeated his words in a mocking tone, to the watching
crowd's delight. Sandra was probably destined for the stage, even though she
was studying history at university. She loved having an audience.
"Luckily, I have some slave bread for you", she continued, building up to
the public revelation of the wonderfully cruel idea she had had that morning
before setting off to meet her two girlfriends in the town square.
"I've been keeping it nice and warm for you all morning. Can you help me get
it out please, slave. It's inside my shoe!".
'Mistress Keds', 'Mistress Boots' , and the crowd all roared with laughter
and approval.
"Oh my God, Sandra", yelled 'Mistress Keds', "You mean you've got some bread
in your shoe?".
"Sure I have. It keeps the bread nice and warm for the slave and makes a
nice comfy insole for me", replied Sandra.
"Untie my lace with your mouth, take off my shoe and take out your bread,
slave", she ordered, her tone of voice towards the slave now much darker and
much less playful.
She helpfully moved her right foot, the sole of the sneaker still covered in
some of the gooey mush of dust-and-dirt covered tomato and cheese, back onto
the wooden footblock directly below the slave's face and watched intently,
with a wry smile on her pretty young face, as the middle aged slave-man
lowered his dirty lips to pull at her shoe lace and loosen it, before using
his hands to gently prise off the thick, black sneaker.
As he did so, everyone present was straining forward to try to get a better
view. The crowd of onlookers was growing, but was surprisingly quiet, with
just a few people at the back asking those at the front to move a bit to one
side in order to give them a better view.
What those at the back of the crowd probably couldn't see were the white
specks of bread on the bottom of Mistress Sandra's black-socked foot. The
slave, of course, could see them - unfortunately for him he had the best
view of all.
He was well used to dealing with sock lint. But 'bread lint' was a whole new
experience even for him.
Mistress Sandra could feel the pieces of white bread stuck to the bottom of
her foot and she wriggled it in order to cause the sock to crease and the
bits of bread to fall off onto the wooden footblock under the slave's nose.
"Taste those bits of bread first, slave", she ordered. "Check that it's warm
enough for you".
"Yes", shouted a free man in the crowd, "make him taste the bread from your
sock before he tastes the bread from your shoe, young lady!".
The crowd roared with laughter again as the public footslave, whom they all
owned, lapped up the tiny bits of bread with his slave tongue. They tasted
salty. They tasted of young woman's foot sweat. Yet everyone present,
including it has to be said the footslave himself, knew that it was food fit
enough for him.
Mistress Boots laughed out loud:
"This is brilliant, Sandra. You really know how to treat a slave!"
The crowd were becoming impatient now, however. They wanted to see the slave
take the main piece of bread out of the young woman's shoe and eat his
sandwich.
"Let's see him eat your insole now", shouted the mouthy free man in the
crowd.
"You heard, slave, take out my insole and let me make you your sandwich",
ordered Mistress Sandra, now speaking to the slave in a deadly serious tone.
The crowd gasped with delight as the slave carefully extracted the bread
from the hot, sweaty sneaker, for the white bread was clearly discoloured
with both the girl's foot sweat and the dirt from inside her shoe. The part
of the bread that would have been under her toes all morning was now yellow,
and the part at her heel had black stains on it. Truly it was bread fit for
a slave - and only for a slave.
"Put the bread on the ground", ordered Mistress Sandra.
As the footslave made to put the bread onto the wooden footblock, she
shouted angrily down at him:
"Not there, stupid slave! I said on the ground. In the dirt!"
She kicked him on his right cheek with her socked foot.
The slave would have kicked himself if the bulk of his feeble body hadn't
been restrained in his hole. Of course she would want him to put it down in
the dirt - everyone wanted that. The sandwich had to be made suitable for
slave consumption.
Once he had placed it in the dirt, Mistress Sandra ordered him to pick up
the nearby mush that she had earlier expelled from her own mouth, and then
mashed with the sole of her buffalo sneaker, and to put it onto the bread
before folding the bread in two to make his sandwich.
Before she would let him eat his sandwich, however, she kindly 'allowed' him
to pick up her dirty sneaker which was still lying on the ground and scrape
the remaining mush onto the outside of the sandwich.
She then gave him the order that the footslave was dreading, that the crowd
of onlookers including her two best friends were eagerly anticipating, and
that she had been rehearsing to herself all morning. She spoke clearly and
slowly, so that everyone could hear:
"Now, slave. Eat your sandwich - your sandwich fit for a footslave, your
sandwich of sweaty bread, dirty tomato and dusty cheese!".
The crowd, which by now had grown to several dozen people, roared with glee
as the humble, obedient footslave obeyed his magnificent young mistress's
orders, and ate the dirty sandwich she had so lovingly prepared for him.
As he chewed on the foul tasting bread and its equally foul tasting
contents, a young policewoman was pushing her way to the front of the crowd
to see what all the fuss was. The footslave recognised it was a policewoman
out of the corner of his eye as she was wearing the very dominant looking
knee-length black patent leather boots and short black skirt favoured by the
authorities in that town. He caught sight also of the slave-whip hanging
from her belt.
The policewoman moved forward, went up to Mistress Sandra, saluted her, and
asked
"Is this slave bothering you, Miss?".
The slave chewed on his sandwich with renewed vigour. He knew that if he
upset young mistress Sandra now, by not eating his meal, she could get him
into a lot of trouble, perhaps even persuade the equally young female police
officer to take him to the centre of the town square, tie him to the public
whipping post, and flog him for insolence, ingratitude and disobedience.
He was relieved, therefore, to hear Mistress Sandra's reply to the police
officer as she put her black buffalo sneaker back on:
"It's ok, thank you officer. I was just giving this slave his lunch. He was
ever so hungry, but I think he's had enough to eat now".
The crowd, her two friends, and the policewoman all laughed at Mistress
Sandra's joke, and at the pathetic slave.
Everyone then dispersed, happy in the knowledge that another male slave had
been humiliated in public at the feet of a superior young woman, and that
everything was as it should be in this world - slaves on their knees,
obeying and working, whilst they, the free citizens, goad and humiliate
them, supported by the authorities of law and order.
Meanwhile the slave finished his disgusting sandwich, genuinely grateful
,inspite of its taste, for the extra sustenance it would give him for the
rest of the day. And at least he now knew why her right sneaker and sock had
been less tidy than the left - it had been because she was kindly keeping
his bread fresh for him inside her shoe.
Part 5
Rain!
Preoccupied with finishing off his sweaty cheese and tomato sandwich, the
footslave had failed to notice that the sky had been darkening until he felt
the first few drops of rain on his balding head - perhaps an understandable
omission given that the collar and chain around his neck forced him to look
permanently at the ground, but he should, nevertheless have noticed that the
bright, spring sunshine had been gradually disappearing.
He was always in two minds about rain. On the one hand, it could offer him
some refreshment - drops of water to help wash down his sandwich, for
example. It could also cool him down in the summer months. Furthermore, it
helped to wash his face of the female shoe dirt that often accumulated on
it -whatever the time of year.
