Collegiate Footslaves

Part 1 – The New Semester

It’s not what you might be thinking! This is not a story about a Training College for footslaves – though goodness only knows therein lies a story waiting to be told!

No, this is a story about the ‘Young Ladies’ College of Central Barbaria’ or ‘YLCCB’ as it is more commonly known. It is a story, therefore, about the principal academic institution of the Gynarchy of Barbaria, where young women aged between 18 and 25 train to be doctors, lawyers, businesswomen, politicians etc. A kind of ‘finishing school’ for superior females, if you like.

There is, of course, no such equivalent institution for the males of Barbaria, for even the free men do not require a higher education since they are barred from all the top jobs. No, in the Gynarchy of Barbaria it is females who hold all the positions of power – and rightly so!

And the ‘collegiate footslaves’? Well, these are some of the dirty and inadequate males who serve the young ladies whilst they are at college. Nearly all of the collegiate footslaves are rejects from positions of ‘personal’ servitude – they haven’t quite been able to hack it as the personal body slave, or even personal footslave, of a young woman, either because they are too thick, too ugly or too ‘uppity’. Either way they soon learn the meaning of true servitude and humility once they are employed by the YLCCB authorities as collegiate footslaves – as we shall soon see.

But let’s not begin our visit to the College by focussing on the humble footslaves, for today is a truly exciting day for three of the world’s finest and most beautiful young women – all three of them approaching the hallowed halls of the YLCCB for the first time, complete with their luggage.

The first young lady is 19 year old miss Taneesha, a slightly plump-thighed but nonetheless stunningly attractive Afro-Caribbean girl from one of the poorer inner city estates in the capital of Barbaria. Born and brought up in the Gynarchy, Miss Taneesha has actually done very well to get into YLCCB where she has won a scholarship to study urban dance music. She won it thanks to a local radio competition, for miss Taneesha is a DJ in her spare time. She may not be the brightest girl in the ‘hood, she may not even be as naturally intelligent as some of the downtrodden collegiate footslaves she is about to encounter, but none of that matters – because she is a superior young woman.

She is also chewing gum. Miss Taneesha is nearly always chewing gum.

Then there is miss Rangita from India, a stunning young woman of 20. She too has won a scholarship from her Government to study Computing at the Young Ladies’ College of Central Barbaria – on condition that she takes her newly acquired computing skills back to India on completion of her course (she may well learn and take back with her other skills – such as how to treat humble, male slaves - which could prove very useful as miss Rangita is from a wealthy, middle-class family which owns several lower-caste, male coolies and servants back in her native India!)

And then last, but not least, there is 22 year old Sang-Mi from South Korea. Sang-Mi is not the recipient of a scholarship. She is just the spoilt-rotten daughter of her indulgent father. She wanted to study Politics in Barbaria specifically because it is a gynarchial society (run by women) and, it has to be said, also because she simply wanted to experience the thrill of dominating and humiliating subservient male slaves in a society where male bondage is the norm.

She has therefore come to the right place!

The College authorities have already allocated the three newbies a mentor, 24 year old miss Olya who is about to graduate in Philosophy and had planned to return to her native Russia, but is now looking into the possibility of staying on in Barbaria permanently. Well, a girl can get used to having male slaves about the place, and readjusting to life in a non-gynocentric State can prove somewhat difficult!

And so the tall and svelte, bleached-blonde miss Olya was waiting at the imposing entrance to the YLCCB to warmly greet the three new arrivals.

After the initial introductions Olya steered the threesome towards the inner porch of the front entrance where the 3 young women had their first happy encounter with some of the enslaved males of the College – the ‘porter-slaves’.

Oh yes, there aren’t just ‘footslaves’ in the YLCCB. There are all types of male slaves and servants to pander to every wish and whim of the young, female students. But unfortunately we haven’t time to examine every aspect of every male slave’s life at the College, so we may as well concentrate on those slaves considered the lowest of the low – the slaves at the very bottom of the ‘slave pecking order’ so to speak; the slaves that are despised even by the other male slaves- the collegiate footslaves!

30 year old slave Rodney is one such footslave – and today, as every day, he is serving as the College’s front door mat in the very porch where the three new arrivals are now dumping their luggage into the metal cages atop the kneeling, crawling porter-slaves’ backs.

But slave Rodney isn’t crawling on his hands and knees. Oh what he would give to be a porter-slave – having the relative freedom of being able to crawl around the College on ones hands and knees would be bliss compared to the cramped and confined position he was in now! For collegiate footslave Rodney is lying on his bare back in a hollow in the ground with only his upturned face exposed. He has been in this position for some 6 years now. He eats, drinks and sleeps in this cramped and confined position, existing, effectively, as part of the floor, and nobody in the College thinks anything of it. For that’s all he is – a human, facial-doormat for the young female students (and the female lecturers and staff of the College) to wipe their dirty feet on.

Most of the students and staff don’t even know slave Rodney’s name. Why should they? They have no need to! Even miss Olya, one of the College ‘seniors’ doesn’t know slave Rodney’s name, despite the fact that she has happily been wiping her dirty, sneakered feet on his face ever since she started her philosophy course at the College some three years ago!

Nor does she care that she doesn’t know his name as she ‘introduces’ the three new girls to the collegiate doormat:

‘Taneesha, Rangita, Sang-Mi…please feel free to wipe your feet on our doormat here!’ suggests the blonde, college senior, with just a tiny hint of a remaining Russian accent. ‘I mean, your shoes and boots must be quite dirty after your long journeys!’

The three new arrivals laugh nervously. The youngest, 19 year old Taneesha, is the first to speak as she walks arrogantly over towards the doormat and stares down at him:

‘Ha! Ha! This is well wicked, man! I can see streaks of dirt all over his ugly face, man! Sweet!’ she exclaims, still chewing noisily on her ubiquitous chewing gum.

Olya likes the new, black girl’s attitude and moves over to stand beside her:

‘Ha! Ha! Here, Taneesha, let me show you what to do…,’ she offers.

Miss Olya then grabs hold of an iron bar in the wall of the porch directly beside and above the lying prostrate (with his face upwards), confined doormat-footslave:

‘…Well and you hold on to this bar with your left hand; it helps you to balance while you stand over him and scrape the sole of your shoe along his face, from his forehead all the way down across his nose and mouth to the edge of his chin…like this, do you see?’

And with that miss Olya holds on to the bar herself and places the sneakered sole of her right foot onto slave Rodney’s vulnerable, upturned face.

Slave Rodney has served miss Olya as a boot and shoe scraper many times before. She may not know his name, but he knows hers as he has often served her whilst she is chatting away to her college mates who will have mentioned her name during the course of their conversation (just as he now knows the names of the three new, young mistresses).

Slave Rodney is also very familiar with miss Olya’s sneaker-soles, for they are by far her preferred daytime footwear, though she sometimes also likes to wear her knee-length, block-heeled, black leather boots when she goes out drinking and clubbing of an evening. He could recognise miss Olya’s daytime sneakered feet even without being able to see her pretty, mocking face looking down at him as she towers above him, and that’s partly because she had brought her sneakers with her from Russia. They were quite distinctive, silver in colour on the uppers, with a fetching, light-grey tread in the soles – tread that was quite thick and often contained large globules of mud as she was in the habit of cutting across the College lawns on her way to and from lectures.

Indeed, as miss Olya was kindly demonstrating to the new, Afro-Caribbean girl how to make best use of the human doormat, slave Rodney could see just such a large dollop of grassy mud stuck deep inside one of the treads in the Russian girl’s right sneaker.

He knew he needn’t worry – miss Olya would soon ensure his pointy, slave nose extracted that particular dollop of offending mud from the sole of her East European sneaker as she was now an expert in scraping mud and dirt off the soles of her sneakers onto the human-shoe-and-boot-scraper’s upturned face. And sure enough, as he furtively and slavishly admired the view of miss Olya’s navy-blue ankle sock inside her frayed-at-the-hem, dark blue, denim jean leg, miss Olya roughly and crudely dragged the light-grey sole of her right-sneakered foot across the footslave’s nose several times until the dark brown dollop of College mud came off her precious, silvery sneaker and rested where it belonged – on the top of the slave’s gormless, upturned face.

Miss Taneesha laughed out loud at the sight of the humiliated and degraded doormat-slave with her new friend Olya’s shoe-mud clinging to his pathetic face:

‘Ha! Ha! Way to go, man! Respec! Look at his dirty face – what a freak! What a lamebrain! Move over, Olya. I want a go!’

Needless to say miss Taneesha’s ‘respec’ was directed at Olya – not at the mud-encrusted footslave!

The slightly less abrasive Miss Rangita and miss Sang-Mi had by now walked over to take a peek down at the human doormat themselves:

‘Ha! Ha! I am thinking that the mud on his face will simply be transferring onto the sole of your shoe, Taneesha!’ opined the young Indian mistress in a cute Indian accent.

‘Ha! Ha! Yes. How you stop that, Olya? How you stop filth from slave’s face getting on superior lady’s shoe?’ enquired the young Korean mistress in an equally cute oriental accent.

It was a perfectly legitimate question although, if truth be told, it hadn’t occurred to the less inquiring Taneesha, who was just anxious to get on with humiliating the doormat-footslave by scraping the soles of her white keds along his upturned face.

Be that as it may Olya was happy to put the impulsive Taneesha on hold for a few seconds whilst she answered the Korean girl’s question:

‘What you can do is move the mud down his face with the toe of your shoe and push it inside his mouth – like this…’ and with that miss Olya kindly demonstrated to the three new girls the art of feeding a doormat-footslave with one’s recently extracted shoe-mud.

As she shovelled the mud into his mouth with the rounded, silvery toe of her distinctive East European sneaker, slave Rodney stretched out his slave tongue to greet the East European girl’s former shoe-mud. He was, as ever, hungry - and one thing he had learnt over the 6 years he had been privileged to serve as a collegiate doormat-footslave was that you have to lap up the college girls’ shoe-mud whenever you can – it’s the only way to keep the hunger pangs at bay as the one meal of slave-mush he was fed every morning was never enough to fully sustain him. Besides, acquired taste though it was, slave Rodney now quite liked the taste of young women’s shoe and boot mud. It tasted both bitter and sweet; bitter, because it was mud; sweet, because it was the mud from the sole of a superior and beautiful young woman’s shoe.

Slave Rodney, you will have noted, was rather a selfish and greedy footslave – always thinking about his stomach, when he would have done better to concentrate on cleaning the dirt off his superior young mistresses’ boots and shoes.

The 4 girls nevertheless laughed heartily at the pathetic doormat-slave as he lapped up, and then swallowed, the entire globule of thick, brown, college-lawn mud, and then sucked and licked on the proffered, silver-coloured, sneaker-toe of miss Olya’s right sneaker in order to remove any last vestiges of the same mud from it, caused by her using the said toe of her sneaker to roll the wet mud down his slave face and into his slave mouth.

‘Ha! Ha! Slave like young woman shoe mud? Slave not close mouth? Not gag at filth?’ asked the seemingly ever-inquisitive young Korean Mistress, Miss Sang-Mi, somewhat incredulously.

‘I think he does like it,’ responded miss Olya, ‘but even if he didn’t he has no choice – his mouth is kept permanently open by means of a metal mouth- spreader. Well, can you see it inside his mouth?’

For the first time slave Rodney had a close-up view of the 22 year old Korean mistress’s pretty, intelligent, dark brown eyes and jet black, shoulder-length hair as she crouched down to look more closely inside his mouth.

He averted his eyes to one side as a doormat-footslave is never permitted to look a mistress in the eye – only in the foot – and so he now observed that she was wearing light brown, pointy-toed, spike-heeled, ankle boots and black, knee-length socks beneath a short, black skirt– socks the elasticated tops of which were now fetchingly stretched out around the bottom of her knees due to her crouching position.

As slave Rodney was admiring the stretched stitching in the tops of her black knee-socks the young Korean woman, miss Sang-Mi, was equally admiring the stretched metal of the mouth-spreader inside his wide open mouth:

‘Ha! Ha! Now Sang-Mi understand! Ha! Ha! Slave not able to close mouth! Ha! Ha! Slave not able to speak! Sang-Mi like! Like that slave not able stop young woman shoe-mud go into slave mouth! Ha! Ha!’

‘Gosh, I am thinking it must be hurting him?...’ opined the dark-haired, dusky-skinned young Asian woman, miss Rangita, who was now also crouching down to stare into his mouth.

She sounds like a kindly and sympathetic young mistress, thought slave Rodney to himself.

‘…I am hoping so, for I am liking it when my servants are suffering pain! I am maybe ordering one of these for our houseboy back home’

Maybe not so kind and sympathetic!

Be she cruel or kind, however, slave Rodney could not help but be impressed by miss Rangita’s petite frame and shapely, bare ankles in strappy, brown, leather open-toed sandals. Like miss Olya, she too was wearing trousers, although they were of the light, cotton variety and were beige in colour. The hems of her light, cotton trouser-legs were flapping around her pretty, brown ankles as she stood up straight again.

‘Well I is gonna be the one to use him first, sisters!’ exclaimed the young black woman DJ, miss Taneesha, in her heavy, inner city street-slang accent, almost losing her chewing gum from inside her pretty mouth in her excitement.

