A Footslave's Reminiscences
90 year old Albert, one of the last surviving former-footslaves, was being interviewed by 21 year old Amelia – a student of history at the ‘Young Ladies’ and Gentlemen’s College of Central Barbaria’ (‘YL&GCCB’) in the Democratic Republic of Barbaria.
She was interviewing him as part of her dissertation on ‘Male Slavery in the former Gynarchy of Barbaria’, and felt it was a real privilege to hear first hand, from a real-life former slave, just what it was like to be a male slave in the once female-dominated State. This was so much more interesting than merely reading about the former male-slavery days in dusty, old books, or looking at old film and video of those times. And Amelia was determined to extract as much information as she possibly could from the old man in order to get a grade ‘A’ for her dissertation, which she desperately needed in order to qualify to be a teacher of Barbarian history – her chosen career.
Amelia, a very slim and studious-looking young, white woman with long, rather unkempt, blonde hair, tied back in a pretty ponytail, and wearing thick black-rimmed spectacles on her slightly pointy nose, was sitting opposite Albert in the main room of his bedsit, recording everything he said on her digital voice recorder, whilst simultaneously jotting down handwritten notes in her notebook which was resting on her blue-denim-jeans-covered knees.
Albert had also made her a nice cup of tea, which she was sipping out of politeness, although she didn’t really like tea. Amelia preferred natural fruit juices.
Amelia found that she had to speak up a bit, as Albert was a trifle deaf, although his mind and his memory were clearly just as sharp as ever:
‘So, Albert, how long were you a slave for?’ asked the young, bespectacled woman.
‘Oh, nigh on 25 years, miss – from the age of 21 until 46 when the emancipation occurred.’
Amelia, at first, found it somewhat disconcerting that Albert insisted on calling her ‘miss’. She had told him several times already to just call her by her first name, but he seemed intent on using the term ‘miss’. Such a sweet, old man! She supposed, on reflection, that it wasn’t that surprising he would have some sort of residual respect for women as being his ‘betters’, having spent so much of his life on his hands and knees as a humble footslave!
‘I see…and how did you come to be enslaved, Albert?’
'Well, miss, back in the day all young men had to decide, when they reached the age of 21, whether or not they wanted to live as free men, or as slaves. It was one of the laws of the Gynarchy…I chose slavery, miss.’
‘Mmm…why? I mean, why would any man have wanted to live as a slave to women?’ asked Amelia, with genuine incredulity at the old ways.
Former slave Albert couldn’t help chuckling to himself at the sweet, young woman’s wide-eyed incredulity. She was a very attractive young woman, he thought to himself. (Amelia was, actually, quite a plain-looking girl, but when you’re 90 years old, and your eyesight is beginning to fail, any woman under 60 looks incredibly attractive!)
‘Well, miss – some men are just born to be submissive towards women. I guess it’s just in their physiological and psychological make-up. It’s in their genes, as a scientist would say. That’s why living in the Gynarchy was such a privilege for a man like me – I could live my life the way nature intended for me: on my knees at the feet of superior, beautiful young women like yourself!’
Amelia giggled and blushed at the old man’s flattery. Nobody had ever described her as ‘beautiful’ before – not even her current boyfriend Robert. More to the point, she just couldn’t imagine a man kneeling at her feet, let alone a 90 year old man! Certainly none of the young men she knew, her fellow students at YL&GCCB, let alone Robert, would ever dream of kneeling at her feet – except, perhaps (if she was lucky) to propose marriage to her some day!
Not that any man, including Robert, had shown any signs of proposing to her yet!
Speaking of her feet, she swivelled her right, black-and-pink sneakered foot somewhat nervously in the air as she sat with her right leg crossed over her left, as befits a modest and studious young bespectacled woman. Amelia was very self-conscious about her feet, as she thought they were quite bony and ugly (which, if truth be told, they were). For that reason she nearly always wore sneakers and socks, except during the height of summer, when she opted for socks and sandals. Ironically, of course, her ‘socks and sandals’ approach only served to heighten her overall appearance of young-womanly ‘nerdiness’!
If she would only smarten herself up Amelia would have actually been quite a pretty girl!
Not that the former footslave Albert regarded young miss Amelia as in any way ‘nerdy’ or ‘plain’. He was just admiring how the elasticated top of her short, white sneaker-sock creased and folded as she self-consciously flexed her right, foot muscles underneath her sock. He only wished his eyes were sharper so that he could make out the pattern of the stitching in her socks.
Damned cataracts!
‘Ahem…so…er…tell me how you met your mistress of 25 years…mistress Virginia, wasn’t it?’ continued miss Amelia.
Now it was Albert’s turn to blush and feel uncomfortable. He always felt uncomfortable talking about his beloved former mistress Virginia in the past tense, as he so wished she was still alive and he was still her slave. But mistress Virginia, he happened to know, had actually passed away many years ago now. She had died ‘young’ (in her late fifties) and stayed pretty, as they say. Black women always look good – even in their fifties!
‘Yes, miss…that’s correct, miss. Mistress Virginia was my owner for the whole 25 years of my enslavement…’ he responded wistfully. ‘She bought me at auction on the very day of her 21st birthday, miss, shortly after I graduated at much the same age from the Footslave Training Academy...’
Amelia interrupted him:
‘Ha! Ha! Footslave Training Academy?!...You mean, you actually had to undergo training as a humble footslave?’
Oh yes, miss. Once a young man decided to choose a life of slavery, he then had to decide which type of slave he wanted to be. The Gynarchy provided all types of training courses for prospective male slaves: personal body slaves; personal footslaves; public footslaves; even plain, common-or-garden work slaves!’
‘I see…and you chose to train as a lady’s personal footslave?’
Albert blushed even more:
‘Erm...well, actually no miss. I had aspirations of being a young woman’s personal body slave. But I was considered too ugly and incompetent to be a personal body slave, and I soon had to drop out of that particular course, so I had to be transferred onto the intensive, six month training course for personal footslaves instead…’
‘Oh!..I’m sorry..’
‘Oh, don’t be sorry, miss! I was just a very arrogant young man with ideas way above my station, and things turned out just fine in the end ...I found my niche.’
‘Mmm…anyway, we digress, Albert! You were telling me about your mistress Virginia?’
Former slave Albert sipped on his cup of tea and looked somewhat wistful again:
‘Oh yes, miss…my mistress Virginia. I can remember seeing her for the first time like it was just yesterday! She was a stunning, young, Afro-Caribbean woman. It was enslavement at first sight, you might say!’
Albert chuckled to himself at his ‘witty’ remark. Amelia just smiled politely as she continued writing her notes.
‘…Yes, there I was kneeling on the Footslave Auction Block…hardly daring to look out into the crowd of women onlookers lest I catch the eye of an unattractive mistress and she end up buying me!...And then, I heard a young black woman’s distinctive, Jamaican accent shouting out a bid for me...$250 I think it was – her opening bid. By the time she had gone up to $500 I knew she must be serious about buying me, and so I dared to look up into the crowd and saw this vision of Afro-Caribbean beauty standing tall and proud in the crowd… long, dark, braided, black hair…a bright, intelligent face…casually dressed rather like you are now miss in jeans and a T shirt…and chewing on gum, as she smiled cruelly and possessively up at me on the Auction Block…I knew instantly she was the one, miss…my future mistress and owner…I knew I was going to spend the rest of my life as the personal footslave of this beautiful, arrogant, young black woman! Or, at least, that’s what I hoped!’
Amelia smiled to herself. This old man was so sweet! He clearly had nothing but affectionate memories of his black, Jamaican mistress, mistress Virginia. Amelia wanted to know more about her:
‘What kind of woman was she, Albert? I mean…did she treat you well, or was she cruel towards you?’
