Peter had been commissioned with drumming up as much business as possible in this poorer part of town as the company was desperate to expand its client base. They already had plenty of customers on the richer side of town, but the company directors were gambling that the poorer inhabitants, many of whom could not afford their own slaves, would embrace the services their company offered even more willingly - providing, of course, the price was right.
To that end Peter was being sent around the homes in the area offering the good, honest, hard-working citizens a free 'one hour sample' of the services his company had on offer, in the expectation that a proportion of them would pay for similar services in future.
The door was opened by an attractive, if slightly overweight, black woman in her mid thirties. Peter noticed how she had her hair tied back in a bun, and was wearing a loose fitting black teeshirt and black leggings.
From his humble position, kneeling in the dirt, the footslave noticed that she had on a pair of blue and white flip flops and that her broad, black feet were quite leathery-callused. Her toe-nails had at some time been painted bright red, but the paint was now showing signs of chipping off.
As the slave took in these (for him) important details, Master Peter began his well-rehearsed spiel:
"Good Afternoon, Madam. My name is Pete and I represent the 'Footslaves4u' company. I would like to offer you now a one hour free trial of our services, using this dirty slave who is at this moment kneeling at your beautiful feet. Do you have your own domestic slave?"
In this area it was virtually a rhetorical question. Peter knew the answer would be 'no', but it was important to engage the customer in conversation at an early stage.
"Oh my God! No, I do not have my own slave", answered the woman in a thick west african accent, clearly somewhat startled at the unexpected sight of a tall, handsome master with a pathetic, semi naked male slave kneeling in the dirt at her doorstep. She was, however, instantly impressed by master Peter. He was just her 'type' - white, a businessman, about her own age, strong manly physique - clearly an 'alpha male'. The sheer contrast between the well-dressed salesman and the wretched near-naked male slave kneeling at his feet, excited her. She liked this vision of power and domination on the one hand, and powerlessness and humiliation on the other.
"In that case, Madam, may we come in so that I can demonstrate our services to you for free?"
"Yes, please", smiled the black woman. Peter smiled too - this was looking promising. Another customer soon to be signed up?
He pulled the pathetic kneeling slave after him as he entered into the short hallway and then the living room. It was not particularly tidy, and Aminata (for that was the black woman's name) somewhat embarrassedly, started picking up magazines and papers off the floor in an effort to improve the appearance of her humble dwelling.
"Please, Madam, don't bother yourself about tidying up", laughed master Peter. "That's one of the services our slave can offer you, if you wish!"
The woman relaxed and smiled:
"Please, call me 'Aminata'".
Pete smiled too. This was going very well. He liked this woman, found her attractive, and sensed that she fancied him too. Was she maried, he wondered? Although he had already noticed that there were no signs of any other inhabitants in the flat.
Aminata beckoned to Pete to sit down on the sofa which, as it happens, was the only seating facility in the room, meaning that she had no option but to sit beside him. The slave dutifully knelt without being told in front of the customer's feet as master Peter continued his sales patter, producing a sample glossy brochure from his briefcase.
"As you can see, Aminata, we can offer you a number of services - all free for today. Our dirty footslave can do anything for you from just kissing and worshipping your feet and footwear, to washing your dirty feet, to a full pedicure. Anything you wish him to do, in fact, and our prices are very reasonable - although, today you won't have to pay anything at all!"
Aminata smiled at Peter, and then glanced down at the kneeling male slave at her feet. She hadn't really taken much notice of the slave until now - so impressed was she by 'Pete'. However, she now observed that the slave was an older man - possibly in his late forties or early fifties, balding, unattractive and pathetic. Her expression changed to one of disdain as she sensed not only Pete's, but also her own superiority, over the kneeling male creature who was being forced to stare humbly at her black feet.
"Now, continued Pater interrupting her reverie, "How can my slave serve you for free today? Have you any dirty boots or shoes that need cleaning? Any dirty socks you want him to wash in his mouth? Or perhaps you would like a pedicure?. Remember, you can use him for a full hour absolutely free of charge by way of our introductory offer".
Aminata smiled again at Peter. She looked at her feet and considered her options. Her feet were tired and sore that afternoon. She had been waitressing in a restaurant all that morning from breakfast time until lunchtime, and her feet were still hot and sweaty. The thought occurred to her that it would be nice to have this wretched male slave lick clean her tired black feet with his ugly tongue.
"Can you make him lick my feet clean?", she asked Pete somewhat tentatively.
"Of course!", smiled Pete. He found her diffidence about the use of a footslave rather naive and enchanting.
"Dirty slave", he barked at the footslave kneeling at the woman's feet, "Take off Miss Aminata's sandals and lick her bare feet clean with your slave tongue. Make sure you remove all the sweat and toe cheese and leave her superior black feet feeling revived and refreshed!".
Miss Aminata was thrilled at the way the strong master spoke to the weak and feeble slave who was down where he belonged at her feet. She just wasn't used to having a slave to boss about and give orders to. She knew that rich women who could afford their own slaves took it for granted, but, apart from the odd shoe-shine by one of the public footslaves in the town centre, she had never had the opportunity to really humiliate and dominate a dirty slave in the privacy of her own home. However, she could definitely get used to this - total power over a pathetic, helpless male slave.
Inexperienced as she was at dealing with a footslave, she raised her sandaled foot to the kneeling slave's nose to facilitate him in taking off her right flip flop - something an experienced Mistress would never have done. It was a slave's responsibility to remove his Mistress's footwear without her help. Such a task was beneath her, and it was the slave's duty to work out how to remove a lady's footwear - it was his problem, not hers. If he failed or was awkward in his duty he would be deservedly punished. That was the way it should be.