The other girls didn’t seem to mind as they all stepped aside to let the impatient Taneesha be the first of the newcomers to try out the doormat.

For the first time slave Rodney clocked what the pretty, if slightly podgy, Afro-Caribbean girl was wearing: a red and black leather jacket; matching black leather miniskirt; and short, black socks with white keds on the end of her slightly podgy legs.

Slave Rodney was glad that the only girl of the 4 now standing over him who was currently wearing high-heels was the Korean girl, miss Sang-Mi, in her spike-heeled, brown leather ankle boots. Spiked heels were a doormat’s nightmare – especially if worn by a particularly aggressive or feisty young mistress (which they often were!) for a young woman can do a lot of damage to a prone and vulnerable footslave’s face with spiked heels if she feels so inclined. His initial perception of the Korean girl, however, was that she would not be so inclined; she seemed relatively kind – concerned about the fact that he was having to swallow miss Olya’s sneaker-mud, for example.

Thank goodness, however, that this petulant and impulsive Afro Caribbean girl miss Taneesha wasn’t wearing heels! He was concerned that the rough way she was now dragging the dirty, beige sole of her soft, white ked across his face might even be enough to draw blood!

Slave Rodney had also noticed some blackened chewing gum on the otherwise dusty, beige sole of miss Taneesha’s right ked. He guessed that it was a piece of gum that had once been inside the young black woman’s pretty mouth, and was therefore determined to get it off the sole of her shoe as it contained not only the dirt where she had been walking, but also her stale saliva. What a privilege! What an honour!

It was an honour which miss Taneesha was seemingly equally determined to bestow upon him:

‘Get that sticky filth off my shoe, boy! Lick it off! You is gonna eat it!’ she screamed down at him, relishing the fact that he was incapable of answering her back, due to the presence both of her dirty, dusty white-canvas-sneakered foot on his face and of the metal mouth-spreader in his mouth.

Her Indian friend, miss Rangita, appeared to find this particularly amusing:

‘Ha! Ha! I am thinking the slave is doing his best, Taneesha! He is trying to be removing the dirty piece of gum with his teeth. I am thinking he is liking the flavour very much! Ha! Ha!’

‘Tch! Like I care whether he likes it or not! He’s just my low-down foot-flunkey innit? And if I is tellin’ him to lick it off he’d better just be lickin’ it off – an’ quickly, too if he knows what’s good for him! No down-in-the-dirt footboy had better disrespect DJ Taneesha!’ responded miss Taneesha, repositioning her right foot in order to give the slave better access to the part of her beige-coloured sneaker-sole where the blackened gum was still stuck on.

Fortunately for him slave Rodney was an experienced chewing-gum-remover, and, even though he couldn’t chew on the precious, discarded gum to extract all the full flavour of miss Taneesha’s shoe-dirt and stale saliva, he was absolutely determined to get the offending piece of gum off her shoe with his slave teeth and down into his slave throat – where it belonged!

Her other sneaker-sole proved less problematical, and, eventually, the demanding, part-time DJ, miss Taneesha, appeared satisfied with the obedient, full-time footslave’s humble cleansing of her rubbery-smelling soft, beige sneaker-soles.

Slave Rodney’s only regret was that he couldn’t smell the young black woman’s short, black sneaker socks inside her white keds whilst he was humbly attending to the soles of her shoes. The black cotton of her socks contrasted nicely with the greyish-white of her well-worn sneakers and the soft brown skin of her shapely ankle bones, and he so much wanted miss Taneesha to humiliate him further by running her black-socked foot across his upturned face. He would have gladly wiped the inevitable little balls of black sock-lint off the bottoms of her black sneaker-socks with his slave-face. But one of the frustrations of being a humble doormat-slave was that ones ‘customers’ rarely removed their outer footwear. And miss Taneesha was no exception – on this occasion at any rate.

Which was why it was so nice to see some bare, female toes and bare feminine footflesh when the petite and comely miss Rangita stepped forward in her open-toed, Moses-style, brown leather sandals in order to take her turn using the human doormat. Slave Rodney had an excellent slave’s-eye view of the young Indian woman’s shapely, brown ankles as she smilingly lowered the dusty sole of her right sandal onto his upturned face. He noticed how she cocked her pretty head to one side as she did so in order to get a better view of her sandalled foot descending onto his face. She may have been smiling, but it was a cruel, mocking smile:

‘Ha! Ha! I am hoping that the slave is liking the taste of Indian dirt as I am wearing these same sandals all the way from Delhi!’ she declared.

The other girls all laughed:

‘Ha! Ha! And Sang-Mi will soon make slave taste Korean dirt from Seoul! Ha! Ha! Slave soon taste Korean sole from Seoul!’

Whilst the female foursome all laughed loudly at miss Sang-Mi’s funny play on words, slave Rodney was still concentrating on the task in mouth – that of extracting the street dirt of new Delhi from the fine treads in the soles of miss Rangita’s pretty, brown leather sandals. As he did so his slave nostrils detected a faint whiff of delicate feminine foot odour over the much stronger, musty smell of the Indian girl’s leather sandals.

He wallowed in the smell of her delicate foot odour, for, just as a footslave acquires a taste for dirty feminine footwear, he equally develops an appreciation for the aroma of sweaty, feminine feet – again, something of a treat for a doormat-footslave accustomed to the predominantly leathery and rubbery smells of young women’s outer footwear. Oh how he would love to take miss Rangita’s bare, brown foot into his permanently gaping mouth and lick off all the salty-tasting sweat!

But, as always, a slave’s desires must be sublimated to the reality of his situation, and slave Rodney was not a bare foot-licker and cleaner (though there were such footslaves located in the College’s communal shower rooms). He had to content himself with his assigned role of being a doormat-slave, and with the dry taste of miss Rangita’s sandal-dirt.

Finally, it was the turn of the Korean mistress, miss Sang-Mi, to have the soles of her spike-heeled, brown leather ankle boots cleaned. Once again, as she moved to grab hold of the iron ‘balancing’ bar and then stood directly over him, slave Rodney, from his prostrate position lying on his back in a hollow in the floor, truly admired miss Sang-Mi’s black, knee-length socks. They seemed to tower over him!

Indeed, all the young women, including the petite Indian girl miss Rangita, appeared to tower over him. How could they do otherwise given that they were effectively standing on his upturned face?! But miss Sang-Mi’s black kneesocks seemed to emphasise even further her power over him, as well as the sheer feminine shapeliness of her calf-muscles. It was as if she was saying to him, as she looked down at him with undisguised contempt on her pretty, Asian face:

‘Even my socks are better and higher than you; you must worship my black kneesocks as you worship my boots, although you are not worthy to touch my socks with your dirty slave face or mouth. Lick only at my soles – my soles from Seoul; taste my Korean boot-dirt, and pay mental homage to my superior, black kneesocks whilst you do so, you filthy, dirty footslave!’

That’s what he imagined she was saying.

What she was actually saying was a bit more prosaic:

‘Ha! Ha! Sang-Mi step in puddle of oil outside taxi rank! Slave taste oil?’

Of course, the doormat-footslave was in no position to answer the young, Korean mistress. Quite apart from the obstruction to speech caused by the metal mouth-spreader inside his mouth, who ever heard of a doormat talking?!

But if he could have answered her he would have, presumably, had to disappoint her – for he couldn’t taste any oil or petrol on the sole of her pretty, Korean ankle boot; just the familiar, bitter taste of sweet-young-woman boot leather.

He was somewhat disappointed himself – it was always nice to think that you were tasting where a free, young woman had been - be it the College lawns, Delhi, Seoul or just the local taxi-rank - even if you couldn’t go to these places yourself. Or go anywhere yourself for that matter – for you are a slave, permanently confined in a hollow in the ground.

Slave Rodney was gratified, therefore, that miss Sang-Mi did not scar or damage his upturned face with her spiked boot-heels, but rather inserted them into his mouth for his tongue to double-check for any traces of motor-oil. Such a kind and gentle young oriental mistress.

Indeed, he felt truly honoured to have served each and every one of the new arrivals, as well, of course, as their mentor and guide miss Olya, as the foursome headed off towards the new girls’ dormitory. For, even though, as they entered their new room which they would all be sharing, they had probably already forgotten about the doormat-footslave, he still had the lingering taste of their pretty, feminine footwear inside his slave mouth.

He deliberately didn’t swallow so that he could savour the taste until his next college customer came along.



Part 2 – The Dormitory Slave

Slave Victor was experiencing his annual bout of nervousness. It happened once a year – every year – at the start of the Autumn semester, for this was when he was ‘introduced’ to his new ‘room-mates’ – the young women whom he would be compelled to wait on hand and foot in his capacity as their dormitory-slave.

The female students at YLCCB all lived in shared rooms, known as ‘dormitories’, with 4 girls and one, male dormitory-slave in each room. One of the girls was always a ‘senior’ – and slave Victor was a dormitory-slave in miss Olya’s room; room no.134. All the girls had nice, comfortable beds and individual privacy screens surrounding their separate bed areas in each of the dormitory-rooms. The dormitory-slaves slept on the floor, in the centre of each dormitory, ready to serve any of their female ‘room-mates’ at the peremptory snap of a feminine finger or the impatient click of a feminine tongue.

The dormitory-slaves, like slave Victor, were, in practice, just another form of collegiate footslave, for they spent nearly all of their time sniffing, sucking, licking and tongue-polishing their female students’ discarded socks, tights and shoes whilst the young women attended their lectures. Just as a doormat-slave never left his hole in the ground, a dormitory-slave never left his mistresses’ dormitory room. The heavy chain around his ankle saw to that.

Aside from his chain, slave Victor was clad only in a pair of plain, white, slave shorts. It was important that his body be kept semi-naked and exposed to the dormitory whip – a thin, brown leather riding crop which was kept hanging up on the back of the dormitory door, ready for any of the female room-mates to use on him whensoever they saw fit.

Poor, old Victor (for, at 43 years of age he was quite old!) felt his stomach muscles tense as he heard the girlish giggling of his three new mistresses and their mentor, the tall, bleached-blonde, East European girl miss Olya, approaching his dormitory-room down the female student-hostel corridor. He adopted a suitable position for a humble slave about to meet three, superior, young mistresses for the first time – kneeling in the centre of the room, head humbly bowed, and looking at a dirty stain in the cream-coloured, bedroom carpet where his mistress Olya had earlier been walking in her muddy, silver and grey sneakers. He made a mental note to himself – ‘must suck up that grassy, mud-stain from my mistress’s carpet later today, for it consists of my mistress Olya’s sweet, sneaker-sole mud.’

The door to the mini-dormitory swung open and 4 pairs of feminine feet loomed into view beneath his humbly-bowed head: the aforementioned silver and grey sneakers and navy blue ankle-socks of miss Olya; a pair of spike-heeled, pointy-toed, light brown, zip-up ankle boots on a pair of uneven, black kneesocks; a pair of flat, open-toed, open-heeled, strappy brown sandals on a pretty pair of soft, brown, Indian feet; and a pair of dirty, white, keds-style sneakers with short, black, ankle socks on a pair of soft, feminine, bulging, black calf-muscles.

There was a momentary silence as mistresses took in slave and slave took in mistresses for the first time:

‘Ha! Ha! What this?’ a soft, feminine, oriental voice belonging to the brown, ankle-length boots and black kneesocks enquired, breaking the somewhat awkward silence.

‘Well, and this is our dormitory-slave, slave Victor,’ replied the familiar Russian voice of miss Olya.

There was giggling from three girlish voices:

‘Ha! Ha! This is well cool, man! You mean we has our very own footslave in our dormitory?’ asked the white keds and short, black ankle socks.

‘That’s right – he is the personal slave of all of us,’ confirmed miss Olya. ‘Please…step forward and have slave Victor kiss your feet!’ she continued.

‘Ha! Ha! Wicked!...’ exclaimed the black girl with the white keds.

Needless to say it was the very same black girl, miss Taneesha, who was the first, yet again, to avail herself of the footslave’s humility. She dumped her rucksack and stepped forward, extending her right leg until her pretty, right foot was resting on the mud-stained carpet directly beneath the kneeling slave Victor’s nose:

‘Ha! Ha! You there, slave Victoria, or whatever your name is…kiss my foot!’ exclaimed the streetwise, but not too intelligent, DJ - miss Taneesha.

Slave Victor duly lowered his slave lips to the rubbery-smelling toe of her dirty, grey-white, canvas sneaker.

‘Ha! Ha! I am thinking Olya said his name is being ‘Victor’ – not ‘Victoria’ – Taneesha!’ exclaimed the Indian girl with dark brown leather, Moses-style sandals.

‘Like I’m bovvered!...’ responded miss Taneesha somewhat defensively. ‘…Who cares what his stupid name is? ‘Long as his lips are on my keds…that’s all I is bovvered about!’

Slave Victor, or whatever his stupid name was, as he humbly and respectfully kissed the rubbery toe of the feisty, young black woman’s shoe, noticed how her short, black ankle sock was somewhat twisted and creased inside her grey-white, keds-style, sneaker. He suddenly found himself longing, aching to run his footslave nose along the creases in her soft, black cotton sneaker-sock as this young woman was clearly his better – arrogant; disdainful; opinionated; full of her own sense of self-importance – she was everything a superior, young woman should be!