Albert, who in his elderly mind was still staring down at his beautiful new, smiling black mistress from his kneeling position on the Auction Block all those years ago, answered the wiry, studious-looking, bespectacled young, white, history student, miss Amelia, in a dreamy tone:
‘Oh miss, from the moment I was led down on my hands and knees from the Auction Block to kiss my new, black owner’s feet, I knew she was a young woman who had to be obeyed. I knew she was ‘all that’, as you young people like to put it!... I can even remember exactly what she was wearing that fateful day, miss – black, calf-length, low-heeled, leather boots over black, denim jeans. They were truly beautiful boots, miss - the calf-length, black boots of a superior and dominant, young black woman. I remember they were smooth over her feet and toes, and that the toes were nice and rounded, yet the boot leather was all creased and folded from the ankles upwards. They were zipless, pull-on boots, and filled out my new mistress’s shapely calves and shins so sweetly, even over her black, denim jeans.
Oh how her calf-length boots seemed to tower above me as I knelt in the dirt at her booted feet on the floor of the Auction Room for the first time, conscious of how she was still slapping noisily on her chewing gum as she looked confidently down at me – her new footslave - chewing nervously on the dirt and dust on the lower parts of her shiny, black leather boots! It was only when I had started kissing her boots that I noticed the scuff marks on the leather of the smooth, rounded toes. Oh how she must have despised me, at the moment, miss – for she now owned me, body and soul, and I was being forced to lick the scuffed leather on the toecaps of her calf-length boots! I was her slave – her personal footslave! And she could do whatever she damn well liked with me!... And she knew it!...We both did...For that was the law!’
‘And what did she do with you, Albert?’ interjected Amelia, furiously trying to write down his words verbatim even though she was also digitally recording the evident passion in his elderly voice.
‘Well, miss, she immediately snapped a wooden slave collar around my neck, attached a chain to it, the other end of which was attached to a leather belt around her pretty waist…informed me that I was now her personal footslave and that I was to remain on my hands and knees and stare at her feet at all times... and then triumphantly led me on my hands and knees behind her dusty, booted heels, through the crowds of congratulatory women in the Slave Market, towards her smart, red, open-topped sports car. She then conveyed me home, with me lying on my stomach in the front passenger seat, forced to stare at the creases and folds in her black, leather, calf-length boots as she pumped the pedals and drove us towards her home on the outskirts of the capital, still sucking away on her chewing gum.’
‘And how were you feeling at this time, Albert? How did you feel as you were being forced to stare at the dirty boots of your glamorous new owner whilst she drove you to her home? Were you frightened? Excited? Nervous?’
‘You know miss…I was all of those things. But, I remember that the thing I was most concerned about was whether or not my new, black mistress was wearing any socks inside her boots! It’s a curious thing, miss, but for a new footslave such details are important – for I knew that just as soon as my feisty, new, black owner got me home she would almost certainly command me to kneel in front of her whilst she sat down in a comfortable armchair, pull off her boots, and smell her feet. It was the customary way for a new mistress to ensure that a newly-purchased footslave ‘got the scent of her feet’ at the earliest opportunity. The trainers at the Footslave Training Academy had explained that all to us.
So, as I knelt at my new mistress’s boots in the car, I knew that I would soon be required to sniff and smell her feet inside her boots, and all I could think of was “will I be smelling her socked feet or her bare feet? Or will my mistress be wearing nylons inside her boots and under her jeans? Will her feet smell sweaty? Or fragrant?”...Those were the thoughts that were preoccupying my pathetic slave-brain as we drove along in the car, miss!’ declared former footslave Albert, seemingly quite proud of his pathetic, footslavish wretchedness.
Amelia stifled a girlish giggle. She wondered whether Albert may be speculating as to how her white-socked feet smelt inside her black and pink sneakers at that precise moment in time.
He was.
‘And was your new mistress wearing socks inside her boots?’
Albert sighed contentedly:
‘Yes, miss – plain, thick, light grey bootsocks, and when I received my order to sniff them, just as soon as we entered my mistress Virginia’s home and I had pulled her boots off her pretty feet, they truly stank, for my new mistress, I later found out, had deliberately been wearing those same, grey socks for three whole days inside her boots prior to attending the slave Auction – just to give her new footslave, whoever he may be, the full scent of her feet!’
Amelia could now barely contain her chuckles. She found it highly amusing that so many years on this sad, lonely, old man could have such vivid memories of his young, black mistress’s dirty, and by all accounts, sweaty plain grey bootsocks! How pathetic! The more the interview with the old man went on, the more Amelia found herself despising him. This old man had been a young, black woman’s personal footslave – forced to sniff her sweaty, plain grey bootsocks! He had been nothing but a superior, young black woman’s sock-sniffer, but was proud of it! How pathetic was that?
But Amelia retained her detached, professional, dignified air as best she could:
‘And what did she do to you after she made you sniff her bootsocks?’
‘Well, miss, she branded me with my new slave-name.’
‘She branded you?!’
‘Yes, miss...on my upper arm…’, and with that Albert nonchalantly rolled up his sleeve to reveal the word “Virginiasslave" tattooed in indelible ink on his wrinkly, upper, right arm.
‘Oh I see – it was a tattoo – not a brand!’ exclaimed miss Amelia, seemingly relieved that the slave’s name had not actually been painfully burnt into his flesh by his new mistress. She increasingly despised him. But she didn’t hate him!
‘Yes, miss, but I remember it didn’t half hurt, and it took all of an hour for her to do it!’
‘Ha! Ha! “Virginiasslave” – that’s because personal slaves were named after their mistresses, right?’
‘That’s correct miss. If I had been your personal slave, for example, I would have been branded as “Ameliasslave”!’
Amelia blushed again and looked somewhat coy. Imagine tattooing your name onto your boyfriend’s arm – marking him forever as your property – Amelia’s slave!’ Amelia had a sudden vision of her current on-off boyfriend, Robert, bearing her mark of ownership on his bare, much younger upper arm!
Something stirred deep within her – something primeval. Or just evil?
She pulled herself together:
‘Okay, so your new mistress had made you sniff her sweaty bootsocks and had “branded” you with your new slave name. What happened next, Albert?’
‘Well, miss, my mistress Virginia then made me kneel and kiss her socked feet whilst she explained to me in more detail, in her sexy, Caribbean accent, all my various conditions of servitude: that I was never to get up off my hands and knees; that I was to keep my slave-head permanently bowed and staring at her superior feet; that I was to humbly follow her to heel everywhere she went; that I was to mouth-wash her dirty socks and tights and tongue-polish her dirty shoes and boots; that I was to sleep with her dirty socks in my mouth and over my nose; that I was to pedicure her bare feet with my mouth; that I was not to speak unless spoken to, and then was only to employ humble slave-speak; and that I was to be subject to the punishment of the cane and the whip. My new mistress Virginia then gave me a sample of the whip across my bare, kneeling back and shoulders – just to give me a taste of her power and authority over me!’
‘Really? She whipped you straight away? And how did that feel? How did it feel to be whipped for the first time by your new mistress, and before you had even had a chance to do anything wrong?’
Amelia’s ears had genuinely pricked up at this point. She had been born and raised in the Democratic Republic of Barbaria to believe that male slavery was wrong, but she had always been fascinated by the idea of whipping a man, of seeing him writhe and flail under the sting of the cruel, biting lash!
