Thursday 2 January 2014

THE FOOT MISTRESS CONTINUES HER 80s LONDON ADVENTURES...

GOOD MORNING FOOTBOYS!!

I hope you all had a great Christmas and New Year, and did what I did, as I ate too much, drank too much and woke up today with the hangover from Hell on Boxing Day.  As you do!

But now, I have chained myself to the Mac to get my latest blog post out to you.   (I did have plans to get this out before Christmas,  but as the saying goes, life gets in the way).

So, the Panadol have kicked in,  I've had my second black coffee, and I'm ready to continue telling you about my foot mistress adventures in my debauched youth.

In the last post, I told how when I was working at the shoe shop in Oxford Street, London, I discovered the whole footboy 'scene' in the swinging London of the 1980s.

But before I get going, I thought a few of you like a few photos of my fab feet to keep you warm...


stockings on; Dec 2013



Real 1960s stockings...  Dec 2013



Red velvet shoes; Dec 2013



Now trusting that you have read the last blog post, you will remember how my two new best friends, John and Martin had introduced me to a very adult footboy show;  they had huge plans for me to become a foot mistress, but was I up to the task?

Let's trawl the memory banks and see what gets fished out!

-------------------------------

There was a definite buzz in the air,  back in London in the 1980s.  The town was booming, clubs were popping up like daisies and some were folding a short time later.  New magazines like 'The Face' were read by the cool set, and the town became awash with ecstasy and cocaine.    I bloody loved it.  

John and Martin, footboys extraordinaire, had decided I, Fiona, was to be transformed into a foot mistress and they were the men to do it.  

It was all very head spinning and exciting;  my job at the shoe shop was still bringing in the money, but if things went well in this venture, then it would be history.  I would be earning big dosh and I could wave my old life goodbye.

We decided that a new name was needed for me, something with a sexy ring to it.
I wanted to keep Fee (short for Fiona) so I was OK with the other version, Fifi, but as for a last name?  We racked our brains over a few Stoli vodkas one night and came up with Foxfoot.  Fox as in the US compliment (then) to a woman of being 'foxy' (which I am told means sexy and smart in the one word) and foot, well  - you know why we wanted that bit.

So I became "Fifi Foxfoot".  Then a persona had to be developed, one that I could carry off when working and leave at the front door to my small flat in East London when I was not.   

But before we got going with that, the boys decided my feet, lovely as they were, needed some pampering, treatments and a good pedicure.

This I have to say, was in the days before nail salons in shopping malls did pedicures.  I needed a specialist.  Someone who looked after foot mistresses feet exclusively and could make mine look like a million euros.  

Oh - this was going to be a huge learning curve, but what the hell, it was a lot more exciting than working in that bloody shoe shop...

------------------

It was a sunny Saturday morning, in April, when John took me to see Paige, the pedicurist to the foot mistresses of Soho.  We arrived at her salon, just near Marble Arch Underground Station, in Wood Mews.   

Wear a skirt I was told by John, and it being the mid 80s I was dressed in  a lovely white t shirt, rah-rah skirt with flowers on, and flat strappy sandals.

'Have you ever had your feet professionally looked after Fifi?' said John as we entered the salon.

'No, never, I look after my feet myself.' I replied.

'Oh, ' he said, 'you'll be in for a treat then, Paige is very good...'

A tall blonde woman greeted us.  'Hello John!' she squealed and grabbed John in a bear hug 'Its been ages since I've seen you...'   She was wearing a white dress that would have been at home in an operating theatre, with open toed sandals to match.

I looked around her premises.  It was a small place with desk/table and a chair on each side of it, the table top covered in nail polish bottles and the paraphernalia that goes with that kind of work.  The walls were white, and decorated with artworks by (I found out later) artists who were her friends.

Paige was about 40 years old I would guess, with long hair and slim body - as my eyes feel to her feet I gasped. All her toes were painted with the Union Jack flag!  They were an amazing but tiny, work of art.

'Paige, this is Fifi.' said John

'Hello Paige' I said, trying to not stare at her amazing blue eyes.  'I love that great design on your toenails...  that must have taken ages to do!'  

