Slave Worship Boots

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Slave Worship Boots
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It was the following Tuesday morning.



The Patel family’s ‘long weekend’ of just three full days in the town was drawing to a close and they were packing in preparation for check-out. They had spent all day Saturday shopping, all day Sunday sightseeing, and on the Monday had gone to see a show. Now they would be flying back to Pakistan with lots of souvenirs and happy memories of their short city-break in Europe.



Being a week-day, the Hotel ‘Footslave’ was now populated with more businesswomen than tourists. One major business conference in particular was taking place in the hotel – the Annual General Meeting of a female-orientated media and publishing company. The footslaves in the hotel were being kept very busy by the female delegates to this conference, most of them in their thirties or younger – and all of whom expected the highest possible standards of service.



Located in a walled garden, at the back of the hotel, was one such footslave – the hotel ‘shoeshine-boy’. The garden was the only area on the hotel premises where smoking was permitted, and so the hotel proprietors had installed the shoeshine-boy there so that those ladies who liked to smoke could have their shoes shined whilst they enjoyed a cigarette.



The ‘boy’ was actually in his forties, but he couldn’t realistically be referred to as a ‘man’ – given his lowly status vis-à-vis his female superiors. Like all the hotel footslaves he was suitably humble, and knew his status in life – which was serving the feet and footwear of his female masters and betters.



He was secured, in a kneeling position, to the garden wall by means of a chain around his neck – a chain which, helpfully, also prevented him from raising his head, thereby ensuring that it remained suitably bowed at all times over a wooden block which was positioned directly beneath his face– ready to serve the women’s feet. He was also, in common with all the other hotel footslaves, naked apart from the metal collar around his neck and his slave shorts.



Although it was still only 07:30 in the morning, he had been chained up in the garden since 06:30 am, just in case any of the female guests fancied a cigarette and a shoeshine before breakfast. Hitherto that morning, however, he had had no customers, and had been left to shiver in the early morning cold air alone.



In fact the first voice he heard that crisp Tuesday morning in the garden was those of one of the chambermaids, 25 year old Natasha, who was apparently showing around a new maid.



As the two female members of staff approached him he could hear Natasha, in her familiar East European accent, explaining his role to the new maid, who appeared to be a black girl with a strong West African accent:



‘…and this is the hotel shoeshine. We call him ‘Boots’, as he spends nearly all his day cleaning the dirty shoes and boots of our female guests’.



Boots heard the African girl giggle as her shapely, stocking-covered ankles moved into position in front of him alongside the much longer legs of Natasha. Both the chambermaids were attired in their black and white maids’ outfits, consisting of black blouses, frilly white pinafores, black knee-length skirts, dark stockings and shiny, black leather court shoes which accentuated the shapeliness of their pretty ankles.



Natasha continued to explain the role of the shoeshine-boy to the new girl:



‘He is woken up at 06:00 am sharp every morning when he is given his meal and washed for the day. At 06:30 we bring him out here to the garden, which is also the smoking area, and tie him by this chain to the hook in the wall. He then has to stay kneeling all day and shine the female guests’ shoes as required until 9 o’clock in the evening.



As you can see, he is allowed to use shoe-polish and brushes and cloths to shiner the ladies’ boots and shoes, but it is very important that he has to lick clean the ladies’ footwear first.’



Boots now heard the African speak for the first time properly as she asked Natasha a question:



‘What do we do with him if it is raining?’



Natasha, rather rudely, couldn’t help laughing out loud at the naïve African girl’s question:



‘Ha! Ha! We don’t care about that! Remember, Adeola, he’s just a dirty pig – if it rains, he gets wet. Nobody cares!’



20 year old miss Adeola was now embarrassed at the stupidity of her question, and resolved to just shut up and listen to the experienced Natasha’s explanation of the shoeshine-slave’s role:



‘Look, Adeola, I will show you what a stupid, dirty pig he is. Watch this!’ and with that miss Natasha took a step forward raising her right foot onto the wooden block under the slave’s nose.