On the other hand, since he was absolutely forbidden to shelter from the
rain by withdrawing his head into the hatch - lest a customer require his
services during the rainstorm - he could, if the rain was prolonged and
heavy, get drenched. Not that anyone cared about that. A drenched slave? So
what?
However, his biggest dread of rain was in what it would do to the ground,
and hence to the footwear of his beautiful female customers. Rain meant mud;
mud meant dirty streets; dirty streets meant wet, muddy, filthy, feminine
footwear to have to lick clean. Although it was actually fairly rare to have
to clean a customer's shoes during a rainstorm, he knew from bitter
experience that he would always be guaranteed an increase in customers
following a rainstorm.
This particular spring shower was heavy and thundery, but did not last long.
After some 5 minutes of what was, for the footslave, quite refreshing rain,
the skies brightened again and the hustle and bustle of life in the town
square resumed.
Within 30 seconds his next customer was approaching. Her name was Mistress
Angela - an attractive, blonde 35 year old woman - and she was accompanied
by her partner, Master Philip, aged 50. The lovers had been on their way to
the cinema when the rain had struck, and had taken shelter in the nearby
cafe. However, just the short dash across the pedestrianised town square had
been enough to muddy the boots of Mistress Angela - and Master Philip was
determined that the public foot slave was going to do something about it.
The slave recognised them as they approached. Mistress Angela was one of his
regulars, and he braced himself as, if past experience was anything to go
by, he could be in for some harsh treatment from this dominant couple.
Mistress Angela and Master Philip loved to humiliate slaves - and especially
the public footslave, whom they, rightly, regarded as the lowest of the low.
Mistress Angela, in particular, saw it as an honour for such a lowly slave
to even brush his dirty lips against her superior boots.
She was wearing her favourite pair of tight, calf-length black leather,
low-heeled boots, with her black trousers tucked into them. She was
genuinely upset and annoyed that her favourite pair of boots had been so
soiled by the wet mud in the square, and, as she stood, hands on hips
directly in front of the kneeling slave, looking down at him through her
pretty feminine nose, she was determined that he would fulfil his duty of
restoring her lovely boots to their original grandeur with his slaveboy
tongue.
It was her partner, Master Philip, however who addressed the kneeling
footslave. He ordered him to take a good look at Mistress Angela's boots as
the latter, obligingly, raised her right boot until it was about an inch way
from the footslave's lowered face. He asked the public footlick if he could
see the thick mud stuck to the sole of his young girlfriend's boot? The
slave confirmed, humbly and politely, that he could see the mud. (In fact,
thanks to the raised boot, the footslave had such a close view of the wet
mud in the treads on the Mistress's boot-soles that he could even smell the
mixture of wet leather and mud).
The master then asked the slave if he thought it was acceptable that a young
woman should have to walk around with mud on the soles of her boots? Of
course, the slave opined that it was not acceptable. The master then asked
the slave what he was going to do about it, to which the slave replied that
it would be an honour and a true privilege for him to be permitted to lick
the dirt and the mud off the superior Mistress's boot-soles.
Master Philip then suggested to his girlfriend that she turn around with her
back to the kneeling footslave, and raise her right foot to enable the slave
to lick clean the dirty sole of her right boot. As Mistress Angela did so,
Master Philip held lovingly onto her, helping her to keep her balance.
She rested the round toe of her boot onto the wooden footblock in front of
the slave's face, and Master Philip gave the order to the slave:
"You may begin, bootlick. Clean the filth off my girlfriend's boot".
As he moved his face humbly forward and inserted his tongue into one of the
mud-filled treads on her dirty boot-sole, the footslave, because he was
nothing but a pathetic footslave, found himself wondering whether or not
Mistress Angela was wearing socks or nylons inside her beautiful calf-length
boots. Of course, he had absolutely no way of knowing as she had her
trousers tucked into her boots, but such details fascinated him. The type
and condition of her inner footwear was as important to him as the type and
condition of her outer footwear - as he was, at that moment in time,
Mistress Angela's personal footslave, responsible for the well-being of her
feet and footwear- and he took that responsibility very seriously. If only
he could find out what she was wearing, if anything, inside her boots! It
would make him feel more of a complete slave to have that privileged
knowledge.
THWACK!
As he speculated on Mistress Angela's inner footwear a sudden blast of pain
across his right cheek woke him from his reverie.
THWACK!
Another, jaw-jolting crash of pain pierced through his left cheek.
Master Philip had slapped him hard across both cheeks as he had noticed the
slave's lack of concentration on the job in hand.
"Lazy, good-for-nothing bootlick!", shouted Master Philip, incandescent with
rage at the slave's apparent disrespect.
"Concentrate on what you're doing! Get that dirty slave tongue deep inside
the treads of my girlfriend's boot! Lick out all the filth as I ordered you
to!"
Mistress Angela looked over her shoulder and also shouted down at the
chastised slave:
"I can't feel your tongue, slaveboy. Lick harder. I want the sole of my boot
gleaming or, so help me God, I'll have you flogged to within an inch of your
life!"
The master then angrily asked the slave if he thought he was too good to
lick the dirt off a young woman's boots? The slave grovelled as he resumed
licking the dirty boot-sole, this time with renewed vigour:
"Forgive me, Master", (lick,lick). "Forgive me Mistress". (lick, lick).
"This slave humbly", (lick,lick) "begs forgivenness from its superior",
(lick), "Master and Mistress", (lick), "for its despicable and disrespectful
behaviour" (lick,lick).
The slave was genuinely distraught, and fearful of what the couple might do
to him. If there was one thing the free citizens, and the authorities, of
this town could not abide it was a disobedient slave. His head was still
spinning from the pain of the slaps and he could feel his upper lip
thickening and throbbing. But deservedly so. He had allowed his mind to
wander off the job of licking Mistress Angela's boot-mud. Footslave though
he was, it was not his place to idly speculate as to what his Mistress was
wearing inside her boots. He knew he had been wrong - taking liberties. He
was a slave - there simply to obey orders from his superiors, not to
speculate about their footwear. How could he have been so disrespectful!
Now that he was truly concentrating on his degrading task, the boot sole was
soon divested of the wet, street-mud which was transferred into his mouth
and throat - where it belonged. Having inspected her right boot, Mistress
Angela switched over to her left boot - and this time the slave needed no
further encouragement to perform his humble chore.
Soon, the soles of both Mistress Angela's leather boots were completely
clean, and Master Philip and Mistress Angela were able to continue on their
way to the cinema.
Of course, the moment she stepped out into the square again her boots began
to collect fresh mud - sticking to the thick treads of her boot-soles.
Master Philip, Mistress Angela and the footslave all knew very well that his
whole demeaning chore of licking the mud from the bottom of Mistress
Angela's boots had been nugatory work - essentially a waste of time. But
they all equally knew that that was the whole point of it. It was meant to
be a futile waste of time, as it was this very fact which added to the
footslave's degredation and humiliation.
And it is fair to say that the slave's work had not been totally in vain -
for the whole experience of having a pathetic footslave slapped in front of
her in public whilst he licked the mud off her boots had made Mistress
Angela feel good about herself - superior; powerful; sexy - and Master
Philip would be the beneficiary of her sexual arousal later that evening. So
the slave had achieved something.
