Worship

Saturday came around and Dave arrived at Kim's room on time as requested, hungry to serve. He lightly tapped on the doior and Kim promptly answered with a sweet, sadistic smile on her face. She ushered him in, and once the door was shut, naturally ushered him to the floor. He dropped at once and almost synchronised with the snap of her fingers as she pointed to her feet, planted kisses over her socked feet. The socks were black and a little sweaty. Dave figured she must have been for a run that morning. He sniffed the aroma lightly as he kissed, and she towered above. Man, it smelt good, thought Dave. The scent of life itself.

Dave licked both of Kim's boots to perfection, they gleamed like new. It made him feel so proud to have acomplished something so wonderful. To enhance Kim's appearance even more by ensuring her boots were as clean as could be was an incredible honorur to him, and Kim felt it as he looked up at her, a look of slavish devotion in his eyes.

"Ah, look at how proud he is to have licked your boots, Kim," chuckled Claire. "Isn't it a great feeling?" "Oh yes," replied Kim as she crouched down a little to examine her boots, turning them on the heel from side to side. "He's done a good job, too. You've really trained him well. I would love to have a shoelicker of my own!!"

Part 1

He lay shackled on the floor of his gloomy, windowless cell. Only the single, bare light bulb in the ceiling kept him from being in total darkness. The only sign of life was the occasional sound of the voices of the female guards outside the cell door as they patrolled the corridors.

It was more of a dungeon than a cell - straw on the ground for a bed; a hole in the ground for a toilet. The sole item of furniture was, somewhat bizarrely, a thick, heavy wooden chair in the middle of the room – a chair he couldn’t even reach far enough to sit on due to the chain connecting him to the wall. All he could do was lie or kneel in front of it. Why was there a chair in the middle of the room? It obviously wasn’t for his use. Who was it for?

Part 1

The family had all gathered in the living room to witness the arrival of Miss Aysha's new personal footslave.

Mr Iqbal, the head of the family, stood proudly beside his youngest daughter, 21 year-old Aysha, as they waited for Abdul, the family's slave-overseer, to bring in the new slave to pay homage to Aysha's feet for the first time. It was always a fun time for the whole family - the breaking in of a new slave.

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.

Dave finished licking the tops of Claire's football boots. He smiled to himself, which made him cough and splutter, as a wedge of mud caught in his throat. He composed himself, swallowed it down and thought of what an honour it was to swallow what he was swallowing. To him, the mud from Claire's shoes really was like a meal in the best restaurant. Licking and eating mud from Claire's football boots, riding boots, DM shoes, court shoes, knee boots, loafers or trainers was like having a meal prepared by the best chefs in the world. He knew deep down that it sounded ludicrous to think it - it was mud after all - but it was special mud, mud that somehow had come into contact with Claire as she went about her daily business. Mud that had itself been honoured, and deserved some respect.

Dave smiled as he thought of that evening and the first time his tongue had felt the underside of Claire's shiny black loafer. It warmed him to think of the countless times she had left their meetings looking not only dazzling but with shiny shoes, and ones that had been freshly licked. He hoped it gave her a spring in her step when she walked out in freshly licked shoes. He hoped he felt they were a symbol of her superiority and how truly special and wonderful she was. Not everyone had a personal shoelicker, after all.

Dave stopped daydreaming for a moment as he felt a quite large stone that was wedged in a lump of mud he had chewed from her football boots slip down his throat and make him choke a little. He looked at the soles of the boots, studs all shining like they had been polished for days. He felt a real sense of achievement. Of course he knew that Claire thought nothing of his efforts - it merely was an arrangement that meant she had constantly clean boots and ones that she never had to clean herself! Though of course, she did get off on the fact that she had her own slave who considered himself worth less than the mud and grime she walked in.

Dave sat on the floor of his room at the hall of residence and opened the bag that Claire had given him earlier that day containing her football boots and socks. She played football twice a week, and thanks to Dave, she had the best kept boots of anyone in the girl's team. Those studs shone whenever she went onto the pitch.

Claire had handed Dave the bag during their session that afternoon. He would clean her boots and suck the sweat from her socks, before carefully washing and drying them, ready to return for her next match.

Dave entered the empty room in one of the many blocks scattered around campus. It was 5.30 and most people were heading home now. The fact that the room he and Claire used for their daily meeting was almost always empty, and certainly at that time, made it the perfect place for them to conduct their business. He walked into the room, placed picked up a chair as he did every day and placed it under the desk at the front of the room. He then placed a magazine on the table and assumed the position he found himself in at 5.30 every day since the previous summer: on his knees in front of the back of the chair.