'No, not really, but with St George's Day coming up,  I thought something very British would amuse the customers.  Now, Fifi, please come and get comfy, and we can start.   John told me on the phone what you need...'

She lead the way to the back of the nail salon, to another room that had large padded lounge chairs with adjustable backs.  I sat down and stretched out.

 'Sit here, and I'll get my tools.'  She went to a room out the back of the shop.

'Tools?'  I said in mock horror to John, 'what kind of tools?'

'Its OK Fee, she's just getting some real podiatrist tools that she uses now and then...'  

This did not soothe my jangled nerves, despite the incense and new age music playing in the background.

Paige returned and sat herself on a stool at the end of the lounge chair.  As she carefully removed the sandal from my right foot, she turned to John and said 'Ah hah, I see now why you brought Fifi to me, she has indeed a very pretty foot...'

'Well Paige, I try to find talent where I can.'  he said in a  mock modest voice.  'Anyways, ladies, I have to dash to Selfridges, and I'll come back in about an hour.  Will that be enough time for you to work your magic, Paige?' 

'Sure John, take your time;  Fifi and I can get to know each other and I'll get her feet looking bloody fantastic.'

Blowing a kiss to us both, John left and Paige got to work.

'Now, just soak your feet in this warm water with rosewater and lavender oils.  This will soften the skin and nails and I can make your feet look amazing.'

She slowly massaged my feet as the water swished around them.  Oh yes!  Now my nervousness melted away as I enjoyed the sensation of her firm hands on my insteps.   I do like a good foot massage...

'Tell me, have you had any work as yet as a foot mistress?'  she asked as the massaged continued.

'Well to be honest, no, and I'm a bit apprehensive as to what to do...'

Adding more water to the bowl, she whispered, 'One thing Fifi you must never do when you are a foot mistress, is ...'  she reached for a towel and began stroking my feet dry, 'is have sex with the men who come to see you.'

My eyes went wide with amazement.  Seeing this, she said, 'Sorry, I wasn't meaning to alarm you, but a good FM ... well, she knows its the foot job and not the pussy, that the clients crave.' 

I was beginning to think a stiff gin and tonic would not go amiss at this point, as I was feeling a tad uncomfortable.  

She grabbed a large plastic tool box -  the kind they sell in hardware shops.  I was relieved to see as she opened it that it contained a range of files, nail polishes, various lotions and potions, and the kind of implements that a lady of her profession would be expert at using.  She grabbed a bright red nail polish and we began chatting once more.

Now, I won't bore you with the ins and outs of this talk we had.  Suffice to say as she cut, filed and trimmed away, I was given some very important lessons on how to conduct my new career.  

I heard the bell on the entrance tinkle, and John's voice sang out 'Yoo hoo!' 

'We're still out the back John, come and join us,' Paige yelled.  

John came into the tiny back room with his arms covered in designer shopping bags.  

'Just thought I'd get you a few things I saw at the shops Fifi...'    

He deposited the bags onto the floor and sat down in a heap on the chair next to me.   'Can I make a cuppa Paige, I need a reviver!'  he begged.

'Sure, go ahead, I'm sure we could all do with some hot tea.'  replied Paige.

John made his way further to the back of the room where the small kitchen was hiding, and I could hear him filling the electric kettle.

'What did you get at the shops John?' I sang out - 'anything interesting?'

'Oooh Fifi, just let me make this tea and I'll show you...'

Paige was just putting the second coat of the nail polish on and my toe nails and they looked amazing.

John returned a few minutes later, with a tin tray loaded with a steaming teapot, three tea cups and milk and sugar.  Resting the tray on a wooden straight back chair, he turned to admire the work that Paige had done.

'Oh yes -  those feet look incredible Paige!  You've worked your magic again. And I see you've given Fifi some fake tan on those waxed legs; wow! Such a difference.'

I was gagging to know what was in the bags.  'Er, John, the shopping... Please show me what you've bought, I'm dying to know...'   

Handing round the cups of tea,  John just winked and said 'Its some gear for you Fifi... I'm sure you will love it...'  He took a sip of his tea, then parked his cup back on the tray.   'I had to guess your size though...'