As soon as the couple had walked away the slave, his cheeks still stinging
and his lip still throbbing, heard the tour group approaching.
This was another rergular event in his 'calandar' - the Japanese tour group.
They came at this time every other week - part of their two week itinerary
around Europe. Of course, they consisted of different individuals each
time - but the group always consisted of 10 Japanese women, aged between 18
and 25, and led by Miss Fumiko - the group leader.
He recognised her legs and footwear as she approached. She was always
smartly dressed in the tour company's colours - red, low-heeled pumps, white
nylons, a red knee length skirt, and crisp, white jacket. At 27, Miss Fumiko
was only slightly older than the tour group she was leading, and she knew
what her customers liked. They liked to see the public footslave in the town
square - it was one of the highlights of the two week tour.
As they approached the footslave's booth Miss Fumiko beckoned to the
giggling, excited group of young Japanese women to gather round. This was
all so well rehearsed now that, although Miss Fumiko spoke quite good
English, she didn't even have to give orders to the footslave. He knew by
now exactly what to do, as Miss Fumiko explained all about the public
footslave in Japanese to the fascinated tour group.
As Miss Fumiko placed her right foot onto the wooden footblock beneath the
slave's nose, she explained to the group that many women just like to have
their shoes kissed and worshipped. As she did so, the footslave, who didn't
understand a word of Japanese, as if by order was placing his lips on the
upper toe of her shiny bright red shoe. He noticed a few specks of mud -
inevitable given the recent rainfall - but, on the whole, Miss Fumiko had
somehow managed to keep her shoe relatively clean. He noticed also the
stitching in her white nylons covering the top of her foot and her shapely
ankle. Her foot was so tiny. Like most Japanese women, Miss Fumiko was quite
short and petite, but from the footslave's perspective she towered over
him - powerful and masterful.
He placed several crisp, respectful kisses onto the top of her shoe, to the
obvious and audible delight of the gathered tour group.
Miss Fumiko then slipped her nylon-stockinged foot out of her red shoe and
wiggled her toes under the slave's nose. This was his cue to sniff her toes
as she explained to the watching group of young women that some mistresses
like to humiliate the slave by having him sniff their toes and smell their
foot odour.
As he lowered his nose to touch the reinforced area of white nylon stocking
that covered Miss Fumiko's delicate toes, the slave could see that her toe
nails were painted red underneath - matching her outfit. He gave the first,
clear audible sniff of her toes and caught the aroma of young woman foot
sweat that was perhaps inevitable for a busy tour guide who had been on her
feet all morning. He sniffed 3 times in all, earning gasps of surprise and
excitement from the young women in the gathered group.
Next, Miss Fumiko forced her white-stockinged, sweaty foot into the slave's
mouth - his cue to start sucking her stockinged toes as she explained to her
group members that some ladies like to have their feet sucked by the public
footslave. As the footslave tasted her sweaty nylon stockings, Miss Fumiko
received a round of applause from the young ladies watching.
He continued to suck her stockinged toes as Miss Fumiko invited questions
from the watching group. The questions and answers were all in Japanese, so
the slave had no idea what was being said about him - but he didn't need to
know:
'Does the footslave have a name?'
- No. He is just the 'public footslave', although some ladies like to refer
to him as a 'footlick', 'shoelick' or 'bootlick'.
'What hours does he work?'
- 06:00 AM to 10:00 PM every day.
'How often does he get fed?'
- Once a day - first thing in the morning, with 'slave gruel' - a nourishing
but foul-tasting mush.
'How is he punished?'
- He can be removed from his hatch and publically whipped if required.
'How long will he be a slave for?'
- For the rest of his natural life.
'Is he allowed any sexual relief?'
- No. However, his sexual frustration makes him a better slave as his only
female contact is with women's feet and footwear.
Miss Fumiko removed her now damp stockinged toes from the slave's mouth and
slipped her refreshed foot back into her shoe. As the slave swallowed her
foot sweat, she suggested to the 10 young women in the tour group that they
each step up to the footblock and have their feet kissed as a souvenir - she
stressed, however, that there was only time for one kiss on each of their
feet. They could of course take pictures or videos of each other if they
wished as they had their shoes worshipped.
A buzz of anticipation went around the group as the women decided who would
go first. The slave readied himself to kiss 10 pairs of female, Japanese
feet.
The first foot that was presented to him to pay his respects to belonged to
a young woman who was wearing flimsy, gold-coloured, flat ballet-style shoes
on bare feet and blue denim jeans. She giggled as the slave placed his lips
on the ballet shoe. The slave, for his part could smell plastic and rubber
as he humbly planted his kiss to the superior goddess's golden shoe. The
young woman then withdrew her right foot and replaced it with her left.
Again he lowered his lips in abject humility and did his duty of making the
young woman feel worshipped.
The next young woman was also wearing blue denim jeans but with pink and
white sneakers. The slave noticed also that she was wearing thin,white 'no
show' socks inside her sneakers with a matching pink rim along the
elasticated top that came to just below her shapely ankle. So much for his
theory that only western women who preferred these 'no show' socks. He loved
the way it was only the thicker stitching of the elasticated top of her
short white sock that was visible. How he envied that sock as he lowered his
lips to the top of her sneaker. The sock was closer to, and more intimate
with, the mistress's foot than he could ever be. It spent the whole day
inside her sneaker, absorbing her foot-sweat and protecting her delicate,
soft foot - making sure it was comfortable inside the enclosed shoe. The
slave wished he could be a young woman's sock.
The next mistress had on brown leather, calf-length, pointy-toed cowboy
boots, with brown corduroy trousers tucked into them. Rather like Mistress
Angela's boots there was a considerable amount of mud stuck to the soles -
but unlike with Mistress Angela, the slave was only expected to place a
respectful kiss on the toe of this young woman's boot, not to lick off the
mud. She giggled with pleasure as the slave kissed her leather boot, her
friend in the group apparently capturing the moment on her camcorder.
The next foot was shod in bright blue, patent leather, high heeled shoes and
blue fish net stockings. The slave was always impressed at the sheer variety
of women's footwear - and at the variety in their personalities too, for no
sooner had he placed his first humble kiss on this young woman's right foot
than she pulled it way, laughing and screaming at his act of servile
humility at her feet. The other members of the group laughed with her, and
had to persuade her to put her other foot onto the block for worshipping.
In complete contrast the next young woman was only too pleased to have her
foot kissed. She was wearing heavy, black, lace-up Doc Marten style ankle
boots, black and orange striped tights and a short black skirt. She was, in
effect, a Japanese 'Goth-girl', and she just loved the idea of having a male
slave kissing her dirty boots. The footslave could sense that any slave who
ever had the misfortune to be this young woman's personal slave could expect
a life of unremitting pain and humiliation. She was a natural-born dominant,
ordering him in Japanese (not that he understood it) to kiss her boots in
such a way so that she could feel his lips through her boot leather. The
group voiced their approval of her attitude.
