The Women's Prisoner

Part 1 – Reception

To be imprisoned for life for a crime you did not commit must be truly traumatic.

Even being imprisoned for life for a crime you did commit must be a stressful experience.

But to be imprisoned for life when you are known by the authorities to be entirely innocent of any crime, and indeed when you have not been charged with any crime – that must be the most devastating and soul-destroying of all experiences. And your distress and confusion must be all the greater if you are male, yet are being sent down to a women’s prison!

Only in the Gynarchy of Barbaria could such an event take place!

And yet, this is precisely what is happening to 31 year old Patrick. He is naked apart from a pair of plain white, male-prisoner slave shorts and a heavy wooden slave-collar, and is currently lying chained up and sobbing in the back of a prison van being driven by two, pretty, female prison officers towards the one and only female prison in the whole of the Gynarchy. Slave Patrick has just been sentenced to life imprisonment by an equally pretty female judge some two hours previously – life in a women’s prison. No appeal. No remission.

Of course, his impending imprisonment, even though he is not guilty of any crime, is not entirely unjust. Indeed, it is perfectly just and legal – for Patrick is a male slave, and the female authorities in the Gynarchy of Barbaria can do whatever they like with him. The women’s prison needed a new footslave, and slave Patrick was available having recently been dismissed by his mistress Julia for incompetence.

That, if anything, was his crime – incompetence at the feet of a superior woman. Many would say he deserves all he gets.

But footslave Patrick was wallowing in self-pity in the back of the prison van – much to the delight and amusement of the two, female prison-officer escorts. 21 year old junior officer-mistress Angela, who was now seated in the front passenger seat, was particularly relishing slave Patrick’s apprehension and distress. How the young blonde had enjoyed his sobbing and wailing as he had feverishly kissed the toes of her navy-blue uniform pumps on her flesh-coloured, stockinged feet back in the Police cells, ridiculously begging her for mercy and imploring her not to send him to prison – like it was her decision!

Not that she did anything to disabuse him of the extent of her powers – for junior officer-mistress Angela loved exerting girl power over helpless, male slaves. She loved breaking and hurting them, both mentally and physically, and she especially enjoyed making male slaves cry - which was why she particularly loved this part of her job: escorting male prisoners to the woman’s prison where she worked. Instead of comforting slave Patrick and trying to convince him that things would not be as bad as he feared, she informed him that the women prisoners on C wing were very much looking forward to the arrival of their new ‘footslave-nonce’.

As soon as the van entered the foreboding gates of the women’s prison and pulled up outside the reception wing, junior officer-mistress Angela smilingly jumped out of the van and opened the back door to extract the prisoner:

‘Out, nonce! On your hands and knees!’

Yes, from now on slave Patrick would be known as the prison ‘nonce’ – even though he was no sex offender, nor indeed guilty of any crime (other than that of being sacked for incompetence by his erstwhile mistress!).

Once again, to the blonde-ponytailed junior officer-mistress Angela’s female delight, slave-nonce Patrick was soon blubbering over her criminally filthy, navy-blue uniform pumps just as soon as he had crawled out of the back of the van into the bleak, prison yard – frenetically kissing the pointy toes of said dusty and dirty pumps and begging them for mercy like they were the shoes of a kindly and compassionate young woman who gave a damn:

‘Oh pray, officer-mistress Angela, if it pleases you sweet, feminine officer-mistress Angela, please protect this dirty footslave-nonce from the women prisoners! Oh pity, officer-mistress Angela; pray pity this poor slave! This slave fears the female inmates. Oh pray mistress. Oh pray!’

Slave Patrick was right to be afraid. He had, of course, not yet had occasion to meet any of the female inmates – but their reputation preceded them. Indeed, the fact that, as women, they were locked up at all in a gynarchial society ruled entirely by women spoke volumes. Only the most dangerous women would ever be incarcerated in a Gynarchy! Nine times out of ten the male slaves of women convicted of serious crimes were imprisoned in their stead. For the guilty woman herself to have to serve time was extremely rare!

But junior officer-mistress Angela, like all the female prison guards, respected and admired the female prisoners, however serious their crimes, every bit as much as she despised the pathetic apology for a male slave however ‘innocent’ he may be, who was currently seeking to ingratiate himself with her by licking the prison yard dust off the pointy toes of her uniform-issue navy blue pumps.

Junior officer Angela very much saw her role as assisting the female prisoners in the process of rehabilitation. They (unlike slave Patrick) were not there to be punished. And the first lesson that she was determined to teach the new ‘nonce’ was that he was to show as much fear and respect for the women prisoners as he was to show towards herself and her fellow, female prison guards – for he was now at the mercy of every woman in the prison, be she ‘guard’ or ‘guest’.

Junior officer-mistress Angela therefore decided to kick the grovelling footslave-nonce in the face with the dusty, pointy toe of her right, navy blue pump, and to berate him for referring to the female guests as ‘inmates’:

‘Dirty, no good nonce!’ she screamed at him, with fake outrage in her pretty, high-pitched, girlish voice (junior officer-mistress Angela sounded like she couldn’t dominate a fly, but, of course, slave Patrick was now less than a bug beneath the sole of her shoe, so she was more than capable of bossing him about). ‘How dare you refer to our female gusts as ‘female inmates’! My God, just wait until I tell them what you called them! They are your prisoner-mistresses, and that’s how you’ll refer to them from now on, or so help me God you’ll feel the sting of my prison strap on your dirty, slave back! Do I make myself clear, nonce?’

‘Oh pray, mistress! Please forgive me, mistress-officer Angela. This dirty slave-nonce begs for your sweet, feminine mercy, if it so pleases you all-powerful officer-mistress Angela!’ fawned slave Patrick, anxious not to get into his ‘protector’s’ bad books on day one (you will note that he had already worked out that he was not to refer to her as ‘junior officer-mistress’. She may be junior ranking – and indeed, be his junior in terms of their respective ages - but as far as he was concerned in this place she had absolute power over him, and therefore merited his total slavish respect).

The other female prison guard – the driver – a young Latina woman called Maria who also appeared to be in her early twenties, urged her colleague on in her thick, Mexican accent as she locked the door of the van:

‘Ha! Ha! Strap him, Angela! Give the nonce nice, red stripe to welcome him to women’s prison! Ha! Ha!’

Junior officer-mistress Angela ran her slim, girlish fingers over the brown, leather punishment strap hanging from her belt, and toyed with the idea of beating the new slave even before he had entered the Prison Reception room, but, as we have already established, she was not an overly cruel or vindictive young woman, and she decided to spare him his back-blushes until later.

She merely crouched down to attach a heavy metal chain to slave Patrick’s wooden, slave neck-collar and without further ado dragged him on his hands and knees after her towards the door of the Reception office.

As he crawled behind her dusty, blue-pumped heels slave Patrick had a good view of junior officer-mistress Angela’s shapely, stockinged calf-muscles as she was wearing her uniform-issue, knee-length, navy-blue skirt. Her flesh-toned, uniform-issue stockings must have been of the finest denier, for the only clue to the fact that she was wearing stockings at all were the tiny, almost imperceptible creases and folds in the nylon material at the back of her heels as she walked along.

Ironically, those very folds reminded slave Patrick of his own, now former, mistress Julia and the reason for his downfall from personal footslavery, as it had been a very similar pair of mistress Julia’s flesh-toned, finest denier, nylon stockings that he had inadvertently laddered with his teeth whilst trying to suck out a dirty, black shoe-polish stain at the back of her stockinged heels. Mind you, it was he, the slave, who had smudged the shoe-polish onto his mistress’s stockinged heels in the first place – so he really did deserve to be locked away from the polite society of women for life given the sheer degree of his footslavish incompetence!

Not that the self-indulgent, self-pitying nonce Patrick quite saw it that way. He still felt sorry for himself as he crawled across the gravel of the prison yard after junior officer-mistress Angela’s dusty blue pumps and nylon-stockinged heels. The lady guards and prisoners would have to beat humility and remorse into him over the coming weeks and months if he was ever to truly appreciate the error of his ways.

Not a problem for them, of course. Indeed the women of the prison would doubtless make him their pet project: Project ‘Humble the Nonce’! It would give them all something to do! For boredom was often the main challenge the women, both guards and ‘guests’, faced within the confines of the bleak prison walls. Sure the women prisoners were frequently allowed out on day-release, perhaps to watch the public slave-floggings in the Town Square , or to attend ‘The Slave Games’ in the ‘Colosseum’, but life within the confines of the prison itself could be rather dull and monotonous.

It was precisely because she was bored that prison-governess Shabnam had come down to Reception to await the arrival of the new ‘nonce’ in person.

Prison-governess Shabnam was a very strict and moral young woman of Pakistani origins. At just 28 years old she was some 3 years younger than the nonce who was about to be put in her charge. The thought that he would be literally spending the rest of his miserable life behind bars within the confines of her prison, whilst she would be moving on to much higher and better things in just a few years time (she had ambitions to become the female head of the Barbarian Prison service) tickled her pink. She therefore wanted to have a good laugh at the new, male prisoner – to mock him and humiliate him; to set an example both to her female staff and to their female ‘guests’ as to how to treat the new nonce.

Prison-governess Shabnam was, like the other female prison staff, dressed in the navy-blue prison officers’ uniform consisting of navy blue jacket, crisp, white blouse, knee-length navy blue skirt, and low-heeled, navy blue pumps. Unlike the other prison staff, however, and in deference to her cultural origins, she also wore a light, silk, pink headscarf, and lightweight, silk, navy-blue trousers under her navy blue, knee-length skirt – creating a traditional ‘Salwar Kameez’ effect. She was, therefore, not wearing any stockings under her silk trousers, but instead was wearing a pair of plain, short, black, ankle socks inside her navy blue, low-heeled pumps on her pretty, Asian feet.

Usually prison-governess Shabnam didn’t wear socks, but she knew that the newly-arriving footslave-nonce would be required to pay his humble respects to her prison-governess feet today, and she didn’t want his dirty, slave lips touching her bare, Pakistani footflesh.

Although she had only recently emigrated from Pakistan, prison-governess Shabnam already spoke very good English – albeit with a strong Pakistani accent – and had quickly gained the respect of both prisoners and staff due to her obvious intelligence and hatred of male slaves (slave Patrick was a replacement for the previous prison footslave-nonce who had met with an ‘accident’ in prison-governess Shabnam’s office and had to be medically retired to the salt-mines. The less said about that the better!)

Prison-governess Shabnam smiled and adjusted her pink headscarf as slave Patrick was led, still blubbering and whining, on his bare hands and knees behind junior officer-mistress Angela’s stockinged heels into the prison Reception room:

‘Ha! Ha! Well done, officer Angela! I am seeing you have been making very good time. I was thinking you would not be being here for another hour or so!’ congratulated the Pakistani prison-governess.

Junior officer-mistress Angela beamed with pride. Always nice to receive words of praise direct from the governor!

‘Thank you, Ma’am. The traffic was unusually light!’

Officer-mistress Maria, the van-driver, was a bit miffed that her more junior colleague appeared to be getting all the credit for the speedy delivery of the male prisoner even though she had been the one doing all the driving! She made a mental note to herself to take it out on the new nonce later on. Even if junior officer Angela wasn’t keen to give him a taste of the prison strap – she certainly was!

‘Ha! Ha! And I am seeing that the slave-nonce is being crying! Ha! Ha! Well might he be crying, for he is never going to be leaving these walls again! Ha! Ha!’

Al the female staff present, including a pretty, uniformed, black receptionist-guard behind the Reception desk itself, and a white-coated, bespectacled medical doctor-mistress who was standing at the far end of the room with a stethoscope dangling around her pretty neck, laughed at the Pakistani prison-governess’s amusing observation.

