The Under-footmen of Harvey Hall

Upon their now seeing the most august, Neapolitan nobles, the hundred-plus banquet attending, dressed-to-the-nines ladies and gentlemen promptly stood and, as one, they made their courteous bows. Upon which, the Italian trio gave gracious acknowledgement, and then descended the remainder of the elegant broad stairway, to the grand dining hall.

Puffed up with importance, the Head Footman personally escorted the three honoured guests to their seats.

David watched, as the Head Footman drew back three seats: the two seats nearest Jonas Harvey MP, and then the seat nearest Maximillian.

With the greatest of decorum, the Head Footman seated Countess Luciana and Count Antonio, respectively, in the two seats nearest to Jonas Harvey MP. The Head Footman then seated Isabella: on the other side of the table, opposite her mother, and in the seat nearest to Maximillian.

The Head Footman now made his way to the opposite end of the long table, to where David, his father, and his two older brothers Simon and Martin were all standing, and sticking out like sore thumbs in albeit their best and cleanest of workaday clothes.

Brusquely addressing four of the Footmen, the Head Footman said: "Footmen George, Albert, Edward and William: prepare to position the four Under-footmen!"

The four Footmen bowed in acknowledgement of their superior's order, and dutifully they reverently attended the seated positions of Countess Sophia and her three daughters.

On station, the four attending Footmen stood silently and stared straight ahead. Waiting to be told what to do.

A moment or two later, upon a signal from Countess Sophia, the four Footmen drew back the four Harvey females' seats, so as to facilitate the ladies' easeful extrication from the table.

Overseen by the Head Footman, the four Footmen issued David, his father and his two older brothers their instructions.

To David, Footman George said: "Under-footman David. Lie down on the floor here, on your back. Lie with your arms by your sides, along the length of the hemp mat, so that your head is in position under the table."

Footmen Albert, Edward and William gave similar instructions to his father, and to his two brothers Simon and Martin.

Of course, such instruction to them was wholly unnecessary. His father and his two older brothers already knew what to do. The four Footmen were merely observing strict protocol, as they at all times must.

David looked at Countess Sophia's youngest, and, David thought, most beautiful daughter, eighteen-year-old Marisa. And he felt his bottom lip wobbling uncontrollably, for such were his feelings of unspeakable humiliation, at seeing the superior, smug, and triumphant expression that lit up her face.

David looked to his father.

And Donald Donaldson, his anxiety overriding his paternal feelings for his youngest son's imminent, unspeakably belittling ordeal, nodded, and with his worried eyes he urged David to comply with Footman George's instructions without demur: the very tenancy of their tied cottage was at stake.

Avoiding Marisa Harvey's gloating eyes, David followed his father's and his two brothers' examples and compliantly lay down on the hard stone floor: on his back, with his arms by his sides, along the body-length hemp mat that was there for the purpose.

Staring up at the underside of the wooden table, David felt Footman George pin him in place with Marisa Harvey's seat: the seat's front legs squeezing his shoulders, the back legs pinning his arms to his sides at his wrists.

Looking to his right, David saw his father being similarly immobilised, by one of the other Footmen. David's father did not return his youngest son's look; the veteran Under-footman just stared up at the bottom of the wooden table, in long-accustomed resignation.

David then felt Marisa Harvey sit down on her seat.

Craning his neck, he saw that Marisa was sitting sideways. And Footman George, in reverent attendance, was kneeling down on his left knee, and he was dutifully undoing the silver buckles of her black leather, block-heeled dancing shoes.

The silver buckles unfastened, and the shoes loosened, Footman George carefully pulled Marisa Harvey's dancing shoes from her feet: first her left shoe, then her right shoe, and he placed them beneath her seat.

Countess Sophia's youngest daughter promptly swung her legs around to the front. And then David watched, in horrified acceptance, as the soles of Marisa Harvey's white stocking clad feet made straight for his face.

And now, as his new Mistress, Miss Marisa Harvey, settled the soles of her white stocking clad feet upon his, her own personal Under-footman's face, on this, the day of his eighteenth, 'coming-of-age' birthday, David Donaldson's humiliation was complete. His worst, most dreaded, and inescapable fear, at last, was realised.

Immediately, the soles of Marisa Harvey's white stocking clad feet began their long-anticipated exploration of the strange contours of the Harvey family's newest Under-footman.