Adeola thought Natasha looked very dominant, even in her maid’s outfit, as she stood, hands on hips, with one foot raised onto the wooden block and barked down her orders at the kneeling shoeshine-slave:



‘You, the pig, shine my shoe!’



Boots was well used to shining miss Natasha’s shoes. Chambermaids and other female hotel staff were permitted to use all the footslave-facilities within the hotel – subject to the caveat, of course, that female guests took priority over the staff when it came to using the slaves. Nevertheless, as a smoker herself, Natasha had often had occasion to use the shoeshine-boy, and had even, for her own amusement, and as a means of showing off to the new staff such as Adeola, developed a kind of humiliating ‘catechism’ to run through with Boots.



As the latter lowered his slave lips to the shiny top of her patent, black, high-heeled shoe, she began the catechism:



‘Who is the master, and who is the slave, dirty pig?’



Boots knew all the answers to the questions as Natasha had kindly taken the time to teach him:



‘You are the female master, and I am the male slave, mistress,’ he humbly replied – in between his first licks on the top of her right shoe.



The shoe was actually quite clean – just a few tiny traces of wet mud along the lower sides – probably from the garden. He did notice, however, how her sheer, dark nylon stocking had creased slightly around her outer ankle as a result of the outstretched positioning of her shapely foot.



Natasha continued with the slave’s degrading catechism – to the evident amusement of the new maid, Adeola.



‘And what type of female master am I, dirty slave?’



‘You are a supreme and most merciful female master, oh most glorious mistress Natasha’.



Adeola could scarcely contain herself. This middle-aged shoeshine-boy was so pathetic!



‘And what type of slave are you, filthy pig?’



‘I am nothing but a dirty, shoe-licking queer, most glorious mistress Natasha!’



Even Natasha herself had to smile at this stage of the slave’s ‘catechism’, even though she had heard it many times before (indeed, she had composed it!) :



‘And what is your ultimate privilege in life, shoe-licking queer?’



‘My ultimate privilege in life is to lick the dirt from your superior, feminine shoes, most glorious and merciful mistress Natasha.’



And, with that, Boots, ever conscious of the fact that actions speak louder than words, did indeed enthusiastically lick the dirt and the mud off the side of mistress Natasha’s patent-leather shoe, as though it was the greatest privilege he could possibly have in his miserable, slave existence.



‘Oh my God, he is such a wimp!’ exclaimed Adeola incredulously, as Natasha exchanged feet to allow Boots to lick the filth off her left shoe. ‘Can I make him clean my shoes?’



Natasha laughed. She liked this new girl Adeola, even if she did have a lot to learn:



‘Of course, you can, honey!’ she replied, stepping down from the wooden footblock to make room for miss Adeola. ‘Just stretch out your foot onto this block and order him to lick your shoe. Don’t forget to call him a “dirty pig”, because that’s what he is!’



Adeola gave a little ‘whoop’ of delight as she was conscious of the fact that she was currently the most junior of all the female hotel staff, this being her first day in the job, and yet was about to have her shoes licked clean by a male slave who was at least twice her age.



A wicked smile graced her pretty, red lips as she copied Natasha and, hands on hips, stretched out her right foot until it was resting on the wooden block directly under the footslave’s nose.



This was, of course, the first time Boots had seen the new, African chambermaid’s feet close up. Although she was wearing the same, dark, regulation stockings and black, patent leather, high-heeled shoes as mistress Natasha, her feet were much broader than Natasha’s, and he could see little signs that her stocking was somewhat twisted inside her shoe as the stitching was somewhat stretched and skewed around the side of her prominent ankle-bone.



The other thing Boots noticed as he awaited his orders, was a faint smell of stale sweat emanating from the African girl’s nylon stocking-clad foot. This concerned him somewhat, as presumably the stockings were fresh on her, this being her first day. That implied that she was not too fastidious about her personal hygiene, not that he had any right to complain about a superior mistress’s foot hygiene – he was obliged to kiss and lick the footwear of all women who placed their feet on his wooden footblock, whatever the condition of their feet and footwear.