With a flourish he opened the first bag.  

'Ta da!' he exclaimed, as he held in front of him a very small corset made of black leather.   It had the usual bra type straps but as he turned it around in front of my very amazed eyes, I saw the eyelets and cords at the back.   My jaw dropped.

Ever the subtle one, I just said 'Oh my god!'  as I tried not to drop the tea cup I was holding.   Paige was laughing like a drain at my naivety.  

She snorted, 'That's your new work suit Fifi, ha ha!'    

Oooh er, this was going to be a bigger learning curve than I first imagined...

'But wait, there's more!' said John, and he produced a leather g-string from the same bag.  

'Nice... ' said Paige, 'should look amazing on her.  OK Fifi, I think that's your feet finished.'  

Standing now,  Paige grabbed her pedicure tools and put them back into her toolbox.

'Why don't you try this stuff on for size Fifi, my flat's up above the shop here and I can lace up the back of that corset for you...' said Paige.

Seeing my slight discomfort,  John said 'Oh please Fifi, try it on, and if it doesn't fit we can take it back today.'  

He then opened up another bag, 'Oh  - and these beauties go with the corset:  I think you said you were a size 3 in a shoe?'  

A pair of black patent high heeled over the knee boots were dangled in front of me.  How was I supposed to walk in those?  The heels were very high and spiky.  

Reading my mind, John said, 'You'll soon learn to walk in them... It'll be second nature after a while.'

Paige and I went upstairs.   

After about 20 minutes, and much struggling on my part, Paige had managed to squeeze me into the corset. I'd never worn one before, and was amazed at how my waist, a respectable 28 inches, (72 cm) had been gathered in, just like a string around a sausage,  to make it appear very tiny.  

The G String was a bit small, but wearable.  The string at the back was cutting into my rear a bit, but again, something I would have to get used to.

Paige had rolled my hair into a top knot, applied a lot of black eyeliner to my eyelids and finished this with a matching red lipstick to the nail polish she had applied earlier.

Amazingly, the boots fitted, and I carefully zipped them up. 

'How do I look?' I asked.

'You look fabulous!' said Paige, 'let me remove my old dressing gown and you can see yourself ...'

I slowly turned to look at myself in the full length mirror that was on the back of the door of Paige's bedroom.   She had removed her gown and there I my reflection was, starting back.

I nearly fell over backwards...   I was unrecognisable.  There stood before me a creature who oozed sex and confidence;  my small breasts were pushed up, my waist had lost two inches, (5 cm) and those boots!  Well, they made me look a lot taller, but walking in them? That would be a challenge, to put it mildly.  

'Shall we go downstairs and show John?' she asked.  She was more excited than I was.

I said 'OK, as long as I don't fall over and kill myself getting down those stairs...'

As I walked into the downstairs room, John just looked like a punter whose just backed a 100-1 winner in the Ascot Races, and has seen it romp home.

'Holy fuck! You look amazing Fifi - even better than I first imagined!  That hair and the eyeliner make you look just incredible...'  and with a wave of his arm he bowed and said 'Mistress Fifi Foxfoot is born!'

'The mistress may be born, John, but can she walk in the boots?' I said as I quickly plonked myself down on a chair. 'These things are so hard to walk in, how am I going to strut around and have footboys worship me?'

John grabbed my hand, squeezed it and said 'But you will have them worship you, Fifi, trust me.  We shall need to do some rehearsals with you dressed like that, so that you know how to behave.  I've booked a place to try next Saturday night...'

All I could say was 'What!  No fucking way, I'm not ready!'

'Oh yes you are my love, in that outfit the footboys will be coming like an express train and we can do very nicely, thank you.  A week of rehearsals will be plenty.  You're a fast learner, don't worry!'

My head went into my hands.  Suddenly that shoe shop in Oxford Street, well, it didn't seem such a bad place to work.  What was I doing?

-------------------------

I'll stop here for a bit of a rest, and a cuppa, and stick on a few photos for your enjoyment...


red velvet shoes  Dec 2013



1960s stockings, red shoes... Dec 2013




----------------------

The day of my big Saturday night debut had arrived and I was a total wreck.  