She even rested her hands imperiously on her pretty, somewhat overweight hips as she switched feet under his nose and barked down her order to him to kiss her other foot in between sucking noisily on her chewing gum.

Yes, this young woman knows how to treat a dirty, male slave like me! I feel comfortable in her presence, thought slave Victor to himself.

Not that he felt any less comfortable when it came to kissing the soft, bare, unpainted toes of the seemingly much more gentle and kindly Indian girl. She even deigned to introduce herself to him:

‘My name – Rangita. You must now be humbly kissing my feet for you are now being my slave and I am being your mistress, please.’

Please! Slave Victor was taken aback! Nobody ever said please or thank you to him – he was just a slave! How sweet! What a sweet, young woman! He must immediately pay slavish homage to her kind, brown-leather-sandalled feet!

As he lowered his lips towards the bare, big toe on her outstretched, right foot beneath the hem of her light cotton, beige-coloured slacks, however, her dulcet Indian tone suddenly changed as she barked down a much more specific order at him:

‘Do not be touching my bare toes with your dirty lips, slave! You must only be kissing the leather strap on my sandal!’

Slave Victor redirected his ‘dirty lips’ just in time, placing them on the strong-smelling, musty leather of the main strap running along the top of the young Indian woman’s petite, brown-skinned foot just above her pretty toes.

He felt like he was kissing the sandalled-foot of a young, Indian princess – which was just as well for over the coming weeks and months he would come to learn that 20 year old miss Rangita, for all her apparent young-womanly softness and charm, could be a very demanding ‘princess’! She was, after all, quite used to having male-servants around the house back in her home in India!

Last, but not least, it was the turn of the new, oriental girl to have her feet kissed by the dormitory-slave. Slave Victor couldn’t help but admire the young, twenty-something woman’s brown, spike-heeled ankle boots and long, black kneesocks, even though - or perhaps, indeed, precisely because – the young woman’s socks were set unevenly on her pretty, oriental shins and legs. The fact that her socks were uneven only made him want to straighten them up for her, although he admired the way she evidently didn’t care that her socks weren’t straight. That was because she was a superior, young woman with more important things to worry about than the state of her socks. She would be delegating all such concerns to him from now on – to her personal footslave – for he would be reading ‘Young Korean Women’s Socks’ at university this year whilst she would be reading ‘Politics’.

Her black kneesocks, untidy and uneven or not, still towered above him as he paid homage to the pointy, brown-leather toes of her oriental ankle-boots.

With the formal introductions over slave Victor also, of course, was required to kiss the silvery, East-European sneakers of the host mistress – miss Olya. This was standard practice for a dormitory slave: he must respectfully kiss the feet of every young woman who enters or leaves his dormitory, every time she does so!

But his next, immediate task was to help the three young women unpack.

Predictably, it was the feisty, young black woman – miss Taneesha – who grabbed him by the ear and dragged him over to her unilaterally chosen bed-area – the one closest to the window with the best view of the college grounds:

‘Unpack my shoes and socks, slave, while I sort out my CDs!’ she barked.

Miss Taneesha appeared to have a lot of CDs with her, and, again without consulting her fellow room-mates, she immediately put on a loud ‘rap’ music track. It didn’t seem to bother the other girls, but slave Victor could tell that much of his servitude from now on would be to the accompaniment of ‘Gangsta-rap’!

Still on his hands and knees (collegiate dormitory-slaves may not have been gagged and confined in a hole in the ground like the hapless, collegiate doormat slaves, but they were nevertheless obliged to serve permanently on their hands and knees) slave Victor began to unpack miss Taneesha’s footwear whilst she sorted out her CD collection.

He saw, out of the corner of his eye, her short black ankle socks creasing and folding over the top of her white, canvas keds in time to the Gangsta-rap as she sat on the edge of her bed. As he handled her various socks inside her suitcase he imagined each pair creasing and folding also on her pretty, black feet in time to the music.

And miss Taneesha had many different pairs and styles of socks with her – from white, calf-length, tube socks with two pink hoops on the elasticated tops; through dark-blue, flower-patterned ankle socks; to ultra-short, plain white (though apparently stained with stale, browny-yellow footsweat) sneaker-socks. He permitted himself the slavish indulgence of running each rolled-up pair of soft, feminine, young-black-woman socks through his middle-aged, white fingers as he placed them respectfully into her designated sock drawer.

Miss Taneesha didn’t have quite so many pairs of shoes with her as she had socks. In fact, she appeared to have nothing other than four styles of sneakers packed in her suitcase. In addition to the plain, greyish-white, keds-style sneakers she was currently wearing, she had brought a pair of thick-laced, pink, high-top sneakers (presumably to go with her pink-hooped, calf-length tube socks); a pair of black, ‘Adidas-style’ sneakers with white laces and white stripes down the sides; and a pair of dark blue, open-heeled, ‘Buffalo-style’ sneaker-clogs. ‘I wonder whether miss Taneesha wears her ‘Buffs’ with socks?’ slave Victor thought to himself, pathetically. ‘If so, I’ll get a really good view of her socked heels!’

Next to unpack was the sweet, Indian mistress – miss Rangita. As he helped her unpack slave Victor, predictably, encountered several pairs of strappy sandals – though not all of them by any means like the flat-heeled, open-toed, Moses-style, brown leather sandals she currently had on. Many of them (and there did seem to be many pairs) had high heels. They looked very feminine and pretty – particularly a pair of strappy, white ones. ‘They would look very nice on miss Rangita’s pretty, brown skin’, thought the pasty-white slave Victor to himself (he was pasty in complexion because he had been chained up in the same dormitory room for over 15 years).

Unlike miss Taneesha, miss Rangita did not have many pairs of socks with her – just a few pairs of light, cotton ankle socks – all pristine white and clearly brand new. ‘She probably isn’t accustomed to wearing socks in the searing heat of India,’ speculated slave Victor to himself. ’Nevertheless, her white ankle socks would go well with her high-heeled, strappy, white leather sandals. Socks and heels – always an exciting combination!’ He suspected, however, that the white ankle socks were for wearing with her one pair of pink and white sneakers.

Again, last but not least, he was required to assist the Korean girl, miss Sang-Mi, with her unpacking. Slave Victor was gratified to see that miss Sang-Mi had more than one pair of kneesocks with her. He had already noticed for some years now that oriental girls in particular appeared to love wearing kneesocks with their boots, be they ankle-length boots, calf-length boots, knee-length boots, or even thigh-length boots (not that many young women went around the campus in thigh-length, rubber boots! More’s the pity!) He was also gratified to see that her numerous pairs of kneesocks were of various dark colours – black, like the ones she currently had on; navy blue; red; green; purple; and there was even a pair of fetching, black and grey, argyle-patterned, thick woollen kneesocks.

He wondered which colour of socks miss Sang-Mi liked to wear with her various pairs of boots, for her suitcase was laden with designer boots – nearly all of them spike-heeled – of various lengths, ankle, calf and knee. Some were made of shiny, polished leather, and others were of softer suede. She even had a winsome pair of beige, sheepskin ‘ugg-style’ boots with her.

Not that miss Sang-Mi was short of alternative footwear to boots. A second, heavy suitcase was filled to the brim with sneakers, ballet flats and strappy, high-heeled sandals. This was one rich and spoilt young woman when it came to footwear!

An exciting thought suddenly struck the pathetic slave Victor’s slave-conditioned brain – perhaps miss Sang-Mi sometimes chooses to wear her various kneesocks with her ballet flats or strappy, open-toed, high-heeled sandals! That way I would get to see most of her socks whilst she is wearing them, instead of just the tops of her kneesocks poking out above the tops of her designer, knee-length, leather boots. It was an intriguing thought for a pathetic, down-at-sock footslave such as slave Victor!

And so, with the three new arrivals safely unpacked it was time for the lustful slave Victor to actually perform a proper service for one of the young women.

You might have thought it would be miss Taneesha who would have been first to avail herself of the dormitory-slave’s personal services, but she was too preoccupied speaking to one of her friends on her mobile phone over the noise of her gangsta-rap CD.

No, it was actually the delectable miss Sang-Mi who requested, sorry – demanded – the slave’s attention just as soon as he had unpacked her multitudinous pairs of feminine socks, boots, sandals and shoes:

‘Sang-Mi feet tired; feet hot, sweaty! Slave take off Sang-Mi boots; rub Sang-Mi socks, feet!’

She then rather coquettishly sat down on the edge of her allocated bed and extended her right, ankle-booted foot into the air directly below the humbly kneeling slave Victor’s nose.

He could smell the very leather of the young Korean woman’s light-brown, spike-heeled, pointy-toed, designer boot so close was it to his face as her booted, right foot dangled in the air ready for him to unzip it and pull it off her shapely, black-kneesocked leg. But the excitement of smelling her Korean boot leather was as nothing compared to the excitement he now experienced in anticipation of smelling her black socks inside her boots – particularly as the young, Korean woman herself had acknowledged that her socked feet were ‘hot’ and ‘sweaty’.

It’s pathetic, I know, but a permanently chained-up dormitory-footslave has little else in life to look forward to other than the precious smell of his mistresses’ feet and socks!

And so slave Victor wasted no time in gently unzipping the side of miss Sang-Mi’s proffered boot and pulling it off her pretty foot. It came off with a whoosh of warm, feminine foot-air that invaded his male-slave nostrils. But he was not permitted to immediately sniff miss Sang-Mi’s right, socked-foot, for she first placed her black-kneesocked, freshly unbooted foot on the cream-coloured carpet and promptly extended her left foot for de-booting.

Again, the unzipped boot came off with a whoosh revealing the lower half of a creased and twisted, sweaty black, feminine kneesock. The kneesock remained hovering in the air in front of his face this time, and came with an oriental, verbal instruction:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave smell Sang-Mi sweaty sock before rub Sang-Mi sock with hands. Put nose on sock! Smell! Sang-Mi want hear slave smell!’

She cocked her pretty, Korean head to one side to ensure she got a good view of her new slave’s humble sock-sniffing as slave Victor eagerly buried his pathetic, slave nose in the folds on the sweat-covered sole of miss Sang-Mi’s recently-liberated black, knee-sock. He felt a little ball of black sock-lint rubbing against the sensitive tip of his nose as he audibly vacuumed up the young, Korean woman’s sock-stink through his nasal passage.

Involuntarily, he grimaced at the sharp, sweaty, stinky smell of hot, feminine, well-travelled bootsock.

Sang-Mi laughed out loud:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave face look funny! Slave not like Sang-Mi sock smell? Not like smell of Korean-girl sweaty feet?...Ha! Ha! Slave answer Sang-Mi!’

Slave Victor just hoped that the young Korean woman, who could clearly speak only broken English, would understand sycophantic and verbose slave-speak:

‘Oh pray mistress Sang-Mi, if it pleases you mistress Sang-Mi, this slave does indeed appreciate the delicate aroma of his mistress’s precious, black bootsock, but not that much, if it so pleases you most beautiful and kind Korean mistress, miss Sang-Mi!’

Sang-Mi just laughed even louder at the pathetic footslave. She had clearly understood most of what the slave had said:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave want touch Sang-Mi sweaty sock? Want rub Korean-girl sweaty sock with hands?’

It was, of course, a rhetorical question, for miss Sang-Mi had already indicated that he was to rub her sweaty-socked feet, but she clearly wanted him to beg for the privilege of doing so:

‘Oh yes, mistress Sang-Mi, if it pleases you mistress Sang-Mi, this slave would deem himself truly honoured and blessed to be permitted to rub your sweaty-socked feet and legs with his dirty, slave hands, if it so pleases you superior and beautiful, sweet feminine mistress Sang-Mi!’

Slave Victor’s cringing obsequiousness seemed to now irritate the petulant young, 22 year-old Korean mistress, as she promptly kicked him with the scrunched-up toes of her outstretched, socked foot in the face:

‘Hah! Slave not call Sang-Mi ‘sweet, feminine mistress’! Slave call Sang-Mi ‘sweet feminine master’! Sang-Mi slave master – slave female-master! Sang-Mi whip slave if slave not obey female-master!’

‘Yes, sweet feminine master Sang-Mi. As it pleases you sweet, feminine master Sang-Mi’ spluttered slave Victor hastily.

The whim of a mistress! They are such unpredictable creatures! And if miss Sang-Mi prefers to be called ‘master’, so shall it be! It is not the place of a slave to argue with his mistress. A slave’s place is at his mistress’s feet and socks – giving her unquestioning obedience, and acceding to her every capricious demand!

Sweet feminine master Sang-Mi appeared placated by the cringing footslave’s instant compliance with her wishes, and once again magnanimously extended her left, socked leg from her seated position on the edge of the bed, for him to pay slavish homage to:

‘Slave now rub master Sang-Mi sweaty, sock foot. Rub leg also – touch sock on leg; but not touch Sang-Mi skin! Slave only touch sock! Slave not fit touch Korean woman bare leg!’

‘Yes sweet feminine master Sang-Mi. As it pleases you sweet feminine master Sang-Mi.’

Slave Victor had to agree with the pretty, young Korean woman. He wasn’t worthy to touch her shapely, bare calf, however soft and inviting it may be under the material of her black kneesock. And so he concentrated on massaging her sock, all the way from the elasticated top of the sock just below her kneecap, down to the reinforced stitching covering her sweaty toes.