She was followed in quick succession by a young woman wearing rather dirty
red and white, converse-style sneakers and thick black tights; then a young
lady in black, suede knee-length boots whose black trousers just covered the
tops of her boots; then a mistress wearing red shorts, black sneakers and no
socks, but with a gold ankle chain on her right foot; and then a young woman
wearing a short black skirt and black courts with flesh coloured nylons,
through which the slave could see a tattoo of a red rose on her left ankle.
The last member of the tour group to step up to the footblock was also the
youngest. At 18, Miss Suki had just finished school and was in her gap year.
However, unlike most students she was not one for back-packing. She was, in
fact, the rather spoilt daughter of a rich Japanese businessman, who was
paying for her to see the world on various expensive but well-organised
tours before he planned to put her into university.
Miss Suki, if truth be told, was a bit of a handful. She had a rebellious
streak in her that didn't sit very comfortably with her father's
expectations of her. But of course, like all fathers, at the end of the day
he doted on his daughter, and she was well used to getting her way. On this
particular tour she was getting on particularly well with the 'goth girl' in
the group.
Miss Suki was wearing a short red and black skirt, black patent-leather
strappy shoes with a high, blocky heel and wide, rounded toe, and red and
black patterned ankle socks. It was only as he lowered his lips to kiss her
outstretched foot that the slave realised that there were, in fact, only two
straps on the shoe across the front of her foot, and that the black rim at
the top of her sock gave the illusion of a third strap. This detail for some
reason excited him, as did the small sore on the outside of her leg just
above the top of her sock.
The slave could not resist placing his kiss on a mud-splattered part of the
young woman's shoe. Although she could not communicate with him as she spoke
no English, the slave could sense that this young mistress would want him to
taste her shoe filth as he kissed her shoe. He noticed her sock crease as
she leant forward to get a better view of his act of submission. She
despised him.
As she withdrew her right foot from the block and replaced it with her left
foot Miss Suki asked the tour leader, Miss Fumiko, if she was allowed to
spit on the slave? Miss Fumiko laughed, and said that she was permitted to
do anything she liked with him - within the limits of public decency.
With that, as the public shoelick placed his respectful lips to the top of
her shiny left shoe, Miss Suki audibly collected the saliva and mucus in her
beautiful, feminine mouth, and spat it out onto the pathetic slave's bald
head.
Almost immediately, however, she screamed and withdrew her foot from under
the slave's nose. Although the vast bulk of her spit had landed on its
target of the slave's head, a small part had landed on her nice shiny black
shoe! The group laughed at her apparent distress at this, as Miss Suki asked
Miss Fumiko to instruct the slave to lick the offending spit off her shoe.
Miss Suki then placed her left foot onto the wooden footblock again, whilst
Miss Fumiko, also laughing, addressed the slave in English with her heavy
japanese accent:
"Slave, lick spit off Miss Suki's shoe!".
And so, the spit and mucus covered footslave licked off the stray spit that
had inadvertently fallen onto Miss Suki's shiny, black shoe as the rest of
the tour group gave her a round of applause. Miss Suki was smiling again.
She decided she would not ask Miss Fumiko to have the slave punished for
allowing her spit to splash onto her nice, clean shoe.
As the tour group headed off towards the museum, they all felt that,
whatever other sights they would see during the rest of their tour around
Europe, none of them would ever forget the day they each had their feet
kissed by the public footslave in the town square.
The footslave, of course, was going nowhere.
Oh, and just for the record, Mistress Angela had been wearing thick, yellow
boot socks inside her black leather boots.
Part 6
It was now mid-afternoon and the sun was shining brightly. The heat from the
sun's rays soon dried off the remnants of Miss Suki's spit from the top of
the public footslave's balding head.
Being late Spring, it was still nowhere near the height of the tourist
season. However, something was evidently attracting tourists to the Town
Square that afternoon as the footslave's next customers were also visitors
from abroad.
Beate and Agata were both in their mid-twenties and from Germany. They were
backpacking their way around Europe, and had just spent the last three days
hiking in the hills surrounding the town. They were hot, tired and sweaty.
Beate in particular felt that her sweaty, tired feet needed some attention.
And who better to fulfill that role than the public footslave in the centre
of the town? The two girls had already heard on the grapevine that there was
to be a public flogging of a slave in the Town Square that afternoon. Beate
had therefore suggested to her friend Agata that they head first for the
services of the public footslave before enjoying the spectacle of the public
whipping.
As they approached him the footslave saw two almost identical looking pairs
of feet coming towards him. Both girls were wearing heavy, brown, leather,
ankle- length hiking boots. Beate was the taller of the two girls, and
arguably the prettier. Slim and with shoulder length blonde hair she
projected an air of self-confidence and power. Thick, white boot-socks
protruded for about 1 inch above the top of her hiking boots, and she was
wearing red leggings which came down to below her knees but did not quite
reach the top of her socks. Agata was a slightly shorter, dumpier girl --
but with an attractive face and 'cheeky' grin. Like her friend Beate she was
wearing leggings, but hers were blue. She was also wearing thick navy blue
socks which, again, protruded about an inch or so above the top of her brown
hiking boots, leaving several inches of bare leg below her leggings. Both
girls carried the ubiquitous rucksacks.
Beate was the first to stretch out her right foot onto the wooden footblock
immediately below the kneeling footslave's nose:
"Leck meinen schuh, sklave!", she barked down at the humble slave.
The public footslave didn't speak much German, but he knew enough to guess
that 'leck' meant 'lick', and 'meinen schuh' meant 'my shoe'. Even if he
hadn't understood a word of German the young woman's body language would
have made it clear what he was to do. She was pointing down to the top of
her outstretched foot as she spoke:
"Schnell, du schmutziger sklave!", she shouted impatiently.
'Schnell' meant 'quick' - so the footslave wasted no time in lowering his
tongue to the girl's heavy brown boot.
To say that her boot was dirty would be a bit of an understatement. It was
positively caked in mud - mud that had presumably accumulated on her boots
during her three days of hill-walking. And there were traces of mud on the
tops of her white boot-socks as well - suggesting that they too may have
been worn for more than one day.
The footslave dutifully started to lathe away mistress Beate's boot muck as
she and her friend watched wide-eyed - enjoying the absolute power they had
over this down-in-the-dirt slave who they both knew had no choice but to
spend his entire days licking off, and swallowing the foot dirt of his
superior female masters. His taste buds were soon overwhelmed with the taste
of musty leather, stale mud and dried grass as he transferred the offending
filth from the young German goddess's boot into his slave mouth - where it
truly belonged.
After some 5 minutes of licking her right boot, she replaced it with her
left, and she did not need to repeat her order in German. The footslave knew
exactly what to do as his now aching tongue repeated the humiliating service
it had performed for her right boot. The two girls were laughing and
chatting happily to each other in German as the footslave worked on Beate's
boots - but he knew it was no business of his what they were saying, even
though he suspected they were both talking about him. His duty was to
concentrate on removing the young mistress's boot-filth with his tongue, and
that was exactly what he did.