‘Ha! Ha! Officer Angela, be making him kiss my feet now!’ commanded the all-powerful prison governess.

‘Ma’am yes Ma’am!’ responded junior officer-mistress Angela to her boss.

The latter now, somewhat coyly for a prison-governess, adjusted her pink, silk headscarf once again and stretched forward her right foot for the kneeling prisoner-nonce to respectfully kiss.

Slave Patrick realised that he was about to perform what would probably be the single most important footkiss of his entire life – for this young Pakistani woman was now in a position of absolute power over him. He was, quite literally, her prisoner – a young Pakistani woman’s prisoner – and he would do well to prostrate himself humbly at her pretty, socked feet and declare his complete and utter submission to her feminine power, for if he did not submit willingly she would doubtless impose her power and authority on him by means of the prison cane, strap and whip.

Slave Patrick therefore wasted no time in shuffling forward on his slave knees and lowering his slave head, under the supervision of the blonde pony-tailed junior officer-mistress Angela, to the toe of the imperiously outstretched navy, blue pump of the pink-headscarfed Pakistani prison governess.

As his lips made contact with the leather of her shoe slave Patrick studied the stitching in prison-governess Shabnam’s black, cotton sock directly under his footslave-nose. In particular he observed several little balls of black sock-lint attached to the stitching of the sock, and that excited him as he realised she must have worn these socks many times before. He found himself desperately wanting to kiss the prison governess’s black sock itself, but thought it wise to restrict himself to the toe of her navy blue, leather shoe as she might not like the feel of his dirty, slave lips on the crown of her foot even if it was through the soft, cotton material of her black ankle sock.

He was right. As we already know prison-governess Shabnam was a modest young lady and had specifically worn the socks to avoid any prospect of the slave’s lips touching her bare feet. The supercilious and smug expression on her pretty, young Pakistani face as he kissed the pointy toe of her uniform-issue, navy blue pump spoke volumes about how unworthy she thought this dirty slave-nonce was even to kiss her dirty shoe-leather, let alone her Pakistani foot – be it socked or unsocked!

However she was clearly not averse to having her other shoe kissed, as, hands on hips, she quickly withdrew her right foot from under the grovelling footslave’s nose and replaced it with her left.

Slave Patrick couldn’t help but notice that the sock on the prison-governess’s left foot was somewhat twisted inside her shoe. Again he would have given anything to straighten out the twists and creases in her sock - even just by using his slave nose – as a demonstration of his humility and sense of inferiority vis-à-vis the all- powerful young female Pakistani prison-governess. But again, he restricted himself to a single, contrite, humble footkiss.

Seemingly satisfied by his evident reverence for her superior, feminine feet and footwear, prison-governess Shabnam then took great pleasure in explaining to the new nonce just how miserable the rest of his life was going to be in her prison:

‘Ha! Ha! My name is being prison-governess mistress Shabnam, and you are now being a prisoner for the rest of your life in my prison, dirty slave-nonce. Welcome to your humble abode! Ha! Ha!...’

The watching female staff all laughed along with the popular prison-governess, who then continued with her warm words of welcome:

‘…You will be being the personal footslave of all my female staff and our female guests in this prison. You will be being respectful of every woman whom you are encountering in this place as we are all being your betters! Am I making myself clear, dirty nonce?’

Slave Patrick was still staring at the pretty, prison-governess’s black socks inside her navy blue pumps, as he suddenly received a kick in the ribs from junior officer-mistress Angela who was standing beside and over him:

‘Answer the prison-governess, slave!’ she barked, reaching for her thick, brown leather prison strap.

Slave Patrick was immediately spurred into the humblest of slave-speak:

‘Oh pray, goddess-mistress-prison-governess miss Shabnam, God bless you, goddess-mistress-prison-governess miss Shabnam. This dirty slave hears and obeys, all powerful and most beautiful goddess-mistress-prison-governess miss Shabnam.’

The women all chuckled. Oh the delight of having a fettered male prisoner in ones unfettered female power!

‘Ha! Ha! I am hoping that you will indeed be hearing and obeying, dirty male slave, for if you are not you will be feeling the sting of the prison strap!...Officer Angela, would you kindly be applying your strap across the nonce’s back? Please be giving him a taste of what he can be expecting if he is being disobedient to any of my staff or my guests!’

Junior officer mistress Angela beamed:

‘Ma’am yes ma’am. With pleasure ma’am!’ and with that she at last unstrapped her punishment strap from her waist, positioned herself behind the kneeling and helpless male nonce, and brought the thick, heavy strap down with as much force as her delicate, feminine, right arm muscles could muster across slave Patrick’s bare left shoulder blade. Even though, as a junior officer, she currently only had one stripe on her epaulettes, was determined to get two stripes as soon as possible. She was every bit as ambitious as the prison governess herself! And if getting her own extra stripe across the epaulettes on her pretty shoulder meant striping the nonce’s shoulder – so be it!

The pain slave Patrick suddenly experienced was quite shocking – spreading in an instant across what seemed like his entire back. He let out an involuntary scream of pain.

‘Ha! Ha! I think maybe now you are fully appreciating what it is meaning to be in my power in this place! Am I not being correct, slave?’ queried the Pakistani prison governess.

The newly chastened, permanently kneeling slave Patrick replied to her socked and pumped feet, for he clearly wasn’t worthy to address prison-governess Shabnam face to face:

‘Aaoow!...Oh pray, goddess-mistress-prison-governess miss Shabnam, if it pleases you goddess-mistress-prison-governess miss Shabnam, truly this dirty, no-good slave has felt your power and succumbs to it, if it so pleases you most powerful goddess-mistress-prison-governess miss Shabnam.’

Her socks seemed to respond to his pathetic acknowledgement of her feminine power over him by flexing and creasing still further inside her navy-blue pumps. He still ached to kiss the Pakistani prison-governess’s black ankle socks and pay his respects to them every bit a much as he now ached across his bare left shoulder. But prison-governess Shabnam was determined to humiliate him still further – to break him utterly before her admiring staff:

‘You will now be kissing the feet of all my staff within this room, and will be blessing them for taking the time to be escorting you to this prison and be processing you through Reception. Be starting with the feet of your driver, officer-mistress Maria.’

At last officer-mistress Maria had her chance to, quite literally, step forward into the limelight. She marched forward as her colleague, junior officer-mistress Angela, turned slave Patrick around in order that he might start kissing a succession of female prison staff’s feet.

Officer mistress Maria’s olive-toned skin made her flesh-coloured, uniform-issue stockings look somewhat darker in hue than the stockings on the pale-skinned legs of junior officer-mistress Angela. Slave Patrick also observed that superior officer mistress Maria was somewhat bow-legged. He had noticed too that the Latina officer’s ankles were much skinnier - bonier even - than junior officer Angela’s shapely ankles. But, of course, be they shapely or bony, slave Patrick was in no position to do anything other than pay slavish homage to the superior feet and ankles of a superior young woman, and so he immediately ensured that his slave lips made respectful contact with the now familiar navy-blue, low-heeled, pump-style, prison-officer shoe of the bow-legged prison van-driver, officer-mistress Maria.

Perhaps precisely because officer-mistress Maria’s ankles were quite bony and skinny, or perhaps because she had been operating the pedals of the van with her feet for the last hour or so, slave Patrick noticed that the fine denier stockings were quite creased around her ankles – much more so than those of junior officer-mistress Angela. How he would love to straighten officer Maria’s nylon stockings for her! But he wasn’t even allowed to kiss them – just the dusty, leather toe of her arrogantly outstretched, right, navy blue shoe.

And then the left shoe – a repeat kiss to her other Latina foot, as if to emphasise that the first kiss to her right foot had been no accident, but was the deliberate act of a pathetic, contrite and humble footslave:

‘Ha! Ha! Maria like have nonce kiss feet! Maria think women prisoners will like too! Ha! Ha! Nonce will be women-prisoners’ footlick! Ha! Ha!’

Yes he will be. But first there was the small matter of kissing the feet of the other female staff in the Reception room – starting with junior officer-mistress Angela’s feet (again!); then the navy-blue pumped feet of the pretty, black Receptionist, whom slave Patrick was informed was known as junior officer-mistress Justina.

Rather like officer-mistress Maria’s stockinged legs, the black receptionist-officer’s skin-tone caused the tan coloured stockings to look darker on her pretty feet and legs. The main thing he noticed about junior officer-mistress Justina’s nylon-stockinged feet and ankles, however, was that, even though they looked much neater than the stockings on officer-mistress Maria’s bony ankles, they nevertheless smelt strongly of stale sweat – even with her shoes on. This young woman had clearly not showered or bathed her feet for some time, but he guessed he would just have to get used to the various different odours of many women’s feet (how he longed at that moment for the familiar smell of his beloved mistress Julia’s feet – but, of course, he would never see or sniff them again!)

And then, finally, still with the pink-headscarfed, Pakistani prison governess mistress Shabnam looking triumphantly on, he found himself kissing the ‘civilian’ feet of the white-coated, bespectacled, female prison doctor. Because she was a civilian she was not wearing the navy-blue, prison uniform under her white coat, but instead was wearing a bright red, knee-length dress and red, shiny patent leather, high-heeled pumps on her bare, white feet.

Slave Patrick observed that the female doctor’s feet were quite veiny, although the veins running along the top of her feet were undoubtedly accentuated by the three inch heels she was wearing. He sensed that she may have been a bit older than the other female staff in the room. More like his age - early thirties, as her feet, although pretty, showed some signs of ‘wear and tear’ – an area of chapped, rough skin at the back of her right heel; some rough, dead skin on the instep of her left foot.

Again he longed to make good the tiny imperfections in a woman’s foot – this time to kiss and lick away the rough, dead skin at the back of her right heel. But again he had to restrict himself to kissing shoe leather – albeit this time bright, red shoe leather; not at all dirty or dusty like the navy blue shoes of the female prison officers, but well –polished, shiny red, shoe leather.

As he humbly kissed the pointy toe of the female doctor’s outstretched left foot, prison-governess Shabnam asked the prison doctor a question:

‘Is the nonce being fit for detention and humiliation, doctor?’

The female doctor smiled and laughed:

‘Yes, governess. I can tell by the newly raised stripe on his shoulder that his body responds normally to pain. He is fit for lifetime detention and fit to be whipped.’

It had been a cursory medical examination to say the least, but the stark fact of the matter was that, even if the female doctor had found slave Patrick to be unfit for incarceration, he wouldn’t have been going anywhere.

For nobody cared about his well-being any longer. He was now just a forgotten nobody - a footslave in a women’s prison. And if you’re wondering why the prison seems so quiet, it’s because the female prisoners – sorry ‘guests’ – on the infamous C Wing were all waiting with bated breath for the arrival of their new footslave-nonce.

You can leave this story now if you want to. But I’m afraid slave Patrick has no choice but to proceed on his hands and knees onto the prison wing!



Part 2 – The C Wing Sock-Nonce

‘Nonce…nonce…nonce…nonce…’

A chorus of threatening female voices greeted the new footslave-nonce on C wing as he crawled gingerly behind the navy-blue pumped and tan-stockinged heels of the pretty, black Receptionist-officer, junior officer-mistress Justina.

The first thing slave Patrick noticed as junior officer-mistress Justina led him down the corridor of C Wing and past a line of female prisoners was that none of the inmates were wearing any kind of prison uniform. They were all clad in their normal, casual, daytime wear – T shirts; jeans; sneakers etc. Some were openly smoking, and at least one appeared to be drinking alcohol straight from a beer bottle.