He could tell that master Sang-Mi particularly liked the feeling of his slave fingers manipulating her socked toes as he could feel her wriggling her toes with delight inside the sock. She also lay back on the bed and sighed.

This is the closest I will ever come to pleasuring a woman, thought slave Victor to himself.

Lest he lapse into some sort of perverse thinking that he might be fulfilling the role of miss Sang-Mi’s substitute-lover, that very moment, as if by magic, her real boyfriend rang her on her mobile from the Korean capital, Seoul, to see how she was settling in. Slave Victor therefore had to listen to his sweet, feminine master Sang-Mi explaining to her boyfriend what he was doing. She was clearly explaining it in English to her boyfriend just so that the footslave’s humiliation was complete:

‘Ha! Ha! Yes…slave now rubbing my socks; smelling my sweaty feet! Ha! Ha! Look like fool – Korean woman foot-fool! Slave face covered in Sang-Mi sock lint!’

Slave Victor was indeed aware of tiny pieces of sweaty, feminine, black sock-lint stuck to his face as a result of his having earlier buried his nose in the folds on the soles of miss Sang-Mi’s black kneesocks in order to audibly sniff them. He would be forgiven for ‘stealing’ her sock-lint because he had only been obeying orders…

Miss Sang-Mi suddenly addressed slave Victor directly again:

‘Ha! Ha! Sang-Mi boyfriend say slave pull down Sang-Mi sock and kiss Sang-Mi leg for him!...Ha! Ha! Boyfriend say dirty slave not touch Sang-Mi leg with fingers – use nose to roll down Sang-Mi sock! Ha! Ha!... slave obey Sang-Mi boyfriend while Sang-Mi take picture and send to boyfriend! Slave obey now!’

Oh the wonders of modern technology! Not only could the young Korean woman’s boyfriend order her footslave to kiss her bare leg on his behalf, he could also witness the event in far away Seoul by means of his pretty girlfriend sending him a picture of the event using her mobile phone!’

Slave Victor eagerly began rolling down sweet, feminine master Sang-Mi’s black, cotton kneesock from the top using the pointy tip of his slave nose. Her skin felt nice and soft under his nose; indeed it was so soft that the elasticated top of the black sock had left temporary ‘tank-track’ marks at the top of her shin just below the knee!

Miss Sang-Mi had clearly noticed this too, for she barked another order down at him:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave kiss mark on master Sang-Mi leg. Put lips on top of mark. Kiss!’

So he was effectively to be permitted to kiss her lower kneecap – arguably not the most sensual part of a young woman’s leg – but nevertheless an inestimable honour for a humble footslave, even if he was only being permitted to do it vicariously on behalf of her boyfriend.

As he kissed the sock-induced tank track miss Sang-Mi took a picture on her mobile phone and sent it instantly to her boyfriend in Korea.

She then passed on another message from her boyfriend to the middle-aged, pasty-faced, western footslave:

‘Ha! Ha! Sang-Mi boyfriend say slave thank Sang-Mi for let slave roll down sock with nose and kiss Sang-Mi bare leg. Boyfriend say slave worship Sang-Mi. Kiss Sang-Mi socked toes, then straighten Sang-Mi sock back on leg with nose. Ha! Ha! Slave obey Korean masters – kiss Sang-Mi toes and straighten Sang-Mi sock!’

Slave Victor needed no further encouragement. To kiss a young, 22 year old Korean woman’s socked toes, prior to straightening her black kneesock with one’s slave-nose – and all at the behest of her Korean boyfriend – what more could a middle-aged, pasty-faced, white footslave possibly ask for?’

And I’m afraid I haven’t even got time to tell you about his subsequent licking of miss Rangita’s dusty, sweaty, bare Indian feet inside her brown, leather sandals now that she was feeling more relaxed about having a slave touch her bare feet with his mouth, or his repeated kissing of Afro-Caribbean mistress Taneesha’s sweaty, black ankle socks inside her white, canvas sneakers – just because it made her feel good!

Yes, slave Victor, the dormitory slave, was himself feeling much more relaxed. His three new mistresses, along with their room-mate miss Olya, were going to be a delight to serve during the course of this academic year, and any frustrations or complications which might emerge, such as any rivalry or competing demands placed upon him by the four, feisty young women, would be…well…for want of a better word…'academic’!



Part 3 – The Gymnasium Slave

With the unpacking completed and her sandalled feet refreshingly licked clean by the dormitory-footslave, miss Rangita, the 20 year old, very polite and well brought-up Indian girl from a good, upper middle-class Indian family, declared that she wanted to check out the university gymnasium.

She therefore needed to change out of her light, beige, cotton slacks and brown, leather Moses sandals into her pink and white T shirt, white shorts, white ankle socks and pink and white sneakers.

Instinctively, for she was used to having servants about the house, miss Rangita therefore snapped her fingers and summoned her new dormitory-slave to her feet as she sat on the edge of her bed:

‘Footslave, please be fetching my sneakers and socks from my wardrobe and be putting them on my feet!’

‘Yes, mistress Rangita. At once, mistress Rangita!’ responded the humble dormitory-slave Victor, immediately shuffling on his hands and knees over to her private bed area and removing the aforementioned socks and sneakers from the bottom of her wardrobe.

‘Please!’ So polite! So respectful of him! And yet this Indian girl had a feminine voice that was clearly used to being obeyed. And for his part slave Victor was well used to obeying feminine voices.

Actually, slave Victor was just well used – period!

‘Do not be calling me “mistress Rangita”, dirty slave! It is making me feel old! You will simply be calling me “miss Rangita”; is that being clear?’

‘Yes miss Rangita.’

Another young woman who knows her own mind! Slave Victor liked that. He liked the fact that he would have to learn and remember each of these new girls’ whims – their likes and dislikes. Mistress Sang-Mi, the Korean girl, liked to be addressed as ‘sweet, feminine master’. Mistress Rangita liked to be simply addressed as ‘miss’. So shall it be, for they are both his superiors and their respective wishes are his commands.

As he knelt on the floor of the dormitory in front of the seated miss Rangita he noticed that she had already changed into her T shirt and shorts. Bizarrely, she had slipped off her strappy, loose-fitting, brown leather Moses sandals in order to remove her beige slacks, but had now put the sandals back onto her feet – just so that the slave could take the sandals off her feet again!

Or perhaps it wasn’t so bizarre – for it was the perfect right of miss Rangita to do whatever she wishes. If she wants her personal footslave to remove her sandals from her pretty, bare Indian feet – then remove them he shall, and humbly and gladly!

‘Footslave, please be removing my sandals from my feet; do not be touching my bare skin with your fingers or I will be punishing you!’

It was already clear to slave Victor that miss Rangita had a thing about being touched by a dirty slave (even though she had earlier let him lick her feet clean!) However polite and ‘respectful’ she may be towards him in delivering her orders, she probably nevertheless regarded him as lower caste and unclean – not worthy to touch her superior, upper middle class feet – which was, of course, all true.

‘Yes, miss Rangita. As you wish, miss Rangita.’

Slave Victor was adept at coping with haughty, young women’s arrogance. He had to be in order to survive in this place. His coping strategy was, wisely, to submit.

Fortunately, removing miss Rangita’s strappy, brown leather sandals from her bare feet without touching her superior footflesh was a doddle. Although, out of respect for her footwear, he made a show of unbuckling the main straps across the tops of her pretty feet, he didn’t actually need to undo them – for the loose-fitting sandals would have easily slipped off her feet without undoing the buckles. They were little more than upmarket flip-flops!

Miss Rangita’s toenails were unpainted and he noticed a tiny slither of black toe-jam beneath the top edge of her big toenail on her right foot – probably the accumulated dirt and dust she had brought with her from the dusty streets of new-Delhi. He made a mental note to scrape out that Indian toe-jam with his bare teeth should miss Rangita grant him the inestimable privilege of tongue-polishing her toenails later in the day – if she can once again bear to have his lower-caste lips touching her high-caste, bare footflesh that is!

Miss Rangita certainly seemed to know her own mind when it came to directing servants:

‘Now be unfolding my socks and be putting them on my feet, stupid slaveboy. And again – do not be touching my bare feet with your bare hands, or I shall be whipping you!’

‘Yes miss Rangita. As you wish miss Rangita!’

Slave Victor feared the whip! As we have previously noted, every dormitory-room had one – a brown, leather, whippy, riding crop – ideal for beating recalcitrant or impudent dormitory slaves in confined spaces. It was kept hanging up on the inside of the dormitory door, within easy reach of any room-mate mistress who required its services.

‘Also, be kissing my socks before you are putting them on my feet, coolie. Remember they are being the socks of your high-caste Indian mistress, and you must be showing them some respect!’

‘Yes miss Rangita. Of course, miss Rangita. This slave is honoured to be touching your socks, if it so pleases you miss Rangita!’

Slave Victor had no choice but to agree with miss Rangita. The fresh, white cotton socks were clearly pristine and new – hitherto unworn. It was only right and proper that he demonstrate his respects to the virginal socks by respectfully kissing them in front of their new owner.

The sight of him just caressing and kissing her fresh, white socks was, however, apparently not enough for the, now drunk with power, miss Rangita:

‘Be verbally worshipping my socks as you are kissing them, flunkey! Be telling them how you are being honoured to be touching them, and be begging them for forgiveness for sullying their white material with your dirty, slave hands!’

Slave Victor felt truly ashamed to be ‘sullying’ the nice, feminine, white ankle socks with his ‘dirty, slave hands’, and duly apologised to the socks in between respectfully kissing them:

‘Oh pray, miss Rangita’s socks, if it pleases you miss Rangita’s socks, please forgive this ignorant coolie for soiling your pure whiteness with his unclean hands. This dirty footslave is only fit to touch you in order to place you on his superior, high-caste, Indian mistress’s bare feet, if it so pleases you most sweet and beautiful miss Rangita’s socks.’

Miss Rangita laughed:

‘Ha! Ha! You really are being a pathetic flunkey, footslave – praying to a young, high-caste, Indian woman’s socks! Ha! Ha! Rangita really is being your better!’

‘Yes miss Rangita.’

What else could slave Victor say? She was his better; her feet were his betters; her socks were his betters. He was less than the toe-jam underneath her big toenail.

‘Now please be putting the socks on my feet. Be smoothing them onto my feet and be making sure they are not creased or wrinkled. Also be folding them over at the cuffs and be making sure they are straight and even. Do not be touching my bare skin!’

These were the sorts of orders slave Victor liked – clear and unambiguous. This young woman really does know how to deal with slaves!

And so he carefully and respectfully scrunched up the first, plain white ankle-sock in his slave hands and deftly stretched it over the shapely, brown toes of the haughty miss Rangita’s arrogantly outstretched, right foot – rolling it up and over her pretty, brown foot and ankle bone: brown skin he was not fit to touch.

Once both socks were on he smoothed out any creases and folds and turned down the cuffs at the tops so that when the young Indian mistress rested her socked feet side by side on the cream-coloured carpet of the bedroom floor in order to inspect them they were nice and even – just as she had ordered. No need for her to reach for the riding crop – this time!

Rangita was actually delighted with the humble footslave’s performance, and already had visions in her mind of him acting as her personal punkah-wallah during the spring and summer semesters, manually fanning her hot and tired Indian feet as she relaxed on her bed. But, of course, she was much too haughty and high-caste to complement the lower-caste coolie on his excellent work:

‘Now be putting my sneakers on my feet, lackey. Be making sure you are not creasing my socks as you are putting the shoes on my feet. I am not wanting to be walking around in creased socks inside my sneakers!’

That much was becoming self-evident – miss Rangita doesn’t like creased socks! Probably because she is relatively unfamiliar with wearing socks on her pretty, Indian feet. Slave Victor made another mental note – all part of his coping strategy.

The pretty, lace-up, pink and white sneakers smelt every bit as new as the pristine, white socks. Such a contrast to miss Olya’s well-worn silver and grey sneakers! There literally wasn’t a mark on the Indian girl’s sneakers. Slave Victor looked forward to watching the sneakers becoming gradually marked and soiled over the coming weeks and months as miss Rangita wore them around and about the college. Young women’s sneakers were always so much more appealing when they showed signs of wear and tear – and when they didn’t just smell of brand new rubber and leather as these ones currently did, but of ingrained, stale footsweat, as they inevitably would with the passage of time!

He loosened the white laces, stretched open each pink and white sneaker at the top, and then carefully pulled them onto miss Rangita’s white-socked feet, ensuring, as he had been ordered to do by his high-caste Indian mistress, that her precious socks were not creased in the process.

And so, suitably besocked and besneakered, miss Rangita grabbed a white towel and headed off towards the university gymnasium.

Slave Victor, of course, couldn’t go with her – much as he would have liked to! He was just a dormitory slave – kept permanently chained up in the girls’ dormitory. It would now be one of the gymnasium-slaves, slave Robert, who would have the honour of serving miss Rangita’s feet and footwear.

32 year-old slave Robert had been secured in the gym for some 4 years. Prior to that he had been employed as a dormitory slave, so, he was, if you like, a step up from slave Victor. Working in the university gymnasium was considered an honour and a privilege – if only because one inevitably got to smell the young collegiate women’s sweaty feet close at hand; or rather close at face!