 My stomach was in knots.  We had been rehearsing all week.  We had all taken time off our regular jobs, and when John was busy, Martin came to help mould me into shape.   It was hard work but we were making some progress.   

I'd arrived at John's house in the afternoon, to start the long process of getting ready.     Hair, makeup, waxing parts of me that have never seen wax, getting into that bloody corset and boots and of course, practising to walk in the damn things. It was around 5pm when I started (again) mastering the art of walking in those kinky boots.

'John, I'll have to stop every two steps to just get my balance, its not going to be a good look!' I protested, as John once more he told me to sashay up and down the wooden floorboards in the hallway of his house in Chelsea.   

'C'mon Fifi, you can do this!  Just swing your hips a bit more, and walk with a firm step...' he said.  'Just try one more time and then we'll stop for a cuppa.'

Gritting my teeth I stomped forward as ordered.  The boots were becoming less uncomfortable now, but I was warned by Paige to wear thicker stockings, as this way blisters would be less likely to form. Wow, I was realising my feet were the equivalent of a boob job, and now would need great care and attention.  

I was grateful to my dear departed mother who made me wear sensible school shoes, and didn't allow me to wear high heels until I was about 18.  My feet had no corns, bunions or any other foot impediment, and even I was now seeing them in a new light.  

I stomped up the hallway, hips swinging like Marilyn Monroe.  



Not exactly like the ones I was wearing then, but you get the drift...



'That's it!  Keep it going Fifi, you're there!' John enthused.  He was grinning like the proverbial Cheshire Cat.  'I think we can launch you onto the footboy world stage.'

Just then the doorbell rang, and John rushed to answer it.  It was Martin, the other wizard in my transformation to foot mistress.

As Martin walked into the hallway, he saw me and his jaw dropped; 'Oh my God! You look fucking amazing Fee!  The guys at the party are just going to love you!'   

He rushed up and gave me a hug.  'What a stunner!   Let me have a look at you...'  He stood back to get the full view, 'Oh John, you told me on the phone that she looked amazing, but I never dreamt she would be looking this good...'

John smiled and said 'Well, I can't take all the credit; we both did the rehearsals, you did pay for half of this outfit, remember?'

'Oh yeah - and worth every penny!' said Martin and the two of them laughed.

Martin was in the suit he had recently bought from the 'Next' shop.  Back then it was the place for trendy guys to buy their clothes.  John was in Levi 501 jeans and a plain black t-shirt.  And a handsome picture they both looked back then too.   

I knew they would look after me, but I felt I was about to be thrown head first into the deep end of a swimming pool.   I wished my stomach would settle down.

Trooping into the lounge I threw myself onto the sofa. 'Do you really think I make this work guys? I'm nervous to say the least...'

Walking over to his Danish 1960s sideboard with the drinks tray on it, John grabbed a bottle of Oban Whisky and poured me a shot into a glass.  'Here, have this. We'll eat at the venue if that's OK with you Fee?'

Food was the last thing on my mind. 

'Er, yeah, sure' I said as I swallowed the whisky. I could feel a warm sensation spreading from my throat and my nerves were slowly calming.  

Checking his watch, Martin said, 'OK guys, we better think about going, its 7 pm and we have to be at the venue at around 7.30.  My car is outside.'  

I grabbed a small overnight bag of my 'normal' clothes and my black patent handbag and long black coat, and we set off in Martin's old Mercedes that was his pride and joy.  Royal blue with matching upholstery, I felt like I was off to a huge adventure.  

----------------------

We drove across town, to Islington, North London.   After a while, we passed the Almeida Theatre in Upper Street and turned left into one of the side streets.   Huge four storey terrace houses lined both side of the leafy road.  This was a very trendy area.  Where on earth were we going?

Martin was looking at the road but glancing at the door numbers as he drove slowly along. 

'OK. Number 90 is the place we want - yep, must be the one with the black door there.'   

He quickly parked and we all got out.   I stood up to my full height, clutching my coat around me. John kindly provided an arm to cling onto.  Taking a deep breath I said with determination 'OK guys, lets do this!' and we paraded down the street, to number 90.  