‘Dirty pig, lick my shoe!’ came miss Adeola’s order in her cute West African accent.



As he lowered his tongue to taste the top of her shiny, black leather shoe Boots did indeed notice how much stronger the smell of foot-sweat became. He had not been imagining it – Mistress Adeola needed to have her feet washed! But, sadly for him, that was not his role. His only role in life was to ensure the cleanliness of ladies’ outer footwear – but he would at least try to make sure he did a good job of that!



He licked and licked until Adeola’s pretty, black, high-heeled shoe was sparkling in the early morning sunshine.



‘And the other one, foot-pig!’ barked miss Adeola, really getting into her role as slave-mistress, and replacing her right foot with her left.



Natasha was impressed. Adeola would make a good chambermaid in this specialist hotel as she clearly learnt quickly and had a natural instinct for bossing about inferior, male footslaves – one of the great joys, perhaps the only real joy, of being a ‘superior’ chambermaid in this particular themed hotel.



As Boots lathed away at Miss Adeola’s shoe with his rough tongue, Natasha continued to explain to the trainee-chambermaid some other aspects of his role:



‘As I said before, Adeola, we could also order him to polish our shoes with the shoe-polish, but we haven’t really got time. If he does use the polish he has to apply it to the lady’s shoe with his bare fingers. He’s only allowed to use the cloths and brushes to ‘buff up’ the shoes or boots after the polish has been applied by his dirty, slave hands.



Also, at 9:00 PM we have to bring him inside, as he then has to go around the hotel rooms, with a porter’s crate strapped onto his back, collecting the dirty shoes and boots that the female guests have left outside their rooms for cleaning. Once he has collected all the shoes he takes them to the scullery and cleans them all by hand and mouth, before taking them back to leave them outside the ladies’ rooms. We lock him up in his cell for the night at about 12:00 PM – so he usually gets about 6 hours’ sleep – more than enough for a dirty footslave!’



Boots listened as the experienced maid Natasha accurately explained his miserable existence serving the boots and shoes of women to the new African chambermaid, whose shoe dirt he could now taste in his mouth.



When Adeola was, eventually, satisfied with the condition of her left shoe, she stepped away from the block, and the two chambermaids went on to the next part of Adeola’s induction-tour of the hotel – the laundry room.



Needless to say neither girl had anything to say to Boots on their departure – no words of thanks for his efforts in tongue-cleaning their dirty shoes. He was just a human shoeshine-machine, a ‘thing’ they could use to spruce up their footwear – a ‘perk’ of the job.



And the human shoeshine-machine didn’t have much longer to wait for his next ‘customers’ – two of the young business women who were staying at the hotel for the aforementioned media company’s AGM.



Laura and Carole had much in common. They both worked in the Accounts Dept of the media company, were both blonde, both smokers, and both were in their late twenties. They were good friends as well as colleagues, and having breakfasted, they now wanted a cigarette before the first session of the AGM which was due to begin at 9 o’clock.



Hence they had come to the ‘smoking garden’.



As they approached him, Boots could hear how they were discussing some aspects of the company’s business plan. Needless to say, as a stupid and humble footslave, he could not understand the intricacies of what they were saying. But that only served to emphasise that these young ladies were intellectually superior to him, and that he was fit only to shine their shoes.



Or more accurately, their shoes and boots, since whilst Laura was wearing pointy, flat-heeled , black leather shoes on bare feet, her friend Carole was wearing black, spike-heeled ankle boots with black ankle socks. Both ladies were wearing trouser-suits, grey pin-striped in the case of Laura and black in the case of Carole.



The two young businesswomen appeared totally engrossed in their conversation as miss Laura was the first to step up to the wooden footblock and place the pointy black shoe on her right foot onto it, lighting up a cigarette as she did so.



She interrupted her conversation with her friend only briefly to say:



‘Boy, shine them up!’



And then, having taken a first drag on her cigarette, she continued talking to her colleague who, by now, had also lit up.