Of course, on countless occasions before, Countess Sophia's youngest daughter had enjoyed the use of her mother's and her two sisters' Under-footmen: David Donaldson's father, Donald, and his two older brothers, Simon and Martin. But that was only when they weren't using them themselves.

But now, on the day of his eighteenth, 'coming-of-age' birthday, Marisa Harvey finally had her own, dedicated Under-footman: David himself, whom she had taunted deliciously for years, about his upcoming Under-footmanship.

Enjoying their antics, and laughing while she watched what those foolish jesters were getting up to, the exploring soles of Marisa Harvey's white stocking clad feet were getting up to all kinds of tricks of their own, on David's under-the-table face.

Now, David Donaldson was finally experiencing just what he had been dreading, for so long. And his under-the-table subjugation was more humbling, more humiliating, and more soul-crushing than he'd ever imagined it would be.

His face was Marisa Harvey's footrest. But the soles of her soft-fabric white stocking clad feet seemed ever active: pressing, rubbing, roaming; and the undersides of her toes, cupping his nostrils for long moments.

Whether Marisa's frequent and prolonged nostril-cupping was just a symptom of absentmindedness, as she watched the jesters' foolery, or whether she was doing it deliberately, David couldn't be sure. But he strongly suspected the latter.

David didn't know how much time had elapsed - perhaps ten, or fifteen minutes - when loud and lively dancing music suddenly started up, when the musicians took over from the jesters.

The appreciative laughter of the banqueters died away, and David heard lots of scraping noises as dozens of ladies and gentlemen vacated their seats to make for the large wooden dance floor.

Abruptly, David found Marisa Harvey's feet removed from his face, as she lifted her feet and slid around on her seat to sit sideways. "Come, Mother! Come, Francesca and Louisa! Let's dance!" Marisa urged her mother and her two sisters. "I'll go and get cousin Isabella!"

Craning his neck, David could see that Footman George was again in reverent attendance. He was once again kneeling down on his left knee, and he was putting Marisa's dancing shoes back on for her.

Looking about him, David could also see that Footmen Albert, Edward and William were similarly back in reverent attendance too, at Countess Sophia's and Francesca and Louisa's seats: kneeling down on their left knee, as they put their dancing shoes back on for them.

David could also see the silver-buckled black shoes and the gold-braided lower trouser legs of the Head Footman. Under that gentleman's beady-eyed, all-seeing supervision, the attending Footmen would be sure to observe strict protocol.

As soon as the four Harvey females had vacated their seats and were heading for the dance floor, David turned his head to his father, and said plaintively, "Dad, how long is this going to go-"

Immediately, David was looking at the powdered-wigged head of the Head Footman peering beneath the table, his cheeks freshly done up with more rouge. "No talking, Under-footman David!"

David heard his two older brothers Simon and Martin chuckling. He certainly didn't know what they had to laugh about!

David didn't know how much time had elapsed - perhaps another ten or fifteen minutes - when the four Harvey females returned from their dance, and once again he felt Marisa Havey sitting down sideways on her well-cushioned seat.

Craning his neck, he saw that Footman George was once again in immediate, reverent attendance at Marisa's seat, and, kneeling down on his left knee, he was carefully unbuckling and removing her dancing shoes for her again.

David knew what was coming next, as Marisa Harvey slid around on her seat to face front, and promptly returned the soles of her white stocking clad feet to his conveniently positioned, under-the-table face.

Immediately post-dance, and freshly removed from her sturdy, tight-fitting, block-heeled dancing shoes, not only were the soles of Marisa Harvey's white stockings no longer pristine white, but her feet were rather warm now, and just a little bit sweaty.

"Marisa dear," David heard Countess Sophia say, "did you offer the use of Under-footman David to your cousin Isabella?"

"Yes, Mother, of course. But she's too engrossed in conversation with Father and Maximillian. Isabella wants to know all about Westminster, and the Houses of Parliament - all of that boring old flannel. And of course, Daddy and Maximillian are only too happy to indulge her curiosities."

"So, she said ...?" prompted Countess Sophia.

"Isabella said it can wait until tomorrow. Ha! Just like that: 'It can wait until tomorrow'. But I know she's ever so excited about it, Mother, even though she is trying to make out that she's taking it all in her stride. I can tell: Isabella just can't believe, Mother, for all of her apparent nonchalance, that we have Under-footmen!"