The door was ajar,  we could hear music and laughter, so we just marched in.  

The large lounge spilled into an open plan area and was filled with around 20 people, mainly young men, with some older men too.  A long table near the windows had finger food on it. 

A man in his 50s I would say, rushed up to John.  

'Hello John' he said patting him on the back 'Good to see you again'.  John introduced Martin and I to Stephen.  Martin shook his hand and said 'Nice to be here...'

Stephen turned to me, grabbed my hand and squeezed it.  Glancing at John he said 'And this must be the lovely Mistress Fifi I assume' and he kissed my hand.  'Very nice to meet you Fifi' he said.  

I stood there not quite knowing how to react. 

'Er, hello, its, its... very nice to meet you too.' I stammered.

'Now my dear, you mustn't be nervous, we are all friends here.  Let me get you some champagne...' 

As he wandered off in search of the Moet & Chandon I slowly looked around the room.  It was very tastefully furnished and an antique leather sofa and matching armchairs held the centre of the room. Hidden wall lights gave it a warm glow.  The stairs were open, wide and oak panelled.  

It was getting dark outside now, and a young man drew the heavy dark green velvet curtains across the big bay window.  The other guests were drinking and smoking, and jazz music (from the 1950s I thought) was playing softly in the background.  

As my Aunt Vera used to say when somewhere posh, 'that funny smell is money...'  and I now understood what she was on about.

Stephen came back holding a small silver tray with three crystal flute glasses of champagne.  

'Here we go... ladies first...'  he insisted.

I took a glass, sipped and realised for the first time in my life, what good champagne tasted like - heaven.  I could get used to this.

'Cheers! said Stephen.

'And here's to a good night' said John, raising his glass.

'Here, here' said Martin.

'Thank you' I said, and raised my glass to all three men standing in front of me.  

We stood there and did small talk for a while, then Stephen said, 'I'll just go upstairs and check the entertainment area is ready.'

Martin turned to me and said 'What do you think? Nice house eh?'

'Its just amazing' I said, sipping slowly, 'I never thought I would be in place as lovely as this...'

John turned to me and said, 'Did you recognise Stephen,  Fee?'

'No, should I have?'

'Oh well, he's no-one important, only a Cabinet Minister in Maggie Thatcher's government...'

The champagne stuck in my throat and I started to cough.  'What?  You're joking!'

'Fifi - I never joke when I'm discussing business.  I explained to him what I wanted to do with you and he put on this party for us, and a few of his close friends.  He's a footboy from way back...'

I gulped the rest of the champagne.  'Fuck!' I said, 'did you know this Marty?'

Marty just smiled and said, 'Of course, the footboy scene is quiet small  -   John knows all the main players.'

Stephen came down the stairs and walked over to us.  

'Would you care to see upstairs Fifi, we can put that lovely coat of yours in a wardrobe.'   

I was feeling a bit overdressed standing there in my big black coat while the boys had taken their jackets off and had them draped over their arms.  But revealing my corset to all seemed a bit embarrassing...

'Thanks Stephen, I would love to...'   

I was feeling like Eliza Doolittle in 'My Fair Lady' as I stomped up the stairs.   Thinking I could do a lovely remake of that movie, called 'My Foot Lady'  I followed Stephen as John and Martin followed behind.

'This way.' Stephen beckoned, and we entered a large room to the right.   Inside, the walls  were painted black, and chrome floor lamps blazed away in the corners.   A modern red leather three seat sofa was in the centre of the room, facing a small stage.  White hand towels were folded on each seat of the sofa.  The stage also had a sofa on it, a two seat fabric one in flower print.  It looked strangely out of place in this setting.   A fold up metal chair was next to it.  Rows of lights were above the stage and at the sides.

Sensing my apprehension, Stephen put his hand on my arm and said 'May I take your coat?'  

Realising that this was my stage and area now,  I said 'Thanks Stephen.' and slid out of it.   He looked me up and down dressed in the boots and corset.  I was adorned with a black jet necklace and large rings were adorning my hands.  Black drop ear-rings complemented the rest of the outfit.