What the girls were actually discussing was the state of their feet - how
dirty and sweaty they were after their three days of hiking without a bath
or shower, and how it was only right that they should impose their
foot-smell on the public footslave. After all, that's partly what a
footslave is for - to sniff and smell women's dirty feet and socks as well
as to clean them.
After he had been licking her left boot for some 5 minutes Beate reached
down to untie her laces. The footslave stopped licking and swallowed the
remaining muck in his mouth as he waited for mistress Beate to take off her
boot and reveal the rest of her white sock.
As soon as the boot was off the slave's nostrils were assaulted by an
overpowering smell of stinky sock sweat. Beate deliberately stretched out
her foot so that her white-socked toes touched the footslave's nose. The
sock was warm from having been inside her heavy boot for so long on such a
warm day. She kindly wiggled her toes inside the sock to release more of her
rank foot odour for the slave.
The two women both laughed at the expression of horror on the slave's face.
Although he was well used to the smell of feminine foot odour, it was
impossible to ever get used to the overwhelming unpleasantness of really
stinky feet - and this socked foot was truly stinking. He could see the
yellow sweat stains on the crusty toe of her white sock as she flexed it
over his nose, and, footslave though he was, all his natural instincts were
urging him to try not to breathe in the powerful, vinegary stench; but Beate
was determined that that was exactly what he would have to do:
"Riech meine verschwitzte socke, fuss-sklave!", she snapped at him.
Again, her body language was obvious, but in any case it wasn't hard to work
out that 'riech' - which sounded, appropriately, like 'reek' - meant 'smell'
and 'meine socke' meant 'my sock'. So, he braced himself, and obeyed the
young mistress's orders. He started to audibly sniff her foul-smelling,
white-socked foot. Even he, however, the public footslave of many years'
experience, couldn't keep his nose against the girl's sock for too long. He
had to punctuate his sniffs with deep breaths in an effort to avoid passing
out from the horrible, cheesy stench.
Beate and Agata laughed out loud at the slave's obvious distress. Far from
being offended, Beate was proud of the fact that her socked foot was causing
the footslave such anguish. As far as she was concerned he was nothing but a
dirty, sock-sniffing whore, the lowest of the low, and the stink of her feet
was too good for him, however bad it was.
The stink was, however, wafting up as far as her own delicate nostrils, and
so she decided it was about time the slave removed some of the sweat from
her bare foot - she didn't want her friend Agata to have to suffer from her
bad foot smell.
She therefore reached down and peeled off her thick, white, yellow-stained
bootsock and threw it to one side, holding her nose in a mock warning
gesture to Agata not to go near it.
"Leck meinen fuss, sklave", she ordered, as she extended her bare left foot
back to the kneeling slave's face.
The slave could see the tracks from the stitching on her sock at various
points on Mistress Beate's bare foot - another clue, if any more were
needed, that the young woman had been wearing her socks continuously for
several days. Although, deep inside, he balked at what he now had to do, the
obedient footslave began to 'leck' her 'fuss'. Salt was the overwhelming
taste this time - salty, feminine foot-sweat mixed with cheesy pieces of
black toe-jam.The slave also noticed some white sock lint on the base of her
big toe. He licked it off.
Her foot was warm and soft, but, as he lathed with his tongue between her
sweaty toes, the footslave felt an overwhelming sense of humiliation and
degradation at the fact that this beautiful and dominant young woman was
using his mouth to clean her dirty foot -a foot that she herself could
clearly not have been bothered to wash or clean for several days. Of course,
he didn't feel any resentment towards the young woman. She was his superior
mistress and he was a mere slave, to whom she could do, and was doing,
whatever she liked. He had to acknowledge also that a mistress had every
right not to clean her own feet. But what particularly galled him was his
overwhelming sense that to her he was literally nothing more than a dumb,
human foot-spa, fit only to tongue-wash away the accumulated filth and sweat
of several days from her divine feet.
As he licked around the outer side of her foot he noticed a little white
blister just below her big toe. Beate was painfully aware of the blister to.
It had been causing her some discomfort for two days now. She decided that
the footslave should 'kiss it better':
"Sklave, kuss die blase auf meinem fuss!", she shouted.
This time, the slave did not understand what she was saying. Agata had
clearly understood, for she was literally jumping up and down and clapping
her hands with delight at what her friend had just ordered him to do.
Whatever it was, mistress Agata was clearly excited by it - so, presumably
it was something particularly humiliating. But the slave, to his
consternation, had no idea what he was being told to do.
He froze.
Beate leaned down and slapped him hard across his right cheek:
"Du schmutziger sklave! Kuss die blase! Kuss die blase!", she screamed at
him. Mercifully, she also pointed to the blister on the side of her foot and
the stupid footslave at last realized what he was being ordered to do.
Mistress Beate wanted him to kiss her foot-blister.
With his head still ringing from the blow of her slap he dutifully lowered
his slave lips to brush gently against the top of her blister. He knew he
mustn't hurt her in any way - the punishment for a slave who causes even
minor discomfort to a mistress just didn't bear thinking about- so his kiss
to the blister was both gentle and respectful. Agata whooped with delight
and the two girls mocked the pathetic footslave who had now been reduced to
kissing an aberration on a young woman's foot.
When she was satisfied that he had paid sufficient respects to her blister,
Mistress Beate dried her foot by rubbing it through what hair was left on
the balding footslave's head. She commented to her friend Agata on the slave's
receding hair and the two girls giggled as Beate suggested that she should
give his bald head some protection from the sun by applying sun cream to
it - with her bare foot.
The slave, who had not understood what the girls had been saying, observed
as mistress Beate smeared some fragrant, white cream onto her soft, pretty
bare foot, making sure to work some of it in between her toes, before
placing the sole of her foot on the top of his head and then rubbing the
cream into his balding pate and down the front of his face. The slave could
smell a curious mix of mistress Beate's residual foot-sweat, combined with
the sweet smelling sun cream as the young German woman carried out her
kindly act in the most degrading way she could think of. How Agata laughed
as her cruel friend humiliated the slave in yet another ingenious way! She
had to admire Beate for her originality when it came to slave-domination.
The two female backpackers spent a further half hour humiliating and
degrading the public footslave with their dirty, sweaty feet and footwear.
After he had sniffed and sucked on Beate's right socked foot, and then
licked clean her bare foot, her friend Agata stepped up to the wooden
footblock. Although she too made him lick the mud off her dirty, brown,
leather hiking boots, unlike her friend she did not require the slave to
smell the sweat-drenched navy blue socks she was wearing inside them, or to
lick her bare feet. So her boots, mercifully, stayed on. She did, however,
kindly allow him to kiss the exposed, elasticated tops of the thick, navy
blue bootsocks she was wearing. She also granted him the privilege of
tasting and smelling the dirty socks she had inside her rucksack - several
pairs, of differing colours and textures - holding each individual sock up
to his nose so that he got a full flavour of her personal foot odour which,
if it did not exceed, certainly rivaled her friend Beate's foot-stink.
