The Ancient Roman Scrubber
The two, aristocratic Roman ladies – Madam Delphina and her cousin, Madam Florentina – were relaxing on their loungers in the courtyard of the former’s luxurious villa on the outskirts of Ancient Rome.
It was a stifling hot summer’s day, but, being respectable Roman matriarchs in their mid forties, the two ladies were, in spite of the heat, modestly attired in their long, white, flowing togas – only their brown-leather-sandalled feet exposed to the strong sunlight. Madam Florentina, it has to be said, had slightly chubbier ankles than her cousin and hostess, Madam Delphina, but both ladies were still considered to be great beauties for their age. They each had many male admirers in addition to their wealthy husbands.
The courtyard was silent, but for the sound of three things: the chirping of birds in the surrounding trees; the cascading water from an ornamental fountain in the centre of Madam Delphina’s secluded courtyard; and the scrubbing-brush of one of her male slaves who was on his hands and knees at the far end of the courtyard, busily scrubbing clean the stone paving slabs where his Roman masters and betters had previously been walking:
‘That creature over there – the slave – what is his name?’ enquired Madam Florentina, lazily, of her reclining and equally somnolent cousin.
Madam Delphina lethargically opened her eyes and glanced over towards the far end of the courtyard at the aforementioned work-slave:
‘That? Oh, we call him “Scortillus” – "he who scrubs"; that’s all we employ him for – to scrub the dirty marks, made by the soles of our sandals, off our nice, clean floors!’
Madam Florentina thought this was highly amusing:
‘Ha! Ha! He who scrubs! What an apt name for a pathetic, male slave! A scrubber!’
She reached for a nearby bunch of grapes and popped one into her smiling, aristocratic, Roman mouth.
‘Yes, but I understand he’s very ambitious!’, yawned Madam Delphina, stretching her pretty, female arms behind her reclined head. ‘Antonius, our slave-overseer, tells me Scortillus has two ambitions: firstly, to avoid the sting of the scourge - he’s apparently terrified of it ever since my husband had him scourged on the day we purchased him, as a means of impressing our power and authority over him; Ha! Ha!...and secondly, to become a lady’s “servus-provolvo”, or “personal footslave”!’
Madam Florentina popped another grape into her slightly chubby mouth and commented with her mouth now full of refreshing grape juice:
‘Ha! Ha! Two rather lofty ambitions for a mere scrubber of Roman shoe-dirt! Ha! Ha!... Oh do please call him over, Delphina, in order that I may mock him!’
Madam Delphina chuckles to herself. Yes, some helpless-male-slave-teasing would be rather fun. She too is feeling a little bored!
She unfurls her arms from behind her head and raises herself up onto her elbows readjusting herself into a semi-seated position on her recliner, before clapping her hands and summoning the courtyard-scrubbing slave:
‘You there! Scortillus! Crawl over here this instant!’
Scortillus had been dreading this. Scrubbing the paving stones of ones mistress’s courtyard is always stressful enough, but having to scrub away the dirt where she has been walking whilst she relaxes on her couch watching you do so is always a situation fraught with potential danger for a weak and vulnerable slave. Scortillus may have been an ambitious slave, but he was equally a timid slave – broken and humbled by his master’s scourge (as mistress Delphina had already remarked).
He brought his scrubbing brush and pale of dirty water over with him as he crawled awkwardly on one hand and both knees over to where his mistress Delphina was seated beside her cousin, Madam Florentina – stopping humbly and respectfully at the end of their respective recliners where the two ladies’ sandalled feet were resting, as that was where a male slave in a Roman household belonged.
He bowed his head and stared at the two attractive, aristocratic Roman ladies’ white feet , paying particular attention to the somewhat chubbier feet and ankles of Madam Florentina – not because he particularly admired chubby or fat feminine ankles, but because they were the feet and ankles of his mistress Delphina’s esteemed guest, and he, rightly, assumed that his mistress would expect him to show complete and utter respect for her guest’s feet even over her own feet.
Indeed, he fully anticipated a command from his mistress to kiss Madam Florentina’s feet. Although not a full-time servus-provolvo (footslave) as yet, he, in common with all the male slaves in this rather typical Roman household, knew he could expect to have to kiss the feet of his female, Roman betters repeatedly throughout the day. It’s a well-known historical fact that Roman ladies just loved having their feet worshipped by their lowly and powerless male slaves – and any, lowly male slave, it seemed, would do; even a scrubber!
Sure enough the anticipated order soon came:
‘Slave, kiss our guest’s feet. She wishes to ridicule you!’
Slave Scortillus actually breathed a sigh of relief! He had been summoned for a verbal mocking – not to be scourged! ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me!’ he thought.
He knew he would still be physically hurt, however, if he didn’t do a damn good job of kissing Madam Florentina’s chubby, white feet and ankles. And so, having placed his scrubbing brush next to his pale of water on the ground, he shuffled quickly forward to the end of Madam Florentina’s recliner where her brown-leather-sandalled feet were resting, crossed languorously over each other at the fat ankles, and placed two respectful kisses to each of her exposed, large and chubby big toenails, breathing in a faint whiff of feminine, upper-class, Roman-lady, foot odour mixed with musty, leather, female, Roman sandal as he did so.
He kissed lady Florentina’s chubby feet and big toes reverentially and admiringly, for they were the chubby, white feet and big toes of a superior Roman lady – his female master and better.
Lady Florentina, to her hostess’s satisfaction, clearly sensed slave Scortillus’s slavish respect and admiration:
‘Ha! Ha! You kiss feet well, slave! I can see why you have such lofty ambitions to become a lady’s servus-provolvo!’ remarked the esteemed female guest.
Slave Scortillus was somewhat taken aback! How did Madam Florentina know it was his humble ambition to become a lady’s personal footslave? Presumably his mistress Delphina must have told her! But then, who had told his mistress Delphina?
His puzzled expression on his gormless, slave face only served to amuse Madam Florentina all the more, and reminded her that she had asked for him to be summoned into her presence not that she may praise him – but that she may mock him!
So mock him she did:
‘Ha! Ha! Such a lofty ambition for a humble slave-man! To be a Roman lady’s personal footslave! Tell me, boy, do you really think you are worthy to crawl behind a superior Roman lady’s sandalled feet all day long?... To stare at her chapped and dusty heels as she walks through the dirty streets of our noisy capital?... To remove her sandals from her feet when she returns to her villa, and then lick the Roman street-dirt from them?...And to then touch and wash away the precious perspiration from a superior, Roman lady’s bare feet?...Ha! Ha! Tell me what makes you think that you could possibly be worthy enough to perform such noble chores, you down in the dirt, humble floor-scrubber?’
Although Madam Florentina was quite right to refer to slave Scortillus as a ‘down in the dirt, humble floor-scrubber’, she was less accurate in describing him as a ‘boy’. He was, in fact, of a similar age to the good, Roman lady herself – mid to late forties. Hardly a ‘boy’ therefore! Although, then again, he never had been, and never would be, a ‘man’ - in the sense that he never had been, and never would be, with a woman. The only part of a woman he ever came into any physical contact with was her feet, as he had done just now.
So perhaps, after all, Madam Florentina was right. Perhaps he is only a ‘boy’!
Either way, he is clearly an object of justifiable, feminine ridicule.
‘Answer Madam Florentina!’ barked his mistress Delphina, reminding slave Scortillus by the mere tone of her voice that he is only ever one angry, female click of the finger away from being cruelly scourged.
