Serving Mr. Smith
by Devoted Servant

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"Mr. Smith" lived nearby a previous address of mine, in his 60's he was a widower and I came to know him through his son, who was a colleague of mine.

I had agreed to help his son with some old furniture that had been stored in the garage. Mr. Smith kept joking around about what a good worker I was and how his son was never around to help out (newly married with a baby) and more out of being polite than anything else I said I lived just round the corner and would be happy to help out if he was ever stuck and thought nothing more of it.

Several weeks later I received a phone call from Mr. Smith, he was sorry to bother me, but he had put his back out mowing the lawn and his son was away on holiday, would I mind coming over and finishing off the lawn as it was looking a mess. I took the request at face value although when I arrived I was surprised to see that barely more than a single strip had been cut on the lawn. Mr. Smith sat on the patio with a beer cleaning his golf clubs while I mowed the rest of the not inconsiderable garden. I was surprised to see he didn't seem to be in any discomfort or even look stiff.

When I was done and had put the mower back in the garage I went to say my goodbyes, "Don't be silly, you've earned yourself a beer, there in the door of the fridge, bring me one while your up". I fetched the beer and while I drank we talked a little about golf. I explained I didn't play, having been forced into it at a young age by over enthusiastic parents and had rebelled against it, although I had worked summers at the local club. "You should take care of these" he said waving a club, I said I never worked in the bag room but had been a locker room attendant, "Even better" he exclaimed, reached behind his golf bag and tossed a pair of battered golf shoes at me. "You know what to do with these" which indeed I did.

The black and white golf shoes had been neglected tremendously, but I new a trick or two from my days at the club, and when he fished out (an unopened) shoe-care kit that had obviously been a Christmas present sometime, I was able to bring the shoes back from the brink of the scrap heap in half an hour or so. I wasn't sure how I felt about all this, I already new I had submissive leanings, but I was in my mid 20's and this was the father of a work colleague. We chatted for a while and he confided in me that his son was going to be moving away. He had already lined up a new job and would be handing in his notice as soon as he got back from holiday - having used the leave that would otherwise have been forfeit. I wasn't certain if I detected a bit of a grin while he told me this.

Mr. Smith's "bad back" apparently didn't cause him any trouble over the next few weeks and when I asked "How's your Dad's back?" Tony didn't seem to know what I was talking about - I didn't go into any details. Tony had been gone less than a week when I got the first phone call. Initially it was little things, a loaf of bread on the way home, drop off a parcel at the post office etc. However I wasn't at all surprised to find a message on the machine when I got home the next sunny Saturday wondering if I could help out with the lawn. When I got there the lawnmower was still in the garage.

On completion of the lawn Mr. Smith, who had spent the entire time with his feet up on the patio called out "Come over here I've got something for you", A token gift? I thought, or at least a beer... ...when I got there he handed me his golf shoes - "You did a great job with these, much better than the boy at the club can do". I knew he had me from than on - I was his "boy", just like the one at the club. "There's a black pair of lace-ups just behind the door of the kitchen along with some rags - I'm sure you can work wonders on them for me too - I want to look smart for church tomorrow".

The "bad back" pretense was over from that point as the number and frequency of jobs increased the "please"s and "thank-you"s became rarer. Within six months I was there on a daily basis, taking care of all the cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping the works. It was the following spring when things reached their inevitable conclusion. An unseasonably warm spell the phone rang 6:30 Saturday morning "I have a special treat for you today - you're going to caddy for me!" No "Would you like to?" No "Please". A simple statement of fact and of course I complied.

The day was sweltering and I double-bagged for him and his crony, who quickly picked up the dismissive attitude with which I was to be treated. I was surprised at the end of 18 that the two men parted company so quickly, but his friend was meeting his wife to play another 9. "You can take me home - I got a ride in - I'm not changing here." So I put the golf bag in the boot of my car and drove Mr. Smith home. "Bring the bag in, I'm not done with you yet" were the only words on the 10 minute drive.

I followed Mr. Smith round to the patio he sat down on the recline and nodded at his shoes - I wasn't certain if he wanted me to clean them there on his feet - I had done it with his regular shoes often enough. He must have sensed my confusion "Take 'em off me" he snapped I knelt and began to untie the laces. "When we were first married we had a golden Labrador, she was a fine dog, would sit by me whenever I took off my shoes and sniff at my socks and then when the socks came off she'd lick my toes - such a show of affection".

I was having trouble with the shoelace it had knotted "You work hard, do as I say, respectful and obedient, but you don't show much affection - come on boy - be affectionate now!" I pulled off the golf shoe at that point and he pushed his foot closer to me -I took it in my hands and bent my face closer, his white ankle socks were wet through, but I could really only smell the leather of his shoe and the damp. I peeled the sock of dutifully and at first gingerly, began to lick at his toes. I was soon losing my inhibitions, when I pulled off the second shoe I thrust my nose under his socked toes and sniffed noisily before peeling the moist cotton aware and continuing tongue bathing his feet. He moaned pleasurably and mumbled "Good boy - atta-boy". I was unsure if I was now his "boy" or his new dog.

That was how things ran pretty much from that point on. It was only occasionally he ordered me to be affectionate and that was as physical as our relationship ever was. My lips were never above his ankles and he never touched me with any more affection than a pat on the head and tousle my hair, although I'm pretty sure his Labrador never caused the tent in his pants I saw when kneeling at his feet.

My domestic chores continued for the next couple of years, but eventually Mr. Smith decided he wanted to live nearer his son and granddaughter.

I got a card the first Christmas after he left, but once I moved house we lost touched.