This was because each piece of equipment in the gym had a collegiate footslave permanently attached to it, and slave Robert had the honour of being attached to the treadmill. It was an honour because he got to stare at the young women’s feet as they ran on the treadmill – a truly awesome sight for a humble footslave – fit, young women’s sneakered and socked feet gradually building up a sweat in front of your very eyes! What more could a humble footslave ask for?

Of course, Robert had his ‘regulars’ – female students who ‘ran’ the treadmill every day – but it was always nice to meet the feet of a new mistress. Slave Robert was thus thrilled when he saw the brand new pink and white sneakers and neatly turned-over-at-the-cuffs, white, ankle socks of a young Indian woman approaching him.

He of course, like every collegiate footslave, was kept permanently on his hands and knees, so it wasn’t miss Rangita’s pretty, black hair, or her pretty brown eyes, or her pretty breasts, or her pretty bottom, or even her pretty thighs and knees that he was able to admire as she stood in front of his kneeling face – it was her pretty, sneakered and socked, feet and ankles.

The young, Indian woman placed a bottle of water on the ground beside her and stood momentarily in front of the kneeling treadmill-slave with a white towel wrapped around her petite, womanly shoulders. Then, with both hands resting on her hips, she condescendingly stretched forward her right, pink-and-white-sneakered foot directly under slave Robert’s nose:

‘My name is being miss Rangita,’ she declared happily. ‘Please be respectfully kissing my foot!’

Slave Robert was overwhelmed with feelings of admiration for this Indian goddess! She had actually deigned to introduce herself – to him, a mere gymnasium footslave!

He found himself cupping his slave hands worshipfully around the base of the young woman’s outstretched foot as he humbly and reverentially kissed the pristine white toe of her leather sneaker.

The right, pink and white sneakered foot was promptly withdrawn and replaced with the left, pink and white sneakered foot:

‘And the other one, lickspittle!’

Lickspittle! He had never been called that before – and in such a charming Indian accent! Slave Robert wished he could lick the Indian girl’s spittle – and preferably from the sole of her sneaker!

He noticed how her pristine, white, ankle-sock was slightly creased around the inner ankle – caused by the outstretched positioning of her foot. Quite beautiful!

‘Now you will please be staring at my feet while I am walking on the treadmill. Please be making sure your eyes are not straying from my socks, for you are not being permitted to be looking above my ankles, footslave.’

‘Yes mistress Rangita, as it pleases you mistress Rangita,’ responded slave Robert.

The young Indian woman tutted and appeared somewhat annoyed:

‘Do not be referring to me as “mistress”, treadmill-wallah!’ she snapped down at him. ‘I am being referred to as “miss Rangita”, and if you are making this mistake again I will be most severely punishing you!’

‘Yes miss Rangita. Please forgive this stupid slave, miss Rangita.’

Slave Robert was stupid. He should have known miss Rangita’s preferences for how she liked to be addressed by slaves. Had she not been kind enough to introduce herself as ‘miss Rangita’? He deserves to be whipped.

The young Indian woman, who had clearly used a treadmill before, then hopped up onto the contraption and held onto the bar in front of her before switching it on to a steady walking pace.

Slave Robert, as he was employed to do, then humbly focused his gaze on the young Indian woman’s marching feet. It was the law – a young woman’s feet in Barbaria must be admiringly stared at by a humble, male footslave at every available opportunity – for it reminds everyone in society of the superiority of the female over the male. It would be unthinkable that a superior young woman would spend half an hour working out on a treadmill without having her feet stared at and admired by a humble, male foot-servant.

And so slave Robert furrowed his brow and dutifully concentrated on the young, Indian woman’s pretty, feminine sneakers and socks as she walked the treadmill. He studied how her thin, white cotton socks creased and folded at the back with each step. He observed the tiny creases that materialised in the tops and sides of her sneakers, and, as she increased the pace of the treadmill to break out into a light jog, he thought about how her feet would be building up a precious sweat inside her pristine new sneakers – sweat which would only be partially absorbed by the young woman’s thin, white, cotton socks, and some of which would inevitably seep into the inner linings of her pink and white sneakers.

He knew that because it was customary for a female ‘customer’ to have him take off her sneakers after her work out, and to rub his slave-face all over with her sweaty-socked feet in order to wipe the sweat from her socks whilst she herself wiped the sweat from her forehead by means of the towel she had brought with her.

Miss Rangita, it seemed, was no exception. After her half-hour work out on the treadmill, she sat down on the edge of the switched-off contraption, mopped her brow, and, slightly breathlessly, barked her orders down at the humble gymnasium-footslave:

‘Now be untying my sneakers and be taking them off my feet. I am wanting you to be towelling the sweat from my socks with your ugly face, coolie!’

‘Yes miss Rangita. At once miss Rangita.’

Miss Rangita then took a refreshing drink from her bottle of chilled water as the kneeling slave Robert began to untie her shoelaces in order to partake of his own refreshing ‘drink’ of young Indian woman socksweat.

He made sure his lips made contact with the sweatiest parts of miss Rangita’s white, cotton ankle socks – the soles and toes - as he humbly face-towelled her socks, wiping and licking her socksweat onto his face and mouth as best he could. The socks felt soft and warm on his face, and the smell wasn’t actually too bad. It had, after all, only been a quick, half-hour work out.

Nevertheless, there was still enough sweat to leave a residual smell on his towel-face.

Back in her dormitory room miss Rangita once again summoned slave Victor to her bedside, who, whilst she had been working out in the gymnasium, had been tongue-polishing miss Sang-Mi’s various pairs of leather boots. Sang-Mi was happy, however, for her room-mate Rangita to have use of the shared, dormitory-slave once more as her need was greater – she needed to be divested of her sneakers and socks!

Be that as it may, as slave Victor was about to remove miss Rangita’s sneakers from her feet again (just 5 minutes after another slave – slave Robert – had carefully and respectfully put them back onto her pretty, Indian, socked feet!) miss Rangita suddenly stopped him in his tracks:

‘Do not be touching my sneakers, slave! First you must be telling me what it is that you are seeing in front of you.’

It was a somewhat curious command – ‘what it is that you are seeing in front of you’? What did miss Rangita mean? What was she getting at? All he could see was her socks and sneakers. What else was she expecting him to see?

Yet, from the tone of her voice, something was clearly wrong.

All he could do was answer her truthfully, and ultra-politely, using the most humble of slavish slave-speak:

‘Oh pray, miss Rangita, if it pleases you, miss Rangita, this stupid slave sees your most beautiful pink and white sneakers and white ankle socks, if it so pleases you most sweet and powerful miss Rangita.’

She huffed, and bent down to slap him hard across the face:

‘Impudent flunkey!’ she shouted. ‘Be looking more closely and be telling me this instant what it is you are seeing!’

No more polite ‘pleases’ now. Miss Rangita was clearly angry about something, but, partly because his head was now spinning with the sting of the unexpected face-slap from her pretty, high-caste, Indian hand, and partly because he genuinely couldn’t see anything wrong, the hapless and ignorant slave Victor was at a complete loss as to what to say!

He tried to gather his senses through the pain. Perhaps her sneakers were dirty? Perhaps she had trodden in some mud, ruining her hitherto pristine new pink and white sneakers?

No – try as he might – he couldn’t see any traces of mud or dirt on her brand, new sneakers – nor on her snowy, white ankle socks!

His dumb, insolent silence angered miss Rangita even further, and she gave him yet another stinging slap before putting the stupid footslave out of his misery:

‘Stupid pig! Be looking at my socks! Are you not seeing how they are creased? What was I telling you I would be doing if you were allowing my socks to be getting creased inside my sneakers?’

Ahh! Now he understood. He was to blame for the newly-appeared creases in miss Rangita’s ankle-socks! Of course! How could he have been so stupid! The socks were still neatly cuffed at the tops, but there were indeed a few little creases in the thin, cotton material around her shapely, high-caste, ankle bones!

And it was his fault – for his mistress had earlier expressly forbidden him from allowing any creases to appear in her socks. The fact that these creases had developed in the cotton material whilst she had been walking and jogging on the treadmill in the gym was, well, quite frankly, ‘immaterial’. There could be no excuse for his incompetence, for his mistress had made her wishes perfectly clear right from the outset – no creases in her socks!

Slave Victor lowered his lips to the white toe of miss Rangita’s right, pink and white sneaker and began sobbing and kissing:

‘Oh pray miss Rangita, if it pleases you miss Rangita, this dirty, stupid, incompetent slave throws himself at your feet and pleads for your forgiveness and mercy! Oh pray, miss Rangita, please punish this dirty slave! Please whip him and beat him for his wanton neglect of the mistress’s socks, if it so pleases you miss Rangita!’

It’s a strange paradox that a slave begging a mistress for mercy often has to incorporate a plea for punishment – since it is only through penance and punishment that justice can be done!

Miss Rangita, it seemed, was only too glad to play the role of confessor and punisher:

‘Be fetching me the whip, dirty slave!’

Slave Victor stopped kissing the rubbery, white, feminine sneaker-toe and crawled over to the dormitory door in order to reach up and unhook the dormitory whip.

The other girls in the room, who had been alerted to the impending punishment scene by Rangita’s shouting, now gathered around in her area of the bedroom in order to gleefully watch the footslave being punished by their Indian room-mate:

‘Ha! Ha! Give ‘im what for, Rangi!’ screamed the black ankle-socked and white, canvas-sneakered Afro-Caribbean girl miss Taneesha. ‘Really hurt ‘im, innit?’

‘Ha! Ha! Slave look frightened! Slave about to be whipped!’ exclaimed the black kneesocked and brown, leather ankle-booted Korean girl, Sang-Mi, quite breathless with excitement.

‘Don’t spare him, Rangita!’ encouraged the senior room-mate, the silver and grey sneakered and navy-blue ankle-socked miss Olya, a great believer in the power of the female whip herself.

But miss Rangita, well used to disciplining servants, needed no guidance or encouragement into how to discipline a lower-caste ‘coolie’ – or, indeed, in how to prolong his agony and add to his humiliation. As slave Victor crawled back over to her feet and, head humbly bowed, handed her the swishy, brown, leather riding crop, the experienced servant-mistress made him raise his thin-white-shorts-covered backside high into the air so that she could target his buttocks and the backs of his thighs, before giving him one final sock-related command:

‘Ha! Ha! Miss Rangita is soon going to be beating the slave for his incompetence. But first the slave will be begging forgiveness of miss Rangita’s socks! The slave will be kissing them and apologising to them for allowing them to becoming creased on miss Rangita’s feet! Be begging my socks for mercy, foot-flunkey. Be doing it out loud so my friends are hearing you begging!’

And so slave Victor, still sobbing with unbecoming self-pity, whilst making sure he kept his backside high in the air, simultaneously lowered his slave-lips to the creases on the area of the white ankle-sock covering the outer ankle bone of miss Rangita’s proffered, right foot, and duly begged the right sock for mercy:

‘Oh pray miss Rangita’s sock, if it pleases you miss Rangita’s sock, please have sweet, feminine pity on this poor slave, and forgive this dirty slave for his wanton neglect of your well-being, if you would be so kind, sweet and high-caste miss Rangita’s sock!’

He then had to repeat his guilty plea to the left sock, to the raucous amusement of all the young women in the room.

When he had finished pleading to her socks for forgiveness and mercy, miss Rangita informed him that, whilst her left sock was moved to show him mercy, her right sock was not, and wanted him severely punished. Her right sock, she gaily informed him, had therefore sentenced him to 20 lashes of the riding crop across the backs of his bare legs.

The soft, white, unforgiving, high-caste, feminine, Indian ankle-sock no doubt enjoyed witnessing slave Victor’s just punishment and suffering every bit as much as her female owner and her female owner’s smiling room-mates.

At that precise moment in time slave ‘Victor’ would have been more aptly named slave ‘Vanquished’!


Part 4 – ‘Socks-in-a-basket’!

Later that same evening the four new room-mates went to the Students’ Union bar where they downed considerable quantities of alcohol.

When they returned to their dormitory room at about 11:00 PM, all of them feeling slightly ‘squiffy’, they were accompanied by Olya’s handsome boyfriend, 28 year old Alexei, who was a fruit-picker by profession.

Slave Victor, still smarting from his whipping at the hands of miss Rangita, resented the presence of Alexei enormously! The latter was flirting outrageously with all Olya’s new room-mates – winning their admiration and respect in ways that Victor, a mere slave, could never hope to achieve how ever diligently he served as their footslave. For the simple fact of the matter was that young women were attracted to strong, manly men – free men; men with prospects and a future ahead of them – not to down-on-their-knees, sock-sniffing, whipped footslaves like slave Victor, who were, quite literally, kept in chains and going nowhere.

As slave Victor watched and listened to the free man Alexei flirting with the freshers, he found himself wondering why miss Olya put up with it. If he, Victor, was her boyfriend he would never flirt so outrageously with other women in front of her. He would be a loyal, attentive and faithful boyfriend!

But, of course, slave Victor was missing the point. Olya not only ‘put up with’ Alexei’s flirting – she loved him all the more because of it! She loved the fact that other women found her boyfriend attractive. She even quite liked the fact that he treated her with such contempt. For she was in love with Alexei.

She most definitely was not in love with her down-on-the-dirty-carpet dormitory slave – slave Victor!