He bowed his head in shame at his evident inadequacy to be a Roman lady’s personal footslave, and, prompted by his own mistress, answered Madam Florentina’s chubby, white toes in a suitably self-deprecating, but nonetheless accurate, manner:
‘Oh pray, Madam Florentina, please don’t beat me Madam Florentina. This dirty scrubber is indeed unworthy to attend to the superior feet and footwear of his Roman mistresses and female betters – to crawl after their heels; to lick their shoes and sandals; to touch and wash their bare feet ; or to lick their superior, feminine foot perspiration - if it so pleases you, most sweet and kind Roman mistress, Madam Florentina. Oh pray, mistress Florentina, please spare this slave’s weak and vulnerable back from the scourge!’
Slave Scortillus always began and ended his speeches with a plea not to be beaten or scourged, as he was such a coward and a wimp and truly did fear the sting of the whip – a most unfortunate trait in a Roman slave!
Madam Florentina was once again highly amused:
‘Ha! Ha! You speak the truth slave! Do you really think you could scrape a living by scraping the dirt from underneath a superior Roman lady’s toenails? It is a skilled task, you know!...Take my pretty feet and toenails, for example. My own servus-provolvo had to spend more than an hour this morning carefully extracting the dirty accumulations from beneath my toenails with his teeth. If he had caused me the slightest discomfort in doing so I would have not hesitated to have him scourged!...Do you really think you could scrape out the dirt from underneath my toenails without earning yourself a scourging, slave-boy?’
Two things occurred immediately to slave Scortillus: one, if this was Madam Florentina’s way of getting him to scrape the dirt out from underneath her chubby toenails with his slave teeth he was almost certainly going to earn himself a scourging! He had absolutely no practical experience or skills as a pedicurist-footslave! It was just his goal – his aspiration!
And two: Madam Florentina’s toenails actually looked quite clean. Not exactly ‘pretty’, as Madam Florentina herself had described them, but nevertheless clean – presumably because, as she had just explained, her own ‘servus-provolvo’ or ‘footslave’ had diligently scraped out her toe-jam with his teeth that very morning before she had set out for her cousin’s villa. Therefore, how could Madam Florentina actually put him to a toenail-scraping test? By making him scrape the toe-jam from his own mistress Delphina’s toenails perhaps?
Slave Scortillus, the would-be lady’s personal footslave, was now, somewhat ironically, getting cold feet about the whole idea of being a lady’s personal footslave! He now really just wanted to resume his scrubbing of the courtyard! But Madam Florentina had asked him another question, and he was duty bound to answer her again, for a slave in Ancient Rome had no choice about whether or not to respectfully answer a superior mistress’s questions:
‘Oh pray, Madam Florentina, please don’t beat me Madam Florentina, this slave truly fears the scourge, and fears that his incompetence and ineptitude would be sure to earn him some stinging stripes across his bare, slave back were he to attempt the inestimable honour of scraping the dirt from underneath Madam’s most beautiful and shapely toenails, if it so pleases you most kind and merciful Madam Florentina, renowned forgiver of slaves and sparer of slaves from the sting of the lash!’
Actually, he knew that Madam Florentina had no such reputation for being a ‘forgiver of slaves and sparer of slaves from the sting of the lash’, but he figured that a bit of obsequious flattery and toadying slave-speak might appeal to her womanly soft-heartedness.
It didn’t. It just amused Madam Florentina and inspired her to tease him all the more:
‘Ha! Ha! Even your verbal admission of your hypothetical failure is enough to earn you a scourging in my opinion, scrubber!...I’ll tell you what, why don’t you just show me what you do best!...Scrub clean the dirty ground beneath and around my feet, scrubbing-boy!’ and with that Madam Florentina swung herself up into a fully seated position on the edge of her recliner – her chubby, pale-white feet and ankles now uncrossed and resting on the ground directly beneath the kneeling and head-bowed slave Scortillus’s face.
He now saw clearly the dark, toe-shaped, sweat marks on the strappy, brown, leather sandals directly beneath Madam Florentina’s chubby, white toes. Ingrained sweat – possibly the source of the musty, sweaty smell that enveloped his nostrils whenever his nose was close to Madam Florentina’s sandalled feet – as it was now.
But slave Scortillus wasn’t worried about that. He was just relieved that his hypothetical whipping for his hypothetical failure to scrape the dirt from underneath Madam Florentina’s toenails without causing her any discomfort was just that – hypothetical, though even the mere thought of a scourging was distressing enough!
Be that as it may, he could only derive comfort from the fact that he was now, at least, being commanded to demonstrate the one and only chore he had any real, practical experience of – scrubbing the ground beneath his Roman betters’ feet. He gratefully grabbed his scrubbing brush, dipped it in the pale of dirty water,and without further ado began scrubbing the stone paving on the ground of the courtyard around Madam Florentina’s chubby white, brown-sandalled feet which were now resting coquettishly on the ground, side by side, underneath the hitched up hem of her long, white, modest, Roman toga.
‘Ha! Ha! Be sure to let me know if he splashes any of that dirty water onto your nice, clean feet, Florentina. Antonius is just itching to scourge him again!’ remarked mistress Delphina.
What is it with these Roman ladies and their obsession with scourging, thought slave Scortillus to himself. He had noticed throughout his long years of slavery that it was invariably the Roman women who initiated the scourging of their male slaves – even if they rarely wielded the lash themselves. That would be considered much too unladylike – even though witnessing and enjoying the sights and sounds of a hapless male slave being scourged at the hands of a burly, male, slave-overseer was considered perfectly socially acceptable for a genteel Roman lady!
Whatever, slave Scortillus was confident that he would not splash Lady Florentina’s feet with his dirty water. He was on home ground here – both literally and figuratively – for he knew exactly what he was doing when it came to scrubbing floors. He had, after all, been a full-time scrubber in Madam Delphina’s household for over 10 years now!
That’s not to say, however, that scrubbing clean the ground around a superior Roman lady’s feet was not without its dangers. Sooner or later, inevitably, the slave would have to ask the lady to move her feet, or to raise them up off the ground, in order that he may scrub the ground directly beneath them. And that was always a request, and an operation, full of potential dangers for the slave.
What if the lady takes offence at being disturbed by the slave? Or, even worse, what if she tires of raising her feet in the air and suddenly places them back on the ground before the slave has finished scrubbing?!
Slave Scortillus shuddered at the thought. The severity of the scourging that such unfortunate mishaps would earn a slave just didn’t bear thinking about!
But, like it or not, the moment of danger had now come, and Madam Florentina, who was watching slave Scortillus intently as he scrubbed the dirty ground around her sandalled feet, was clearly awaiting his humble request for her to move her feet with sadistic relish and anticipation. Madam Florentina loved to see a weak and vulnerable slave sweating at her feet - not just with hard labour, but also with fear and trembling etched on his face:
‘Oh pray, Madam Florentina, please don’t beat me Madam Florentina, this slave humbly requests the most beautiful and sweet-natured Madam Florentina that she graciously move her superior, feminine feet in order to permit the slave access to the dirt on the ground beneath her feet, so that he may remove that dirt and ensure that the ground on which the superior Madam Florentina rests her superior, Roman feet is suitably clean for the distinguished soles of a high-ranking mistress such as Madam, if it so pleases you most sweet and kind Madam Florentina. Please don’t beat me Madam.’
Madam Florentina, still greedily popping grapes into her mouth, laughed and decided that she had had enough of the scrubber-slave’s sycophantic and cringing slave-speak for one day. She would gag him by making him scrub the ground beneath her feet with his slave mouth:
‘Ha! Ha! I shall accede to your most humble request slave, in order that you may clean the ground beneath the soles of my leather sandals, but you shall do so by placing the scrubbing brush in your mouth. I want you to see the offending dirt beneath my feet close-up, so that you don’t miss any when you scrub!