‘Oh miss, my mistress Virginia sure knew how to handle a whip! My God did it sting! I was in shock and awe, miss Amelia! I had never before experienced such pain as I did that day at the sweet, feminine hands of my new mistress - not even at the Footslave Training Academy where we were whipped daily by the female trainers to prepare us for our lives of pain and suffering! Oh miss Amelia, the pain of miss Virginia’s whip was so great that it was all I could do to nuzzle my mistress’s socks after she had finished with my introductory whipping - 20 hard lashes in all!’
Amelia, the outwardly studious and respectable, bespectacled young woman, licked her lips:
‘And what sort of whip did she use on you?’ she enquired, seemingly now quite breathless with excitement at all the talk of whipping.
‘It was just a standard slave-whip miss – a single-tailed, brown, cowhide whip. But boy did it sting! It really made me realise that I was truly at the mercy of an all-powerful, black goddess, and, I tell you, I’m not ashamed to say it miss, I kissed my mistress Virginia’s socks and begged her for mercy, miss!’
Amelia thought that former slave Albert should feel ashamed – for it must be a shameful thing for a man to be broken by a young black woman’s whip to the point where he feels compelled to kiss and nuzzle and whine into her sweaty, grey, three day old bootsocks!
‘And were you tied up whilst she was whipping you?’ asked miss Amelia, anxious to record all the technical details so that she could get a clear picture of the slave-whipping in her mind.
‘Yes miss – on my knees – tied to a short, wooden whipping post in mistress Virginia’s back yard, with my arms secured above my head so that my bare back was fully exposed to the whip. It was customary for footslaves to be whipped on their knees – not just because a footslave should never be allowed to stand, but because it enabled the mistress to gain greater purchase with the leather whip on the slave’s bare back as she brought the lash down upon him from on high, as it were.’
‘So you were naked whilst you were tied to the whipping post?’
‘Not quite miss – semi-naked. We male slaves always wore our white, slave shorts – as well as whatever collars, manacles and chains that our respective mistresses chose to put on us. My own mistress just had me neck-collared. She wasn’t one for manacles or leg-irons!’
‘So would you say your mistress Virginia was a kindly mistress, then?’
‘Oh yes miss. As mistresses go she was extremely kind and generous to her slave. Even in that first day she had been kind enough to give me her foot and sock scent; to brand me; to lay down my terms and conditions of service; and to acclimatise me to the sting of her whip. My mistress Virginia was nothing if not kind and considerate towards her personal footslave.’
At first, Amelia thought Albert was being sarcastic, but then quickly realised that he wasn’t. He was genuinely grateful to his mistress Virginia for ‘branding’ him, whipping him, and making him sniff and kiss her dirty socks on that first day of his enslavement to her!
‘You mentioned that your mistress insisted you use humble slave-speak, Albert. Can you give me an example of slave-speak?’
‘Oh yes, miss. I still speak it fluently – even though I’ve been a free man since the fall of the Gynarchy more than 40 years ago now!...Let’s say, for example, you wanted me to verbally worship your socks and sneakers, miss Amelia. You might say to me: “Slave, fawn and pay court to my shoes and socks!...’
Amelia blushed again. She could well imagine herself whipping a man; but ordering a man to ‘fawn and pay court’ to her shoes and socks?! What was that all about?
Undaunted by her incredulous silence, Albert continued with his exposition of humble slave-speak:
‘…so, I would then obediently kiss and lick your sneakers and socks whilst saying something like this:
“Oh pray, sweet mistress Amelia, if it pleases you sweet and powerful mistress Amelia, this dirty footslave truly admires your pretty, feminine sneakers and socks, if it so pleases you goddess-mistress Amelia. This slave yearns to lick the dirt from the pink heels of your well-worn sneakers, and to absolve the black uppers of your precious sneakers from any dirt. Oh pray, mistress Amelia, this dirty, no-good sockslave aches to pay homage to your most precious and beautiful, white sneaker-socks inside your pretty, feminine sneakers, that he may better appreciate the essence of the sweet, young mistress’s foot, if it so pleases you sweet and kind, superior, feminine mistress, miss Amelia.”
Although Albert wasn’t actually down on his hands and knees kissing and licking her sneakers and socks, Amelia was sufficiently moved by his verbal obsequiousness to clap her thin, wiry hands almost by way of an impromptu round of applause for his slave-speak soliloquy to her scruffy, casual, student-girl footwear.
‘Ha! Ha! It makes you sound like such a wimp, Albert!’
‘Yes miss, as it pleases you miss’ responded Albert in semi slave-speak.
‘And did you really have to grovel like that all the time whenever you spoke?’
‘Yes, miss. It became second nature to me – just as barking down orders at me became second nature to my superior mistress Virginia!’
‘Ha! Ha! What sort of orders?’
‘Oh...well…things like…”Slave, nuzzle my socks”…Or…”Slave, lick my boots”…Or…’Slave, extract my toe-jam”…Or…”Slave, nose my socks”...’
‘Ha! Ha! I’ve read about slaves having to “nuzzle” their mistresses’ socks; I know that means they used to have to bury their noses in the creases and folds of their mistress’s socks whilst she was still wearing them and whine and sniff like an affectionate puppy dog! But what’s “nosing” their socks? How would you “nose” my socks as opposed to “nuzzling” them, Albert?’
‘Well, miss…”nosing” means tracing the tip of your slave-nose right down the stitching of the mistress’s sock from top to bottom…or at least down as far as the top of her shoe if she is wearing shoes…inhaling audibly through your nose whilst you do so…it’s a kind of elaborate and ritualistic way of sniffing your mistress’s socks, especially in public or in front of others. Very degrading; very humiliating, I have to say!’
‘Why’s that? Why is it more humiliating or degrading than “nuzzling” her socks, for example? Surely there’s nothing more pathetic than seeing and hearing a slave whining pathetically like an animal into his mistress’s socks?!’
‘Well, it’s a good question miss!... I suppose it’s that sense that the mistress is controlling exactly how you pay homage to her socks as you “nose” them. She is dictating very exactly and precisely how you are to sniff her socks – by making you run your nose right down the groove in the stitching, which is more humiliating the longer the sock.
I mean, there is nothing to my mind that is more humiliating than having to trace your nose all the way down the thick groove in the ribbed stitching of your mistress’s kneesock, which she has probably been wearing inside her knee-length boot all day, starting from the most prestigious and least smelly part of her sock – the elasticated top – all the way down to the least prestigious and smelliest part of her sock – the part covering her toes (assuming, of course, that she is in her bare-socked feet at the time); only to then have to return your nose back up to the elasticated top of her sock and repeat the humiliating process again and again, audibly sniffing your way down each and every groove in the stitching of her kneesock, usually whilst being watched and mocked by your mistress’s friends, and whilst she herself is arrogantly and noisily slapping on her ever-present chewing gum, until such time as your black mistress is satisfied that you have paid your proper, public respects to her superior socks.
I suppose what I’m saying, miss, is that you are much less in control of your own actions when you have to “nose” a pair of socks as opposed to “nuzzling” them. When you “nuzzle” you have the relative freedom of burying your slave-nose wherever you like in the creases and folds of your mistress’s sock. But “nosing” is much more precise. I for one, in any case, always found “nosing” mistress Virginia’s calf or knee length socks much more humiliating than “nuzzling” them.’
‘And can you “nose” short sneaker socks like mine too, or do they have to be knee or calf length socks?’ enquired the curious miss Amelia.
Former footslave and expert ladies’ sockslave Albert enlightened her:
‘Oh yes, miss. Even ankle socks can be “nosed” – although I have to admit a mistress was much more likely to order her ankle socks to be “nuzzled”, especially if she still had her shoes on. Would you like me to demonstrate the difference between “nosing” and “nuzzling” on your pretty, white ankle socks, miss?’