Must be a very relaxed regime in this women’s prison, thought slave Patrick to himself. He would soon find out, of course, that it was only relaxed for the female prisoners and staff – not for him!

Junior-officer mistress Justina’s tan-coloured stockings creased and folded at the backs of her heels above the tops of her navy-blue, prison-officer-uniform pumps as she walked down the corridor with footslave-Patrick’s nose and face just inches behind her pretty feet, as he crawled after her like a startled and obedient puppy-dog. He was trying to take so much in whilst dutifully focussing his slavish gaze on the backs of junior-officer Justina’s nylon-stockinged ankles. Out of the corners of his eyes he could see not only the jeans and sneakers of the female prisoners who were lined up to greet him, but also their cells – doors wide open; bunk beds inside; the otherwise bare walls festooned with girly decorations – posters of boy bands; pictures of boyfriends; paintings of flowers etc.

I really am a prisoner in a women’s prison, he thought to himself! I can only hope the women inmates will be sweet and kind to me – as kind and merciful as the female guards have been!

But footslave-nonce Patrick was deluding himself. Sweet feminine domination simply has to have an outlet somewhere, and he, as the only male in the place, was soon to be the male ‘punch bag’.

Junior-officer Justina led him into a cell right at the end of the corridor – a cell in which there were four young women all congregated together seated on the edges of the two lower bunk beds.

Four women to a cell! That’s quite crowded, thought slave Patrick to himself. He wondered whether he would be the fifth inhabitant of this particular cell? If so, where would he sleep? There was no fifth bed.

‘Hi, Justina. What have we here?’ chirped the happy voice of one of the female cellmates – a plump, dark-curly-haired, white woman in her late twenties who was wearing bright green, Doc Marten style, calf-length, boots with thick, black laces over black, corduroy jeans, and a plain, black blouse.

‘This is your new footslave-nonce, miss Annie’ replied the black, junior prison-officer Justina.

The first thing that struck slave Patrick as being somewhat strange about the conversation was the fact that the prisoner appeared to have addressed the prison officer by her first name, whereas the prison officer had respectfully addressed the inmate as ‘miss Annie’.

Just who runs this place – the prison officers or the prisoners?!

What slave Patrick didn’t comprehend at that moment in time (because he was just a stupid, ignorant, male footslave) was that ‘miss Annie’ was regarded by everyone as being the senior, female inmate on the wing – not necessarily in age, but more because of the respect she had earned due to the nature of her crime: running an organised slave-smuggling ring on the black market. Her family had been black-marketeers in the underground slave-smuggling business for over 50 years – capturing hapless males abroad and smuggling them into the Gynarchy for sale on the black market. The authorities, officially, didn’t approve of slave-smuggling as there were plenty of native-born male slaves for sale in the legitimate slave markets of the Gynarchy. But, by and large, the black market was tolerated, partly because it was acknowledged that not all women could afford the higher prices in the official male-slave markets, and partly because slave-smuggling was a victimless crime – unless, of course, you’re one of those wishy-washy, female liberals who believe that male slaves can have human rights and be victims! Ha! Ha!

No, miss Annie’s crime as far as the authorities were concerned, had merely been her overwhelming success. The sheer scale of her operation was beginning to effect the State’s coffers as valuable tax revenue from the sale of legitimate slaves was being lost to such a degree that the authorities had to do something. And so, regretfully, a female judge had convicted miss Annie of unlawful slave-smuggling into the Gynarchy and sentenced her to 12 months in prison – the longest period a woman can be sent to prison under Barbarian Law, and the only such sentence to have been passed on a woman in some 15 years.

No wonder miss Annie was afforded such respect amongst her fellow inmates and especially by the female prison officers! She was a real martyr to female business acumen, ingenuity and selfless service to the poorer women of the Gynarchy of Barbaria! The somewhat embarrassed authorities had already arranged for her to be compensated for her period of incarceration upon her release – now due in some 4 months’ time – and were already arranging a heroine’s, civic reception for her!

It’s a funny old world – the Gynarchy of Barbaria!

In the meantime, however, the naturally dominant miss Annie was enjoying her time in prison – ruling the roost in C Wing!

She stood up from her bunk bed and walked over to stand directly in front of the kneeling slave Patrick, the loose tops of her calf-length, lace-up green bovver boots now directly beneath his humbly bowed face.

‘Oh!...Oh!...Kick his head in, Annie!..Kick him in the head!’ urged one of the other female inmates in the cell, who was seated on the edge of one of the bunks swinging her legs excitedly in the air. She was a younger, blonde ponytailed, white woman of about 18 or 19, wearing a knee-length, blue denim skirt, and multicoloured, stripy, ultra-short, below the ankle-bone socks inside plain, black ballet flats.

‘Ha! Ha! Yeah …give the nonce a taste of your reinforced toecaps, Annie,’ agreed a third cellmate – a young black woman in her early twenties with dyed-red, braided hair, who was wearing light grey tracksuit bottoms with a thick, pink stripe down the side, and dirty and mud-stained, greyish-white sneakers with equally dirty, greyish-white Velcro fastenings.

That only left a fourth girl in the room (apart from junior officer-mistress Justina) – a dark-haired, oriental girl who was wearing brown leather, zip-up, block-heeled knee-length boots and a very short, bright red skirt. She, it seemed, didn’t wish to say anything for the time being. Perhaps she’s a bit shy, thought slave Patrick to himself. A bit introverted. How sweet! She certainly seemed very different in temperament from the other 3 inmates.

Miss Annie appeared momentarily to be contemplating acting on her other two less inhibited cellmate’s suggestions, but - never one to be told what to do - instead decided on her own method of induction for the new footslave-nonce on her wing:

‘Nah…I can’t be assed!’ she retorted. ‘I don’t want to get any dirty, slave-nonce blood on my nice, clean boots!... Nonce, smell the top of my boot!’ and with that miss Annie stretched out her rather plump, black-corduroy-jeaned and green, calf-length booted foot directly under the kneeling footslave’s nose to enable him to merely smell the top of her boot.

It was, of course, a somewhat unusual first command from a new mistress to her footslave. Ninety-nine out of a hundred mistresses would expect a newly introduced footslave to kiss their feet or footwear – not just sniff it! But that was miss Annie for you – feisty; unpredictable; individualistic; inventive. Her own woman!

Slave Patrick, just relieved not to be feeling the thick, rounded toecaps of miss Annie’s green Doc Martens smashing into his prone and vulnerable face gratefully obeyed the all-powerful young, female lag and, resting his nose respectfully against the black corduroy of her tucked-into-the-top-of-her-boot trouser leg, duly sniffed the said top of said green Doc Marten boot.

It smelt of nothing but corduroy and leather. No hint of any sweet, feminine foot odour. But it was still a humiliating gesture from a male inferior to a female better – a highly visible demonstration of the female’s power to make the enslaved male do whatsoever she damn well likes.

Now the quiet oriental girl spoke up for the first time:

‘Ha! Ha! Nonce smell miss Annie boot! Ha! Ha! Nonce a wimp! Miss Annie better than nonce! Ha! Ha!’

The blonde-ponytailed girl with the blue denim skirt, multicoloured stripy ankle socks and plain, black ballet flats seemed even more excited than her oriental counterpart:

‘Ha! Ha!... Oh yeah!.. Oh!...Oh!... Oh please Annie…make him smell my shoes too!...Oh…Oh…make the nonce smell the tops of my shoes!’

‘Ha! Ha!...Alright Judy! Calm down! This nonce ‘aint going anywhere fast. There’ll be plenty of time to make him sniff your shoes and socks!’

‘Oh…Oh….Oh yes, Annie!...Oh yes!... Make him sniff my socks too…Oh, my dirty socks!...Oh, make him sniff my dirty socks!...Ha! Ha!’

The young, excitable, 19 year old cellmate was clearly getting a bit carried away with herself, and miss Annie felt she had to ‘put her foot down’ – quite literally – on the top of the kneeling nonce’s head! Slave Patrick, the female prisoners’ nonce, suddenly found his face being ground into the cold, concrete floor of the prison cell - the green, rounded toecap of miss Annie’s left, Doc Marten boot just visible in front of his face as her right, laced-up boot rested on top of his prematurely balding head:

‘You hear that, nonce? My cellmate Judy here wants me to make you smell her shoes and socks! What do you have to say to that, nonce?’ enquired the dominant-cellmate, miss Annie.

Slave Patrick knew there was only one response he could give, even if his speech was somewhat muffled by virtue of his mouth and face being squashed painfully into the cold, dirty floor:

‘Oh pray, mistress Annie, if it pleases you mistress Annie, this footslave-nonce would indeed be honoured to smell the most beautiful, feminine socks and shoes of superior mistress Judy, if it so pleases you supreme mistress Annie.’

Slave Patrick thought it was quite a clever answer – acknowledging the ‘superiority’ of miss Judy over him, but at the same time acknowledging miss Annie’s ‘supremacy’ in this particular, complicated prison hierarchy.

Miss Judy at any rate appeared suitably flattered by his slavish response:

‘Ha! Ha! Oh…Oh…Oh listen to him Annie!...Oh…he’s begging to sniff my stinky shoes and socks!...Oh please let me make him do it, Annie!...Oh!…Oh!...’

‘Shut up, Judy! I said – all in good time!’ snapped miss Annie, exerting her authority over her junior cellmate once more! She was not only senior I age to Judy, but senior in sentencing – Judy had only been sentenced to 3 months for dealing in cocaine.

Miss Judy, the convicted drug dealer, immediately calmed down and duly shut up, even though she couldn’t help displaying a cute little, self-indulgent pout of disappointment! That nonce’s nose belonged on her socks!

She wasn’t the only one disappointed. Out of the corner of his eye slave Patrick was admiring the young, hyperactive blonde girl’s stripy ankle socks and black ballet flats and was wondering just how ‘stinky’ they might smell!

Miss Annie, now totally in charge of proceedings once again, dismissed junior-officer Justina from the cell, advising her that the footslave-nonce could now be safely left with her and her 3 cellmates: ‘We’ll look after him now, Justina’, was how she put it!

‘Yes miss’, was how the female prison officer had responded, curtseying to the female prisoners as she left the cell!

With the junior prison officer gone the 4 cellmates now took more time to inspect their new plaything.

Miss Annie at last took her booted foot off the top of his head, and gave him his first, more conventional order:

‘Slave, you are now the footslave-nonce of each and every woman on this Wing, and I’m now going to introduce you as such to all the women here by making you kiss their feet – is that clear?’

‘Yes, miss Annie!’

Whack!

A heavily bejewelled, plump hand slashed across his kneeling face, causing him considerable pain:

‘That’s mistress Annie to you, nonce! Only the female guards are allowed to call me miss Annie!’

Slave Patrick cried out with pain:

Aoww!...Y…Yes…mistress Annie. Please forgive me, mistress Annie. This slave apologies profusely for his insolence, mistress Annie!’

Miss Judy (or should that be mistress Judy – he was now totally confused!) was off on one again, clearly excited by the sharp, stinging feminine faceslap administered by her senior cellmate across the kneeling nonce’s gormless face:

‘Ha! Ha! Oh…Oh…Oh yes!....Slap him, Annie! Beat him!...Hurt him!...Ha! Ha!...’

‘I thought I told you to shut up, Judy!’ Annie reprimanded her.

She then addressed one of her other cellmates, the black girl, in a more conciliatory tone, and in a move clearly designed to frustrate and ‘punish’ the over-exuberant Judy by not letting her go first:

‘Chrystal, come over here and make the nonce kiss your feet!’