And with that Madam Florentina helpfully and magnanimously lifted both her feet back up off the ground in order to enable slave Scortillus to scrub the dirty paving stone beneath her brown leather sandalled feet with his ugly slave-mouth.
She even rested both her brown-sandalled, Roman feet on top of his balding head as he obediently scrubbed the ground with his brush in his mouth, thereby kindly pushing his face down even deeper into the dirt so that he may better scrub at it.
Her hostess, Madam Delphina, was impressed by her cousin’s ingenuity:
‘Ha! Ha! The scrubber is also a footrest for a superior Roman lady! How apt!’
Both ladies laughed.
Their laughter was soon accompanied by the laughter of a male voice and a younger female voice.
It was Lady Florentina’s 20 year old daughter – miss Cornelia – and her young man, Phillipus, come to see what all the laughter was about.
‘Ha! Ha! What are you doing, mater?’ asked the young woman of her mother.
‘Cornelia darling!... Phillipus!... How are you both? I was just playing with Aunt Delphina’s human scrubbing-brush! Ha! Ha!’
Cornelia laughed again, and pointed at the pathetic, kneeling slave with the scrubbing brush in his mouth, feverishly scrubbing away at the ground beneath her mother’s feet whilst those selfsame aristocratic, Roman feet rested on top of his head:
‘Ha! Ha! Look, Phillipus! Look what mater is doing! She’s making that old slave scrub the ground with his face! Ha! Ha!’
Phillipus laughed his deep, manly laugh, and put his arm protectively around his fiancée Cornelia’s waist:
‘Ha! Ha! Yes, darling, I see. Ha! Ha! A human scrubbing brush worked by a woman’s feet! Ha! Ha!’
‘Oh mater can I have a go…pleeease! Oh please let me rub the slave’s face in the dirty ground with my feet!’ pleaded the young fiancée, miss Cornelia.
‘Go on, Florentina, let Cornelia have a go! It will do Scortillus good to feel a young Roman woman’s feet on top of his ugly head – the feet of a girl half his age!’ chipped in Scortillus’s owner, Madam Delphina – still happily reclined on her comfortable couch, basking in the bright sunlight.
‘Oh yes, mater, please let me do as Aunt Delphina says…it will be so humiliating for the old man to have my young feet digging his face into the dirty paving stone!’
Slave Scortillus had only had very limited contact with miss Cornelia’s feet hitherto – the usual customary kissing of her feet whenever she entered his presence in her 'Aunt’s' villa. He had, for example, kissed miss Cornelia’s sandalled feet on her arrival at his mistress’s villa earlier that morning, and now, it seemed, he was about to experience the soles of her leather sandals digging into the top of his bald head whilst he scrubbed the ground beneath her arrogant, young, sandalled feet.
And very pretty sandals they were too – flat-heeled, white, lace-up sandals that criss-crossed her pretty shins and calves up as far as her slightly knobbly knees, below her purple, knee-length toga. Rather like her mother, 20 year old miss Cornelia also had somewhat chubby toes and ankles, but he had noticed as he had earlier been kissing her chubby big-toes in respectful, slavish greeting, how soft and smooth miss Cornelia’s bare, white feet were compared to her mother’s. There was no evidence of any chapped or cracked skin on the backs of miss Cornelia’s exposed, bare heels, for instance. These were the beautiful, soft feet of a beautiful, young woman – even if they weren’t the absolutely perfect feet of a supernatural goddess.
Slave Scortillus couldn’t help thinking that it would be an honour to have the dirty, dusty soles of 20 year old miss Cornelia’s white leather, lace-up sandals resting on the top of his bald, middle-aged head as he dutifully scrubbed the ground beneath her feet with the scrubbing brush fixed in his slave-mouth.
He was soon to get his wish – or rather her wish – as Cornelia’s mother, Madam Florentina, happily made way for her daughter to sit down beside her on the couch and then rest the dusty soles of her white sandalled feet on top of the scrubbing-slave’s head.
‘Ha! Ha! Oh mater – this feels wonderful! I feel really strong and powerful having a dirty male slave under my feet like this! Look Phillipus – look how I’m digging my soles into his head! Can you see the marks my sandals are making in his bald head?’
‘Ha! Ha! Yes darling – I can see the pattern of your sole-tread! Ha! Ha! What a loser-slave he is. He’ll be having to spend the rest of the day crawling around with the imprint of your soles on top of his stupid head for everyone to see! Ha! Ha!’
Everyone present – all the free people that is – thought this was very funny, and laughed out loud at Phillipus’s astute observation.
Slave Scortillus, the object of their derisive mirth, was just annoyed and frustrated that he too couldn’t see the funny side – or more accurately that he couldn’t see the imprints from miss Cornelia’s white, lace-up, Roman sandalled soles on his balding pate!
He sure could feel them though - as miss Cornelia was digging her strong, young-womanly legs down hard onto the top of his head whilst he scrubbed.
The next words that were spoken – and they were uttered by his own wonderful mistress Delphina – changed slave Scortillus’s life forever:
‘Cornelia, darling, slave Scortillus has aspirations of being a Roman lady’s servus-provolvo. Would you like to take him as your personal footslave? He could serve you in your new marital home after you marry Phillipus!’
Young miss Cornelia gasped with excitement:
‘Oh Aunt Delphina!...Oh!...Oh! Can I? May I?...Oh, my own personal footslave!....Oh mater! Can I? Can I have him? Oh pleeeeease?!’
Madam Florentina smiled adoringly at her daughter:
‘Ha! Ha! It’s not really up to me, darling! It’s up to your future husband, Phillipus! You must ask him, for he will be the master of your new household and will decide what slaves you should have!’
25 year old Phillipus was grateful to his future mother-in-law for her deference. He felt powerful and strong. The pathetic, middle-aged slave’s fate was in his hands, not that he would ever dream of denying his future bride anything she desired. He truly doted on her!
Cornelia knew exactly how to twist her handsome fiancé’s heart-strings. She flirtatiously pouted at him:
‘Oh please, Phillipus…say I can have him. I’ve always wanted my own personal footslave to take care of my feet. Oh please say yes!’
Phillipus pretended to prevaricate. Madam Florentina wasn’t the only one in a teasing mood that day:
‘Erm…I’d like to say yes, darling, but how do we know if he’s any good? I mean, what qualifications, if any, does he have to be a beautiful, young Roman woman’s footslave? I want only the best for my lovely wife!’
Cornelia blew her strong, handsome fiancé a loving kiss! He always had her best interests at heart. She was so much in love with him!
Slave Scortillus, meanwhile – his head and mouth still labouring beneath the sandal-soles of the love-smitten young Roman woman seated above him, was anxiously awaiting the superior Roman family’s decision as to his future fate. This was his chance, perhaps, to fulfil his lifetime’s ambition of becoming a beautiful, young Roman woman’s servus-provolvo – even if her toes and ankles were somewhat on the chubby side! He would still be the footslave of a superior, 20 year old female!
If he could have pouted imploringly at master Phillipus himself he would have done so – but the scrubbing brush wedged in his mouth prevented any facial expressions other than pain and anguish.
‘I know…,’ interjected miss Cornelia’s mother, Madam Florentina. ‘Scortillus was just telling me earlier how keen he was to practice scraping the dirt out from underneath a superior Roman lady’s toenails with his teeth! Why don’t you put him to the test on your toenails, Cornelia darling? See if he does a good job removing and swallowing your toenail dirt! That way you and Phillipus can judge for yourselves whether or not he would make a good footslave!’