Amelia baulked at the idea of making this elderly man kneel down in front of her ‘ugly’ pink and black sneakered feet in order to make him ‘nose’ or ‘nuzzle’ the tops of her short, plain white sneaker-socks. She became quite charmingly defensive:
‘Oh no, Albert! That’s quite alright. I don’t expect you to do that! As you said, it would be so humiliating for you!’
‘It’s quite alright, miss. It would equally be my privilege!’
‘No! No! Really, Albert. We must press on with the interview, if you don’t mind?’ responded miss Amelia, coyly tucking her sneakered and socked feet underneath her out of ‘harm’s’ way.
‘As you wish, miss,’ responded Albert disappointedly, but still in a manner well accustomed to submitting to the wishes and whims of superior, young women.
‘So what other duties did you have to perform for your mistress Virginia – apart from “nosing” or “nuzzling” her socks?’
‘Oh well, miss, perhaps it would help if I explained a typical daily routine in my mistress’s household.
I slept on my back on the floor by the side of her bed, usually with a pair of her dirty, worn socks resting on top of my face – or rather one stinky sock covering my nose; the other inside my mouth. My mistress Virginia liked me to taste and smell her footsweat from the previous day throughout the night.
As soon as she awoke in the morning she would swing her feet out of the bed and sit on the edge with her bare, black feet resting on my bare stomach. You could say, therefore, that my first task every morning was to act as my mistress’s human footrest.
Soon, however, I could expect the order to remove her previous day’s dirty socks from my mouth and face, and to get up on my hands and knees in order to pay my respects to her bare feet by kissing them. I always very much enjoyed these first, respectful kisses of the day to my black mistress’s bare feet, as it was often the last time I would get to see them bare until she retired to bed again late in the evening, and because I was also specifically tasked with licking away and swallowing any flakes of dead footskin and toe-jam that had accumulated on her bare feet overnight…’
Amelia cringed at this point. Gross! Having to swallow his mistress’s overnight dead footskin! What a loser!
‘… then my mistress would take her shower whilst I prepared a fresh pair of socks, and shoes or boots for her…’
‘How did you know which pair of socks and shoes your mistress wanted to wear that day?’ interrupted Amelia, genuinely curious to know all the day-to-day minutiae of a genuine footslave’s life of servitude with his mistress.
‘..Oh, my mistress Virginia would tell me which pairs to get ready for her before she headed off to the bathroom. But I could nearly always guess what she would want to wear on her feet, anyway. She invariably wore soft, black ballet flats with black ankle socks along with her smart, black trouser suit whenever she was going out to work, or her black, scrunched up, calf length leather boots with plain grey or black bootsocks and jeans whenever she was on a day off, although she sometimes also wore white, keds-style sneakers with white ankle socks on her days off, particularly if she was wearing a skirt instead of jeans…my mistress had great legs, but was quite modest about showing them off, especially during the daytime for some reason!...’
‘Sorry to keep interrupting, Albert, but exactly what job did your mistress Virginia do during the daytime?’
‘She was a shop-assistant, miss – in the perfumery section of a major department store…’
‘Oh, so your mistress Virginia must presumably have always smelt nice?’
‘Oh yes, miss – although, as I have already explained, I spent all of my time kneeling at her feet, so my own nostrils tended to be regaled by the smells and aromas of her feet and footwear – not always nice, perfumed smells it has to be said, but odours nevertheless befitting the nostrils of a humble footslave such as myself!’
‘And presumably you preferred it when your mistress Virginia wore her ballet flats or sneakers, so that you could see her socks inside her shoes throughout the day, as opposed to when she was wearing her calf or knee-length boots?’
Albert chuckled:
‘Yes, miss. You’re learning fast! There was no greater privilege for a humble footslave than to observe his mistress’s socks creasing and folding inside her shoes underneath the hems of her trouser or jean legs as she went about her daily business…Having said that, I always admired the creases and folds on the outsides of my mistress Virginia’s black, leather calf-length boots also! And she didn’t always wear calf or knee-length boots. Quite often she wore pretty, black , zip-up, spike-heeled ankle boots, which at least afforded me a view of the elasticated tops of her socks below the hems of her jeans legs whenever she was sat down.’
Such tiny details fascinated Amelia. This was precisely why it was so valuable to quiz one of the last remaining, living, breathing ex-slaves!
‘So, you spent most of the day crawling to heel behind, staring at, and sniffing your mistresses shoes, socks or boots?’
‘Yes, miss...that was pretty much my entire day – at least until my mistress returned home in the evening, when, if I was lucky I would be ordered to take off her shoes or boots and massage her socked feet.’
‘What, with your hands?...’
‘Sometimes – yes miss!’
‘…Only I’ve read that footslaves were sometimes required to massage their mistresses’ socked feet with their faces?’
‘Oh I see…yes, of course, miss. On occasions my mistress Virginia might well order me to face-massage her socked feet, but, to be honest I think she preferred a proper, relaxing foot massage with me gently rubbing her sweaty-socked insteps with my bare, slave hands. I think my mistress Virginia personally found that even more relaxing than having her socked feet massaged by a slave’s face, but at the end of the day it was very much up to each individual mistress exactly how a slave pampered her feet! That’s the whole point – she was the mistress and he was just the slave. Her wish was his command!’
‘And after you’d massaged your mistress’s tired, socked feet; then what?’
‘Well, then it would depend on what my mistress Virginia had planned for the evening. If she was just staying in to watch television I would kneel by the end of the couch “nosing” or ‘nuzzling” her socks, concentrating on the pattern of the stitching or the creases and folds in my mistress’s socks as appropriate, whilst she concentrated on the goings-on in her favourite soap opera.
More often than not, however, my mistress, certainly in her younger, ‘bachelorette’ days, liked to meet up with friends and go out clubbing.’
‘And what sort of footwear did she wear to go out clubbing…?’ enquired miss Amelia (who looked like the sort of girl who wouldn’t be seen dead herself in a nightclub. Albert guessed that a girl like Amelia would probably spend her nights out relaxing in the local library, or with friends at the local bookclub!) ‘...Surely your mistress wouldn’t have worn the same black, ballet flats and socks that she had been wearing to work all day when she went out clubbing in the evenings?’
‘Oh no, miss. I would have changed her into her strappy, golden, stiletto-heeled sandals by then, either worn on her shapely, bare, black feet in the summer or on a pair of dark, nylon stockings in the winter months. My mistress’s shapely, black legs, I have to say, looked stunning in finest-denier, dark nylon stockings. She got all her pairs of stockings at discounted prices in the department store where she worked – a perk of the job, I suppose!’
‘Were you really allowed to put stockings onto your mistress’s bare legs?’
Albert laughed at miss Amelia’s seeming naivety:
‘Ha! Ha! Oh no, miss, certainly not! At least, not beyond the levels of her knees. My role was restricted to carefully scrunching up the delicate, nylon stocking in my slave hands and then gently rolling it up my mistress’s bare, black shin and calf muscle as far as her pretty knee.’ (Amelia was glad she was wearing jeans at that moment as she regarded her own knees as quite knobbly!) ‘…My mistress would take over herself from the knee upwards, rolling the rest of the dark, nylon stocking onto her soft, black thigh – a thigh I never once got to touch, for I was very much her foot slave, not her leg slave! I was not permitted to so much as look at my black mistress above the knees, let alone touch her above the knees!’
‘I see. And how did you cope in the nightclubs? I mean…whilst your mistress was dancing? Did you have to follow her feet on your hands and knees around the dance-floor?’
‘Yes, miss. I had to stare at her nylon stockinged feet and ankles whilst she danced – doing my level best to humbly observe the tiny creases and folds in her dark, nylon stockings caused by the movement of her pretty, black feet – even though it was always quite dark down on the dance-floor.’