Miss Chrystal, the black girl, now slid off the edge of her bunk bed and walked over to where nonce-Patrick was kneeling, prior to extending her white-sneakered and pink and grey tracksuit-bottomed right foot directly under the new footslave’s nose. For the first time slave Patrick caught a glimpse of her black, cotton ankle sock underneath the light grey and pink-striped tracksuit bottom. The sock looked somewhat ropey – lots of little black balls of sock-lint attached to the stitching; signs of thinning in one or two places. A well-worn, black, feminine ankle sock!

‘Kiss the toe of my sneaker, noncey-boy!’ came the order from the red-haired black girl, who now seemed to truly tower above him. She was undoubtedly the tallest of the 4 cellmates – tall and athletic.

Slave Patrick wondered what she was in for – not that it was any of his damned business. Whatever her crime, she was his better, and he had better damn well show her some proper respect as he kissed the toe of her dirty, white sneaker!

Slave Patrick therefore dutifully lowered his lips to taste dirty, white, female-prison sneaker, his lips leaving a visible mark in the prison dirt covering the toe of the black girl’s shoe.

Unable to control her emotions any longer, miss Judy was once again gushing her approval of the humiliation of the footslave-nonce, this time even clapping her pretty, feminine hands:

‘Oh!...Oh Yes, Chrystal!...Make him kiss the dirty toe of your sneaker!...Ha! Ha! Look!...He can see your black sock while he’s kissing your white shoe!...Ha! Ha!’

Slave Patrick had to admire 19 year-old miss Judy, even if everyone else in the room may have been finding her youthful over-exuberance a bit of a pain at that particular moment in time! She was, in spite of her immaturity, a very astute young woman: catching a glimpse of a superior, young black woman’s plain, black ankle sock whilst you kiss the toe of her dirty, white sneaker does indeed add to the overall sense of ones humiliation, for it is a reminder that inside her shoe – the shoe that you are so humbly and self-deprecatingly kissing in public - is a sweaty, stinky sock; a sock that you might well have to kiss and smell in due course! How degrading! How abasing!

Not that that humble thought stopped him from doing exactly the same with the black girl’s outstretched left foot when he was ordered to do so.

Miss Annie had secretly planned for the oriental cellmate, miss Wu Ling to be the next to have her feet kissed, but the white girl Judy’s impatient enthusiasm was just so endearing she relented and invited the blonde girl to come over to the nonce in order to have her feet kissed next.

Miss Judy, needless to say, needed no further encouragement. Unlike mistress Annie, miss Judy was quite thin and wiry – spindly legs and petite ankle bones above her ultra short footie-style, multicoloured, stripy socks inside her soft, plain black ballet flats.

Miss Judy could hardly contain herself as she first stretched out her right foot and then gave her feverish orders to the slave:

‘Oh...Oh…Oh yes…kiss my foot nonce! Kiss my sock…Ha! Ha!...Oh…Oh...kiss the top of my sock…Ha! Ha! …You’re just a slave!’

In addition to being slightly irritating and very astute, miss Judy, it seemed, also had a propensity for stating the blindingly obvious! Of course he was ‘just a slave’! That’s why he was down on his hands and knees humbly kissing a 19 year old girl’s stripy ankle sock inside her black ballet flat!

He humbly and respectfully observed how her foot muscles flexed inside her stripy sock in a delighted, female reaction to the feel of his humble slave lips through the cotton of her sock, causing the soft, multicoloured fabric to crease and fold endearingly under his slave lips. He would have quite liked his lips to have paid their slavish respects to the excitable, young blonde woman’s soft, black leather ballet flat as well, but miss Judy, it seemed, as was her perfect right, preferred to have him kiss her inner footwear – her socks – as she felt it augmented the footslave-nonce’s humiliation. Her socks, after all, were in direct contact with the sweat and bacteria on her feet. That’s what they were there for – to absorb her footsweat and protect the inner linings of her shoes, not just to beautify her feet.

How she loved having a dirty slave-nonce kissing her dirty socked feet!

Soon enough, however, it was the turn of the much more patient oriental girl, miss Wu Ling, to have her boots kissed.

Slave Patrick had always enjoyed kissing feminine, knee-length boots. The very fact that the brown leather of miss Wu Ling’s upper boot towered above him as he kissed the brown leather, square-toed area seemed to emphasise the superiority of not just miss Wu Ling herself, but also of her very boot, over him. Her boot was his better, and he was only worthy to kiss the lower part of her boot - the bit below her shapely oriental ankle-bone.

But having kissed miss Wu ling’s prison-dust covered boots, slave Patrick suddenly found himself facing another trial at the knee-length-booted feet of the Chinese inmate.

Mistress Annie explained:

‘Nonce, you will answer to me for any failings or shortcomings in your service to my fellow, female prisoners. If you fail to please any of them in any way I shall whip you with this prison strap,’ and with that mistress Annie unhooked a thick, dark brown, leather prison punishment strap (just like the ones the female warders carried attached to their belts) from the cell wall next to her upper bunk bed.

‘Ha! Ha! …Oh…Oh…Oh yes….Show him the strap, Annie…Ho! Ho!...Oh yes!’ foamed miss Judy.

A dirty look from mistress Annie indicated to Judy that she was to shut up again. She then continued to explain to their new footslave-nonce how things were going to be from now on:

‘Take Wu Ling, here, for example. Supposing she was to order you to guess what colour of socks she is wearing inside her knee-length boots, and supposing you were to guess wrong, she might then report you to me for insolence and I would punish you at her feet with 50 stripes of the prison punishment strap!’

Miss Wu Ling just smiled quietly; miss Chrystal suppressed a girlish giggle; but the hyperactive miss Judy just couldn’t help herself:

‘Ha! Ha!...Oh yes…Oh yes, Annie! Make him guess the colour of Wu Ling’s socks inside her boots, and strap him if he gets it wrong!... Ha! Ha!...Oh yes!...The strap!...The strap!...Give him the strap!...Whip him, Annie! Whip him!’

Two things immediately occurred to slave Patrick. One - mistress Annie had been speaking hypothetically – supposing miss Wu Ling was to ask you; supposing you guessed wrongly; she might then report you to me! The stripy-socked and black ballet-shoed miss Judy, however, appeared to be presuming that he was now in fact about to undergo such a test.

And the second thing that he mentally noted was just how eager miss Judy was to see him suffer! He both feared and admired her all the more on both counts!

Senior inmate Annie, just as eager to exert her authority over the footslave-nonce by beating him as her junior cellmate Judy was to see him beaten, nevertheless wanted Wu Ling to be the one to decide whether to put the slave to such a practical ordeal:

‘Well, Wu Ling, what do you think? Do you want me to make the slave-nonce guess the colour of your socks?’

Wu Ling now felt it appropriate to be the one to laugh out loud:

‘Ha! Ha! Yes, miss Annie. Wu Ling want slave-nonce guess colour of Wu Ling socks! Slave-nonce guess wrong – Wu Ling be offended; ask miss Annie punish slave-nonce! Ha! Ha!’

Miss Judy was now running around the cell (not that there was much room to run about in) and jumping for joy (not that there was much room to jump about in):

‘Ha! Ha! …Oh yes!…the slave is about to be whipped! Ha! Ha! …Guess the sock!...Guess the sock, slave!...Guess the sock properly, or you’ll be whipped!...Ha! Ha!...’

Miss Annie added some much needed decorum into the proceedings:

‘Well, slave! You heard miss Wu Ling! She wants you to guess what colour of socks she is wearing inside her boots. I’m going to give you 1 minute to think about it – then I’ll ask you for your answer. Study her boots and think about what colour of socks miss Wu Ling may be wearing inside her boots. Your time begins…now!’

Miss Annie looked at her wristwatch; miss Chrystal, miss Judy and miss Wu Ling herself all looked at the humble footslave-nonce kneeling at the female prisoner miss Wu ling’s booted feet; and the humble footslave-nonce looked at the aforementioned miss Wu Ling’s boots trying desperately to think what colour of socks she might be wearing inside her knee-length boots. Needless to say, peeking down inside the tops of her boots was forbidden, and wouldn’t have helped him much anyway – so tightly did the brown leather boots hug her shins and calf-muscles.

A series of thoughts and suppositions raced feverishly through his slave-brain. Come on, now! You’re an experienced footslave! You can do this! What colour of skirt is mistress Wu Ling wearing? Bright red! She surely must be wearing bright red socks to go with her bright red miniskirt? Women do that! Colour coordination! Then again, she seems quite a quiet and subdued girl – not at all like the over-exuberant and outgoing extrovert miss Judy. The latter is wearing bright, multicoloured, stripy socks in keeping with her feisty, exuberant personality. So perhaps the more subdued and introspective Chinese girl is wearing dark-coloured socks to match her introspective personality – plain black socks? Dark, navy-blue socks? Dark brown socks to match her boots?

Perhaps its all a trick question! Perhaps she isn’t wearing any socks at all! She might be barefoot inside her knee-length boots!

He became flummoxed and began to flounder. As the saying goes: ‘He who hesitates is lost; the slave who hesitates is whipped!

‘Time’s up!’ barked mistress Annie.

Miss Judy was by now laughing hysterically:

‘Ha! Ha! Time to guess the sock, slave!...Ha! Ha!...Guess the sock or you’ll be whipped, sock-nonce!...Ha! Ha!’

‘Well, you heard miss Judy, sock-nonce! What is your answer? What is your considered footslave-opinion as to the colour of miss Wu Ling’s socks inside her brown boots?’

Slave Patrick was visibly sweating now. He didn’t want to be strapped! How he feared the cane, the whip and the strap – especially when wielded by a woman with the strong arms of the likes of the plump and muscly mistress Annie. He could even see a tattoo on her right arm as she rolled up her sleeve in anticipation of administering a beating!

Slave Patrick wasn’t giving up hope, however! Brown boots! She had specifically reminded him that miss Wu Ling’s boots were brown! Perhaps the sweet and kind mistress Annie was giving him a clue? She must, after all, know what colour of socks miss Wu Ling has on today. They are, after all, prison cellmates!

‘Oh pray, mistress Annie, if it pleases you mistress Annie, this slave believes that his superior mistress, miss Wu Ling, may be wearing brown socks inside her beautiful , feminine boots, if it so pleases you supreme mistress Annie.’

Mistresses Wu Ling, Chrystal and Annie all smiled wryly. Miss Judy clapped her feminine hands and squealed with delight:

‘Ha! Ha! Wrong! …Ha! Ha! ..Oh…Oh…you’re wrong slave! …Ha! Ha!...you’re going to be whipped!...Oh ..Oh…Show him Wu Ling! Show him the colour of your socks!...Ha! Ha!’

Wu Ling now took control of the situation, feigning offence and annoyance at the slave’s incorrect conjecture. She bent down and slapped the stupid nonce across both his ugly cheeks:

‘Dirty slave wrong! Dirty slave unzip side of miss Wu Ling boot with mouth and look at sock!... You obey Wu Ling!...Look at colour of miss Wu Ling sock!’

Another slap from the Chinese girl’s petite, oriental hand.

Slave Patrick’s heart sank.

With a terrible sense of foreboding and slavish resignation he stretched his neck up to enable his lips to gain purchase on the zip at the top of miss Wu Ling’s right, brown leather, knee-length boot and gently and respectfully began puling down the zip with his slave teeth.

When he reached the top of her ankle bone the elasticated top of a bright, red bootsock came into view.

Damn! He should have gone with his initial instincts! Sweet feminine colour coordination! Of course! How stupid could he have been! The socks had to match the bright, red miniskirt, even if the socks weren’t on show!