Everyone agreed it was a brilliant idea – even slave Scortillus, and even though he was nervous about his ability to successfully pass any such test! Nevertheless this was too good an opportunity to miss. Nothing ventured, nothing gained as the saying goes. Even the pain and disgrace of another scourging if he failed the toenail-scraping test would be worth it – that’s how keen he now was to become the haughty and arrogant miss Cornelia’s servus-provolvo!
He wanted to confirm his willingness to take the test to his Roman masters and betters, but unfortunately couldn’t express his views as the scrubbing brush was still deeply embedded in his slave mouth.
Even if it hadn’t been, he still wouldn’t have been allowed to express his views unless spoken to anyway.
It was miss Cornelia therefore who, now quite breathless with excitement, spoke up on his behalf:
‘Oh yes mater! …Oh….Oh yes…What a wonderful idea! Oh Phillipus, make him do it! Order him to scrape out the dirt from underneath my toenails with his teeth – and then swallow it. I want to test him out! Please Phillipus. Please!’
‘‘Ha! Ha! Very well, darling. Take your feet off the top of his head and I’ll pull the scrubbing brush out of his ugly mouth!’
Slave Scortillus felt the leather soles of miss Cornelia’s white, lace-up sandals leaving the top of his slave head, and then felt the scrubbing brush being rather roughly and unceremoniously pulled out of his slave mouth by master Phillipus. He hoped master Phillipus hadn’t broken any of his teeth – just as he needed them to extract the accumulations of dirt from underneath miss Cornelia’s chubby, pink and white toenails!
Master Phillipus gave slave Scortillus his orders as miss Cornelia now rested both her white-sandalled feet side by side expectantly on the ground in front of the would-be footslave’s kneeling and humbly bowed face:
‘You there, the slave, remove my fiancée’s pretty, white sandals from her feet and scrape the dirt out from underneath her toenails with your teeth. And make sure you savour her superior, Roman toenail dirt before you swallow it. Roll it around on your tongue and suck out all the flavour and goodness before you allow it to slide down your throat. Do you understand me, slaveboy?’
‘Yes master Phillipus. This slave obeys you, master Phillipus. Please don’t beat me master Phillipus.’
Cornelia smiled lovingly yet again at her boyfriend Phillipus – so young; so strong; so manly; so masterful. The complete opposite of the cringing, servile, pathetic, balding, unattractive, middle-aged, male creature now kneeling at her comely Roman feet.
She cocked her pretty, wide-eyed, Roman head to one side in order to get a better view of the slave’s work as he gently began to unlace her right sandal from the top of her calf-muscle downwards. When he got to the bottom she decided not to help him by raising he foot off the ground so that he may more easily slip her sandal off her soft, feminine foot. Why should she help him? After all, he was nothing but her footslave (potentially) and was being put to the test. He would have to use his own footslave-initiative in removing her sandal from her superior, young Roman woman foot.
Slave Scortillus, a frustrated footslave by nature all his life, instinctively knew what to do. He respectfully kissed miss Cornelia’s bare toes prior to cradling her still-sandalled right foot in his slave hands, and gentled lifted the young Roman mistress’s foot off the ground in order to slip off the lacy, white leather sandal. He then repeated the humble process with her left foot.
Miss Cornelia’s soft, bare, Roman feet were now resting on the still darkened, damp paving stone where slave Scortillus had previously been mouth-scrubbing the ground beneath her feet. Fortunately, his young, Roman mistress didn’t seem to mind the feeling of cold water on the sensitive soles of her feet. In fact, she seemed to find it refreshing.
But not half as refreshing as she was about to find the feel of slave Scortillus’s mouth on her chubby, stumpy white toes:
‘Slave, I want you to suck on my toenails in order to soften the cuticles first. Also make sure you lick away all the sticky bits on the skin in between and down the sides of my toes!’ she advised him.
She then looked up at her beloved boyfriend for his support and approval:
‘That’s right, dirty slave! Do as my fiancée says – suck on her pretty toenails and soften them up before you start scraping the dirt from underneath them with your teeth. And understand one thing, footslave …if you hurt your mistress or damage her toenails in any way with your slave teeth I will personally scourge your back until your spine is open to the elements! Do I make myself clear, boy?’
‘Yes master. Yes mistress. Please don’t beat me, master and mistress!’ replied slave Scortillus, anxious, as ever, to avoid a whipping if at all possible.
He then ultra-carefully and respectfully lifted miss Cornelia’s right foot off the ground, cradling it in both his trembling slave hands, so that he could insert her stumpy, white toes into his slave-mouth.
It was so much nicer having a young woman’s soft toes in his mouth than a dirty, hard scrubbing brush! He felt miss Cornelia wriggling her sticky toes with pleasure on the roof of his mouth:
‘Oh…oh!...It tickles! Ha! Ha! …He’s tickling me, Phillipus!’ she gushed.
Her toes then rammed into the inside of slave Scortillus’s cheek as master Phillipus suddenly kicked the would-be footslave on the side of his plain, brown slave-tunic-covered ribs:
‘Stop tickling my girlfriend’s toes, slave!’ he barked. ‘Suck; lick; lick away all the filth and sweat from her feet, and do it without tickling her, or so help me I’ll beat you black and blue!’
Just how slave Scortillus was supposed to achieve all that he wasn’t quite sure! Perhaps it might help if miss Cornelia herself kept her wiggling toes still inside his mouth – but he wasn’t about to suggest that! Slave Scortillus wasn’t exactly what you would describe as a glutton for punishment!
And so he simply did his best to do as the young master had ordered, and diligently tongued and sucked miss Cornelia’s chubby, Roman toes and toenails as best he could. He could feel little pieces of dead skin and toe-jam coming off her feet inside his mouth – but this was only the ‘hors-d’oeuvres’, so to speak, compared to the thin, black lines of Roman street dirt he would next have to scrape out from underneath miss Cornelia’s toenails – especially the big toenail on her right foot which, he couldn’t help noticing previously whilst he had been kissing her feet as she entered his mistress Delphina’s villa, was for some reason particularly dirty underneath.
He could now feel the accumulated, sweaty toe-jam building up into a little black, ball on his tongue as he gently and carefully scraped his front teeth underneath miss Cornelia’s big toenail. He remembered the master’s orders to savour the little ball of dirt, perspiration and dead, feminine footskin before swallowing it.
He then repeated the humiliating process for each and every one of miss Cornelia’s stubby, white toes.
Thankfully, she was, apparently, impressed with his efforts as a first-time Roman-lady’s toe scraper:
‘Oh Phillipus…Oh mater…Look how clean my toenails are…Oh look, you can see how all the dirt has gone!...Oh please mater, oh please Phillipus… please let me have him as my personal footslave…Oh I’ll have such fun making him kiss and worship my feet, and making him lick clean all my dirty sandals and shoes. Oh please say I can have him!’
Slave Scortillus knew he was in! He knew he had passed the test. I mean, how could anyone resist the pleading of such a sweet and excitable young woman as miss Cornelia?
His lifetime dream was about to be realised - promotion at long last from floor-scrubber to footslave; from Scortillus (‘he who scrubs’) to servus-provolvo (‘he who prostrates himself at the feet of his superiors’) in one fell, toenail-scraping, swoop during this hot and sunny Roman afternoon.
He kissed miss Cornelia’s freshly, slave-saliva-washed toes in genuine awe and gratitude, and prepared himself for a lifetime of humble servitude at her haughty, aristocratic, Roman feet.