‘I can imagine…’ agreed miss Amelia. (Imagine was all Amelia could do for, as Albert had correctly surmised, the studious, bookish, bespectacled, young woman had never actually been to a nightclub herself!)
‘…but, didn’t you find the feet of all the other young women on the dance-floor a distraction?’
‘Oh yes, miss...but my mistress Virginia had me well trained. I knew that I could expect a truly terrible beating if I allowed my eyes to stray even for one second to another young woman’s feet – except, of course, when I was specifically ordered to kiss miss Virginia’s friends’ feet…’
‘Oh, she made you kiss her friends’ feet too?’
‘Oh yes, miss – all her female friends’ and relatives’ feet. My mistress was forever making me pay my humble, slavish respects to the feet of all her female acquaintances. I think she liked “showing me off” - especially in front of her friends - as most of her female friends during her ‘clubbing’ days were still at college and couldn’t afford a personal footslave of their own. So they liked to use me instead, and, with my mistress’s blessing, I often had to lick and tongue-polish the boots, sneakers, shoes and spike-heeled, strappy sandals of other young women of my mistress’s age!’
‘And nose their socks?’ asked miss Amelia, half tongue-in-cheek!
‘Indeed, miss. I have nosed lots of different girls’ socks over the years!’ replied Albert, pathetically proud of the fact.
‘And what about your mistress Virginia’s men-friends? I mean, she must have had men-friends too?’
‘Oh yes, miss, my mistress Virginia loved the company of free men and had many lovers over the years. In fact, that was the main reason she loved going out clubbing so much – to ‘pull’ a man!’
‘And what about you? Did you have to kiss their feet too?’
‘Oh no, miss!’ exclaimed Albert, clearly horrified by the very thought! ‘… A lady’s footslave in the Gynarchy of Barbaria was never required to kiss a man’s feet – not even a superior, free man’s feet. That would have been anathema to the principles of the Gynarchy!’
‘But you presumably had to behave respectfully towards your mistress’s male lovers – for they were, after all, free men; real men – as opposed to a girl’s footslave like you. And therefore they were regarded as your superiors and betters, were they not?’
‘Yes, miss – that’s exactly right. I had to call them ‘sir’ or ‘master’, and obey their orders – just as I obeyed my mistress Virginia’s orders. But I never had to kiss a man’s feet! Ugh!’
A shiver went down Albert’s back. For the first time he was visibly disgusted. His recollections of nosing his mistress’s sweaty, dirty grey bootsocks and swallowing her overnight, dead footskin had not disgusted him, but the very idea of kissing a man’s shoes clearly had! Amelia made a note. This was interesting stuff- the male slave’s interaction with his mistress’s male lovers. There wasn’t a lot written about this subject in any of the history books she had ever read:
‘And so, if you were literally under her feet all day and night, didn’t you get in the way when your mistress Virginia and her various male lovers wanted to make love?’
Albert now laughed:
‘Ha! Ha! Not at all miss. You see, you must remember that we slaves were very much viewed as mere objects – as ‘things’- by our superior mistresses and masters. They would quite happily make love with a footslave present in the room – although I could expect to be consigned to a corner of the bedroom with my nose buried in the sweaty and moist toe-ends of my mistress’s discarded nylon stockings and gold-coloured, strappy sandals. I would usually be under the master’s strict orders to concentrate on my mistress’s warm, freshly-worn footwear whilst he, the master, made love to her soft, supple, warm, black body.’
‘You were presumably never allowed to have sex with anyone, least of all your own mistress, yourself?’
‘Absolutely not, miss. For a humble footslave such as myself sexual intercourse was totally out of the question – and, as you say, least of all with my mistress Virginia! To be honest, the thought never even occurred to me! I mean, if I’d wanted to have a sexual relationship with a woman I wouldn’t have opted to become a slave, would I?’
‘Quite!’ responded Amelia, suddenly realising that she was speaking to a 90 year old virgin! Even the modest and bookish Amelia had lost her virginity 3 years ago at the age of 18! She felt another sudden surge of superiority vis-Ã -vis the pathetic, old, male footslave.
‘So tell me, Albert, did you never hanker to become a public footslave, as opposed to a personal footslave? I mean, it might have been more interesting for you to deal with many different strangers’ feet throughout the day in the Town Square – lots of different styles of footwear; lots of different types of shoes,boots, sandals, socks and tights to sniff and lick! Some clean; some dirty; some smelly. Would you not have preferred that to serving just one mistress all the time?’
Albert looked slightly affronted by this suggestion:
‘Oh no, miss. Public footslavery was considered much less prestigious a position than being the personal footslave of a superior, young woman! I mean, only a personal footslave could ever become intimately acquainted with the sight, feel, taste and personal smells of a superior young woman’s feet and footwear. Public footslaves basically just licked clean ladies’ outer footwear. They rarely got to smell their female customers’ socks or bare feet!...And besides, as I’ve already explained, my mistress Virginia did require me to pay homage to her friend’s feet and footwear, so I did get regular experience of other young women’s footwear!’
Amelia laughed internally at the thought of the sniffing of a lady’s sweaty, bare feet or stinky socks as being considered a ‘privilege.’
Nevertheless, during the course of her interview with the former footslave Albert she had simultaneously, and somewhat paradoxically, warmed to him as she had grown to despise him.
Indeed, she had warmed to the whole idea of male slavery!
‘Tell me Albert, do you miss your slavery days? Do you wish you were still a humble footslave?’
Albert paused for a moment and sighed:
‘Oh yes, miss. I rue the day the Gynarchy collapsed!’
‘Tell me what happened to you after the fall of the Gynarchy, Albert.’
‘Well, miss, I was nearly 47 years old when the male uprising occurred. I couldn’t believe that some do-goody women even supported the male rebels! I still think those women ‘freedom-fighters’ were a disgrace to their sex! The uprising would never have succeeded without their support. And besides, what they didn’t seem to realise was that it was the free men who were rising up against the Gynarchy – not the slaves! We were male slaves by choice! We were happy in our bondage to women. It was the free men who wanted so called “equal rights with women” - better job prospects etc! But, of course, they dressed it all up as ‘fighting for the freedom of the male slaves”. Poppycock! I didn’t want anyone fighting for my ‘freedom’. The freedom to be a woman’s slave was all I ever wanted!
But, as you know, miss, the uprising, unfortunately, succeeded; the Gynarchy of Barbaria became the “Democratic Republic of Barbaria”; and we slaves were freed against our will!’
The bitterness in Albert’s voice was palpable.
Amelia, for the first time, felt truly sorry for him:
‘And what happened to you after the emancipation, Albert?’
‘Oh, I got a job – a boring job, working in an office, alongside women, as their equal! I mean, it just wasn’t me! I’m afraid I turned to drink and ended up taking early retirement on the grounds of ill-health. My doctor (a former ex-slave himself) signed me off with depression.’
‘And your mistress Virginia? You didn’t stay with her?...I know some emancipated slaves remained in their former mistresses’ households as paid servants, for example?’
Former slave Albert now looked truly downcast:
‘No, miss. My mistress Virginia was by now settled down and married to a retired army officer from the country of her birth, Jamaica, and neither of them wanted a ‘servant’ around the house. My mistress said if she couldn’t legally beat and whip me she didn’t want to keep me. She cast me out!... I never saw her again! I heard that she died suddenly of natural causes about ten years later after she and her husband, my master, had emigrated back out to Jamaica.’
A little tear was now running down Albert’s pathetic, wizened old face.