David didn't know how much time elapsed - perhaps it was another ten or fifteen minutes; or even more: it was impossible to keep track of time - when the loud and lively dance music struck up again.

"Oh! This is one of my favourite jigs!" cried Marisa Harvey delightedly. "Come, Mother! Come, Francesca and Louisa! Let's dance! We'll make up a foursome!"

And once again, Footmen George, Albert, Edward and William were in prompt, reverent attendance: under the beady, watchful eye of the powdered-wigged, rouged Head Footman, kneeling down on their left knee, very carefully they put the sturdy, tight-fitting, block-heeled dancing shoes back on the Harvey females' feet.

Lying down on his back, on the hard stone floor under the banqueting table, and remaining silent lest the Head Footman should reprimand him again, David could hear the sounds of revelry picking up as the banqueters continued to pour Jonas Harvey MP's top quality claret down their appreciative throats.

The sounds of the revellers' hard-soled shoes on the wooden dancing floor as they danced the lively jig in foursomes, was thunderous.

But as loud as the noise was, the uninhibited, inebriated laughter and the saucy banter of the letting-their-hair-down nobles and gentry and the other well-to-do ladies and gentlemen banqueters still carried to David's ears.

When Marisa Harvey returned to her seat, this time, and promptly returned her post-dance, freshly unshod, white stocking clad soles to his conveniently positioned, under-the-table face, David found her feet to have gotten considerably warmer now, and rather more sweaty too.

And, as Marisa had lowered the soles of her feet to his face, he couldn't help but notice that there were now some light grey patches: on the bottoms of her heels, at the balls of her feet, and under her toes.

"My word!" David heard Countess Sophia exclaim, rather breathlessly. "I'm certainly glad to get my feet out of these dancing shoes!" she said, promptly returning her post-dance, freshly unshod, soft fabric white stocking clad feet under the table, where David saw them lowered straight onto his father's acquiescent face, and begin doing all kinds of things to it.

"Me too!" responded Countess Sophia's three daughters together, who wasted no time in following their mother's example, and making similar use of David and his two older brothers Simon and Martin's under-the-table, conveniently positioned faces.

"Doesn't your cousin Isabella dance well!"Countess Sophia said brightly to her three, now also slightly out of breath daughters.

Marisa Harvey's now warm and sweaty, white stocking clad soles once again doing all kinds of things to his face, David heard Marisa reply, "Oh, yes, Mother! Ever so well! I was ever so impressed!"

But by now, though, David Donaldson's feelings were being utterly transformed.

David was undergoing the upheaval of a fundamental, radical change in himself.

His ... awakening.

Now, David was beginning to wonder why he'd been living in such trepidation, for all of these years.

Why he'd been living in fear, of his eighteenth, 'coming-of-age' birthday.

Living in dread, of his upcoming Under-footmanship.

Because David was now wondering why he'd ever made such a big, song-and-dance commotion about it, at all.

Wondering, why on earth he'd ever threatened to refuse his inherited, bonded-tied incumbency as an Under-footman to the females of the Harvey family, or to run away from home - either course of action, thereby effectively annulling the very tenancy of his family's tied cottage.

Because the feel of Marisa Harvey's white stocking clad soles on his face, was, to his stunned amazement, actually rather pleasant.

The fabric of Marisa's stockings was almost velvet-soft, and the feel of the warmth of her soles enclosed within, as they almost incessantly roamed over and toyed with his face, was somehow soothing.

Frequently switching from foot to foot, Marisa enclosed David's nostrils in the by now more than slightly sweaty undersides of her soft-fabric, white stocking clad toes. And by now, David was in no doubt at all, that Marisa was not doing it unconsciously, as a symptom of absentmindedness, but very deliberately.

But, to David's further stunned amazement, he was finding this far from objectionable, too. There was something he liked, about the vaguely cheesy smell.

And, to his even further stunned amazement, he realised that he was getting an erection.

David Donaldson's mind was in turmoil.

How could such a thing be happening? How could he possibly like; how could he possibly enjoy, and become so incredibly excited, by such a thing?

But there was just something, about the feel of Marisa Harvey's sweaty, soft-fabric, white stocking clad soles roaming his face almost incessantly, that David liked. Just something, about the aroma of the undersides of her nostril-cupping, cheesy-smelling toes, that excited him.