Sadly for slave Scortillus however, he first had to endure another scourging - this time at the hands of master Phillipus with miss Cornelia gleefully watching, just to impress upon him his new owners’ power and authority over him!
The End
It was a stifling hot summer’s day, but, being respectable Roman matriarchs in their mid forties, the two ladies were, in spite of the heat, modestly attired in their long, white, flowing togas – only their brown-leather-sandalled feet exposed to the strong sunlight. Madam Florentina, it has to be said, had slightly chubbier ankles than her cousin and hostess, Madam Delphina, but both ladies were still considered to be great beauties for their age. They each had many male admirers in addition to their wealthy husbands.
The courtyard was silent, but for the sound of three things: the chirping of birds in the surrounding trees; the cascading water from an ornamental fountain in the centre of Madam Delphina’s secluded courtyard; and the scrubbing-brush of one of her male slaves who was on his hands and knees at the far end of the courtyard, busily scrubbing clean the stone paving slabs where his Roman masters and betters had previously been walking:
‘That creature over there – the slave – what is his name?’ enquired Madam Florentina, lazily, of her reclining and equally somnolent cousin.
Madam Delphina lethargically opened her eyes and glanced over towards the far end of the courtyard at the aforementioned work-slave:
‘That? Oh, we call him “Scortillus” – "he who scrubs"; that’s all we employ him for – to scrub the dirty marks, made by the soles of our sandals, off our nice, clean floors!’
Madam Florentina thought this was highly amusing:
‘Ha! Ha! He who scrubs! What an apt name for a pathetic, male slave! A scrubber!’
She reached for a nearby bunch of grapes and popped one into her smiling, aristocratic, Roman mouth.
‘Yes, but I understand he’s very ambitious!’, yawned Madam Delphina, stretching her pretty, female arms behind her reclined head. ‘Antonius, our slave-overseer, tells me Scortillus has two ambitions: firstly, to avoid the sting of the scourge - he’s apparently terrified of it ever since my husband had him scourged on the day we purchased him, as a means of impressing our power and authority over him; Ha! Ha!...and secondly, to become a lady’s “servus-provolvo”, or “personal footslave”!’
Madam Florentina popped another grape into her slightly chubby mouth and commented with her mouth now full of refreshing grape juice:
‘Ha! Ha! Two rather lofty ambitions for a mere scrubber of Roman shoe-dirt! Ha! Ha!... Oh do please call him over, Delphina, in order that I may mock him!’
Madam Delphina chuckles to herself. Yes, some helpless-male-slave-teasing would be rather fun. She too is feeling a little bored!
She unfurls her arms from behind her head and raises herself up onto her elbows readjusting herself into a semi-seated position on her recliner, before clapping her hands and summoning the courtyard-scrubbing slave:
‘You there! Scortillus! Crawl over here this instant!’
Scortillus had been dreading this. Scrubbing the paving stones of ones mistress’s courtyard is always stressful enough, but having to scrub away the dirt where she has been walking whilst she relaxes on her couch watching you do so is always a situation fraught with potential danger for a weak and vulnerable slave. Scortillus may have been an ambitious slave, but he was equally a timid slave – broken and humbled by his master’s scourge (as mistress Delphina had already remarked).
He brought his scrubbing brush and pale of dirty water over with him as he crawled awkwardly on one hand and both knees over to where his mistress Delphina was seated beside her cousin, Madam Florentina – stopping humbly and respectfully at the end of their respective recliners where the two ladies’ sandalled feet were resting, as that was where a male slave in a Roman household belonged.
He bowed his head and stared at the two attractive, aristocratic Roman ladies’ white feet , paying particular attention to the somewhat chubbier feet and ankles of Madam Florentina – not because he particularly admired chubby or fat feminine ankles, but because they were the feet and ankles of his mistress Delphina’s esteemed guest, and he, rightly, assumed that his mistress would expect him to show complete and utter respect for her guest’s feet even over her own feet.
Indeed, he fully anticipated a command from his mistress to kiss Madam Florentina’s feet. Although not a full-time servus-provolvo (footslave) as yet, he, in common with all the male slaves in this rather typical Roman household, knew he could expect to have to kiss the feet of his female, Roman betters repeatedly throughout the day. It’s a well-known historical fact that Roman ladies just loved having their feet worshipped by their lowly and powerless male slaves – and any, lowly male slave, it seemed, would do; even a scrubber!
Sure enough the anticipated order soon came:
‘Slave, kiss our guest’s feet. She wishes to ridicule you!’
Slave Scortillus actually breathed a sigh of relief! He had been summoned for a verbal mocking – not to be scourged! ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me!’ he thought.
He knew he would still be physically hurt, however, if he didn’t do a damn good job of kissing Madam Florentina’s chubby, white feet and ankles. And so, having placed his scrubbing brush next to his pale of water on the ground, he shuffled quickly forward to the end of Madam Florentina’s recliner where her brown-leather-sandalled feet were resting, crossed languorously over each other at the fat ankles, and placed two respectful kisses to each of her exposed, large and chubby big toenails, breathing in a faint whiff of feminine, upper-class, Roman-lady, foot odour mixed with musty, leather, female, Roman sandal as he did so.
He kissed lady Florentina’s chubby feet and big toes reverentially and admiringly, for they were the chubby, white feet and big toes of a superior Roman lady – his female master and better.
Lady Florentina, to her hostess’s satisfaction, clearly sensed slave Scortillus’s slavish respect and admiration:
‘Ha! Ha! You kiss feet well, slave! I can see why you have such lofty ambitions to become a lady’s servus-provolvo!’ remarked the esteemed female guest.
Slave Scortillus was somewhat taken aback! How did Madam Florentina know it was his humble ambition to become a lady’s personal footslave? Presumably his mistress Delphina must have told her! But then, who had told his mistress Delphina?
His puzzled expression on his gormless, slave face only served to amuse Madam Florentina all the more, and reminded her that she had asked for him to be summoned into her presence not that she may praise him – but that she may mock him!
So mock him she did:
‘Ha! Ha! Such a lofty ambition for a humble slave-man! To be a Roman lady’s personal footslave! Tell me, boy, do you really think you are worthy to crawl behind a superior Roman lady’s sandalled feet all day long?... To stare at her chapped and dusty heels as she walks through the dirty streets of our noisy capital?... To remove her sandals from her feet when she returns to her villa, and then lick the Roman street-dirt from them?...And to then touch and wash away the precious perspiration from a superior, Roman lady’s bare feet?...Ha! Ha! Tell me what makes you think that you could possibly be worthy enough to perform such noble chores, you down in the dirt, humble floor-scrubber?’
Although Madam Florentina was quite right to refer to slave Scortillus as a ‘down in the dirt, humble floor-scrubber’, she was less accurate in describing him as a ‘boy’. He was, in fact, of a similar age to the good, Roman lady herself – mid to late forties. Hardly a ‘boy’ therefore! Although, then again, he never had been, and never would be, a ‘man’ - in the sense that he never had been, and never would be, with a woman. The only part of a woman he ever came into any physical contact with was her feet, as he had done just now.
So perhaps, after all, Madam Florentina was right. Perhaps he is only a ‘boy’!
Either way, he is clearly an object of justifiable, feminine ridicule.
‘Answer Madam Florentina!’ barked his mistress Delphina, reminding slave Scortillus by the mere tone of her voice that he is only ever one angry, female click of the finger away from being cruelly scourged.