Amelia took pity on him:
‘Albert…erm…slave Albert…would you like to kiss my feet?’ she asked.
Albert looked up at Amelia’s expectant, bespectacled face, and then looked down at her pretty pink and black, lace up sneakers and short, white ankle socks, which she had once again stretched out on the floor in front of her:
‘Oh miss…oh miss Amelia… oh yes please miss Amelia, if it would be pleasing to you, miss Amelia!’
‘That’s mistress Amelia to you, footslave!’ barked Amelia, rising to her feet as she rose to the occasion.
‘Get down on your hands and knees this instant and kiss my sneakers, slave!’ she snapped in the most masterful voice she could muster.
Slave Albert, though nowhere near as sprightly as he once was, managed to get up out of his chair and down onto his hands and knees for one last time in front of the superior, sneakered-and-socked feet of a beautiful, young woman. Miss Amelia’s right foot was now directly extended under his kneeling and humbly-bowed, wrinkly old face, as she stood imperiously above him, hands on hips, like the mistresses of the Gynarchy had routinely done back in the slavery days:
‘Thank you, mistress Amelia. God bless you, mistress Amelia…’ he spluttered as he closed his eyes and lowered his lips to the leathery top of the plain, young woman’s pink and black, lace-up sneaker.
How the memories came flooding back to him as his lips tasted young woman shoe leather! He imagined he was once again a young, twenty-something slave-man kissing the shoes of his beautiful, black mistress, mistress Virginia – she who had so callously cast him out onto the streets many years later when she was no longer permitted by law to whip him.
‘And my sock – kiss the top of my sock too!’
Miss Amelia’s sharp, young voice broke his temporary reverie, and reminded him that he was not kissing the feet of his erstwhile, black mistress, mistress Virginia, but of a representative of the new generation of young women – the generation that had never known the thrill of enslaving a submissive man.
But Amelia was experiencing it now!
As he kissed the elasticated top of the plain, bespectacled mistress Amelia’s plain, white sneaker sock, and admired her veiny, white ankle bone, slave Albert could only hope that this modern, intelligent, and self-evidently superior young woman - newly converted to the ways of female domination - might now become the catalyst for a female counter-revolution that would put men and women back in their rightful place; that would re-establish Gynochratic power in Barbaria!
Long live the Gynarchy! Long live Female Domination! Long live mistress Amelia!
And long live slave Albert, or, at least, long live his dream of a restored Gynarchy!
The End
She was interviewing him as part of her dissertation on ‘Male Slavery in the former Gynarchy of Barbaria’, and felt it was a real privilege to hear first hand, from a real-life former slave, just what it was like to be a male slave in the once female-dominated State. This was so much more interesting than merely reading about the former male-slavery days in dusty, old books, or looking at old film and video of those times. And Amelia was determined to extract as much information as she possibly could from the old man in order to get a grade ‘A’ for her dissertation, which she desperately needed in order to qualify to be a teacher of Barbarian history – her chosen career.
Amelia, a very slim and studious-looking young, white woman with long, rather unkempt, blonde hair, tied back in a pretty ponytail, and wearing thick black-rimmed spectacles on her slightly pointy nose, was sitting opposite Albert in the main room of his bedsit, recording everything he said on her digital voice recorder, whilst simultaneously jotting down handwritten notes in her notebook which was resting on her blue-denim-jeans-covered knees.
Albert had also made her a nice cup of tea, which she was sipping out of politeness, although she didn’t really like tea. Amelia preferred natural fruit juices.
Amelia found that she had to speak up a bit, as Albert was a trifle deaf, although his mind and his memory were clearly just as sharp as ever:
‘So, Albert, how long were you a slave for?’ asked the young, bespectacled woman.
‘Oh, nigh on 25 years, miss – from the age of 21 until 46 when the emancipation occurred.’
Amelia, at first, found it somewhat disconcerting that Albert insisted on calling her ‘miss’. She had told him several times already to just call her by her first name, but he seemed intent on using the term ‘miss’. Such a sweet, old man! She supposed, on reflection, that it wasn’t that surprising he would have some sort of residual respect for women as being his ‘betters’, having spent so much of his life on his hands and knees as a humble footslave!
‘I see…and how did you come to be enslaved, Albert?’
'Well, miss, back in the day all young men had to decide, when they reached the age of 21, whether or not they wanted to live as free men, or as slaves. It was one of the laws of the Gynarchy…I chose slavery, miss.’
‘Mmm…why? I mean, why would any man have wanted to live as a slave to women?’ asked Amelia, with genuine incredulity at the old ways.
Former slave Albert couldn’t help chuckling to himself at the sweet, young woman’s wide-eyed incredulity. She was a very attractive young woman, he thought to himself. (Amelia was, actually, quite a plain-looking girl, but when you’re 90 years old, and your eyesight is beginning to fail, any woman under 60 looks incredibly attractive!)
‘Well, miss – some men are just born to be submissive towards women. I guess it’s just in their physiological and psychological make-up. It’s in their genes, as a scientist would say. That’s why living in the Gynarchy was such a privilege for a man like me – I could live my life the way nature intended for me: on my knees at the feet of superior, beautiful young women like yourself!’
Amelia giggled and blushed at the old man’s flattery. Nobody had ever described her as ‘beautiful’ before – not even her current boyfriend Robert. More to the point, she just couldn’t imagine a man kneeling at her feet, let alone a 90 year old man! Certainly none of the young men she knew, her fellow students at YL&GCCB, let alone Robert, would ever dream of kneeling at her feet – except, perhaps (if she was lucky) to propose marriage to her some day!
Not that any man, including Robert, had shown any signs of proposing to her yet!
Speaking of her feet, she swivelled her right, black-and-pink sneakered foot somewhat nervously in the air as she sat with her right leg crossed over her left, as befits a modest and studious young bespectacled woman. Amelia was very self-conscious about her feet, as she thought they were quite bony and ugly (which, if truth be told, they were). For that reason she nearly always wore sneakers and socks, except during the height of summer, when she opted for socks and sandals. Ironically, of course, her ‘socks and sandals’ approach only served to heighten her overall appearance of young-womanly ‘nerdiness’!
If she would only smarten herself up Amelia would have actually been quite a pretty girl!
Not that the former footslave Albert regarded young miss Amelia as in any way ‘nerdy’ or ‘plain’. He was just admiring how the elasticated top of her short, white sneaker-sock creased and folded as she self-consciously flexed her right, foot muscles underneath her sock. He only wished his eyes were sharper so that he could make out the pattern of the stitching in her socks.
Damned cataracts!
‘Ahem…so…er…tell me how you met your mistress of 25 years…mistress Virginia, wasn’t it?’ continued miss Amelia.
Now it was Albert’s turn to blush and feel uncomfortable. He always felt uncomfortable talking about his beloved former mistress Virginia in the past tense, as he so wished she was still alive and he was still her slave. But mistress Virginia, he happened to know, had actually passed away many years ago now. She had died ‘young’ (in her late fifties) and stayed pretty, as they say. Black women always look good – even in their fifties!
‘Yes, miss…that’s correct, miss. Mistress Virginia was my owner for the whole 25 years of my enslavement…’ he responded wistfully. ‘She bought me at auction on the very day of her 21st birthday, miss, shortly after I graduated at much the same age from the Footslave Training Academy...’
Amelia interrupted him:
‘Ha! Ha! Footslave Training Academy?!...You mean, you actually had to undergo training as a humble footslave?’
Oh yes, miss. Once a young man decided to choose a life of slavery, he then had to decide which type of slave he wanted to be. The Gynarchy provided all types of training courses for prospective male slaves: personal body slaves; personal footslaves; public footslaves; even plain, common-or-garden work slaves!’