Miss Judy was now on the brink of collapsing with emotion at the thought of the new footslave-nonce’s impending punishment as miss Wu Ling confirmed to mistress Annie, in her broken English, that she was indeed offended by the slave’s failure to guess the colour of her socks correctly, and that she wanted him punished.

Later that day, as he crawled along the corridor of C Wing humbly and respectfully kissing the outstretched feet and footwear of all the other female prisoners, under the supervision of the senior inmate mistress Annie and her 3 cellmates, slave Patrick, the women’s prisoner, was just grateful that even though his bare back was stinging with pain from the 50 stripes caused by mistress Annie’s harsh, brown leather punishment strap, at least his face had not been kicked in by her bright, green DMs.

He also found himself wondering whether he would be required to guess the colour of her socks inside her green Doc Marten style, calf-length boots?

If so he would guess ‘black’ – to match her black corduroy trousers and black blouse. Certainly not ‘green’ to match her boots!

Slave Patrick never made the same mistake twice!



Part 3 – Fight!

A few days passed and slave Patrick quickly learnt what it meant to be a footslave-nonce on the infamous C Wing of the women’s prison. It meant a life of routine, which quite suited him as he was nothing if not a creature of habit.

The daily routine for the women’s prisoner involved sleeping on the floor in the corridor outside mistress Annie’s (unlocked) cell every night, lest she - or her most favoured cellmates, misses Chrystal, Wu Ling or Judy – should require his foot services during the night; washing and drying the bare feet of mistress Annie and her 3 cellmates first thing in the morning whilst they breakfasted in their cell, using a bowl of warm water and a towel supplied by one of the female prison guards; putting their shoes (or boots) and socks on their feet after he had dried them; kissing the feet and footwear of all the women on the Wing on a regular basis throughout the day – both the feet of the women prisoners and of the female guards (mistress Annie insisted that the footslave-nonce on the Wing she ‘ran’ should repeatedly show his respects to all females by kissing their feet on demand – even the feet and boots of the female ‘screws’); providing socked-foot massages for the female inmates on demand; scrubbing the floors in and around the female inmates’ and guards’ feet whilst they relaxed; and just generally being at the beck and call of all the women on the Wing – since, as mistress Annie kept on reminding the nonce, all women were his betters.

To reinforce that point even further she only permitted him one meal a day consisting of the leftovers from her prison meals which she obliged him to eat from a bowl in which she placed her dirty, sweaty, bare feet at the end of the day. Mistress Annie told slave Patrick he should feel privileged that she was adding salt to the otherwise bland and cold prison-meal leftovers – the salt from her sweaty feet.

Slave Patrick also, for he was a quick learner, soon got to understand the prison hierarchy. At the top was mistress Annie, the convicted male-slave trafficker who ran the Wing and had the respect of her fellow, female inmates and her female gaolers alike, due to the nature of her crime. Then there was goddess-mistress prison governess Shabnam – the young, Pakistani woman who was nominally in charge of the prison, not that she often ventured onto C Wing. Then there were the other female inmates, although mistresses Chrystal, Judy and Wu Ling had to be afforded priority attention being the immediate cellmates of the aforementioned chief prisoner, mistress Annie. Then came the senior-ranking female prison guards, followed by the junior-ranking female prison guards. And finally, bottom of the pile because he was the only male in the prison, and was a slave to boot (or rather of boots!) was slave Patrick himself – the footslave nonce.

Slave Patrick liked the prison hierarchy. He liked order and knowing his place. And the unofficial ‘hierarchy’ made it easier for him to prioritise his foot-servitude when it came to the competing demands of the various women. Mistress Annie’s orders were, needless to say, sacrosanct. Whatever mistress Annie ordered him to do he had to do instantly and without question – even if it would have meant disobeying an instruction from the Pakistani prison governess, miss Shabnam, herself (unlikely given that nobody, not even the prison governess, would seek to interfere with mistress Annie’s desires and wishes).

Similarly, if a female inmate ordered him to kiss her dirty, black ankle boots at the same time that a prison wardress ordered him to kiss the toe of her uniform-issue, navy blue pump, he would have to give priority to the female inmate’s boots – for he was there, primarily, to serve the women prisoners.

If two female guards wanted their navy blue shoes kissed or licked clean at the same time he would prioritise them according to their rank or, if they were both of similar rank, according to their age – the youngest first (for in the Gynarchy of Barbaria beauty is prized above age).

All of that was perfectly clear and straightforward. The difficulty came in deciding who to give priority attention to when there were competing demands amongst the female inmates (apart from mistress Annie, of course). He had worked out that misses Chrystal, Wu Ling and Judy had priority over the other inmates due to their status as mistress Annie’s cellmates. But the other female inmates all regarded themselves as being equally deserving of the footslave-nonce’s humble services to their feet and footwear, and fights and arguments amongst the women often ensued.

The worst dispute came, however, just three days into the unfortunate slave Patrick’s new life sentence as a female prisoners’ nonce, and was between misses Judy and Chrystal – two of the privileged cellmates of mistress Annie herself.

The latter was absent in town doing some shopping on day release (mistress Annie was granted day release on demand) and, sadly for footslave-nonce Patrick was therefore unavailable to adjudicate. But the dispute flared up whilst slave Patrick was diligently licking the soles of the black girl, prisoner-miss Chrystal’s, dirty, white sneakers as she was sitting on the edge of her bunk bed in her cell grooming her long, braided, dyed-red hair whilst admiring her pretty features in a hand mirror.

Slave Patrick was doing his utmost to remove and savour the precious dirt from the thick, female sneaker-sole treads, for the beautiful and kindly miss Chrystal had just come back from her afternoon stroll in the exercise yard - and tasting the fresh, moist mud from the prison lawn on the soles of the lady prisoners’ shoes was now one of the pathetic highlights of slave Patrick’s day since he was never allowed outside in the fresh air himself. If he couldn’t smell and taste the fresh air, at least he could smell and taste fresh, female-prisoner shoe-mud!

Miss Judy – mistress Annie’s somewhat immature and impetuous white cell-mate, suddenly stormed into the cell demanding slave Patrick’s immediate attention:

‘You there…nonce!... Straighten my socks!’

Miss Judy’s right foot, shod in its ubiquitous, soft black leather ballet flat (miss Judy didn’t seem to possess any other pairs of shoes or boots) was now extended towards the kneeling slave Patrick as he attended to the soles of miss Chrystal’s dirty, white prison sneakers with his slave tongue. The top of miss Judy’s plain, black ankle sock on her arrogantly outstretched right foot was clearly twisted at the top, and undeniably required straightening, as did the top of her left sock, but slave Patrick was now in something of a quandary.

It was, of course, undeniably his job to straighten a female inmate’s socks. She couldn’t reasonably be expected to do it herself – not when there was a footslave-nonce on the Wing for that very purpose! It was therefore a perfectly reasonable order from a superior female prisoner to an inferior male slave. But slave Patrick was already preoccupied with licking clean the soles of miss Chrystal’s dirty, white sneakers. Should he interrupt his sneaker-licking duties to attend to the impulsive and petulant miss Judy’s creased, black ankle socks, or continue to lick away the delicious, fresh mud from the sole of her black cellmate miss Chrystal’s shoe?

Without mistress Annie to adjudicate, slave Patrick was at a loss as to what to do. His inferior and inadequate male brain stalled, and he had to stop licking miss Chrystal’s sneaker-sole whilst he deliberated internally on what to do.

This pleased no-one – least of all miss Chrystal. Thankfully for slave Patrick, however, miss Chrystal was a strong young woman and made the decision for him:

‘Carry on licking my sneakers, nonce!’

Slave Patrick duly carried on licking miss Chrystal’s prison shoe-mud.

He flinched as miss Judy suddenly kicked him in the bare ribs with her scrunched up, black-socked toes inside her soft, black leather, ballet-flat:

‘I SAID – STRAIGHTEN MY SOCKS, NONCE!’ she screamed at the top of her voice, unaccustomed to being so blatantly disobeyed by a footslave-nonce.

‘Leave him alone, Judy,’ said miss Chrystal calmly but firmly, still grooming her long, braided, red hair in her hand mirror. ‘He’s licking the filth off my sneakers!’

Miss Judy wasn’t having any of it:

‘Oh!...Oh!...But I want him to straighten the top of my black ankle socks!....They’re all creased!...Oh!...Oh!...He’s my footslave too, Chrystal!....Miss Annie says so!’

Miss Judy kicked slave Patrick again in the ribs – probably hurting her own sweet, feminine delicate toes inside her soft, un-protective ballet flats every bit as much as she hurt the nonce!

‘I said – leave him alone, Judy!’ repeated miss Chrystal, this time putting down her hand mirror and staring her cellmate Judy in the eye. ‘He can straighten your socks after he’s finished cleaning my sneakers!’

Slave Patrick had an ominous feeling of impending fireworks.

‘Oh!...Oh!... But I want my socks straightened NOW!’ miss Judy screamed at her cellmate Chrystal.

The latter now rose to her feet, interrupting slave Patrick’s sneaker-sole licking, and squared up to her petulant cellmate miss Judy. Miss Chrystal was much taller and physically stronger looking than her physically petite and somewhat scrawny white cellmate, but that wasn’t going to stop the impulsive and quick-tempered miss Judy from having a go:

‘BITCH!’ she shouted, making a grab for miss Chrystal’s braided, red hair, and the next thing slave Patrick knew was that the two young women had started laying into each other – biting, scratching, kicking, screaming!

The other female prisoners on the Wing quickly gathered round the cell door, cheering, laughing and jeering:

‘Fight!...Fight!...Fight!...’

Slave Patrick just curled up into a ball in the corner of the cell and cowered like the pathetic and cowardly male wimp that he was whilst the two superior women literally fought over him!

He really didn’t deserve such female attention, for he was less than the dirt on the soles of miss Chrystal’s sneakers, and less than the sock-lint on miss Judy’s black ankle socks – white sneakers and black ankle socks which now flailed together below his eyes as the two superior young women were entwined in a girly catfight.

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, slave Patrick saw out of the corner of his cringing eye the familiar, navy-blue uniform pumps of two of the female guards as they pulled the two fighting cellmates apart. Then, standing behind them, he recognised the lightweight, silk, navy-blue trousers and matching navy-blue pumps of the Pakistani prison governess, miss Shabnam.

Even in the midst of all the female melee slave Patrick noticed that goddess-mistress prison governess Shabnam wasn’t wearing any socks or stockings inside her navy-blue, uniform pumps, and he pathetically and selfishly managed to admire her soft, brown, Pakistani footflesh beneath the silk hem of her Salwar Kameez trouser leg.

Miss Shabnam was clearly angry:

‘I will not be having fighting in my prison!’ she exclaimed. ‘Officer Maria, be escorting these two prisoners to my office this instant – and be bringing the nonce also!’

Slave Patrick, still cowering on his hands and knees as always, was then unceremoniously grabbed by the ear lobe by one of the female prison guards - whom he recognised from the shape of her tan-nylon-stocking-clad calves and ankles as being the black junior-officer mistress Justina – and was led down the corridor and through some barred gates behind the now seriously creased black ankle socks of the still struggling miss Judy, the white sneakered heels of a calmer but somewhat tousled and breathless miss Chrystal, and the navy-blue, low-heeled, female prisoner-officer pumps and tan-coloured stockings of the two escorts – officer Maria, the Latina officer, and officer Justina, the black junior-officer.

Prison-governess Shabnam was following behind so slave Patrick, sadly for him, couldn’t see her soft, brown Pakistani footflesh creasing and folding inside her low-heeled, navy blue pumps as she walked along.

