Thoughts of a Footstool

Saturday night before we began playing, the four of us were sitting in a quiet room, talking.  I started out at Master's feet, since there were only three chairs handy, and after a short while he removed my shirt.  Then a while later he told me to get down on all fours and let them rest their feet on me.  For a minute it was both, but then it was just hers.  She was wearing tall leather army-type boots (sorry, I'm not an expert on boot names), expertly polished, with many buttons and hooks.   My thoughts as I became a footstool were, at the start, about how hot this was, being objectified, and how lucky I am to have a Master who thinks about such things. 

 Then I started following the conversation more- it was about languages, and other countries, mostly.  I wanted to chime in, but I didn't feel it would be right for a footstool to speak up.  So I stayed quiet.  

After a bit more time my arms began to ache quietly but I just enjoyed the bit of suffering and fatigue even more.  Long before they gave out completely my Master pulled me back up to a sitting position.