‘I see…and you chose to train as a lady’s personal footslave?’
Albert blushed even more:
‘Erm...well, actually no miss. I had aspirations of being a young woman’s personal body slave. But I was considered too ugly and incompetent to be a personal body slave, and I soon had to drop out of that particular course, so I had to be transferred onto the intensive, six month training course for personal footslaves instead…’
‘Oh!..I’m sorry..’
‘Oh, don’t be sorry, miss! I was just a very arrogant young man with ideas way above my station, and things turned out just fine in the end ...I found my niche.’
‘Mmm…anyway, we digress, Albert! You were telling me about your mistress Virginia?’
Former slave Albert sipped on his cup of tea and looked somewhat wistful again:
‘Oh yes, miss…my mistress Virginia. I can remember seeing her for the first time like it was just yesterday! She was a stunning, young, Afro-Caribbean woman. It was enslavement at first sight, you might say!’
Albert chuckled to himself at his ‘witty’ remark. Amelia just smiled politely as she continued writing her notes.
‘…Yes, there I was kneeling on the Footslave Auction Block…hardly daring to look out into the crowd of women onlookers lest I catch the eye of an unattractive mistress and she end up buying me!...And then, I heard a young black woman’s distinctive, Jamaican accent shouting out a bid for me...$250 I think it was – her opening bid. By the time she had gone up to $500 I knew she must be serious about buying me, and so I dared to look up into the crowd and saw this vision of Afro-Caribbean beauty standing tall and proud in the crowd… long, dark, braided, black hair…a bright, intelligent face…casually dressed rather like you are now miss in jeans and a T shirt…and chewing on gum, as she smiled cruelly and possessively up at me on the Auction Block…I knew instantly she was the one, miss…my future mistress and owner…I knew I was going to spend the rest of my life as the personal footslave of this beautiful, arrogant, young black woman! Or, at least, that’s what I hoped!’
Amelia smiled to herself. This old man was so sweet! He clearly had nothing but affectionate memories of his black, Jamaican mistress, mistress Virginia. Amelia wanted to know more about her:
‘What kind of woman was she, Albert? I mean…did she treat you well, or was she cruel towards you?’
Albert, who in his elderly mind was still staring down at his beautiful new, smiling black mistress from his kneeling position on the Auction Block all those years ago, answered the wiry, studious-looking, bespectacled young, white, history student, miss Amelia, in a dreamy tone:
‘Oh miss, from the moment I was led down on my hands and knees from the Auction Block to kiss my new, black owner’s feet, I knew she was a young woman who had to be obeyed. I knew she was ‘all that’, as you young people like to put it!... I can even remember exactly what she was wearing that fateful day, miss – black, calf-length, low-heeled, leather boots over black, denim jeans. They were truly beautiful boots, miss - the calf-length, black boots of a superior and dominant, young black woman. I remember they were smooth over her feet and toes, and that the toes were nice and rounded, yet the boot leather was all creased and folded from the ankles upwards. They were zipless, pull-on boots, and filled out my new mistress’s shapely calves and shins so sweetly, even over her black, denim jeans.
Oh how her calf-length boots seemed to tower above me as I knelt in the dirt at her booted feet on the floor of the Auction Room for the first time, conscious of how she was still slapping noisily on her chewing gum as she looked confidently down at me – her new footslave - chewing nervously on the dirt and dust on the lower parts of her shiny, black leather boots! It was only when I had started kissing her boots that I noticed the scuff marks on the leather of the smooth, rounded toes. Oh how she must have despised me, at the moment, miss – for she now owned me, body and soul, and I was being forced to lick the scuffed leather on the toecaps of her calf-length boots! I was her slave – her personal footslave! And she could do whatever she damn well liked with me!... And she knew it!...We both did...For that was the law!’
‘And what did she do with you, Albert?’ interjected Amelia, furiously trying to write down his words verbatim even though she was also digitally recording the evident passion in his elderly voice.
‘Well, miss, she immediately snapped a wooden slave collar around my neck, attached a chain to it, the other end of which was attached to a leather belt around her pretty waist…informed me that I was now her personal footslave and that I was to remain on my hands and knees and stare at her feet at all times... and then triumphantly led me on my hands and knees behind her dusty, booted heels, through the crowds of congratulatory women in the Slave Market, towards her smart, red, open-topped sports car. She then conveyed me home, with me lying on my stomach in the front passenger seat, forced to stare at the creases and folds in her black, leather, calf-length boots as she pumped the pedals and drove us towards her home on the outskirts of the capital, still sucking away on her chewing gum.’
‘And how were you feeling at this time, Albert? How did you feel as you were being forced to stare at the dirty boots of your glamorous new owner whilst she drove you to her home? Were you frightened? Excited? Nervous?’
‘You know miss…I was all of those things. But, I remember that the thing I was most concerned about was whether or not my new, black mistress was wearing any socks inside her boots! It’s a curious thing, miss, but for a new footslave such details are important – for I knew that just as soon as my feisty, new, black owner got me home she would almost certainly command me to kneel in front of her whilst she sat down in a comfortable armchair, pull off her boots, and smell her feet. It was the customary way for a new mistress to ensure that a newly-purchased footslave ‘got the scent of her feet’ at the earliest opportunity. The trainers at the Footslave Training Academy had explained that all to us.
So, as I knelt at my new mistress’s boots in the car, I knew that I would soon be required to sniff and smell her feet inside her boots, and all I could think of was “will I be smelling her socked feet or her bare feet? Or will my mistress be wearing nylons inside her boots and under her jeans? Will her feet smell sweaty? Or fragrant?”...Those were the thoughts that were preoccupying my pathetic slave-brain as we drove along in the car, miss!’ declared former footslave Albert, seemingly quite proud of his pathetic, footslavish wretchedness.
Amelia stifled a girlish giggle. She wondered whether Albert may be speculating as to how her white-socked feet smelt inside her black and pink sneakers at that precise moment in time.
He was.
‘And was your new mistress wearing socks inside her boots?’
Albert sighed contentedly:
‘Yes, miss – plain, thick, light grey bootsocks, and when I received my order to sniff them, just as soon as we entered my mistress Virginia’s home and I had pulled her boots off her pretty feet, they truly stank, for my new mistress, I later found out, had deliberately been wearing those same, grey socks for three whole days inside her boots prior to attending the slave Auction – just to give her new footslave, whoever he may be, the full scent of her feet!’
Amelia could now barely contain her chuckles. She found it highly amusing that so many years on this sad, lonely, old man could have such vivid memories of his young, black mistress’s dirty, and by all accounts, sweaty plain grey bootsocks! How pathetic! The more the interview with the old man went on, the more Amelia found herself despising him. This old man had been a young, black woman’s personal footslave – forced to sniff her sweaty, plain grey bootsocks! He had been nothing but a superior, young black woman’s sock-sniffer, but was proud of it! How pathetic was that?
But Amelia retained her detached, professional, dignified air as best she could:
‘And what did she do to you after she made you sniff her bootsocks?’
‘Well, miss, she branded me with my new slave-name.’
‘She branded you?!’
‘Yes, miss...on my upper arm…’, and with that Albert nonchalantly rolled up his sleeve to reveal the word “Virginiasslave" tattooed in indelible ink on his wrinkly, upper, right arm.
‘Oh I see – it was a tattoo – not a brand!’ exclaimed miss Amelia, seemingly relieved that the slave’s name had not actually been painfully burnt into his flesh by his new mistress. She increasingly despised him. But she didn’t hate him!
‘Yes, miss, but I remember it didn’t half hurt, and it took all of an hour for her to do it!’