'Oh my, you look wonderful, my dear, the clients will love you!  Now let me show you where your dressing room is...' 

I followed him behind the stage to a much smaller room with a hanging rail on wheels, several wall mirrors, a sink and a table and chair with a large makeup mirror on it.   He hung up my coat on the rail, then took my bags and parked them in the corner.

He turned, smiled and said, 'Now Fifi, when you do your show, their will be only 3 people watching you, there on the sofa near the stage.  But... only if your client wants it.  He may decide to go into the bedroom behind here with you and have a private show.  Naturally, the others sitting down will pay handsomely to see you do your thing, and this usually means the client gets to enjoy you for free, as he's part of the show.  Now, some clients like to wear leather or rubber masks, please don't let it worry you in the slightest.  Most like to be a bit anonymous.  You understand, I'm sure?'

I looked at myself in the full length mirror opposite.   It really was like looking at someone else. But it was me; and this was what John and Martin and I had worked towards the last few weeks or so. 

 'Of course Stephen.'  I said sternly, getting into character.

'What time does the show normally start?' said Martin, sitting lazily on the table.

Glancing at his Rolex watch, Stephen said, 'I'm just waiting for a few more guests to arrive and then we can get started.   As Fifi is the new girl, I have her on first, at a slightly cheaper rate to my other ladies who will perform later tonight.   Let me check downstairs and if the guests are here, we'll get going in about 20 minutes or so.  Does that suit?'

John and Martin passed a look between them.  'Of course Stephen.  We're just so grateful that you have allowed us to come along here tonight...'

'Well, when I see talent like this, ' and he walked over and kissed me on the cheek, 'I feel I have to bring it to bloom, like a rare and beautiful rose...'

Wow -  it was me he was talking about.   

Stephen left us and I began to unpack my overnight bag.  I wanted to have everything ready to change into in case the whole thing was a flop and I could make an easy exit.

'How you feeling Fee' said John.

'You look hot!' said Martin

'I'm a bit scared guys, but I think I can carry it off...'  I replied.

'Just do everything like we did in the rehearsals at my place...' said John, 'and remember to look stern, you are in charge, and the clients do what you command.  OK?' 

'Yeah, OK...' I whispered.

Stephen reappeared.   'Well my friends, we have our missing guests suitably seated.  So when you are ready Fifi my dear, we can start.   I'll be at the back of the room, working the lighting and the music.'

'Oh the music!' said John and took a cassette from his pocket.  'Can we play this on your sound system?'  He handed the box to Stephen.  

'Of course, I'll just go and set things up.   Martin or John, just signal me when Fifi is ready to go on and I'll start the ball rolling.  I'm so looking forward to this!'  said Stephen, waving, as he left the three of us to prepare.

I slicked on another coat of lipstick and mascara.  Then I adjusted my breasts into the padded cups of the leather corset.  My pussy had been waxed (nearly!) to death, and the g-string was adjusted to cover the pink bits.   My boots were wiped with a soft cloth to make them shine; I had a black leather riding crop in my right hand.   Now, I was ready to make my entrance.

'Ready?' said John.   

'Ready as I'll ever be...'  I said.  As I walked towards the rear of the stage, Martin patted my hand and said 'I'll say to you what Shirley Temple's mother always said before she started to film a scene: "Sparkle Shirley"...'   

I squeezed his hand in thanks.

John waved at Stephen with a thumbs up signal, and my show began.

The lights went low and the coloured lights filled the stage;  my music, some sexy jazz by John Coltrane filled the air.   I was about to fulfil my fantasy of being a foot mistress...

'OK girl' I whispered to myself, 'its showtime!'

Stephen's voice purred over the PA system 'Would you please give a warm welcome to our newest foot mistress, Mistress Fifi....'  

I took to the stage. Hands were clapping.   It was quite hard to see who was sitting in the front row, on the leather sofa, but what captured my interest immediately was the man sitting on the floral sofa at centre stage.

He was wearing a full leather mask with a zip where the mouth was.  It was open.  He had on a leather harness, a black satin g-string, and bare legs;  he would have been about 40 or so judging by his very muscular body, but it was hard to guess as so much of his head was hidden under the leather.