He bowed his head in shame at his evident inadequacy to be a Roman lady’s personal footslave, and, prompted by his own mistress, answered Madam Florentina’s chubby, white toes in a suitably self-deprecating, but nonetheless accurate, manner:
‘Oh pray, Madam Florentina, please don’t beat me Madam Florentina. This dirty scrubber is indeed unworthy to attend to the superior feet and footwear of his Roman mistresses and female betters – to crawl after their heels; to lick their shoes and sandals; to touch and wash their bare feet ; or to lick their superior, feminine foot perspiration - if it so pleases you, most sweet and kind Roman mistress, Madam Florentina. Oh pray, mistress Florentina, please spare this slave’s weak and vulnerable back from the scourge!’
Slave Scortillus always began and ended his speeches with a plea not to be beaten or scourged, as he was such a coward and a wimp and truly did fear the sting of the whip – a most unfortunate trait in a Roman slave!
Madam Florentina was once again highly amused:
‘Ha! Ha! You speak the truth slave! Do you really think you could scrape a living by scraping the dirt from underneath a superior Roman lady’s toenails? It is a skilled task, you know!...Take my pretty feet and toenails, for example. My own servus-provolvo had to spend more than an hour this morning carefully extracting the dirty accumulations from beneath my toenails with his teeth. If he had caused me the slightest discomfort in doing so I would have not hesitated to have him scourged!...Do you really think you could scrape out the dirt from underneath my toenails without earning yourself a scourging, slave-boy?’
Two things occurred immediately to slave Scortillus: one, if this was Madam Florentina’s way of getting him to scrape the dirt out from underneath her chubby toenails with his slave teeth he was almost certainly going to earn himself a scourging! He had absolutely no practical experience or skills as a pedicurist-footslave! It was just his goal – his aspiration!
And two: Madam Florentina’s toenails actually looked quite clean. Not exactly ‘pretty’, as Madam Florentina herself had described them, but nevertheless clean – presumably because, as she had just explained, her own ‘servus-provolvo’ or ‘footslave’ had diligently scraped out her toe-jam with his teeth that very morning before she had set out for her cousin’s villa. Therefore, how could Madam Florentina actually put him to a toenail-scraping test? By making him scrape the toe-jam from his own mistress Delphina’s toenails perhaps?
Slave Scortillus, the would-be lady’s personal footslave, was now, somewhat ironically, getting cold feet about the whole idea of being a lady’s personal footslave! He now really just wanted to resume his scrubbing of the courtyard! But Madam Florentina had asked him another question, and he was duty bound to answer her again, for a slave in Ancient Rome had no choice about whether or not to respectfully answer a superior mistress’s questions:
‘Oh pray, Madam Florentina, please don’t beat me Madam Florentina, this slave truly fears the scourge, and fears that his incompetence and ineptitude would be sure to earn him some stinging stripes across his bare, slave back were he to attempt the inestimable honour of scraping the dirt from underneath Madam’s most beautiful and shapely toenails, if it so pleases you most kind and merciful Madam Florentina, renowned forgiver of slaves and sparer of slaves from the sting of the lash!’
Actually, he knew that Madam Florentina had no such reputation for being a ‘forgiver of slaves and sparer of slaves from the sting of the lash’, but he figured that a bit of obsequious flattery and toadying slave-speak might appeal to her womanly soft-heartedness.
It didn’t. It just amused Madam Florentina and inspired her to tease him all the more:
‘Ha! Ha! Even your verbal admission of your hypothetical failure is enough to earn you a scourging in my opinion, scrubber!...I’ll tell you what, why don’t you just show me what you do best!...Scrub clean the dirty ground beneath and around my feet, scrubbing-boy!’ and with that Madam Florentina swung herself up into a fully seated position on the edge of her recliner – her chubby, pale-white feet and ankles now uncrossed and resting on the ground directly beneath the kneeling and head-bowed slave Scortillus’s face.
He now saw clearly the dark, toe-shaped, sweat marks on the strappy, brown, leather sandals directly beneath Madam Florentina’s chubby, white toes. Ingrained sweat – possibly the source of the musty, sweaty smell that enveloped his nostrils whenever his nose was close to Madam Florentina’s sandalled feet – as it was now.
But slave Scortillus wasn’t worried about that. He was just relieved that his hypothetical whipping for his hypothetical failure to scrape the dirt from underneath Madam Florentina’s toenails without causing her any discomfort was just that – hypothetical, though even the mere thought of a scourging was distressing enough!
Be that as it may, he could only derive comfort from the fact that he was now, at least, being commanded to demonstrate the one and only chore he had any real, practical experience of – scrubbing the ground beneath his Roman betters’ feet. He gratefully grabbed his scrubbing brush, dipped it in the pale of dirty water,and without further ado began scrubbing the stone paving on the ground of the courtyard around Madam Florentina’s chubby white, brown-sandalled feet which were now resting coquettishly on the ground, side by side, underneath the hitched up hem of her long, white, modest, Roman toga.
‘Ha! Ha! Be sure to let me know if he splashes any of that dirty water onto your nice, clean feet, Florentina. Antonius is just itching to scourge him again!’ remarked mistress Delphina.
What is it with these Roman ladies and their obsession with scourging, thought slave Scortillus to himself. He had noticed throughout his long years of slavery that it was invariably the Roman women who initiated the scourging of their male slaves – even if they rarely wielded the lash themselves. That would be considered much too unladylike – even though witnessing and enjoying the sights and sounds of a hapless male slave being scourged at the hands of a burly, male, slave-overseer was considered perfectly socially acceptable for a genteel Roman lady!
Whatever, slave Scortillus was confident that he would not splash Lady Florentina’s feet with his dirty water. He was on home ground here – both literally and figuratively – for he knew exactly what he was doing when it came to scrubbing floors. He had, after all, been a full-time scrubber in Madam Delphina’s household for over 10 years now!
That’s not to say, however, that scrubbing clean the ground around a superior Roman lady’s feet was not without its dangers. Sooner or later, inevitably, the slave would have to ask the lady to move her feet, or to raise them up off the ground, in order that he may scrub the ground directly beneath them. And that was always a request, and an operation, full of potential dangers for the slave.
What if the lady takes offence at being disturbed by the slave? Or, even worse, what if she tires of raising her feet in the air and suddenly places them back on the ground before the slave has finished scrubbing?!
Slave Scortillus shuddered at the thought. The severity of the scourging that such unfortunate mishaps would earn a slave just didn’t bear thinking about!
But, like it or not, the moment of danger had now come, and Madam Florentina, who was watching slave Scortillus intently as he scrubbed the dirty ground around her sandalled feet, was clearly awaiting his humble request for her to move her feet with sadistic relish and anticipation. Madam Florentina loved to see a weak and vulnerable slave sweating at her feet - not just with hard labour, but also with fear and trembling etched on his face:
‘Oh pray, Madam Florentina, please don’t beat me Madam Florentina, this slave humbly requests the most beautiful and sweet-natured Madam Florentina that she graciously move her superior, feminine feet in order to permit the slave access to the dirt on the ground beneath her feet, so that he may remove that dirt and ensure that the ground on which the superior Madam Florentina rests her superior, Roman feet is suitably clean for the distinguished soles of a high-ranking mistress such as Madam, if it so pleases you most sweet and kind Madam Florentina. Please don’t beat me Madam.’
Madam Florentina, still greedily popping grapes into her mouth, laughed and decided that she had had enough of the scrubber-slave’s sycophantic and cringing slave-speak for one day. She would gag him by making him scrub the ground beneath her feet with his slave mouth:
‘Ha! Ha! I shall accede to your most humble request slave, in order that you may clean the ground beneath the soles of my leather sandals, but you shall do so by placing the scrubbing brush in your mouth. I want you to see the offending dirt beneath my feet close-up, so that you don’t miss any when you scrub!