As soon as the party of 5 women and one male footslave-nonce reached the governess’s office, slave Patrick was required to kneel behind the feet of the two lady prisoners as they stood in front of governess Shabnam’s desk.

‘So, what was this being all about, ladies? What is it that you were being fighting over?’ asked the Pakistani prison-governess in her cute Pakistani accent, but with a much more conciliatory tone than that which she had employed back at the scene of the fight.

Even miss Judy had seemingly calmed down by now – a bit! Enough, at any rate, to explain to the Pakistani prison governess what had happened:

‘Oh!....Oh!....Ma’am this dirty nonce disobeyed my order to straighten my black ankle socks, ma’am!’

Miss Shabnam leaned forward over her desk to inspect the state of prisoner Judy’s black ankle socks inside her black ballet flats.

She could see the evidence of the creasing in the prisoner’s socks for herself.

‘Is this being true, slave?’ barked goddess-mistress prison governess Shabnam down at the kneeling footslave!

The still terribly naïve women’s prisoner, slave Patrick, was somewhat nonplussed! Why was the governess shouting at him and interrogating him? He had not been the one fighting! Why wasn’t the all-powerful governess asking miss Chrystal what had happened?

Slave Patrick stared at the backs of miss Chrystal’s dirty, white sneakers – the sneakers he had been so diligently licking clean on her express orders. Tell the governess, miss Chrystal! Tell her! Tell her I couldn’t obey miss Judy’s order to straighten her socks because I was busy obeying your order to lick clean the soles of your sneakers!

Oh poor, innocent, footslave-nonce Patrick! Do you really think that miss Chrystal is going to ‘grass’ on her fellow, female inmate? Ha! Ha!

‘Answer governess Shabnam!’ barked the Latina prison-officer mistress Maria, suddenly kicking slave Patrick in his bare, exposed ribs which were already feeling tender from the earlier kicks of miss Judy.

It was slowly dawning on the dim-witted slave Patrick that miss Chrystal was not about to say anything in his defence, and he had to answer the prison governess himself.

Of course, he couldn’t exactly ‘speak up’ for himself. He was just a male slave – and a male slave can offer no defence against an accusation by a superior, female mistress. The truth was that he had disobeyed miss Judy by ignoring her righteous order to straighten her black ankle socks - even if he had only done so on the orders of her cellmate, miss Chrystal.

Be that as it may, he was the disobedient one, and as a bondslave he was duty bound to tell the truth:

‘Yes, goddess-mistress prison governess Shabnam, if it pleases you sweet and kind goddess-mistress prison governess Shabnam. This dirty, insolent slave regrets to have to inform you that he did indeed disobey an order from the most respected prisoner-mistress Judy to straighten the tops of her black ankle socks, if it so pleases you most merciful prison-governess mistress Shabnam.’

As the kneeling slave Patrick hung his head in shame behind the backs of miss Judy’s black ballet-flatted and miss Chrystal’s white-sneakered feet, he observed how the latter reached down to scratch the side of her pink and grey tracksuit-bottomed leg, thereby temporarily revealing a tiny slither of feminine, black sneaker sock under the hem of her right trouser-leg – as if to rub in the fact that he was clearly about to be punished for her fighting with her black-ballet-flatted and black-ankle-socked female cellmate.

Oh what it is to be at the capricious mercy of two, young, black-socked women!

Yet it was the unsocked Pakistani prison governess Shabnam who pronounced her just judgement and sentence upon him:

‘I will not be tolerating disobedience in a footslave-nonce in this prison! You shall be being severely caned in the punishment room at the feet of both these female prisoners and their nominated representatives! I hereby am sentencing you to a total of 20 lashes of the cane on your bare buttocks! … Officers, please be taking the impudent slave down to the punishment cell!’

And with that slave Patrick was again unceremoniously grabbed by the ear lobe by the tan-coloured, nylon-stockinged, black junior officer mistress Justina, and was led on his hands and knees out of the prison governess’s office down towards the punishment cell in the very bowels of the women’s prison.

No female prisoner ever entered the punishment cell – except to witness the punishment of a male slave. The Gynarchy of Barbaria did not sanction the physical chastisement of women! Whipping boys, however, were commonplace – punished in their superior mistresses’ stead. And that, effectively, was what was about to happen to the footslave-nonce, slave Patrick. He was to be caned for disobeying one superior, female prisoner’s orders on the orders of another superior, female prisoner – thereby causing a fight.

What’s wrong about that? Slave Patrick deserves all he gets. Disobedient slaves must be made an example of!

He would have to wait 3 long days for the actual caning to be administered, however, for misses Judy and Chrystal each had to first nominate a representative to share their enjoyment of the footslave’s corporal punishment. It was the law! A wronged woman in the Gynarchy of Barbaria must always have the support of a female ‘buddy’ whilst witnessing the physical chastisement of the male slave who has insulted or disobeyed her.

Mistress Chrystal eventually nominated her 19 year old cousin, miss Kendra, who was over on an extended visit from her home country of Barbados. Miss Judy, who didn’t have any friends or family, had to nominate the prison’s duty solicitor, miss Kapoor who, coincidentally like prison-governess Shabnam, was of Pakistani origins.

And so the day of the footslave-nonce’s caning arrived and his solitary-confinement punishment cell door was suddenly opened for the first time in 3 days; the cell light was switched on for the first time in 3 days; and, as he rubbed his startled eyes to try and rid them of the temporary blindness caused by the sudden bright light, the hapless, hungry, thirsty and disorientated slave
Patrick observed the legs and footwear of a delegation of eight young women entering his cell:

The unmistakable lightweight, blue silk, salwar kameez trousers and navy-blue, low-heeled pumps on bare, brown feet of the Pakistani prison-governess miss Shabnam – the all-powerful female who had sentenced him to the caning and would now direct the proceedings;

Two pairs of navy blue pumps on tan-stocking coloured legs under the navy blue, knee-length, uniform skirts of two of the female prison guards – officer-mistress Maria, the Latina officer, and junior-officer mistress Justina, the black officer (the latter, he noted, was carrying a nasty looking, dark brown-coloured, rattan punishment cane!);

The bright red, shiny patent leather, high-heeled pumps on her bare, veiny white feet of the white coated, female prison doctor;

The ubiquitous scruffy, plain white sneakers and grey and pink tracksuit bottoms of the black inmate with the long, dyed red, braided hair - miss Chrystal (slave Patrick couldn’t detect whether miss Chrystal was wearing any socks under her tracksuit bottoms and inside he sneakers – but he had never yet known her not to);

The equally now familiar soft, black leather ballet flats and creased, black ankle socks of miss Judy - the somewhat scrawny white inmate (how nice of her to wear the same pair of socks he had so obscenely offended against by failing to straighten them some three days previously);

A pair of smart, shiny black, patent leather, spike-heeled courts on a pair of shapely, dark nylon-stockinged legs under a below-the-knee black skirt (these, he would later discover, belonged to miss Judy’s representative at the punishment session - her legal-aid, duty solicitor, miss Kapoor);

And finally the black, wedge-heeled, chunky, lace-up, buffalo-style sneakers with strawberry-motifed red and pink ankle socks of a very short-skirted black girl (whom slave Patrick would later learn to be miss Chrystal’s representative and cousin, 19 year old miss Kendra from Barbados).

Eight eager and excited young women, one hapless and vulnerable male footslave-nonce, and one whippy, prison punishment cane. It could all mean only one thing – impending female pleasure and male pain!

Slave Patrick, the punishee, was secured naked by the two female prison guards over a wooden trestle in the centre of the punishment cell. A chair was then placed in front of his bent-over body for each official female ‘witness’ to sit on in turn as his punishment progressed. There were four such official witnesses – the two aggrieved inmates, misses Chrystal and Judy, and their respective outside representatives, misses Kendra and Kapoor.

5 stinging strokes of the cane, wielded in turn by prison-officer mistresses Justina and Maria, at the feet of each of the 4 official witnesses, with governess-mistress Shabnam, and the female prison doctor, watching over proceedings from the sidelines.

The latter had first to declare the male prisoner ‘fit to be whipped’. Slave Patrick had little choice but to watch the blue veins in the female prison doctor’s white, veiny feet pulsate as she manually inspected his slave-buttocks, ensuring they were in a fit condition to take the impending onslaught from the prison cane.

To every one’s relief she declared that the male prisoner was fit for the cane. Even slave Patrick was relieved for he very much wanted to get his punishment over and done with. He knew it would only be deferred if he was declared unfit by the good lady doctor. The corporal punishment of a slave was never cancelled or even commuted!

And so the first official witness to the punishment, miss Judy, was invited by the governess, miss Shabnam, to take up her seat directly in front of the prostrate-over-the-punishment-trestle, about-to-be-caned slave. He now had a close-up view of the black, feminine ankle socks whom he had offended some 3 days ago by not straightening on demand (at least, he assumed mistress-inmate Judy would be wearing the same socks – probably unwashed and untouched since the fateful day in question, for mistress Judy was like that) as she rested her black ballet-flatted feet side by side on the floor directly under his hanging nose.

As he became aware, out of the corner of his eye, of junior officer mistress Justina’s navy blue pumps and tan-coloured nylon stockings positioning themselves behind his bare behind, with the fearsome-looking, dark brown wooden, punishment cane dangling from her pretty, black hand, slave Patrick braced himself for the impending pain by focussing on mistress Judy’s creased socks.

He had been caned at the feet of superior women often enough in the outside world to know that it was the only way to help alleviate some of the dreadful, stinging pain. Focus your slave mind on a young woman’s feet and footwear. Submerge yourself mentally in the very fabric of her cotton socks. Imagine yourself as a pathetic, little mini-man completely immersed in the soft, protective fabric of the young woman’s sock material which will protect you from the pain, for you are no longer naked and exposed. You are covered and protected by young woman sock!

Swish…Crack!

Wrong! He did not feel immersed in sock and protected. He felt only immersed in pain!

‘One!’ declared goddess-mistress prison-governess Shabnam in a jubilant, sing-song, Pakistani voice.

Mistress Judy’s socks and feet raised up temporarily off the ground as she clapped her hands in glee and laughed:

‘Ha! Ha! ..Oh!...Oh yes!...Look at the stripe on his bare bottom, everybody!...Oh yes!...Pain! …Ha! Ha!’

Miss Judy always found male slaves’ pain funny, mainly because she knew she herself as a female citizen of the Gynarchy of Barbaria, even a convicted criminal female citizen, would never have to experience the sharp, unforgiving sting of the cane. She was, in that sense, completely above the law!

Her feet rested on the ground once more awaiting the slave’s second stroke at the fair, black hands of the punishment-cane wielding junior-officer mistress Justina.

Slave Patrick preferred to count the creases in miss Judy’s black ankle socks rather than the strokes of the cane. He left the latter to prison-governess miss Shabnam.

He was also required, however, to kiss miss Judy’s feet five times each after the five stinging cuts he received whilst bent over her feet, by way of an abject apology to her for the distress he had caused her by failing to obey her order to straighten the tops of her crooked, black ankle socks. He made a point of kissing her actual socks since it was they he had offended.

Miss Judy, for her part, could have sat there all day witnessing the footslave-nonce being caned and having her pretty black ankle socks kissed by him, but, sadly for her, all too soon she had to make way for her official fellow-witness and representative, the duty solicitor miss Kapoor, to take her place seated in front of the slave undergoing corporal punishment.