I slowly made my way over to him.  The music boomed and the spotlight lit up the two of us only.  

'Hello slave...' I purred in a deeper than normal voice.

'Hello mistress...' he replied quietly.

I patrolled around him once more.  'Do you wish to do what your mistress commands?'  I demanded.

'Yes, yes, mistress. Tell me what you want me to do...'  His voice was a bit muffled by the mask, but it added a certain kinky edge to the whole scene.

'Are you a foot lover, slave?' 

'Oh yes, mistress, very much so...'

At this point, I had my right booted foot on the edge of the sofa arm.

'How much of a foot lover, slave?  Can you lick and suck until I tell you to stop?'

'Yes, mistress, until you tell me to stop...'

'Get onto the floor, slave, and then get onto your hands and knees...'

He obeyed.   I walked over slowly to him waving the riding crop, and whacked him on his back.  Not too hard, just enough to show I meant business.

'Now slave, I want you to crawl over here to me, and undo the zip on my right boot with your teeth... Do you understand?  And if you do it to my satisfaction, I'll let you do the other one...'

With my feet on the floor now, and my legs apart, he positioned his head and began to try to hold the zip tag in his teeth.   His first attempt failed.  The riding crop whacked his back...

'Try harder slave...' I boomed out.  'No hands, just your mouth!'

'Yes mistress...' he said as he tried once more.  This time he managed to grip the zip tag and his head slowly made its way down the inside of my thigh until it reached the ankle.

'Very good slave, now try the other one...'

He turned to the other boot and managed to grab the zip tag in his teeth at first go, and slowly undid the left boot.

As he was doing this I glanced at the audience.  The sofa had three figures on it, all wearing masks. And as I looked a bit more closely, I noticed they were all naked and were slowly running their hands up and down the shaft of the rather large cocks...  Ah hah!  That's what the hand towels were for.  

Both my boots were now down at my ankles.   I slowly sat down on the folding metal chair behind me and stuck my right leg straight out in front of me.

'Slave, take off my right boot!' I ordered.

'Yes mistress.' my slave said and removed it and I put my naked foot down to the floor.

'Now do the other one...'

My slave removed that spike heeled boot and just as it was about to come off I tapped him with the riding crop on the shoulder.   

'Now slave, as you have been so good at your duties, you may hold my foot...'

'Thank you mistress...'

He cupped my foot in his hand and stared at it like it was a precious pearl.

'Now slowly lick my sole, slave,  and work your way up to the big toe...'

'Yes mistress...'

His tongue began to slowly do as it was bidden.  He was obviously experienced at this type of task, and my pussy began to throb with each stroke of his tongue on my wrinkled sole.  He worked his tongue up to under my big toe and stopped.  

'What is your bidding oh my Mistress Fifi?'   

Remembering the rehearsals with John and Martin, I said 'Slave, I want you to tongue between my toes, one after the other...'

I could hear groans and grunts coming from the three voyeurs on the sofa.  They were clearly enjoying themselves...  

As was my slave, who had the most enormous erection.  The bulge was straining against the fabric of his black satin g-string and I was wondering if a g-string could take a lot of stretch?

My slave, who was enjoying his task, was now slipping his tongue between each toe as asked.  I kept a stern face - I was the one in charge after all...  But my pussy had other ideas and my g-string was feeling a bit wet.

'OK, slave, stop!'  I lightly whacked him with the crop. 'Grab my other foot, I want you to do something different...  I want you to suck my toes, one by one...'

'Yes mistress...' he replied more confidently now.

More groans emanated from the front row, I could see their heads straining forward for a better look.

'That's it, slave, suck those toes, one by one, or you'll get a whack if you miss one...'

Well of course, my slave deliberately did miss one, he wanted that whack.   So I obliged.

Whack! went the riding crop.  

'Go back and do the toe you missed!' I demanded.

'Yes mistress...' and the third toe got the sucking that it deserved.

Realising it was time to bring this show to a climax, so to speak, I said 'Slave, remove that ugly g-string you are wearing and lie on the floor...'