The humiliation only stopped when the tanoy in the town square announced
that it was time for the public flogging to be carried out. As Agata put her
dirty socks back into her rucksack and the two girls headed off to join the
gathering crowd in the centre of the square, the public footslave literally
breathed a huge sigh of relief. Fresh air again! He hated to even think it,
for it was incredibly selfish, but the unknown slave's impending suffering
had spared him from the degradation of having to smell even more of mistress
Agata's sweaty socks - and he was grateful for the timing of the flogging.
From his lowly kneeling position at the edge of the town square, the
footslave could never see the public floggings. But he could hear them - the
terrifying swish of the whip as it whistled through the air, the sickening
crack across bare flesh, the agonized scream of the recipient slave followed
by the cheers of the crowd and the shouts of 'more!' and 'harder!' as they
urged the flogger to even greater efforts. Of course, he knew that the slave
being punished must be male, and the flogger was in all probability female -
almost certainly a fit, young policewoman who would have been specially
trained in the art of 'correction'. But, whilst he realized he should be
feeling sympathy for his fellow-slave undergoing such agonizing punishment,
the public footslave was actually just glad of the opportunity that the
public whippings gave him to have a rest. It was most unusual for any woman
not to want to watch a slave being whipped, and so he rarely had to deal
with any customers during the punishment sessions. One male slave's agony
was another male slave's respite.
Having said that, it was often a respite that didn't last for long - and
experience had shown him that immediately after a public whipping he would
often be at his busiest, as women, fired up by the sights and sounds of male
suffering and female power, wanted to express their own dominance by
humbling the public footslave.
One such woman was 40 year-old mistress Rachel. She was one of the public
footslave's regulars - and was also a regular witness at the public
floggings. In a less enlightened society she might have been pejoratively
described as a 'sadist', but in this society she was admired for what she
was - a superior dominant woman in the prime of life. She delighted in
teasing and verbally humiliating slaves, and especially enjoyed taunting the
public footslave. She particularly loved the fact that he was immobile and
totally powerless, forced to kneel in the same position day in and day out
and to lick the dirty shoes and feet of any woman who ordered him to do so,
including herself, whilst she, in complete contrast, could go anywhere she
liked, do anything she liked and, as a single woman, live her life in any
way she wanted to, beholden to no-one.
The footslave recognized her feet and legs as she approached. It was a sad
fact of his wretched existence that he recognized his regular customers from
their feet and footwear rather than their faces. He wasn't good enough to
look upon their beautiful faces. But at least he could appreciate mistress
Rachel's beautiful legs, clad as they were in sheer black nylons under her
knee-length skirt - and her feet, shod in her favourite pair of black
leather high-heeled pumps. Mistress Rachel had made sure that her shoes were
not too clean for the footslave. How thoughtful she was! Although she was
fastidious about her personal appearance, she wanted to make sure there was
at least some street-dirt for him to lick off.
As she positioned her shapely high-heeled ankle onto his humble wooden
footblock mistress Rachel 'looked down' on the slave in every sense of those
words. How pathetic he was. How lowly. How mean. An inferior in every way.
"Lick my shoe, dirty footlick", she ordered, her voice betraying her
contempt for him.
As the slave once again extended his tongue to touch dirty female shoe
leather, mistress Rachel verbally harassed him. She asked him if he had
heard the public flogging? Did he think the slave had liked the whipping? Or
did the slave's pitiful screams for mercy suggest that he had not liked it?
Did he think the slave had deserved to be whipped? Did he himself crave to
be whipped, or was he frightened of the whip? When was he last whipped
himself? What had the pain been like? What does it feel like to be a
helpless male slave, tied up to a whipping post and flogged by a woman? Etc
etc.
As he licked mistress Rachel's high-heeled leather shoe the footslave did
his best to answer her, often rhetorical, questions. He fully realized that
for the most part, she wasn't interested in his opinions or his answers. It
was just her way of exulting in her power over him, and she was perfectly
entitled to taunt him in this way if that was what she wished.
Just as she was switching over to present him with her left foot, however,
their
somewhat meaningless conversation was interrupted by an American voice:
"Hi there! My name is Carrie Kuslowski and I'm a reporter for the 'Women in
Power' programme on the 'Femdom' channel".
Both mistress Rachel and the footslave had failed to notice the television
crew approaching them from the centre of the square, so engrossed had they
both been in their mistress/slave small-talk.
"Hello, I'm Rachel", replied Rachel, fully aware that the reporter was, of
course, addressing her and not the humble footslave.
"Hi, Rachel. Nice to meet you", continued mistress Carrie. "Listen, we've
just been filming the public flogging of that disobedient slave and we also
wanted to do a piece on the public footslave. Would you mind if we filmed
you and asked you a few questions while the slave works on your shoes?".
This was music to Rachel's ears. Not only would she be humiliating the
public footslave - she'd be doing it on national television! - well, on
American cable TV at least:
"I'd be delighted", she replied, with a broad grin on her pretty face.
"Great!", exclaimed Carrie, "well, this is Robert my director; David, my
cameraman; and Pamela my sound recordist".
From his lowly position the slave could now see, in addition to mistress
Rachel's stockinged foot and high-heeled shoe on the block directly under
his face (a shoe which, incidentally, he was still licking), another pair of
high heels, this time in shiny black patent leather belonging to mistress
Carrie, the reporter; a pair of ugly male brogues and jeans which presumably
belonged to the director, master Robert; a pair of male sneakers and jeans
belonging to master David, the cameraman; and a pair of high-top red and
white sneakers with white, calf-length socks topped with yellow and green
stripes , evidently belonging to the female sound recordist, mistress
Pamela, a black girl who appeared to be in her early twenties.
Mistress Pamela's footwear particularly caught the footslave's eye. She must
be wearing very short shorts or a very short skirt as her beautiful black
legs appeared to go on forever above her fully pulled-up white sports socks.
From his humble vantage point, she looked stunning.
For her part Rachel was admiring the director. She did respect and admire
free men, and Robert struck her as rather handsome, although she couldn't
help thinking it was somewhat ironic that the director of a programme called
'Women in Power' on the 'Femdom channel' should be male! She was gratified,
however, to see that Carrie, a woman who was in her mid thirties, appeared
to be the one in charge of everything:
"Okay, Rachel, what I think we'll do is just get a few shots of you having
your shoes licked whilst I ask you a few questions to camera. Would that be
ok?", asked Carrie.
"Sure thing", replied Rachel.
Robert, the director, then offered mistress Rachel some advice:
"Okay, Rachel, just behave naturally and try to forget the camera is there",
Rachel smiled at him:
"No problem", she replied.
Robert then signaled to David, the cameraman, and Pamela, the pretty sound
recordist, to move into position ready for the 'take'. As they did so, and
as he was still obediently licking mistress Rachel's left shoe as he had not
been ordered to stop, the footslave couldn't help but notice that mistress
Pamela was stretching one sneakered foot out towards him as she balanced the
sound boom. He could even see some creases in her sock just above her
sneaker - caused by the positioning of her foot. It was as if she was
preparing for him to kiss her beautiful foot.