As the two smartly-dressed business women continued their business conversation, ignoring the shoeshine-boy at Laura’s feet, the humble Boots duly concentrated on what he did best – shining feminine shoes.



He began by licking and sucking on the pointy, slightly scuffed toe, of the black, leather shoe, endeavouring to extricate with his tongue a tiny blade of grass that had become embedded in the tip. As he did so he could see the joints of the mistress’s toes as her shoe didn’t quite cover her bare toes in their entirety. He admired the smoothness of her white foot-skin, and wished he could place a respectful kiss on her soft, bare foot-flesh, although he knew that was quite out of the question in his capacity as a shoeshine-slave.



The young woman was subconsciously wiggling her toes inside her shoe as Boots licked at it, causing the faint veins on the top of her foot to flex in front of his eyes – a reminder to him that he was serving a living, breathing superior woman, a goddess whose footwear he was truly privileged to lick clean – just as his ‘catechism’ had taught him.



Laura, for her part, wasn’t giving the shoeshine-boy at her feet a second thought. She barely noticed as he finished licking her dainty shoe, and began gently applying black shoe-polish to it with his slave fingers. She just smoked and talked to her friend, occasionally flicking her cigarette ash down onto the kneeling footslave’s head.



She did have the presence of mind to swap feet once the slave had finished rubbing her freshly polished right shoe with his cloth. She also gave her right shoe and foot a cursory glance, to make sure she was satisfied with his efforts and, more importantly, that he hadn’t stained her bare foot or trouser leg with the black polish.



Of course, he hadn’t. Boots was actually rather good at shining ladies’ delicate footwear. In all the years he’d been employed as a shoeshine-slave at the hotel he had never once ruined a lady’s shoes or smudged her bare or stockinged foot with some stray shoe polish. The punishment he would receive for doing that didn’t bear thinking about!



When he had repeated the ‘lick and polish’ procedure with her left shoe, Laura moved away from him to make room for her friend and colleague, Carole, to position her outstretched right foot onto the wooden footblock.



Carole was more ‘helpful’ to the slave insofar as she deigned to pull up her black trouser leg so that the hem was well clear of the top of her ankle boot. She accepted that the shoeshine-boy would not be able to lick clean and then polish the whole ankle boot unless she graciously assisted him in this way.



Still puffing away on her early-morning cigarette, mistress Carole gave her orders to the humble shoeshine-slave:



‘Clean my boots, boy!’



And that was all she said to him. Her conversation with Laura resumed.



Boots observed that Carole was slightly ‘podgier’ than her colleague, Laura, but she nevertheless had very pretty and shapely ankles inside her black, leather zip-up, high-heeled ankle boots. Thanks to the fact that she had pulled up her trouser leg, Boots could also see the elasticated top of her black boot-sock, contrasting nicely with her smooth, white feminine skin. The businesswoman’s sock was slightly creased and folded at the top, and Boots would have liked to straighten it for her. But again, that wasn’t his role. The mistress didn’t care about the slight crease in her sock – nobody cared about it, except him, the pathetic ladies’ footslave.



Mistress Carole’s boots were dirtier than mistress Laura’s shoes, and so Boots had even more vigorous licking to do on the side of the boot in order to remove the traces of street-dirt and mud from the superior mistress’s footwear.



Carole, of course, wasn’t in the least bit concerned that her boot-filth was going down the shoeshine-slave’s throat and into his stomach. Indeed, she had barely noticed the dirt on her boots – she was only using the slave to pass the time whilst she chatted to her friend about important matters of business and enjoyed her cigarette.



Although she was slightly shorter in stature than her friend Laura, Carole still towered above Boots as he knelt humbly at her feet. As he tongued away at her ankle boot, Carole was vaguely aware of her sense of superiority over the cringing male at her feet. But he was never in the forefront of her thoughts – he was just a slave obeying her orders.



Boots had to spend some extra time licking dust out of the zip-fastener down the side of miss Carole’s black, leather ankle boot as a considerable amount of the stuff had accu
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