In a flash, the g-string was removed, revealing the most magnificent rock hard cock.  It must have been 20 cms long.  And nice and thick too, with shaved pubic hair.

With him lying on the floor on his back, I stood up and moved the chair so it was straddling his thighs.   I then reached inside my corset top and removed a small condom size packet of lube.  Ripping it open with my teeth, I began to massage it over my soles.   

It was nearly time for the grand finale.

'Now slave, beg me to touch your tiny soft cock with my feet...'

He whimpered 'please, please,  Mistress Fifi, touch my tiny cock with your beautiful feet...'

I looked down to see that the spotlight had been intensified; the red nail polish was shimmering in the glare, as I slowly grabbed his throbbing cock between my wrinkled and lubed soles.

I whacked him once with the crop at his hip line.  'Beg me some more slave, or my feet will never wank you off... you soft cock!'

He was almost crying now.  'Please Mistress Fifi, please, I beg you, with all my heart, I need your lovely beautiful feet to make me come...  Please!'

More groans from the front row.  There were getting close to the money shot too.

My feet slowly began to stroke up and down his huge cock.  As I stroked, I squeezed the lube packet from above, sending a stream of it onto my feet and his massive manhood.  Up and down they went, faster and faster.

I heard his breathing quicken.  It wouldn't be long now.

'Now slave, beg me some more, I command it...'

My feet were flying like a piston up and down his rock hard cock...  I whacked him twice more with the black leather riding crop.  A bit of pain always enhances the best ejaculation I was told by Paige.

'Oh please mistress, please, please, oh! oh! I'm coming.... '  his face contorted and I heard him shout 'ooooh ahhh!' and his body squirmed as a huge stream of hot cum shot over my beautiful lubed feet.   And I mean a huge stream, this guy must have been saving it for a week,  to decorate them.

The front row gasped and groaned too, as I looked over I could see the hand towels come into play.  

I stood up and grabbed a towel that was on the back of the chair, and wiped my feet...

'Next time slave, I'll make you lick your cum off my feet...' I said.

'Yes mistress...'  he groaned, as he was still on his back and unable to move.

As I took my boots in my hand, with the crop in the other, a voice was heard from the back.  It was Stephen.

'Well done my dear,  what a show...!   I think tonight a star is born!' he boomed.

I bowed in his direction and made my way to the dressing room at the back.

John and Martin grabbed me, in a group hug.  

'Fifi you were amazing!' said John.

'Fantastic!' said Martin.

All I could say was 'Thanks guys...',    it was over and it all went well.

Just then Stephen came in and flung his arms around me and then hugged John and Martin. 

'Top show guys, top show!'  said Stephen, while reaching into his inside jacket pocket and removing a brown envelope which he gave to John.  'Please bring Fifi back for the next party in  few weeks?  OK?'

'Of course,' said John,  'just give me a ring and we can organise that for you...'  He looked inside the envelope and grinned.  

Stephen shook hands with Martin and John and left saying, 'Sorry to dash, help yourselves to a drink downstairs, I'll give you a ring next week...'

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And there you have it...   How I did my first show.   It seems an age ago, (and probably is!) but wow, it was a lot of fun back then.  

I won't be vulgar and talk about money, but lets just say, I did alright from that night's takings.

You will not be surprised to know that I quit my job at the shoe shop and with John and Martin managing me, we went onto bigger and better things...

Which I'll tell you about in my next blog...  stay tuned...

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Now as I was telling you  in my last blog, I am selling those lovely genuine1960s stockings, RHT, all well worn, for $20 a pair, free postage within Australia.  (They, of course, have my lovely foot odour on them; and I have had many compliments from buyers of these stockings recently - I only have a few pairs left to sell, so be quick or miss out...)

I also have pantyhose, stockings, g-strings, panties, socks and other items for sale.  Let me know what you like!

Please g-mail me at

fifithefootlady@gmail.com

to discuss postage if you are outside of Australia.

I am also on camlive.com  and streamates.com  -  please check my schedule for my "live to you" times...


Until the next blog post...  stay safe my footboys....

Fifi  xxxx