As Alexei was canoodling on Olya’s bed with his girlfriend on one side and DJ Taneesha on the other, there was a polite knock on the door. Sang-Mi, the Korean girl, was the only one who was apparently sober enough to be able to go over to the door and open it.

The sight that greeted her caused her great merriment. A semi-naked, balding, male slave in his early fifties was kneeling outside the door with a basket of girls’ dirty socks hanging under his face from two chains attached to a collar around his neck.

Socks-in-a-basket!

‘Ha! Ha! Who you? What you want?’ chuckled miss Sang-Mi.

‘Good evening, miss. I am the sockboy, come to collect his mistresses’ dirty socks, if it so pleases you miss,’ declared the old man, avoiding eye-contact with the superior, young oriental woman standing in her black kneesocks and brown, leather, zip-up ankle boots directly in front of him, and instead staring humbly into the basket of dirty, female socks beneath his face.

Sang-Mi just burst out laughing – loud enough to attract the attention of the others in her dormitory room, who now stopped whatever they were doing to come to the door and see what was going on.

As Sang-Mi, Rangita, Taneesha and Alexei all stood over the kneeling ‘sockboy’ with mocking, sneering grins on their supercilious, free faces, miss Olya, who was standing with her arm lovingly wrapped around her boyfriend Alexei’s waist, explained gleefully to the new girls what the collegiate sockboy was all about:

‘Ha! Ha! Well and this is the dirty sockboy…he must collect all our dirty socks at the end of each day and take them down to the laundry room where he must suck them clean!’

Slave Victor, who was still kneeling with his head bowed in the centre of the dormitory room, was now even more green with envy. Not only was he no longer the male centre of the girls’ attention now that the superior, free man Alexei was in the room, but another male slave was now about to take away his mistresses’ – his mistresses’ - dirty socks and have the honour of sucking them clean! Slave Victor, somewhat arrogantly for a raggedy-assed footslave, always thought that this should be his job at the end of each day! He truly resented the nightly knock on the door of the collegiate sockboy!

But then slave Victor always did have an inappropriately high opinion of himself!

Whilst the girls all laughed, Alexei drunkenly invited the sockboy into his girlfriend’s (or should that be girlfriends’?) dormitory-room:

‘Ha! Ha! Come in, pathetic sockboy! You’re welcome to collect the girls’ dirty socks. I’m sure they have lots of sweaty, stinky socks for you to take away and sniff! Ha! Ha! What a loser!’

Slave Matthew, aka the collegiate ‘sockboy’, was grateful to the young master. After all, he appeared to be interrupting some sort of orgy! He must just collect up the young women’s dirty socks and leave the master to it!

As he entered the room, however, he could only see one pair of dirty, white, female ankle-socks lying on the floor beside one of the four beds. He quickly clocked that only one of the girls was currently in her bare feet – a young, Indian woman, and he hazarded a guess that the discarded, white, cotton socks must belong to her.

He was, of course, correct, for these were the sweaty, white sneaker socks of miss Rangita – professionally and submissively taken off her pretty, high-caste, Indian feet earlier in the day by slave Victor, the insanely jealous dormitory-slave, after her work out on the gymnasium treadmill .

The sockboy made a beeline for the crumpled up pair of dirty, white socks – his basket swinging humiliatingly in the air beneath his face as he crawled along the creamy carpet of the bedroom floor.

As soon as he reached the pair of dirty socks he lowered his head still further until his sock-basket was resting on the floor, and then respectfully picked up the Indian girl’s socks in order to place them in the basket.

Miss Rangita, who – not being used to high levels of alcohol was probably the most drunk of the happy group of five, free, young people - explained in somewhat slurred speech to the sockboy-slave that she was the owner of the socks:

‘Ha! Ha!...these are being miss Rangita’s smelly, dirty socks…Ha! Ha!...Stinky, sweaty, sockie-wockies…Ha! Ha!...The dirty sockboy-slave must be making sure they are being clean for miss Rangita by the morning…Ha! Ha!’

‘Yes, mistress Rangita. As you wish, mistress Rangita!’ replied the sockboy.

Miss Rangita was apparently too drunk to notice or care that yet another stupid slave had incorrectly addressed her as ‘mistress’. She didn’t feel old at the moment – just merry!

In fact, just a few seconds later, she passed out on her bed!

The fifty-something sock ‘boy’ now had a drunken, 20 year old Indian girl’s dirty, white ankle socks at the top of his pile of feminine socks under his kneeling face.

‘Ha! Ha! Sang-Mi want sockboy take off Sang-Mi socks and put in basket!’ giggled the slightly-tipsy Korean girl – plonking herself down in a very unladylike manner beside the comatose Rangita on the edge of the latter’s bed and extending her right, brown leather ankle-booted and black-kneesocked leg directly over the sockboy’s stationary basket and beneath his kneeling face.

The sockboy now had to carefully unzip miss Sang-Mi’s knee-length boot and pull it off her pretty, oriental leg before deferentially pulling off her long, black kneesock with his slave mouth and teeth.

As he repeated the process with the Korean girl’s left leg slave Victor looked on – green with envy. He wanted to take off and smell miss Sang-Mi’s thick, black kneesocks – to smell the ‘sole from Seoul’ (slave Victor, sadly, thought he was the first to come up with that particular play on words! But slave Victor was no comedian; nor was he even a fully qualified sock-slave. He was just a just a two-a-penny dormitory slave, who could only aspire to be the collegiate sockboy!)

The ever inquisitive (even when drunk) miss Sang-Mi wanted to know more about the collegiate sockslave’s circumstances. She therefore fired a series of drunken questions at him, as he carefully placed her thick, black kneesocks into his basket on top of miss Rangita’s thin, white cotton ankle socks:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave like smell of Korean girl’s dirty socks?... Like smell of all girls’ dirty socks?...Ha! Ha! Like live in smell of girls’ socks?’

The sockboy was about to answer miss Sang-Mi in the affirmative, when master Alexei, the free man, answered for him:

‘Ha! Ha! I think he does, Sang-Mi…I think he does like living with the smell of girls’ dirty socks under his nose all the time!...Ha! Ha!...That’s because he’s a loser…he’s nothing but a sock-sniffing queer!...Isn’t that right, boy?’

‘Yes master.’

The collegiate sockboy, slave Matthew, knew better than to contradict the superior boyfriend of one of the superior female students.

And besides, the young man was right in everything he said.

Meanwhile the young man’s girlfriend, miss Olya, still standing with her arm wrapped lovingly around Alexei’s waist, chipped in:

‘Ha! Ha! You see, Sang-Mi, the sockslave likes the bouquet of girls’ socks under his nose…look his basket is now full of girls’ scented socks…Ha! Ha!... red socks; white socks; patterned socks; flowery socks…he is such a lucky slaveboy!’

Now it was slave Victor’s turn to tacitly agree with the pronouncements of a superior, free human being. That ‘sockboy’ in his fifties truly was a lucky slave – pathetic, yes…but lucky with it!’

‘Ha! Ha! Yes darling…he must be in the seventh heaven, given that he is a girls’-socks junkie!’ opined master Alexei, slurring his words somewhat. He then kissed his girlfriend Olya on the cheek and asked her whether she wanted to have the sockboy remove her tatty, well-worn, cheap-looking, silver and grey sneakers (although, of course, even when drunk he was not so ungallant as to describe them as such) and to add her short, navy blue ankle socks to the sockslave’s ‘stinky bouquet’?

Miss Olya, however, had a better idea:

‘Mmm…no, I think I will keep wearing my socks for another day darling, just to make sure they are smelly enough for the sockboy! He can collect them tomorrow night after they have been inside my sneakers for another day. Ha! Ha!’

Everyone laughed at Olya’s kind consideration of the sockboy’s nostrils.

DJ Taneesha, however, was convinced that her short, black ankle socks inside her plain, white keds were already sufficiently stinky to merit adding to the sockboy’s basket:

‘Well he sure as hell can have my socks tonight, innit?’ she declared, following her drunken, Korean friend Sang-Mi’s lead and taking up a seated position beside her on their new Indian friend Rangita’s bed.

Slave Matthew, or ‘sockboy’, now found himself confronted with the black girl’s imperiously outstretched, right foot under his nose, and began unlacing the dirty, white ked in order to peel off the girl’s sweaty, black ankle sock.

As soon as the canvas sneaker came off he was enveloped in the stink of a truly sweaty, black, feminine sock! This pretty, if slightly podgy, Afro-Caribbean girl’s socks were certainly going to add a distinctive aroma to the bouquet of socks under his nose, for slave Matthew had been the collegiate sockboy for over 10 years, and had developed a slave nose that was finely tuned for the individual aromas of his various young mistresses’ stinky socks. He also had an exceptionally high IQ – certainly higher than that of any of his tormentors in this room – and never forgot which socks belonged to which mistress, in whichever dormitory.

Yes, after 10 years in his role slave Matthew was something of a sock-expert; a sock-savant, if you will – which was just as well given that his whole life now revolved around collecting, studying, smelling and tasting young women’s sweaty socks!

As he crawled out of the dormitory room with misses Rangita’s, Sang-Mi’s and Taneesha’s socks all added to his humble sock-collection, master Alexei bade him farewell in a masterfully mocking, if drunken, tone which impressed all the girls in the room:

‘Ha! Ha! Bye bye, girls’ sockslave…see you again soon!...enjoy your socks! Ha! Ha! Enjoy the smell of girls’ stinky socks while I enjoy their perfumed bodies! Ha! Ha!’

Olya bit her lip, but kept on smiling.

Slave Matthew continued his rounds of the female students’ dormitories, adding ever more dirty, female socks to his hanging-basket under his slave nose. Some of the female students – the good girls who had gone to bed early and didn’t wish to be disturbed (well, it was now approaching midnight!) - had simply left their dirty socks in a pile outside their rooms. Or perhaps they just didn’t wish to be disturbed because they were making love to their boyfriends – whatever, slave Matthew was not required to enter their actual rooms.

Many of these piles of dirty, feminine socks were placed outside the dormitory doors beside various pairs of matching, dirty, feminine shoes and boots – but the shoes and boots were not slave Matthew’s concern; they had been left out for one of his colleagues - the collegiate shoeshine-boy - to collect and tongue polish down in the College’s expansive shoe cupboard. Slave Matthew was just the collegiate sockboy, and must concentrate on collecting and mouth-washing the girls’ dirty socks in the College laundry-room.

As he eventually crawled into that laundry-room down in the basement of the College – his basket laden with pretty, young women’s dirty socks – slave Matthew heard his supervisor-cum-taskmistress for the night, miss Precious, seated on a wooden chair with her feet resting indolently on a wooden table in front of her, stuffing her face as usual with crisps and snacks whilst she watched television.

She barely gave the sockboy a second glance whilst he shuffled on his hands and knees into the laundry-room, his basket of socks swaying to and fro before him under his nose.

Slave Matthew admired and respected 19 year old miss Precious. She originated from somewhere in West Africa, and, although she was a woman of few words, still spoke with a strong West-African accent. Fat and lazy, she made an excellent taskmistress, stuffing her face all night long and noisily slurping on milkshakes whilst he slurped on the female college students’ sweaty socks.

Slave Matthew liked working under the supervision of miss Precious because she was quite ‘hands-off’. In fact, she clearly wasn’t in the least bit interested in supervising him – taking on such night work simply because it was the only work she could get. She was perfectly content to spend the night with her feet up on the table, munching and slurping away and watching the various late night shopping channels on her portable television.

And that suited slave Mathew who simply got on with his chore of mouth-washing the college girls’ dirty socks. Protocol dictated, however, that he first had to show miss Precious his collection of socks in order to demonstrate that he wasn’t (like her) a slacker, and had duly done all his rounds collecting socks.

He therefore crawled over to where miss Precious was sitting and slurping on a strawberry-flavoured milkshake, unhooked his basket from his neck, and humbly placed it on the floor directly beneath her for her supervisory inspection.

He sighed with some relief – the basket always got a bit heavy by the end of the night, and it placed a considerable strain on the muscles in his footslave-neck.

For her part miss Precious just quietly belched, gave a cursory glance down into the basket and barked in between crunching on some cheese and onion flavoured crisps:

‘Clean the socks!’

That was it! Miss Precious probably wouldn’t bother to say anything else to the College sockslave for the next couple of hours of the night shift until he had finished pre-washing all the dirty, female socks in his slave-mouth, although she was in the habit of holding lengthy telephone conversations in Yoruba with her African boyfriend on her mobile phone whilst the slave sucked socks on the floor beneath her feet.

Ah yes – her feet; her pretty, wide, West-African feet! Somewhat ironically for a supervisor of a sockslave, miss Precious herself never wore socks! She was always bare foot in the laundry room (apart that is from her sweat-stained, blue and white flip-flops which she kicked off as soon as she put her feet up for the night!). Slave Matthew found the African girl’s bare, brown, African feet intriguing – especially as he was denied the privilege of ever worshipping a girl’s bare feet, being the full-time Collegiate sock slave!

He was fascinated by the little lines and creases in miss Precious’s bare feet, and by the contrast in hue between the light, almost pinky brown of her bare, African soles, and the darker brown of her insteps and upper feet. In particular he drooled over the leathery areas of almost black, hard skin around the backs of her dark, African heels – hard skin caused, he guessed, by the enormous weight miss Precious’s feet had to carry. She was rather a big girl!