As he removed the flip flop from the black Mistress's foot the slave saw that it was well worn and that the white sole of the shoe had become badly discoloured over time through a mixture of dirt and sweat from her black footflesh. He was glad that he had not (yet) been ordered to lick her flip flops clean.
Mistress Aminata and Master Peter looked down on the humble slave, both literally and figuratively, as he cradled the woman's dirty right foot in his slave hands and lowered his slave tongue to the skin at the side of her foot. They both had expressions of utter contempt and disdain on their faces for the humble slave - and rightly so. For he was a truly pathetic creature, barely worthy to be in their presence, let alone to be allowed the privelege of touching and licking a superior woman's feet.
As the footslave's tongue touched the somewhat leathery skin of Miss Aminata's beautiful black foot he caught a whiff of the unmistakeable aroma of feminine foot sweat, sweat which he knew he must now transfer into his slave mouth and down his slave throat - where it belonged. He concentrated initially on licking the hard skin around the edge of her black sole, admiring as he did so how her foot skin changed to a lighter hue of brown skin on the sole of the foot itself. He noticed the tiniest wrinkles in her foot skin as her foot flexed in reaction to his humble ministrations. He felt bits of dead skin mingled in with the foot sweat on his tongue, and as he moved his tongue inbetween her toes he tasted little balls of sweaty, salty toe cheese - food fit for a slave.
Miss Aminata giggled with pleasure and delight at the slave's humble servitude. She felt a surge of power and cruelty run through her. She truly was the one with all the power at that moment, and she looked lovingly at the man who had given her that power - master Peter. With a man like that in her life she could conquer the world!
The slave continued to lick her foot and suck her ebony toes for some five minutes, and, as he did so, Miss Aminata and Master Peter drew inexorably closer to one another, first tenderly stroking each other's faces and then kissing each other on the lips, pausing only to order the pathetic footslave to lick clean Mistress Aminata's other foot.
As he licked, chewed and swallowed Miss Aminata's dirty foot sweat and toe cheese, the footslave realised that he would soon be banished from the room whilst his Master and new Mistress made out on the sofa.
Sure enough, after some 10 minutes of foot-licking in total, the dirty footslave was ordered out of the room by his Master, a real man, and ordered to clean Mistress Aminata's dirty boots which she had informed him were lying in the kitchen.
As he crawled on his hands and knees into the kitchen, closing the living room door discreetly behind him, he could hear the groans of pleasure coming from Mistress Aminata as Master Peter did what he, the footslave, could never, and would never, do - give sexual pleasure and satisfaction to a woman. The footslave knew his place in the world - which was to clean the dirty boots of a superior woman whilst she made out with a superior man in the neighbouring room.
He soon found the dirty boots lying in a corner on the kitchen floor - and they were, indeed, truly filthy. They were a pair of block-heeled, black leather zip-up ankle boots, both literally caked in mud and grass on the soles and along the lower rim, with splashes of mud and dirt on the upper parts. The Mistress must have been out in the rain, and had allowed the street dirt to dry on her boots after taking them off and throwing them nonchalantly onto the kitchen floor - street dirt, which he knew now belonged in his mouth and stomach.
Still on his knees, as befits a footslave, he picked up one of the dirty black ankle boots and allowed himself a quick sniff of the inside of the boot. There it was again - the unmistakable smell of a black woman's foot sweat, a smell fit for a slave. He allowed himself the small, but pathetic, luxury of inhaling deeply the smell of the inside of the woman's dirty leather ankle boot for a few precious seconds, before beginning the chore he had been set by his master - that of licking clean his superior black African Mistress's boots and divesting them of all the accumulated street muck until they shone like new.
He began with the sole, making sure his tongue reached deep into the treads removing all the street gunk that was soiling his new Mistress's footwear. To swallow such street filth was an honour for the footslave, but only because it had been attached to the boot soles of a superior woman. As he moved his tongue to the upper part of the first boot, he wondered whether she had worn the boots with socks today. If she had, he would be honoured to wash those socks in his dirty slave mouth. He speculated as to what colour of socks she may have worn - black? white? red?. And would they have been proper, thick boot socks or just thin cotton socks? Such thoughts torment a footslave when he is working, as he is rightly obsessed with the feet and footwear of whichever woman he has been ordered to serve. However, he could see no sign of any dirty socks lying around, and he dare not take a sneaky peak in her laundry basket - he had too much work to do.
He picked up the second boot and tongued it thoroughly also. After some 20 minutes or so of licking the boots clean, and just as they were starting to truly shine nicely with his slave saliva, he heard his master call him back into the living room:
"Slave, get back in here, and bring Mistress Aminata's boots with you for her inspection".
The couple were now seated comfortably again on the sofa. As he crawled back into the living room the footslave sensed that their love making had been a success as they both seemed relaxed and happy.
The slave crawled awkwardly as he carried the pair of black ankle boots in one hand and presented them, head suitably bowed, at Mistress Aminata's feet.
"Well, my darling, are you satisfied with your boots? Are you satisfied with my slave's work in shining them up for you?", enquired master Peter.
Miss Aminata gave her boots a cursory glance and then told master Peter, much to the kneeling slave's relief, that she was satisfied with her newly-cleaned boots. She thanked him -Peter - for having her boots cleaned. She, of course, did not thank the slave for his efforts. He had merely obeyed his superior master's orders. In fact, Aminata no longer gave the slave kneeling dutifully at her black feet a second thought. She only had thoughts for his wonderful master, with whom she was now falling in love.
But all good things must come to an end, and Pete had a job to do. He had another 15 houses to visit in this street this afternoon. Reluctantly, he and his slave had to leave. They would definitely be back at Miss Aminata's flat, and Pete had already made an executive decision - Aminata would never have to pay to use his slave.
As he knocked on the door of the next house, Master Peter wondered what delights may lay inside the next run-down apartment.
To be continued.