And with that Madam Florentina helpfully and magnanimously lifted both her feet back up off the ground in order to enable slave Scortillus to scrub the dirty paving stone beneath her brown leather sandalled feet with his ugly slave-mouth.
She even rested both her brown-sandalled, Roman feet on top of his balding head as he obediently scrubbed the ground with his brush in his mouth, thereby kindly pushing his face down even deeper into the dirt so that he may better scrub at it.
Her hostess, Madam Delphina, was impressed by her cousin’s ingenuity:
‘Ha! Ha! The scrubber is also a footrest for a superior Roman lady! How apt!’
Both ladies laughed.
Their laughter was soon accompanied by the laughter of a male voice and a younger female voice.
It was Lady Florentina’s 20 year old daughter – miss Cornelia – and her young man, Phillipus, come to see what all the laughter was about.
‘Ha! Ha! What are you doing, mater?’ asked the young woman of her mother.
‘Cornelia darling!... Phillipus!... How are you both? I was just playing with Aunt Delphina’s human scrubbing-brush! Ha! Ha!’
Cornelia laughed again, and pointed at the pathetic, kneeling slave with the scrubbing brush in his mouth, feverishly scrubbing away at the ground beneath her mother’s feet whilst those selfsame aristocratic, Roman feet rested on top of his head:
‘Ha! Ha! Look, Phillipus! Look what mater is doing! She’s making that old slave scrub the ground with his face! Ha! Ha!’
Phillipus laughed his deep, manly laugh, and put his arm protectively around his fiancée Cornelia’s waist:
‘Ha! Ha! Yes, darling, I see. Ha! Ha! A human scrubbing brush worked by a woman’s feet! Ha! Ha!’
‘Oh mater can I have a go…pleeease! Oh please let me rub the slave’s face in the dirty ground with my feet!’ pleaded the young fiancée, miss Cornelia.
‘Go on, Florentina, let Cornelia have a go! It will do Scortillus good to feel a young Roman woman’s feet on top of his ugly head – the feet of a girl half his age!’ chipped in Scortillus’s owner, Madam Delphina – still happily reclined on her comfortable couch, basking in the bright sunlight.
‘Oh yes, mater, please let me do as Aunt Delphina says…it will be so humiliating for the old man to have my young feet digging his face into the dirty paving stone!’
Slave Scortillus had only had very limited contact with miss Cornelia’s feet hitherto – the usual customary kissing of her feet whenever she entered his presence in her 'Aunt’s' villa. He had, for example, kissed miss Cornelia’s sandalled feet on her arrival at his mistress’s villa earlier that morning, and now, it seemed, he was about to experience the soles of her leather sandals digging into the top of his bald head whilst he scrubbed the ground beneath her arrogant, young, sandalled feet.
And very pretty sandals they were too – flat-heeled, white, lace-up sandals that criss-crossed her pretty shins and calves up as far as her slightly knobbly knees, below her purple, knee-length toga. Rather like her mother, 20 year old miss Cornelia also had somewhat chubby toes and ankles, but he had noticed as he had earlier been kissing her chubby big-toes in respectful, slavish greeting, how soft and smooth miss Cornelia’s bare, white feet were compared to her mother’s. There was no evidence of any chapped or cracked skin on the backs of miss Cornelia’s exposed, bare heels, for instance. These were the beautiful, soft feet of a beautiful, young woman – even if they weren’t the absolutely perfect feet of a supernatural goddess.
Slave Scortillus couldn’t help thinking that it would be an honour to have the dirty, dusty soles of 20 year old miss Cornelia’s white leather, lace-up sandals resting on the top of his bald, middle-aged head as he dutifully scrubbed the ground beneath her feet with the scrubbing brush fixed in his slave-mouth.
He was soon to get his wish – or rather her wish – as Cornelia’s mother, Madam Florentina, happily made way for her daughter to sit down beside her on the couch and then rest the dusty soles of her white sandalled feet on top of the scrubbing-slave’s head.
‘Ha! Ha! Oh mater – this feels wonderful! I feel really strong and powerful having a dirty male slave under my feet like this! Look Phillipus – look how I’m digging my soles into his head! Can you see the marks my sandals are making in his bald head?’
‘Ha! Ha! Yes darling – I can see the pattern of your sole-tread! Ha! Ha! What a loser-slave he is. He’ll be having to spend the rest of the day crawling around with the imprint of your soles on top of his stupid head for everyone to see! Ha! Ha!’
Everyone present – all the free people that is – thought this was very funny, and laughed out loud at Phillipus’s astute observation.
Slave Scortillus, the object of their derisive mirth, was just annoyed and frustrated that he too couldn’t see the funny side – or more accurately that he couldn’t see the imprints from miss Cornelia’s white, lace-up, Roman sandalled soles on his balding pate!
He sure could feel them though - as miss Cornelia was digging her strong, young-womanly legs down hard onto the top of his head whilst he scrubbed.
The next words that were spoken – and they were uttered by his own wonderful mistress Delphina – changed slave Scortillus’s life forever:
‘Cornelia, darling, slave Scortillus has aspirations of being a Roman lady’s servus-provolvo. Would you like to take him as your personal footslave? He could serve you in your new marital home after you marry Phillipus!’
Young miss Cornelia gasped with excitement:
‘Oh Aunt Delphina!...Oh!...Oh! Can I? May I?...Oh, my own personal footslave!....Oh mater! Can I? Can I have him? Oh pleeeeease?!’
Madam Florentina smiled adoringly at her daughter:
‘Ha! Ha! It’s not really up to me, darling! It’s up to your future husband, Phillipus! You must ask him, for he will be the master of your new household and will decide what slaves you should have!’
25 year old Phillipus was grateful to his future mother-in-law for her deference. He felt powerful and strong. The pathetic, middle-aged slave’s fate was in his hands, not that he would ever dream of denying his future bride anything she desired. He truly doted on her!
Cornelia knew exactly how to twist her handsome fiancé’s heart-strings. She flirtatiously pouted at him:
‘Oh please, Phillipus…say I can have him. I’ve always wanted my own personal footslave to take care of my feet. Oh please say yes!’
Phillipus pretended to prevaricate. Madam Florentina wasn’t the only one in a teasing mood that day:
‘Erm…I’d like to say yes, darling, but how do we know if he’s any good? I mean, what qualifications, if any, does he have to be a beautiful, young Roman woman’s footslave? I want only the best for my lovely wife!’
Cornelia blew her strong, handsome fiancé a loving kiss! He always had her best interests at heart. She was so much in love with him!
Slave Scortillus, meanwhile – his head and mouth still labouring beneath the sandal-soles of the love-smitten young Roman woman seated above him, was anxiously awaiting the superior Roman family’s decision as to his future fate. This was his chance, perhaps, to fulfil his lifetime’s ambition of becoming a beautiful, young Roman woman’s servus-provolvo – even if her toes and ankles were somewhat on the chubby side! He would still be the footslave of a superior, 20 year old female!
If he could have pouted imploringly at master Phillipus himself he would have done so – but the scrubbing brush wedged in his mouth prevented any facial expressions other than pain and anguish.
‘I know…,’ interjected miss Cornelia’s mother, Madam Florentina. ‘Scortillus was just telling me earlier how keen he was to practice scraping the dirt out from underneath a superior Roman lady’s toenails with his teeth! Why don’t you put him to the test on your toenails, Cornelia darling? See if he does a good job removing and swallowing your toenail dirt! That way you and Phillipus can judge for yourselves whether or not he would make a good footslave!’