However, slave Mathew can be forgiven his lustful drooling over his African supervisor’s bare, brown feet because that drool helps to moisten up his mouth in readiness for his sock-sucking chores throughout the night. As miss Precious once again ignores him and holds up a packet of crisps to her lips in order to syphon the last remaining broken crisps into her ever-eager mouth, slave Matthew picks up the first dirty, sweaty feminine sock from his sock-basket and pushes it into his equally eager mouth.

And so, whilst miss Precious’s mouth is filled with the taste of cheese and onion crisps washed down with strawberry flavoured milkshake, slave Matthew’s mouth is filled with the taste of cheese and onion socks, washed down with vinegary, feminine footsweat.

Different strokes for different folks, as they say!

Some of the socks he tastes could probably be more accurately described as ‘ready salted’ as they contain high volumes of salty-tasting, female footsweat – the dark blue kneesocks from the girls’ netball team, for example. But the beauty of it is that, to a sophisticated sock-palate like slave Matthew’s, each and every pair of socks tasted deliciously different, and he treated each and every individual sock with the slavish respect it deserved.

His modus operandi was to respectfully pick out each pair of dirty socks, to then sniff each sock individually, concentrating on sniffing the smelliest part – usually the toe area - in order to fully appreciate the distinctive, feminine aroma of each sock, before divesting the sock of its sweat by turning it inside out and placing the entire sock, be it ankle, calf or knee-length, inside his footslave-mouth. He then sucked on that individual sock until he stopped tasting the salty, vinegary sweat on his tongue and in his throat.

The sock was turned inside out to ensure he got the fullest possible access to all the sweat, and any small pieces of toe-jam, that had come off the superior, young woman’s foot. He had to be able to taste the very essence of her feminine foot!

It was just as well miss Precious had no interest in talking to him whilst he was performing his sock-sucking duties, for he would have been quite incapable of speech whilst his mouth was full of female sock!

It was only after he had sucked all of the sweat out of all of the socks that miss Precious would deign to speak to him again:

‘Now wash the socks!’

She was referring to the fact that, having ‘cleaned’ the dirty socks in his mouth, he now had to wash his dirty, slave saliva out of the socks by washing each and every one of them individually by hand. Miss Precious, as his supervisor, was supposed to supply him with a bowl of clean water for this purpose, but she could never be bothered to get out of her chair and interrupt her TV viewing, and so slave Matthew had to crawl over to the other side of the laundry-room in order to sort out and bring back to the pile of saliva-sodden socks his own bowl of lukewarm water.

Having done so, whilst miss Precious let out yet another, feminine belch and opened yet another king-sized packet of crisps, slave Matthew began hand-washing all the female college-students’ socks.

Once washed, the socks were hand-rinsed and hung with individual clothes pegs on a clothes line which was level with the kneeling sockslave’s face, allowing him to blow-dry them with his slave breath. Down the line he crawled, spending some fifteen minutes attempting to blow dry each wet sock, before spending a further fifteen minutes just respectfully and humbly watching each sock dry.

Watching various colours and various styles of feminine socks dry – it beats watching paint dry, and was only marginally less interesting than the night time television miss Precious was watching! Evidently so as, after some three hours, miss Precious was snoring – fast asleep, her bare, African feet still resting on the table.

The experienced sockslave therefore proceeded to the next stage of the process without his female supervisor’s express orders – to the ironing of the socks.

The collegiate sockboy’s night shift ended at 10:00 am, and was signalled by miss Precious waking up and giving him his final perfunctory order:

‘Take the socks back, slave!’

Yes, there was no rest for the wicked! Whilst miss Precious headed home for a well-earned rest, slave Matthew, the collegiate sockboy, now had to fold into neat pairs all the washed, dried and ironed socks and take them back to their respective female owners in their dormitories. This was where his massive IQ came in handy, for he had no way of knowing which pairs of socks belonged to which young woman other than from his memory. He no longer even had the distinctive, individual, sweaty aromas to assist him in identifying the socks’ owners!

But, sure enough, as he tentatively knocked on the door of dormitory room no.134, miss Olya’s room, he had her three room-mates’ correct pairs of socks lying on the top of his hanging-basket all ready to present to the young ladies for their inspection and approval.

Nobody answered the door, however.

He knocked again, a little bit louder.

‘Who is it?’ groaned a female voice from inside the room.

It sounded like miss Olya herself, but slightly hung-over!

‘Oh pray, mistress Olya, if it pleases you sweet mistress Olya, it’s the sockboy!’ responded slave Matthew outside the door.

There was a pregnant pause followed by an audible tut:

‘Tch!…Come in, dirty pig…’ replied the East European female voice.

Slave Matthew reached up to pull down the door handle and crawl into the room, taking great care not to spill the pile of now neatly-folded, thoroughly washed and dried socks out of the basket hanging from his neck.

Miss Olya, it seemed, was the only person awake in the room. To slave Matthew’s consternation he saw that she was lying in her bed along with her boyfriend Alexei and the new black mistress – miss Taneesha!

Miss Olya, who was now sitting up in the bed, her bleached-blonde hair completely tousled, signalled to the sockslave with a cursory wave of her superior, feminine hand:

‘Just leave the socks over there!’ she indicated towards the centre of the room where the lazy dormitory-slave, slave Victor, was lying fast asleep and chained up with what appeared to be miss Olya’s sweaty, navy-blue ankle socks – the ones she was saving to wear another day – resting on his upturned nose.

Now it was slave Matthew’s turn to feel jealous. He might also have legitimately felt somewhat aggrieved that the young Afro-Caribbean, Korean and Indian mistresses were still sound asleep and in no fit state to inspect all his hard work on their socks! But such is life. They were, after all, only three pairs of socks – hardly the most precious and important items that the girls owned. It was only in the pathetic collegiate sockslave’s mind that the socks assumed a great deal of importance.

Slave Matthew therefore picked the three neatly folded and ironed pairs of white ankle-socks, black ankle-socks, and black knee-socks out of his hanging basket and placed them respectfully in a row on the cream-coloured carpet of the dormitory-room floor:

‘Will that be all, miss?’ he asked tentatively.

Miss Olya sighed and snuggled back under the duvet with her boyfriend, temporarily disturbing miss Taneesha who was lying on Alexei’s other side:

‘Get out, slave!’ snapped the East European girl, glad that her boyfriend was a real man – not like the fat, ugly, balding, collegiate sockboy: the ‘socks-in-a-basket-man’!

Or should that be the ‘socks-in-a-basket-case?!’



Part 5 – The Seat of Learning

Later that afternoon, and the 4 room-mates had finally stirred from their beds and were walking through the College grounds – attempting to dispel their lingering hang-overs in time for their planned next round of drinking that same afternoon.

Alexei had gone to work, but was also planning to meet up with the girls in the Students’ Union bar later that evening.

As the four young women strolled through the centre of the College gardens they happened upon a most unfortunate-looking, semi-naked, male figure who was kneeling in a wooden stocks contraption – his head and hands secured through holes in the wooden crossbar thereby forcing him to look at the muddy grass below him with his face just a foot or so off the ground.

Naturally, the four young women, anxious to find something to take their four respective minds off their four respective headaches (something, that is, other than academic study) made straight for the prisoner in the stocks:

‘Ha! Ha!... What that?’ asked the enquiring mind of the Korean girl Sang-Mi through her headache.

Miss Olya, the new girls’ mentor, explained:

‘Ha! Ha! Well and…we call this the ‘Seat of Learning”, Sang-Mi, for it is where we punish our slaves if they are naughty!...Ha! Ha!’

27 year old slave Samuel, the figure kneeling in the wooden stocks, had indeed been ‘naughty’. He was the dormitory slave in room no. 201, and he had mightily upset one of his room-mistresses by – can you believe it – actually breaking one of her shoelaces whilst lacing her sneakers onto her pretty, student feet!

His sentence – a very lenient, under the circumstances, 24 hours in the College stocks! I mean, had he been tried in a Court of Law, his barrister could probably have argued with some success that the young woman’s, red and white, chucks-style sneakers were old and tatty (some 5 years old, in fact) and that the greying laces, once white, were now frayed and decaying – ready to snap at any minute!

But slave Samuel had not been tried in a Court of Law. There was no such thing as a fair trial for a collegiate footslave! His mistress had declared him guilty and he was, therefore, now a prisoner for the next 24 hours – the clemency shown to him a mere whim of the female owner of the wantonly-vandalised chucks rather than the result of any compassionate Court’s decision.

In any case, the reason for the slave’s confinement in the stocks was of no interest to the 3 young freshers – they just wanted a closer look at him whilst he was suffering!

DJ Taneesha, the rap-artist, appeared particularly fascinated by the prisoner-slave’s predicament. She was the first to go over and sit on top of the wooden crossbeam of the stocks, wrapping (or should that be ‘rapping’) her legs around the helpless, kneeling and confined slave’s face!

DJ Taneesha had chosen to wear her navy-blue buffalo-style clogs and white, calf-length tube socks with the pink hoops – the very tube socks which her own dormitory-slave, slave Victor, had so kindly and willingly unpacked for her the day before. Slave Victor, had evidently been wrong, however, in jumping to the conclusion that miss Taneesha would choose to wear her pink, high-top sneakers with her pink-hooped, calf-length socks, for miss Taneesha was not so fastidious about the colour coordination of her footwear as slave Victor clearly was.

Be that as it may, slave Samuel couldn’t help but admire the young black woman’s socks and buffs as she tucked her feet around each other under his chin and dug her white-socked calf muscles into his temples:

‘Ha! Ha! I is sittin’ on the Seat of Learning, innit?’ she exclaimed to her girlfriends, a huge, smug grin on her pretty, Afro-Caribbean features. Taneesha had clearly got the joke before the other newbies, and concocted an extemporaneous rap to prove it:

‘Sittin’ on the Seat,
‘rappin my feet,
‘round the creep!’

The girls all laughed. Olya, in particular, had some bleached-blonde, East European words of encouragement for DJ Taneesha:

‘Ha! Ha!...That’s right, Taneesha…really dig your legs into the sides of his temples! Make him feel helpless and at your mercy, for it is meant to be the severe punishment for him!’

Not to be outdone, even the particularly badly hung-over Indian girl miss Rangita had to join in the fun:

‘Ha! Ha! Yes…Taneesha. Please be squeezing his brain and giving him a headache like mine!’

Olya put her arm protectively around her new, Indian friend in sympathy for her self-inflicted hang-over.

But even as Olya was comforting Rangita, miss Taneesha was ‘torturing’ prisoner-slave Samuel by duly digging her substantial calf-muscles even harder into the side of the pathetic slave’s head.

Although the black girl’s socks were soft, her actions did cause him some considerable discomfort, not least because it was extremely humiliating to find oneself at the complete and utter mercy of a young woman’s tube-socked calf-muscles. From the corner of his eyes prisoner-slave Samuel could see that it was the two, thick, pink hoops on the elasticated tops of her otherwise white tube socks that were digging into his temples, and he couldn’t help but admire the way the young black woman was now swinging her navy blue, buffalo-clogged feet backwards and forwards below his chin in order to rub the tops of her socks even harder into the soft, fleshy area of his prone and vulnerable temples.

As miss Taneesha dug her calves in, and the other girls gleefully watched, a young, bespectacled, female lecturer, dressed in a white T shirt, blue, denim jeans, and black sneakers approached the foursome with a broad grin on her face:

‘Hi girls! I’m Samantha, Head of Music!...’

‘Hi!’ responded the 4 girls in melodious unison.

The young, thirty-something lecturer than addressed Taneesha specifically:

‘…And would I be right in thinking that you would be Taneesha?’

Taneesha wasn’t sure whether to ‘fess up to her identity or not. Her normal reaction to such a question was ‘What’s it to you, man?’ – especially when it was someone in authority asking the question. She therefore looked somewhat suspiciously at the bespectacled lecturer called Samantha.

The latter reassured her:

‘Ha! Ha! Don’t worry, Taneesha …I just wanted to introduce myself to you as you’ll be in my class. You’re taking ‘Urban Dance Music’ aren’t you?’

DJ Taneesha began to relax. She relaxed both her calf-muscles around prisoner Samuel’s temples and her own attitude to the teacher:

‘Yeah…that’s right man,’ she responded to the woman.

The music teacher smiled:

‘Great! Well I’ll look forward to seeing you at our first lesson tomorrow! I understand you also do a bit of DJ-ing in your spare time?’

‘Yeah man!’ exclaimed DJ Taneesha, almost offended that the teacher had referred to her DJ work as if it were a mere hobby – rather than her main source of income!

The young, bespectacled, dark-curly-haired music teacher laughed:

‘Well, perhaps we could arrange for you to do a couple of sessions on the College radio station?’

‘Yeah?..That’d be well wicked, man! Sweet!’ responded DJ Taneesha – now totally won over by her new music teacher. A chance to broadcast to the entire College! Wicked!

Whilst this conversation was going on above him, prisoner-slave Samuel was admiring lecturer-mistress Samantha’s black sneakers. He even managed to catch a glimpse of her dark nylons underneath the slightly frayed hems of her jean legs.