During the next five agonising strokes of the cane - which were delivered by the somewhat bony-legged, nylon-stockinged, Latina prison-officer mistress, miss Maria - slave Patrick had the honour of counting the tiny creases and folds in the dark nylon stockings around the shapely brown, Pakistani anklebones of the duty, female solicitor’s shiny-black stilettoed feet, which she rested somewhat coyly at an angle side by side on the floor beneath the trussed up footslave’s bowed head. Slave Patrick was sure he could see the Pakistani female solicitor’s pretty foot muscles spasm inside her finest denier nylon stockings, right along both her shapely nylon-stocking-clad insteps, in time to the cuts of the cane – almost as though her compassionate, feminine feet were flinching in sympathy with his pain.

Or was it in pleasure at his pain?

Slave Patrick’s only regret was that the duty solicitor’s fellow-countrywoman, goddess-mistress prison governess Shabnam – would not be sitting directly in front of him during the caning as an official witness , so that he could count the wrinkles and folds in her bare, brown Pakistani footflesh inside her navy-blue pumps. However, when he kissed each of miss Kapoor’s shiny, black, pointy-toed, court shoes five times by way of thanking her for witnessing his punishment on behalf of her client, miss Judy, he symbolically kissed the feet of all superior Pakistani women - his beautiful Asian goddesses and betters.

Next up was miss Chrystal. As soon as she sat down and stretched out her dirty white-sneakered feet under his nose, slave Patrick could see the elasticated tops of a pair of short, black, below the ankle-bone, sneaker socks. He speculated that miss Chrystal had worn black socks in sympathy for the slighted black ankle socks of her cellmate miss Judy. Or perhaps miss Chrystal had just thought that black socks were more appropriate for such a solemn occasion as a slave-beating, rather than brightly coloured, ‘happy’ socks.

Then again, it was only a solemn occasion for the beaten slave. For everyone else it was a joyous occasion. A fun day out at the prison – especially for the likes of miss Chrystal’s, eagerly waiting in the wings, 19 year old cousin, miss Kendra, with her pink and red strawberry themed socks!

Whatever miss Chrystal’s motives in wearing short, black ankle socks inside her dirty, white sneakers, if indeed she had an ulterior motive, slave Patrick was just grateful to her. It meant he could concentrate on the fascinating contrast between the dirty, white of her sneaker tops, the black elasticated stitching of the tops of her sneaker socks, and the soft, smooth brownness of her bare ankle-skin – all below the zip-up hems of her ubiquitous pink and grey tracksuit bottoms.

After strokes 10 to15 of the cane, ably delivered once again by the tan-stockinged and navy-blue pumped junior prison officer-mistress Justina, slave Patrick made a point of kissing the elasticated tops of miss Chrystal’s shot, black sneaker socks five times each – by way of thanking her for not defending his actions in front of the governess and for not grassing on her fellow, female inmate, miss Judy.

And so, the final witness, miss Chrystal’s Barbadian cousin, 19 year old miss Kendra, finally took up her position in the witness’s chair. Such pretty, colourful ankle socks compared to the two previous pairs of black socks and the pair of dark nylons he had hitherto witnessed close-up beneath his pain-wracked brain – even if the colourful, strawberry themed socks were largely hidden inside the chunky, black and dusty sneakers.

Street dust! Young woman shoe-dust and shoe-dirt direct from the dirty streets outside! What an honour – what a privilege, for an incarcerated male footslave in a women’s prison to be able to stare at such dust and dirt on a young black woman’s black, buffalo-style sneakers whilst he is being caned!

Whilst the Pakistani prison governess-mistress Shabnam counted the final 5 truly dreadful cuts of the cane to his by now well-striped, exposed buttocks, each cut expertly and resolutely delivered by the bow-legged and bony-ankled Latina officer-mistress Maria, slave Patrick counted the strawberries on the exposed tops of miss Kendra’s Barbadian socks, and tried to work out how many strawberries there might be in total on the young woman’s socks inside her chunky, heavy, Buffalo sneakers.

As he subsequently kissed the strawberries on her socks, he felt as though he was kissing the socks of a delightful representative of not just her prisoner-cousin miss Chrystal, but of all superior Barbadian women – his beautiful Caribbean goddesses and betters.

And so the punishment was over, and the 8 ladies exited his cell and switched off the light, leaving him alone once again , but this time still bent over the wooden punishment trestle, with only his pain, and the memory of his tormentresses’ pretty feet and footwear, for company.

He had learnt another valuable lesson. The footslave-nonce must be able to serve two mistresses at once, even when each of those mistresses wishes to have him exclusively to herself.



Part 4 – Please Release Me!

The days passed and his wounds gradually healed.

Then the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months. Slave Patrick became acclimatised to his new role as the women’s prisoner-nonce on the infamous C Wing. Be it ever so humble, it became his home.

And it was a home through which passed a succession of women – new inmates replacing outgoing prisoners as their, mainly short, custodial sentences ran their course.

Indeed, slave Patrick, by default, became something of an expert on the Gynarchy of Barbaria’s sentencing policies. Some convicted female criminals were detained for as little as 20 minutes for crimes such as theft and burglary, if that theft or burglary was from a free man. Theft or burglary from a free woman naturally carried a much heavier sentence – anything up to 2 days.

There was, of course, no such thing as a crime against a male slave, least of all theft or burglary from a slave since a slave didn’t own anything – not even his own puny, male body!

Slave Patrick even became emotionally attached to some of the longer-serving inmates. It was inevitable. He was, after all, only a weak-willed man at the end of the day, and living in close proximity as he was to the soft, feminine feet and footwear of superior, attractive young women it was inevitable that he would form one-sided, emotional attachments to them. For he was weak, and needed their pretty, feminine feet and footwear as a reason for his continued pathetic, miserable existence.

He therefore got to know every little ingrained stain in each woman-prisoner’s sneakers or boots; each and every secret little mole, corn or bunion on their bare feet; their individual foot smells. He literally got to know the women prisoners’ socks inside out!

It was right and proper that he should do so for he was a footslave-nonce!

Such male-slave-to-female-foot attachments, however, did make parting all the more difficult when the time came for a favourite inmate to be released.

Take, for example, the release of miss Wu Ling – the Chinese inmate who had initially been housed in mistress Annie’s cell but now, approaching the end of her sentence, had a cell all to herself. She had been moved partly because of her bad behaviour. Wu Ling, largely because of language and cultural barriers, had actually found it quite difficult to fit in with the other female prisoners, and had consequently developed a somewhat undeserved reputation for being a ‘stuck up cow’.

Slave Patrick thought he knew mistress Wu Ling better than that, however. She was not ‘stuck up’ – just aware of her own self-worth. Indeed, he felt some considerable sympathy towards her (even if it was a sympathy that was not reciprocated) as he didn’t really regard her as a criminal at all. Her ‘crime’ had been to enter Barbaria illegally without a passport – but she had done so purely in order to seek a better life as a young woman. Wu Ling wanted to seek political asylum in the Gynarchy – to live in a country for free women where she could have her own male slave. What was wrong with that?

Nothing! Even the authorities, who had been obliged to sentence her to three months in prison, had arranged for her to be granted political asylum – and a personal footslave – upon her release. They would most definitely not be deporting her back to China.

And so, for Wu Ling, the three month prison sentence had actually been a price well worth paying for illegal entry – free board and lodging pending arrangements for her assimilation into the wider, female community, and a place where she could practice and hone her slave-mistress skills on the prison footslave-nonce. Which is perhaps why slave Patrick had come to admire miss Wu Ling so much. She treated him like dirt!

It was with great sadness, therefore, that slave Patrick crawled towards mistress Wu Ling’s isolation cell for the last time on the morning of her impending release from custody. He was, of course, pleased for miss Wu Ling that she was getting out of this place and that all her dreams were about to come true. But selfishly, he was sad for himself. He would miss her oriental feet, shoes, boots and socks.

She was sitting on the edge of her bunk bed as usual, with her right leg crossed over her left, but this time the difference was that her tiny suitcase was packed with all her belongings as she awaited the female guards to come and escort her to the Reception Room for her formal release from custody to be processed.

Slave Patrick thought miss Wu Ling looked resplendent as always in her favourite pair of brown leather, square-toed, block-heeled, zip up, knee length boots. He admired even more the sight of the elasticated tops of her black, knee-length socks peeking out over the tops of her brown, knee-length boots, for he knew that the soles of those seemingly attractive black kneesocks were actually quite thin and worn in one or two places, and the thought that this fact was his and miss Wu Ling’s little ‘sock secret’ tickled him.

As usual miss Wu Ling was preening herself in her compact mirror, beautifying herself in preparation for life in the outside world once again, for she fully intended finding a free man as a boyfriend or husband, as well as purchasing a slave-man as a footslave with the vouchers given to her by the State on her release. She hardly gave the footslave-nonce a second glance – even though he had crawled all the way down to her dell just to say his slavish goodbyes to her, for miss Wu ling rightfully despised the footslave-nonce every bit as much as he rightfully admired her feminine superiority. As far as miss Wu Ling was concerned the nonce had served his purpose. She had used him and abused him over the past few months to hone her slave-mistress skills, and now that she was leaving the prison, and he was not, he was of no further interest or use to her.

Even the indifferent miss Wu ling, however, couldn’t resist barking one final order down at him in her cute and curt Chinese accent:

‘Sock-nonce kiss top of Wu Ling sock. Worship sock! Beg Wu Ling sock not leave him!’ she teased whilst still preening her eyelashes in the compact mirror.

Slave Patrick, the said sock-nonce, needed no such encouragement to beg miss Wu Ling’s socks not to abandon him in the prison. He even, pathetically, found himself wondering whether, if he begged miss Wu Ling’s black knee socks hard enough, she might agree to take them off and leave them with him as a memento of her stay!

He raised his sock-nonce lips to the elasticated top of miss Wu Ling’s right sock just below her shapely, right, Chinese kneecap which was crossed over her left kneecap and, as she continued to preen her eyebrows in her compact mirror, preened the top of her black kneesock.

He also addressed the sock directly, as ordered by mistress Wu Ling, since the wearer of the sock was evidently much too busy to talk to him herself:

‘Oh pray mistress Wu Ling’s black knee-sock, if it pleases you mistress Wu Ling’s black kneesock, this dirty sock-nonce implores you not to leave this prison with your most beautiful and esteemed mistress. Please remain with me here, mistress Wu Ling’s sock, that I may smell your mistress on you after she is gone from this place, if it so pleases you sweet and superior mistress Wu Ling’s black kneesock!’

Mistress Wu Ling’s knowledge of English had greatly improved during her three month sojourn in the Women’s Prison, and she appreciated the slavish ridiculousness of the slave nonce’s pathetic, obsequious pleading to her black kneesock all the more because of that.

She also felt confident enough in her newly acquired linguistic abilities to act as her black kneesock’s English interpreter:

‘Ha! Ha! Miss Wu Ling sock say slave a dirty sock-whore. Sock say slave not worthy keep sock. Sock want go with miss Wu Ling and be with miss Wu Ling feet on outside. Ha! Ha! Sock say slave stay in here and rot!’

And so sock-nonce Patrick’s hopes were dashed by an arrogant Chinese girl’s black kneesock, which condemned him to rot away in prison whilst it continued to grace the precious Chinese foot and leg of miss Wu Ling in the freedom of the outside world.

Slave Patrick sobbed quietly into the creases and folds at the top of miss Wu Ling’s right kneesock, eliciting absolutely no sympathy from either miss Wu Ling or her callous, black kneesock.