Everyone agreed it was a brilliant idea – even slave Scortillus, and even though he was nervous about his ability to successfully pass any such test! Nevertheless this was too good an opportunity to miss. Nothing ventured, nothing gained as the saying goes. Even the pain and disgrace of another scourging if he failed the toenail-scraping test would be worth it – that’s how keen he now was to become the haughty and arrogant miss Cornelia’s servus-provolvo!
He wanted to confirm his willingness to take the test to his Roman masters and betters, but unfortunately couldn’t express his views as the scrubbing brush was still deeply embedded in his slave mouth.
Even if it hadn’t been, he still wouldn’t have been allowed to express his views unless spoken to anyway.
It was miss Cornelia therefore who, now quite breathless with excitement, spoke up on his behalf:
‘Oh yes mater! …Oh….Oh yes…What a wonderful idea! Oh Phillipus, make him do it! Order him to scrape out the dirt from underneath my toenails with his teeth – and then swallow it. I want to test him out! Please Phillipus. Please!’
‘‘Ha! Ha! Very well, darling. Take your feet off the top of his head and I’ll pull the scrubbing brush out of his ugly mouth!’
Slave Scortillus felt the leather soles of miss Cornelia’s white, lace-up sandals leaving the top of his slave head, and then felt the scrubbing brush being rather roughly and unceremoniously pulled out of his slave mouth by master Phillipus. He hoped master Phillipus hadn’t broken any of his teeth – just as he needed them to extract the accumulations of dirt from underneath miss Cornelia’s chubby, pink and white toenails!
Master Phillipus gave slave Scortillus his orders as miss Cornelia now rested both her white-sandalled feet side by side expectantly on the ground in front of the would-be footslave’s kneeling and humbly bowed face:
‘You there, the slave, remove my fiancée’s pretty, white sandals from her feet and scrape the dirt out from underneath her toenails with your teeth. And make sure you savour her superior, Roman toenail dirt before you swallow it. Roll it around on your tongue and suck out all the flavour and goodness before you allow it to slide down your throat. Do you understand me, slaveboy?’
‘Yes master Phillipus. This slave obeys you, master Phillipus. Please don’t beat me master Phillipus.’
Cornelia smiled lovingly yet again at her boyfriend Phillipus – so young; so strong; so manly; so masterful. The complete opposite of the cringing, servile, pathetic, balding, unattractive, middle-aged, male creature now kneeling at her comely Roman feet.
She cocked her pretty, wide-eyed, Roman head to one side in order to get a better view of the slave’s work as he gently began to unlace her right sandal from the top of her calf-muscle downwards. When he got to the bottom she decided not to help him by raising he foot off the ground so that he may more easily slip her sandal off her soft, feminine foot. Why should she help him? After all, he was nothing but her footslave (potentially) and was being put to the test. He would have to use his own footslave-initiative in removing her sandal from her superior, young Roman woman foot.
Slave Scortillus, a frustrated footslave by nature all his life, instinctively knew what to do. He respectfully kissed miss Cornelia’s bare toes prior to cradling her still-sandalled right foot in his slave hands, and gentled lifted the young Roman mistress’s foot off the ground in order to slip off the lacy, white leather sandal. He then repeated the humble process with her left foot.
Miss Cornelia’s soft, bare, Roman feet were now resting on the still darkened, damp paving stone where slave Scortillus had previously been mouth-scrubbing the ground beneath her feet. Fortunately, his young, Roman mistress didn’t seem to mind the feeling of cold water on the sensitive soles of her feet. In fact, she seemed to find it refreshing.
But not half as refreshing as she was about to find the feel of slave Scortillus’s mouth on her chubby, stumpy white toes:
‘Slave, I want you to suck on my toenails in order to soften the cuticles first. Also make sure you lick away all the sticky bits on the skin in between and down the sides of my toes!’ she advised him.
She then looked up at her beloved boyfriend for his support and approval:
‘That’s right, dirty slave! Do as my fiancée says – suck on her pretty toenails and soften them up before you start scraping the dirt from underneath them with your teeth. And understand one thing, footslave …if you hurt your mistress or damage her toenails in any way with your slave teeth I will personally scourge your back until your spine is open to the elements! Do I make myself clear, boy?’
‘Yes master. Yes mistress. Please don’t beat me, master and mistress!’ replied slave Scortillus, anxious, as ever, to avoid a whipping if at all possible.
He then ultra-carefully and respectfully lifted miss Cornelia’s right foot off the ground, cradling it in both his trembling slave hands, so that he could insert her stumpy, white toes into his slave-mouth.
It was so much nicer having a young woman’s soft toes in his mouth than a dirty, hard scrubbing brush! He felt miss Cornelia wriggling her sticky toes with pleasure on the roof of his mouth:
‘Oh…oh!...It tickles! Ha! Ha! …He’s tickling me, Phillipus!’ she gushed.
Her toes then rammed into the inside of slave Scortillus’s cheek as master Phillipus suddenly kicked the would-be footslave on the side of his plain, brown slave-tunic-covered ribs:
‘Stop tickling my girlfriend’s toes, slave!’ he barked. ‘Suck; lick; lick away all the filth and sweat from her feet, and do it without tickling her, or so help me I’ll beat you black and blue!’
Just how slave Scortillus was supposed to achieve all that he wasn’t quite sure! Perhaps it might help if miss Cornelia herself kept her wiggling toes still inside his mouth – but he wasn’t about to suggest that! Slave Scortillus wasn’t exactly what you would describe as a glutton for punishment!
And so he simply did his best to do as the young master had ordered, and diligently tongued and sucked miss Cornelia’s chubby, Roman toes and toenails as best he could. He could feel little pieces of dead skin and toe-jam coming off her feet inside his mouth – but this was only the ‘hors-d’oeuvres’, so to speak, compared to the thin, black lines of Roman street dirt he would next have to scrape out from underneath miss Cornelia’s toenails – especially the big toenail on her right foot which, he couldn’t help noticing previously whilst he had been kissing her feet as she entered his mistress Delphina’s villa, was for some reason particularly dirty underneath.
He could now feel the accumulated, sweaty toe-jam building up into a little black, ball on his tongue as he gently and carefully scraped his front teeth underneath miss Cornelia’s big toenail. He remembered the master’s orders to savour the little ball of dirt, perspiration and dead, feminine footskin before swallowing it.
He then repeated the humiliating process for each and every one of miss Cornelia’s stubby, white toes.
Thankfully, she was, apparently, impressed with his efforts as a first-time Roman-lady’s toe scraper:
‘Oh Phillipus…Oh mater…Look how clean my toenails are…Oh look, you can see how all the dirt has gone!...Oh please mater, oh please Phillipus… please let me have him as my personal footslave…Oh I’ll have such fun making him kiss and worship my feet, and making him lick clean all my dirty sandals and shoes. Oh please say I can have him!’
Slave Scortillus knew he was in! He knew he had passed the test. I mean, how could anyone resist the pleading of such a sweet and excitable young woman as miss Cornelia?
His lifetime dream was about to be realised - promotion at long last from floor-scrubber to footslave; from Scortillus (‘he who scrubs’) to servus-provolvo (‘he who prostrates himself at the feet of his superiors’) in one fell, toenail-scraping, swoop during this hot and sunny Roman afternoon.
He kissed miss Cornelia’s freshly, slave-saliva-washed toes in genuine awe and gratitude, and prepared himself for a lifetime of humble servitude at her haughty, aristocratic, Roman feet.
Sadly for slave Scortillus however, he first had to endure another scourging - this time at the hands of master Phillipus with miss Cornelia gleefully watching, just to impress upon him his new owners’ power and authority over him!
The End