Being a pathetic footslave he tormented himself with the question of whether or not miss Samantha was wearing dark, nylon tights, stockings or pop-socks under her jeans. He yearned to know – because that’s what footslaves do – even footslaves who have other things quite literally on their minds, like black girl’s tube socks. He hoped that miss Samantha, one of the prettiest lecturers in the College, would do him the honour of stretching forward her foot under his face for him to respectfully kiss as he knelt confined and cramped in the wooden stocks, thereby affording him a furtive glimpse of even more of her shapely, nylon-covered ankle bone, but lecturer-mistress Samantha, it seemed, was in too much of a hurry to get to her next class.

Slave Samuel therefore could only watch forlornly as the black-sneakered feet of the female college-lecturer turned and walked away from him without so much as a by your leave!

She did of course politely say goodbye to the 4 female students.

Slave Samuel then felt miss Taneesha’s calf-muscles twitching excitedly through her socks as she re-emphasized her sudden good fortune to her friends:

‘Cool! That’s well wicked, man!... a gig on YLCCB Radio! Sound!’

Olya lent forward and kissed her boyfriend Alexei’s other bed-companion on the cheek:

‘Well done, Taneesha… I am very pleased for you!’

Slave Samuel was pleased for mistress-DJ Taneesha too. This young black woman really was all that! A star in the making! Unlike him – a prisoner in the stocks!

Being a prisoner in the stocks, he had also been forced to observe how miss Olya’s navy blue ankle sock had creased and folded beneath the hem of her blue jean-leg inside her silvery-grey sneaker as she had stepped forward to embrace the young black woman seated above him (or, more accurately, seated on him!).

Yet again he found himself pathetically yearning to kiss a young woman’s inner footwear – this time that slither of navy-blue ankle sock. He yearned to do so out of sheer respect for the college senior, miss Olya, whom he knew well having previously been her dormitory slave when she had been staying in room 201 during her first year at the college. Not only did he recognise miss Olya – he also recognised her sneakers and socks, for they were the same silvery-grey sneakers and navy-blue ankle socks that she had brought with her from Russia and he had had the honour of unpacking for her all those years ago!

But it was not, of course, his decision as to whether or not he was to be granted the honour of kissing miss Olya’s navy-blue ankle sock, and, like lecturer-mistress Samantha before her, miss Olya appeared to be in too much of a hurry to stop and have her ankles kissed. She seemed desperate to get to the Union bar, and was soon moving off along with the open-toed, brown leather sandals and bare, brown feet of the girl with the Indian accent, and the beige-coloured, calf-length, Ugg boots of the girl with the oriental accent.

Only mistress-DJ Taneesha remained with the prisoner – still seated arrogantly above him with her socked legs wrapped around his face – giving him a close-up view down along the ribbed stitching of her long, tube socks and onto the tops of her gaily swinging-to-and-fro, navy blue buffalo-clogs and sock-exposed heels. He noticed little balls of white sock-lint on the thinning material of the sock covering the backs of her pretty heels. These tube socks were not new and had clearly been worn many times before!

That thought excited him!

DJ Taneesha, meanwhile, was preoccupied with getting out her mobile phone and making a phone call to one of her friends:

‘Hi, DJ Princess?…it’s Taneesh’…listen man you’ll never guess…I has just bagged me a gig on YLCCB Radio!... No messin’ wit’ you, man! Straight up!...Yeah, I know…it’s gonna be well wicked man!...’

Slave Samuel couldn’t help but notice that the more excitable mistress-DJ Taneesha became during her telephone conversation with her friend, ‘DJ Princess’, the more vigorously her pink and white, tube-socked, calf muscles rubbed up and down against his imprisoned temples. He couldn’t help but notice it because he was confined in the stocks – and therefore had no choice in the matter!

What he didn’t know was that miss Taneesha was now rubbing his temples with her socks subconsciously, for she had much more exciting things to think about than the ‘creep’ in the stocks under her socks – she had a gig to prepare for YLCCB Radio!

In fact, she never even really noticed herself slipping off the ‘Seat of Learning’ and walking away from the place of public punishment across the College lawn towards the Union bar as she continued her animated telephone conversation with her fellow, no doubt extremely jealous, DJ!

And so prisoner-slave Samuel once again found himself alone in the stocks, with just a few female students passing him by from time to time. Some of them, like the fabulous foursome he had just encountered, stopped to giggle or laugh at him. One or two even granted him his unspoken wish and presented their outstretched, mainly sneakered feet for him to kiss whilst giving him a sneaky and totally undeserved peek at their various-coloured socks underneath their ubiquitous denim jeans. But the vast majority of the young ladies of the ‘Young Ladies College of Central Barbaria’ just walked on past him. A prisoner-slave being punished in the College stocks was no big deal – it was practically an everyday occurrence, even if it was slave Samuel’s first experience of the fiendish contraption (for he was, actually, quite a good and diligent dormitory-footslave)

He had now been confined in the stocks since dawn – some 9 hours into his 24 hour sentence. It was quite a warm, sunny, autumn day and he was starting to sweat and was experiencing a dull ache in his confined neck and shoulders as he was forced to stare at the ground beneath him.

Being confined in the ‘Seat of Learning’ wasn’t at all comfortable! He was, at least, learning that much!

After what seemed like a couple of hours he recognised the calf-length, beige, Ugg-style boots of the Korean girl marching back towards him again. What was her name…miss Sung-Mi, wasn’t it?

It was a bit sad that slave Samuel could only recognise the various female students from their footwear, but such is the life of a humble, collegiate footslave! In any case he was glad that the young oriental woman was walking towards him again – seeing her pretty Ugg-style boots close-up again would help to relieve the monotony of the ubiquitous sneakers and buffs which most of the female passers-by appeared to be wearing – even the female teaching staff! The Ugg boots really were something special!

He ached to know whether or not she was wearing socks inside her boots, but it was impossible to tell – so tightly did they hug her upper calf-muscles. Being a collegiate footslave really could be so frustrating at times.

Miss Sang-Mi had actually just popped out of the Union bar for a quick fag. Smoking was prohibited inside the bar, but the College gardens were a designated smoking area. She also wanted somewhere to sit whilst she smoked her cigarette – and where better than on the ‘Seat of Learning’.

She therefore marched up to the confined prisoner in the stocks and plonked herself down on top of him. She had to adjust her short, beige coloured skirt a bit to avoid an unladylike display of her panties to the passers-by, but she soon made herself respectable and comfortable, wrapping her South Korean legs around the prisoner-slave’s face as DJ Taneesha had done before her.

This time slave Samuel could feel the soft, sheepskin material of the tops and sides of the Korean girl’s thick, heavy, calf-length, beige-coloured Ugg-boots digging into his temples. He could also smell the strong, musty aroma of the suede-like material, mixed in with the young woman’s cigarette smoke and alcohol (the young mistress had clearly been drinking in the Union bar).

It quickly became apparent to slave Samuel that this intelligent and very beautiful, young oriental woman had lots of questions to ask him – mocking, rhetorical questions, but legitimate questions nonetheless:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave like being in stocks?...Like feel Sang-Mi Ugg boots on slave ‘ugg-ly’ face?...Ha! Ha! Slave want master Sang-Mi rub face with nice, soft Ugg boots?’

Slave Samuel momentarily forgot about the aching pain in his neck and shoulders:

‘Oh…Oh…y…yes..p…please…m..mistress…I…m…m..mean…master Sung-Mi!’

Slave Samuel had a bit of a st...stutter, but that was perhaps f…f…forgivable – unlike his getting sweet, feminine master Sang-Mi’s name wrong!

She suddenly leapt off the crossbeam of the stocks and bent down to slap the hapless prisoner across the face with the open palm of her left hand (her stronger right hand being occupied with her precious cigarette):

‘Dirty slave!’ she spat down at him.

She literally spat down at him – alcohol flavoured, Korean girl spit!

‘..Dirty slave get master Sang-Mi name wrong! Dirty slave apologise Sang-Mi now – kiss Sang-Mi boot! Obey!...’

And another slap, this time with the back of her left hand, rang out across the kneeling prisoner’s stupid, gormless face.

Don’t feel too sorry for him! Quite apart from the fact that he deserves to be spat at and slapped for getting his mistress’s name wrong , his suffering is as nothing compared to what passers-by used to do to criminals like slave Samuel who were confined in the village stocks during medieval times!

If s..slave S…Samuel had a stutter when he wasn’t under s…stress, you sh...should s…see h..h…him when he is s…s…stressed!’

He immediately lowered his lips to the thick, rounded toe of the young Korean woman’s outstretched, right, Ugg boot and kissed it. Again he could smell the musty sheepskin of the beige-coloured material of the boot and felt a ridge in the stitching covering the toe area under his sensitive, stuttering lips:

‘Oh p…pray...m…m…mistress S…Sang-M…Mi; p…p…p...please forgive this st...stupid m…m…male s..s..slave, s…sweet f…feminine m…m..mistress!’

Eek! I know what you’re thinking – for I’m thinking it too! Don’t call miss Sang-Mi ‘mistress’! She doesn’t like it! She prefers to be addressed as ‘master’! You corrected yourself the first time, stupid slave, so why did you get it wrong this time?!

Brace yourself, s…slave S…Samuel!

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!...

‘Dirty, stupid slave!’...Slap!...’Not call miss Sang-Mi ‘mistress’…Slap!... ‘Call miss Sang-Mi ‘master’!’…Slap!... ‘Sweet’…Slap!...'feminine’…Slap!...'master Sang-Mi!’...Slap!

Slave Samuel had gotten the message, but I won’t transcribe his stuttering apology to the justifiably angry sweet, feminine master Sang-Mi. It would take too long!

Meanwhile a College official, 18 year old blonde miss Wendy, who was a junior secretary in the nearby Admin office, and who had also popped out for a quick fag, had witnessed the angry scene and came over towards the stocks to see if there was anything she could do to help the 22 year old Korean, first-year student:

‘Is everything alright miss?’ she politely enquired, cupping her hands in order to light up her own cigarette.

Slave Samuel, through his ringing, stinging ear lobes, recognised the feet and footwear of the office junior – smart, shiny, black patent leather, high-heeled pumps on tan-coloured, finest denier stockings – such a contrast from the scruffy sneakers (and, d…dare he s..say it Ugg-boots) of the female students! The young office girl’s flesh-coloured, nylon stockings creased ever so slightly around her ankles as she stood with one foot crossed behind the other on the college lawn.

‘Master’ Sang-Mi took a drag on her cigarette, and explained to the helpful young woman what the problem was:

‘Hah! Dirty, insolent slave call Sang-Mi ‘mistress’! Sang-Mi want slave call her ‘master’! Slave not obey!’

Miss Wendy expressed shock and dismay on behalf of the foreign guest to her country:

‘I’m so sorry, miss. I’ll have a word with my boss, Ms Smith, and see if we can’t increase his period of punishment in the stocks to 48 hours!’

Sang-Mi laughed and thanked the young, female, office clerk.

Two things occurred to prisoner-slave Samuel. One – ‘master’ Sang-Mi was apparently perfectly relaxed at being addressed as ‘miss’ by a fellow-female! No slaps across the face for the office junior! And two - the young, office junior clearly had a lot of power over him, being able to arrange for an extension of his confinement at what would appear to be the drop of a hat!

For his part, had he been wearing a hat, even a humble dunce’s cap, slave Samuel would have taken it off as a gesture of respect to the young woman (subject to his aching arms being released from the confines of their wooden prison) - for he just adored being in the power of young women; of being at their sweet, feminine mercy; and not receiving any!

He found himself longing, yet again, to kiss sweet, feminine feet – this time the shiny, black, patent leather shoes of the Admin Office junior, miss Wendy. How he longed for her to position her foot so close to his face that he could see the tiny, individual stitches in her nylon stocking as they stretched over her shapely, office-girl ankle bone.

But yet again he was to be frustrated in his pathetic, slavish desire to kiss feet, for miss Wendy had seemingly finished her quick cigarette and was now stamping out the butt with the sole of her patent, black leather high-heel shoe on the ground directly below his hapless and chastened slave-face.

At least he got to see the fine, nylon material in her stocking momentarily crease and fold around her ankle as she twisted her pretty shoe over the red lipstick covered, discarded cigarette butt.

He then watched the beige-coloured, sheepskin in sweet, feminine master Sang-Mi’s thick, round-toed Ugg-boot creasing and folding as she did the same with her discarded cigarette butt.

The two young women then walked off leaving him with the sight of their saliva and shoe-mud covered cigarette butts tantalisingly beyond his reach.

And so, what had everyone learnt at the ‘Seat of Learning’ that sunny, autumn day?

Well, mistress DJ Taneesha had learnt that she was to be given the opportunity to perform a gig on YLCCB Radio.

Miss Sang-Mi had learnt that the extremely rude and disobedient prisoner-slave was to be confined in the stocks for an extra 24 hours thanks to her protests at his insolence.

Miss Wendy, the junior office girl, had learnt that she was in a position to abuse her sweet, feminine power by using her contacts in the Admin Office to increase the prisoner-slave’s punishment in the College stocks.

And prisoner-slave Samuel had learnt what it means to be at the complete and utter mercy of s…supercilious, s…self-important, s…self-centred and s…superior young women.

Yes, the ‘Young Ladies’ College of Central Barbaria’ (YLCCB) is a veritable seat of learning for all those who enter its hallowed portals – be they female collegiate staff, female collegiate students, or male collegiate footslaves!

The End