His cringingly awful self-pity was soon interrupted by the arrival of the familiar navy-blue uniform pumps and tan-coloured stockings of miss Justina, the black junior prison-officer receptionist, and the dark nylon stockings and pointy-toed, shiny black leather, stiletto-heeled shoes of the prison’s Pakistani, duty solicitor, miss Kapoor. Both young women laughed at the sight of the prison footslave-nonce blubbering into the elasticated top of the Chinese girl’s black, knee-length bootsock:

‘Ha! Ha! I am thinking that the footslave-nonce is being sorry to be seeing that miss Wu Ling is going,’ opined the perceptive Pakistani female duty solicitor, miss Kapoor.

‘Ha! Ha! Yes! Nonce beg Wu Ling sock not leave him, but Wu Ling sock say nonce go to hell! Ha! Ha!’ replied miss Wu Ling gleefully.

Condemned to hell by a Chinese girl’s black kneesock! Slave Patrick realised just how far he had fallen in life!

‘Ha! Ha! Your sock is being quite right to condemn him, Wu Ling, for I am making damn well sure the nonce is never being released from this prison!’ miss Kapoor, the duty solicitor, assured miss Wu Ling, and her sock.

Nice to have a duty solicitor on your side, thought slave Patrick to himself! The more he had encountered miss Kapoor, the more he had come to realise that her dark, nylon-stocking covered foot muscles had not been flexing in sympathy with the blows of the cane to his bare buttocks during his dreadful session in the punishment cell those several months ago, but with pleasure and delight at his suffering.

Miss Kapoor then sat down beside miss Wu Ling on the bed and put her arm around the Chinese girl:

‘You are being ready for release into the outside world, Wu Ling? You have been being told of what will be happening next?’

‘Hah! Yes! Prison governess miss Shabnam explain all to Wu Ling yesterday…she explain car will take Wu Ling to new home in apartment in town centre…then Wu Ling use prison vouchers to buy food and new slave…Prison governess give Wu Ling directions to slave market…Ha! Ha! Wu Ling buy strong, handsome slave – not like ugly footslave-nonce. Ha! Ha!’

Miss Kapoor laughed cruelly along with the soon to be released inmate:

‘Ha! Ha! Yes, I am thinking that there are being many better-looking slaves in the market. The nonce is being particularly old and ugly!’

Slave Patrick was 31 years old, but then miss Wu Ling was only 20 years old and miss Kapoor herself had just turned 21. Besides, prison life as a footslave-nonce had aged slave Patrick. He now looked in his forties!

He stopped nuzzling the top of miss Wu Ling’s black kneesock and respectfully lowered his head over the top of the duty solicitor miss Kapoor’s dark nylon-stockinged, shiny black leather, high-heeled feet, kissing the pointy toe of her right shoe as a gesture of his respect for her contempt for him.

Again, her nylon-covered, Pakistani instep flexed under the touch of his slave lips on her pointy, patent-leather toecap:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave want see ugly reflection in toe of miss Kapoor shoe!’ commented miss Wu Ling, seemingly not at all offended that he had unilaterally decided to stop nuzzling the top of he right kneesock.

‘Ha! Ha! Be kissing my other shoe, nonce, and be blessing me for seeing to it that you are never being released from this horrible place!’

Slave Patrick obeyed the junior, Pakistani duty solicitor who reminded him of the prison governess goddess-mistress Shabnam with her cute, Pakistani accent.

It was an accent which, cute or otherwise, brooked no disobedience!

He immediately and obediently kissed the pointy toe of the Pakistani female duty solicitor’s left, patent black leather, high-heeled shoe as the black junior guard miss Justina, and the about-to-be-released Chinese female prisoner miss Wu Ling, looked happily on. The inferior, white, male slave was kneeling at the feet of three beautiful representatives of superior, ethnic women the world over.

It was a beautiful and touching scene.

But all good things must come to an end, and without any further ado, or any further teasing and humiliation of the footslave-nonce, the party of three women and prison-footslave headed off to the Reception Area, with the latter crawling pinefully and wistfully behind the brown leather, knee-length boots of the soon to be liberated miss Wu Ling.

He stared at those familiar, chunky block-heeled, Chinese boots for one last time – the boots that made the petite Chinese girl’s dainty feet look so much bigger and powerful than they actually were. He thought also about her well-worn black socks inside her boots, and wasn’t at all distracted by either the shapely tan-stocking covered ankles of the black, junior-officer mistress Justina, or the dark nylon covered ankles of the beautiful, Pakistani duty solicitor, miss Kapoor.

A further pair of Pakistani-female feet were awaiting the foot-nonce’s gaze as the quartet entered the Reception Area – they were the unmistakable feet of the prison governess goddess-mistress Shabnam, who was clad as ever in her ethnic uniform of pink headscarf, and salwar kameez outfit consisting of navy blue jacket, crisp, white blouse, knee-length navy blue skirt, and lightweight, silk, navy-blue trousers with low-heeled, navy blue pumps. Today was also a ‘black socks day’ for the prison governess. Normally she wore her navy blue pumps on her bare, brown Pakistani feet, but on particularly cold days (and it was now midwinter) she liked to wear black ankle socks inside her navy-blue pumps – not to give the sock-nonce a cheap thrill, but merely to keep her pretty, soft, Pakistani feet warm!

Speaking of black socks, goddess-mistress prison governess Shabnam noticed how the crawling footslave-nonce’s gaze was adoringly fixated on the backs of miss Wu Ling’s brown knee length boots and black kneesocks:

‘Ha! Ha! I am seeing that the nonce is admiring your boots and socks for the last time, Wu Ling?’ remarked the Pakistani prison governess.

‘Ha! Ha! Yes – nonce adore Wu Ling socks. Beg Wu ling socks not leave, but Wu Ling socks tell nonce get stuffed!’ replied the Chinese releasee in almost impeccable, vernacular English.

‘Ha! Ha! Perhaps your black ankle socks can be comforting him, cousin Shabnam!’ exclaimed the Pakistani duty solicitor, miss Kapoor.

Cousin Shabnam! So miss Kapoor is the prison governess’s cousin! No wonder each of the two Pakistani women reminded the footslave-nonce of the other one! And slave Patrick thought it was nice to know that miss Kapoor had probably not earned her role as the prison duty solicitor through any innate ability, but rather purely because she was the cousin of the prison governess!

Able and intelligent or not, he was certainly grateful to miss Kapoor for her suggestion to her prison-governess cousin that she comfort him with her black, Pakistani ankle socks!

‘Ha! Ha! I will be thinking about this, cousin Kapoor. Perhaps I will be letting the nonce sniff my dirty socks when I am being finished with wearing them later this evening!...’

Oh pray goddess-mistress Shabnam!...Yes please, goddess-mistress prison governess Shabnam, thought the sock insatiable slave Patrick to himself!

The prison governess, however, quickly turned her attentions to the formalities in hand - the release of miss Wu Ling back into the wider Female Community:

‘…Miss Wu Ling, thank you for being complying with the sentence of the Court, and for being remaining in prison all this time. Your sentence of 3 months is now being completed, and it is with great pleasure that I am hereby ordering your release back into the community. My driver, officer Angela, will be conveying you to your new apartment in the town centre, and will be helping you to unpack. I am also being arranging for a female social worker to be assisting you with assimilating into our community, and to be helping you in the purchase of a personal footslave. I am hoping that you will very much be enjoying your new life in our country, and that you will be wishing to stay in the Gynarchy permanently. Welcome to freedom and to life as a free woman in Barbaria, miss Wu Ling!’

The assembled prison staff them all spontaneously applauded miss Wu Ling as prison governess Shabnam kissed her on the side of the cheek.

The naturally shy and retiring miss Wu Ling thought she ought to say something. Slave Patrick stared at the creases and folds in the heels of her brown, leather block-heeled knee length boots as she spoke:

‘Thank you, governess Shabnam. Wu Ling grateful for all help given by nice, female prison staff to Wu ling, and for finding Wu Ling separate cell. Wu Ling look forward to being free woman in free country, and to having own male slave. Wu Ling thank everybody!’

There was another round of applause as each and every female prison guard present took turns to embrace Wu Ling and congratulate her on her release.

For his part, slave Patrick ached to embrace miss Wu Ling’s boots one more time, but Wu Ling had already forgotten about him and had no desire or need to say good bye to him. He was just a ‘thing’ who had served her feet and footwear whilst she had been in prison, and now she had her vouchers from the prison authorities to get a new ‘thing’ – a new footslave to serve her feet.

Slave Patrick envied the slave who would get to serve those Chinese boots and socks!

But, the big consolation of prison life is that the prison population is always changing, and no sooner had miss Wu Ling left the Reception Area - the recently promoted officer Angela helping to carry her suitcase to the car - than the prison van pulled up with a new female inmate, a feisty-looking, young, tattooed white woman in her early twenties who was wearing a shiny, white, cheap-looking shell-suit with equally cheap-looking, dirty, white ankle socks and white trainers.

She may have been dressed in virginal white, but miss Stacey was far from innocent. She had just been found guilty of sleeping with a male slave – a real no-no in the Gynarchy of Barbaria – slaveophilia! No wonder, then, that she had been sentenced to 6 months’ imprisonment and ‘sexual re-education’.

Heaven only knows what the male slave in question had been sentenced to!

Miss Stacey immediately eyed up the kneeling male footslave nonce and licked her lips in a seemingly predatory manner, much to the amusement of the prison governess, miss Shabnam, who, along with the other prison staff present, was well aware of what miss Stacey had been sent down for:

‘Now! Now! Please do not be looking at the footslave nonce in such a manner, prisoner Stacey!’ exhorted miss Shabnam. ‘He is not for you to be playing around with! He is only to be being used for the kissing of the superior women’s feet and footwear, not for the sexual encounters!’

Everyone present laughed – apart, of course, from the footslave nonce himself. He was just scared – scared of the evident voracious sexual appetite of the newly arrived inmate, miss Stacey, who he feared might seek to take away his footslave virginity!

Miss Stacey spoke herself for the first time:

‘Ha! Ha! Don’t worry, guv’nor! He’s too pig-ugly, innit? I mean, who in their right mind would wanna sleep wit’ that?!’

Again there was raucous laughter from all the female prison officials present, all of whom were instantly warming to the charismatic miss Stacey – in spite of the shocking nature of her crime!

‘Ha! Ha! Nonce…be kissing the feet of our newly arrived guest, miss Stacey, and be thanking her for finding you sexually repulsive!’ ordered goddess-mistress prison governess Shabnam.

And so slave Patrick, the prison footslave-nonce, once again found himself kissing the dirty, sneakered feet of a newly arrived inmate by way of welcoming her to the prison and seeking to put her at he ease:

‘Welcome, miss Stacey. This footslave-nonce is grateful to the mistress for finding him sexually repulsive, and for undertaking to never lie down with him, if it so pleases you sweet and kind mistress Stacey.’

As he kissed the top of her dirty, white sneaker he noticed the dirty, grey stains on the sides of her white ankle socks beneath her shiny, white shell suit bottoms. He made up his mind that he would offer to suck those dirty, grey stains out of miss Stacey’s socks just as soon as she was settled into her cell.

Slave Patrick, you see, had already forgotten about miss Wu Ling’s pretty, black kneesocks. He could be so fickle like that!

Everyone laughed at the vulnerable male slave’s evident relief that the sexually voracious young woman evidently found him so physically repulsive that not even she, a convicted sex-offendress, could possibly contemplate ‘lying down’ with him! Kissing her dirty, white sneakers, and sucking her dirty grey-white ankle socks, was the closest slave Patrick was ever going to get to a sexual relationship with prisoner-mistress Stacey – or with any female in the women’s prison for that matter!

For that was all that he was – a pathetic women’s prisoner, footlick and sock-nonce.

Let’s leave him to rot where he belongs - inside the women’s prison!

The End