Now, as his new found pleasure blossomed, and his excitement escalated to incredible, unimagined heights, David Donaldson wondered why he had ever considered running away from home.

Wondered, why he had ever thought of jumping ship, as it were, to avoid becoming Miss Marisa Harvey's dedicated Under-footman, from the day of his eighteenth, 'coming-of-age' birthday.

Wondered, why he had ever lived in dread, of his upcoming Under-footmanship.

David didn't know how much time had elapsed - perhaps it was a little longer, this time, closer to half an hour - when the musicians struck up another lively little number.

"Oh! Another of my favourite jigs!" cried Marisa Harvey delightedly. "Come, Mother! Come, Francesca and Louisa! Let's dance!"

Marisa removed her feet from David's face, and once again she slid herself around on her seat, to sit sideways.

Right on cue, Footman George was in reverent attendance. As were Footmen Albert, Edward and William, at the other three Harvey females' seats.

And once again, the four Footmen, under the close supervision of the Head Footman, were all sure to observe proper protocol as they knelt down on their left knee, and very carefully put the four Harvey females' sturdy, tight-fitting, block-heeled dancing shoes back on their feet.

Lying supine on the hard stone floor, as he stared up at the bottom of the banqueting table David Donaldson's heart was beating twenty to the dozen.

He was in such a state of excitement, as he had never known. The turmoil, both in his mind and in his loins, was unprecedented.

Countess Sophia and her three daughters didn't return, after this latest jig. Nor did they return after the next jig. Or the one after that.

Evidently, thought David, the nobles and gentry and the other well-to-do ladies and gentlemen banqueters were still decanting liberal quantities of Jonas Harvey MP's top quality claret down their educated and discerning throats.

Despite the thunderous noise they were making with their hard-soled dancing shoes on the wooden dancing floor as they danced to the lively jigs, the increasingly raucous laughter and drunken ribald asides of the revellers still carried to his ears.

David found it hard to believe that such people could behave this way.

In their cups, the upper echelon, privileged classes, so-called cream of society, were no better than uncouth drunken and debauched sailors on four-hour shore leave.

Finally, Countess Sophia and her three daughters did return to their seats; and, all jigged out, they fairly flopped down on them, sitting sideways.

And once again, under the watchful supervisory gaze of the powdered-wigged, rouged Head Footman, Footmen George, Albert, Edward and William were at the four Harvey females' instant, reverent attendance: kneeling down on their left knee, carefully unbuckling and removing their dancing shoes, and placing them under their seats.

Upon which, sliding around on their seats to face front, the four Harvey females promptly returned the soles of their post-dance, freshly unshod feet to the under-the-table, conveniently positioned faces of their respective Under-footmen.

This time, when Marisa Harvey slid around in her seat to face front, and promptly returned the post-dance, freshly unshod soles of her soft-fabric, white stocking clad feet to his face; her soles now hotter, and much sweatier too, David found his emotions running riot, and his desires running wild.

Something within himself, that had laid dormant and undisturbed, until now, was waking up fast.

David couldn't help noticing, that as Marisa Harvey had once again lowered the soles of her soft-fabric, white stocking clad feet to his face, that the grey patches on the bottoms of her heels, the balls of her feet, and around the undersides of her toes, were all very much darker now.

And now, the vaguely cheesy-smelling odour of Marisa Harvey's feet, particularly under her toes, was much stronger. More pungent, more powerful, and more ... potent.

"My word!" David heard Countess Sophia exclaim breathlessly. "I think I'm getting rather old for this!"

"Nonsense, Mother!" pooh-poohed Francesca. "You are putting us all to shame!"

"Quite right, Francesca," Louisa agreed.

"Mother," rejoined Marisa, "you could dance any one of us right off our feet!"

And as the soles of Marisa Harvey's now hot and sweaty, soft-fabric, white stocking clad feet now returned once more to do all kinds of things to his conveniently positioned, under-the-table face, David was in a state of unadulterated bliss.

In a state of ecstasy, as his heretofore hibernating predilection was inadvertently and unwittingly kindled, by Miss Marisa Harvey, to an inflamed, hot and passionate arousal.

David Donaldson's heretofore untapped, deeply shafted wellspring, was being well and truly sprung, by Miss Marisa Harvey.