The camera was positioned for a close-up of mistress Rachel's stockinged and
high-heeled left foot, as mistress Carrie made some final adjustments to her
smart pin-striped, dark blue skirt and jacket.
"Ok. Ready everyone - and action!", said the director,
There was a moment's silence as the camera focused on the slave's licking
the side of mistress Rachel's left shoe. The camera then slowly panned up
Rachel's shapely leg until her face was in shot. Mistress Carrie then spoke:
"Rachel, can I ask you how often you utilize the services of the public
footslave?"
"About two or three times a week - whenever I'm in town really".
"I see. And do you only ever have your shoes licked clean by him, or do you
make him serve your feet in other ways?"
"Oh no! Sometimes I make him kiss my stockinged feet, or even lick my bare
feet clean in the summer".
"Rachel, you look really cool as you stand here having your shoes licked
clean in the town square by the public footslave. But tell me, do you ever
feel embarrassed at such a public display of your authority and power?"
Mistress Rachel, who was now perfectly relaxed, laughed:
"Not at all!. There's nothing unusual about this in our town. There are lots
of public footslaves dotted about throughout the town centre. It's just a
normal part of life - having your feet and footwear cleaned by a dirty,
public slave"
"Fantastic!. Thanks for talking to us Rachel".
"-----------and cut!", said master Robert.
"That was great, Rachel", continued mistress Carrie, "if you would just like
to sign this consent form and put your full name and address on it, we'll be
sending you a small 'appearance fee' for your trouble".
Rachel was delighted. Not only was she getting to humiliate a slave on TV,
she would be getting paid for it! She stepped away from the footslave and
signed the form.
After mistress Rachel had left, the TV crew decided they would film the
introduction and conclusion of their piece so that everything could then be
edited together back in the studio. Mistress Carrie had apparently already
worked out her script.
The camera focused on her and Pamela held the sound boom out of shot above
Carrie's head as mistress Carrie recorded her introduction:
"Ladies, you know how it is. You're walking through the centre of town on
your way to an important business meeting, or perhaps to that special
romantic date, when you suddenly notice that you've stepped in some mud and
your shoe is dirty! You don't have any tissues. What is a girl to do?
Well, here in the town square in Barbaria it's no problem! You just walk up
to the public footslave", (at this point mistress Carrie started to walk
towards him and placed her right foot onto the wooden footblock), "place
your foot in front of him",
(the camera focused in on her foot), "and order him to lick it clean".
The camera then closed in on Carries pretty face as she looked down at the
humble footslave:
"Slave, clean my dirty shoe", she ordered.
The slave took his cue and immediately lowered his lips to the female
reporter's shiny black high-heeled shoe. It wasn't terribly dirty, but
mistress Carrie had apparently ensured that there was one streak of mud down
the side of her shoe, so that the viewers would get a good close-up shot of
her shoe-muck going onto the slave's tongue. She was wearing flesh-coloured
tights and the footslave wondered whether the camera was also picking up the
ever so slight ladder in her tights that he could see just below her ankle.
He suspected not, as her stocking was now conveniently creased just at that
point.
"See, it's that easy!", continued mistress Carrie, "You order, and the slave
obeys. Your shoes are clean again in minutes! And it doesn't cost a cent!
Earlier I spoke to one of the inhabitants of the town, mistress Rachel. This
is what she had to say:"
"---------and cut!", said master Robert.
Mistress Carrie immediately took her foot away from the block- apparently
unconcerned as to whether her shoe had really been cleaned or not. She then
did a final piece to camera by way of 'signing off':
"So ladies, the next time you visit Barbaria, remember to make use of the
public footslave. Don't be embarrassed. As Rachel says, in this town it's
the most natural thing in the world!. This is Carrie Kuslowski, for 'Women
in Power' on the Femdom channel".
"--------and cut!. OK everyone, that's a wrap!", concluded master Robert.
As the crew were packing up to leave, mistress Carrie offered to hold
mistress Pamela's sound boom and suggested to her that she experience the
use of the footslave for herself.
The footslave's heart lept - yes! He was going to get the chance to pay his
respects to this lovely young woman with her stripy yellow and green socks!
Mistress Pamela appeared to have no hesitation in approaching the footblock.
This time she extended her right foot towards him for him to kiss for real.
"Kiss my sneaker, footslave", she ordered him in a southern drawl. She
appeared to be chewing gum.
As he lowered his lips to the top of her red and white sneaker, her
pulled-up white sock seemed to tower above him, reinforcing her superiority
over him. He planted a genuinely respectful kiss onto the rubber of her
sneaker toe and was thrilled as he saw mistress Pamela's foot flex under her
sock in reaction to his humble act of submission.
Her sneaker showed some signs of dirt - particularly on the white parts
around the bottom and on the toe. He kissed her right sneaker several times
before she switched feet:
"And the other one, slaveboy", she snapped.
Slaveboy! He was at least twice her age, but by calling him 'slaveboy' this
young woman was clearly indicating her contempt for the pathetic slave at
her superior feet. She was everything he was not - good-looking, intelligent
and a free human-being. She was also a member of the superior sex. She may
have been the junior member of the TV crew, but the footslave felt truly
honoured to be allowed to kiss the dirty sneakers of this black goddess. He
would have liked the honour of kissing her smart socks also, or of running
his slave nose down the pattern of the stitching, all the way from the
yellow stripe at the top, past the green stripe below it and down the white
cotton material to the top of her sneaker- but it wasn't to be. Master
Robert interrupted proceedings:
"OK, everyone. We've got some good 'footage' there. Let's all go for a drink
before heading back to the studio!".
Of course, the public footslave wasn't included in the invitation to drinks.
Nor would he, in spite of his starring role, be receiving any 'appearance
fee' for his part in the TV programme.
Part 7
The afternoon sun really was getting rather hot now and the public footslave
noticed that he was developing a raging thirst. Perhaps the mention of
'drinks' by the television crew, and the thought that the lovely sound
recordist, miss Pamela, would soon be sipping a refreshing fruit juice
whilst his own mouth was still full of the taste of her dirty sneakers,
added to his sense of thirst.
As luck would have it, however, one of the waitresses from the neighbouring
restaurant in the town square had been watching the footslave at work during
her mid-afternoon break, and she had decided to avail herself of his
services also.
Mae-Pia was a pretty, 22 year old girl from Thailand. She had only been
working in the restaurant in the town square for a week, and had taken the
part-time job to help fund her English language lessons. She found the job
rather boring, but it did have its compensations - being pretty and very
polite she got lots of tips from the customers; and if ever she felt bored
or tired, or if she was shouted at by a particularly stroppy customer, she
only had to observe the poor public footslave at work next door to realise
that, compared to him, she was living a life of luxury!
In fact she had taken to observing the public footslave at work whenever she
had a break. She enjoyed watching the various women humiliating him with
their feet and she particularly liked it when they shouted at him and
slapped him. She often felt like slapping some of her more arrogant male
customers herself, but realised that would mean instant dismissal. It had
already occurred to her, however, that if ever she got to the stage where
she couldn't control her emotions she could always pop over to the public
footslave's booth and take out her frustrations on him with complete
impunity. She liked that idea very much.
Mae-Pia had fifteen minutes left of her break, and as she stubbed out her
cigarette under her sandaled foot she decided it was time that she
introduced herself to her 'neighbour'.
From his humble kneeling position the footslave saw only her legs and feet
as she approached. He observed her brown, shapely bare legs beneath the hem
of her short , blue denim skirt, and her brown, strappy, flat-heeled sandals
which afforded a clear view of her pretty toes with their pedicured nails
painted bright red. What he could not see was her white, summer blouse, her
dark sunglasses and her shoulder length dark hair framing her pretty
oriental features.
Mae-Pia had by now seen dozens of women utilising the services of the public
footslave so she knew exactly what to do. She stepped straight up to the
slightly raised wooden footblock and positioned her right foot on it
directly under the slave's nose:
"Slave kiss Mae-Pia's feet. Slave worship!".
The footslave instantly detected her cute, oriental accent as he obediently
lowered his now parched lips to the top of Mae-Pia's painted big toe.
He sensed the young woman suppress a short shriek of delight as she felt his
slave lips touching her soft footflesh for the first time. Mae-Pia realised
instantly that, whilst watching the humble footslave kissing the feet of
other women was great fun, having him kiss her own feet was even better! How
powerful it made her feel! Like an eastern goddess from ancient times having
her personal foot-attendant pay tribute to her celestial feet.
The slave kissed the top of her bare foot several times, occasionally
kissing also the brown leather strap of the sandal across the top of her
foot. He detected the familiar aroma of feminine foot-sweat, but unlike, for
example, with the German backpacker-girls, the aroma was not overpowering.
Nor could he see any blisters or rough skin - apart, perhaps, from a very
small patch of hard skin at the base of her heel. It was, basically, a
beautiful, shapely, petite, oriental female foot, and one that the slave was
more than happy to kiss.
And Mae-Pia was equally happy to let the footslave just pay his humble
respects to her right foot for several minutes, before she eventually
withdrew it from the footblock and then replaced it with her left foot.
As the footslave lowered his lips to pay homage to her equally
well-pedicured left foot, Mae-Pia spoke again:
"Mae-Pia work in restaurant. Watch slave work. Many women - dirty feet.
Slave get tired?".
The footslave was rather flattered that such a delightful young woman should
have been watching him work, and that she was showing apparent concern for
his well-being. He interrupted his foot-kissing briefly to respond to the
young mistress's question:
"Yes, thank you, Mistress Mae-Pia. The work is hard, but I am a footslave
and it is what I must do".
As he resumed kissing the top of her left foot and sandal, Mae-Pia continued
with her questioning:
"Mae-Pia see slave eating many shoe-dirt; licking boots. Taste bad. Slave
thirsty? Like water?"
It was at this point that the footslave saw that she was holding a bottle of
water-presumably from the restaurant- in her right hand. How kind of this
young off-duty waitress to offer him some refreshment! If it wasn't for
kind-hearted girls like her his existence would be truly miserable:
"Oh, yes please mistress. This slave is very thirsty", he replied, just as
he caught a whiff of the smell of her brown, leather sandal in his nose.
Mae-Pia seemed pleased that he was thirsty and wanted her water. She
laughed, and began to unscrew the bottle top. She then removed her left foot
from the wooden footblock and slipped off her sandal.
The footslave sensed that she was not simply going to give him a swig of her
precious water - and he was right, for Mae-Pia then proceeded to pour the
water all over her bare foot directly in front of the slave's face. She
clearly found the cold water very soothing to her bare foot as she gave out
a pleasurable moan as the water tricked between her toes and around the ball
of her pretty, asian foot. She then laughed, and held her wet, left foot up
to the kneeling slave's dry lips:
"Ha Ha! Slave lick water off Mae-Pia's foot. Drink sweat and water!".
Pathetic though it might seem, the footslave was still grateful for this act
of kindness from the young Thai mistress. At that moment in time any water,
even if it was mixed in with the girl's foot-sweat and toe jam, was going to
be welcome to him - his mouth was just so dry!
He therefore eagerly extended his tongue and lapped off the remaining
droplets of water from her foot. He licked the wrinkled sole of her foot,
the ball of her foot, the soft upper and in between her toes. Thankfully
there was still enough water on her foot to help moisten his lips and
tongue, if not exactly to quench his thirst.
For her part, Mae-Pia started giggling as she found the slave's tongue
ticklish as it darted in and out between her bare toes. She was also finding
it difficult to balance on just one foot and so she lowered her left foot
onto the wooden footblock again, but keeping it arched so that the footslave
could still lick all around the creases in her bare sole.
The slave liked the way the arching of the foot caused the young woman's
skin to crease also at the back of her ankle- and made sure that his slave
tongue licked in those tiny folds as well.
As he did so Mae-Pia finished off her bottle of water by drinking it. She
had decided that there just wasn't time for the slave to drink the remaining
water from her other foot, and simply holding the bottle up to his lips for
him to drink the remaining water didn't even occur to her. He was, after
all, just a slave - hardly worthy to drink water that had not first been
contaminated in some way by a young woman's foot.
And so, somewhat reluctantly, Mae-Pia withdrew her now refreshed foot from
the footblock and slipped it back into her sandal. She didn't feel any need
to slap the footslave at that particular moment. She had enjoyed his
services and his worship of her feet, and she knew that he would always be
there if and when she ever did feel the need to hurt someone.
"Mae-Pia go back to work. Slave thank Mae-Pia for drink!", she ordered.
The slave did want to thank her. He was genuinely grateful for small
mercies- and lapping water from the bare feet of a beautiful young Thai
woman constituted a small mercy in his world:
"Thank you, mistress Mae-Pia. This slave is very grateful for the water you
have given him".
Mae-Pia laughed with satisfaction. Domination and humiliation of a male
slave really was great fun!
"Mae-Pia use slave again soon!" - were her parting words to the slave.
For his part, the footslave looked forward to serving her again.
The respite to his thirst from Mae-Pia's foot water was, perhaps not
surprisingly, short-lived. He really needed a proper drink - but he knew
that just wasn't going to happen. He would just have to endure the thirst,
and hope that the taste of his subsequent customers' feet and footwear would
in some way suppress the raging thirst. He knew that was the only thing he
could guarantee - plenty more feminine shoes, boots, sandals and feet to
kiss, lick and suck.
As always, he didn't have long to wait for his next customer.
It all started quite normally. The young woman, who he guessed was in her
late twenties, was wearing blue denim jeans, white ankle socks and white
clog-style sneakers - giving a full view of her socked heel and ankle at the
back. She placed her right foot onto the footblock and ordered him to 'kiss
her sneakers'.
It was as he did so, however, that the conversation took a somewhat bizarre
turn:
"Listen, slave, I want you to keep on kissing my shoes whilst I talk. Don't
say anything until I tell you to. Just act normally".
The footslave was quite taken aback. What on earth was this young mistress
on about? He carried on kissing the top of her, rather scuffed, white
sneaker as she continued:
"I can get you out of here. I belong to an organisation that smuggles ma