‘Ha! Ha! “Virginiasslave” – that’s because personal slaves were named after their mistresses, right?’
‘That’s correct miss. If I had been your personal slave, for example, I would have been branded as “Ameliasslave”!’
Amelia blushed again and looked somewhat coy. Imagine tattooing your name onto your boyfriend’s arm – marking him forever as your property – Amelia’s slave!’ Amelia had a sudden vision of her current on-off boyfriend, Robert, bearing her mark of ownership on his bare, much younger upper arm!
Something stirred deep within her – something primeval. Or just evil?
She pulled herself together:
‘Okay, so your new mistress had made you sniff her sweaty bootsocks and had “branded” you with your new slave name. What happened next, Albert?’
‘Well, miss, my mistress Virginia then made me kneel and kiss her socked feet whilst she explained to me in more detail, in her sexy, Caribbean accent, all my various conditions of servitude: that I was never to get up off my hands and knees; that I was to keep my slave-head permanently bowed and staring at her superior feet; that I was to humbly follow her to heel everywhere she went; that I was to mouth-wash her dirty socks and tights and tongue-polish her dirty shoes and boots; that I was to sleep with her dirty socks in my mouth and over my nose; that I was to pedicure her bare feet with my mouth; that I was not to speak unless spoken to, and then was only to employ humble slave-speak; and that I was to be subject to the punishment of the cane and the whip. My new mistress Virginia then gave me a sample of the whip across my bare, kneeling back and shoulders – just to give me a taste of her power and authority over me!’
‘Really? She whipped you straight away? And how did that feel? How did it feel to be whipped for the first time by your new mistress, and before you had even had a chance to do anything wrong?’
Amelia’s ears had genuinely pricked up at this point. She had been born and raised in the Democratic Republic of Barbaria to believe that male slavery was wrong, but she had always been fascinated by the idea of whipping a man, of seeing him writhe and flail under the sting of the cruel, biting lash!
‘Oh miss, my mistress Virginia sure knew how to handle a whip! My God did it sting! I was in shock and awe, miss Amelia! I had never before experienced such pain as I did that day at the sweet, feminine hands of my new mistress - not even at the Footslave Training Academy where we were whipped daily by the female trainers to prepare us for our lives of pain and suffering! Oh miss Amelia, the pain of miss Virginia’s whip was so great that it was all I could do to nuzzle my mistress’s socks after she had finished with my introductory whipping - 20 hard lashes in all!’
Amelia, the outwardly studious and respectable, bespectacled young woman, licked her lips:
‘And what sort of whip did she use on you?’ she enquired, seemingly now quite breathless with excitement at all the talk of whipping.
‘It was just a standard slave-whip miss – a single-tailed, brown, cowhide whip. But boy did it sting! It really made me realise that I was truly at the mercy of an all-powerful, black goddess, and, I tell you, I’m not ashamed to say it miss, I kissed my mistress Virginia’s socks and begged her for mercy, miss!’
Amelia thought that former slave Albert should feel ashamed – for it must be a shameful thing for a man to be broken by a young black woman’s whip to the point where he feels compelled to kiss and nuzzle and whine into her sweaty, grey, three day old bootsocks!
‘And were you tied up whilst she was whipping you?’ asked miss Amelia, anxious to record all the technical details so that she could get a clear picture of the slave-whipping in her mind.
‘Yes miss – on my knees – tied to a short, wooden whipping post in mistress Virginia’s back yard, with my arms secured above my head so that my bare back was fully exposed to the whip. It was customary for footslaves to be whipped on their knees – not just because a footslave should never be allowed to stand, but because it enabled the mistress to gain greater purchase with the leather whip on the slave’s bare back as she brought the lash down upon him from on high, as it were.’
‘So you were naked whilst you were tied to the whipping post?’
‘Not quite miss – semi-naked. We male slaves always wore our white, slave shorts – as well as whatever collars, manacles and chains that our respective mistresses chose to put on us. My own mistress just had me neck-collared. She wasn’t one for manacles or leg-irons!’
‘So would you say your mistress Virginia was a kindly mistress, then?’
‘Oh yes miss. As mistresses go she was extremely kind and generous to her slave. Even in that first day she had been kind enough to give me her foot and sock scent; to brand me; to lay down my terms and conditions of service; and to acclimatise me to the sting of her whip. My mistress Virginia was nothing if not kind and considerate towards her personal footslave.’
At first, Amelia thought Albert was being sarcastic, but then quickly realised that he wasn’t. He was genuinely grateful to his mistress Virginia for ‘branding’ him, whipping him, and making him sniff and kiss her dirty socks on that first day of his enslavement to her!
‘You mentioned that your mistress insisted you use humble slave-speak, Albert. Can you give me an example of slave-speak?’
‘Oh yes, miss. I still speak it fluently – even though I’ve been a free man since the fall of the Gynarchy more than 40 years ago now!...Let’s say, for example, you wanted me to verbally worship your socks and sneakers, miss Amelia. You might say to me: “Slave, fawn and pay court to my shoes and socks!...’
Amelia blushed again. She could well imagine herself whipping a man; but ordering a man to ‘fawn and pay court’ to her shoes and socks?! What was that all about?
Undaunted by her incredulous silence, Albert continued with his exposition of humble slave-speak:
‘…so, I would then obediently kiss and lick your sneakers and socks whilst saying something like this:
“Oh pray, sweet mistress Amelia, if it pleases you sweet and powerful mistress Amelia, this dirty footslave truly admires your pretty, feminine sneakers and socks, if it so pleases you goddess-mistress Amelia. This slave yearns to lick the dirt from the pink heels of your well-worn sneakers, and to absolve the black uppers of your precious sneakers from any dirt. Oh pray, mistress Amelia, this dirty, no-good sockslave aches to pay homage to your most precious and beautiful, white sneaker-socks inside your pretty, feminine sneakers, that he may better appreciate the essence of the sweet, young mistress’s foot, if it so pleases you sweet and kind, superior, feminine mistress, miss Amelia.”
Although Albert wasn’t actually down on his hands and knees kissing and licking her sneakers and socks, Amelia was sufficiently moved by his verbal obsequiousness to clap her thin, wiry hands almost by way of an impromptu round of applause for his slave-speak soliloquy to her scruffy, casual, student-girl footwear.
‘Ha! Ha! It makes you sound like such a wimp, Albert!’
‘Yes miss, as it pleases you miss’ responded Albert in semi slave-speak.
‘And did you really have to grovel like that all the time whenever you spoke?’
‘Yes, miss. It became second nature to me – just as barking down orders at me became second nature to my superior mistress Virginia!’
‘Ha! Ha! What sort of orders?’
‘Oh...well…things like…”Slave, nuzzle my socks”…Or…”Slave, lick my boots”…Or…’Slave, extract my toe-jam”…Or…”Slave, nose my socks”...’
‘Ha! Ha! I’ve read about slaves having to “nuzzle” their mistresses’ socks; I know that means they used to have to bury their noses in the creases and folds of their mistress’s socks whilst she was still wearing them and whine and sniff like an affectionate puppy dog! But what’s “nosing” their socks? How would you “nose” my socks as opposed to “nuzzling” them, Albert?’
‘Well, miss…”nosing” means tracing the tip of your slave-nose right down the stitching of the mistress’s sock from top to bottom…or at least down as far as the top of her shoe if she is wearing shoes…inhaling audibly through your nose whilst you do so…it’s a kind of elaborate and ritualistic way of sniffing your mistress’s socks, especially in public or in front of others. Very degrading; very humiliating, I have to say!’
‘Why’s that? Why is it more humiliating or degrading than “nuzzling” her socks, for example? Surely there’s nothing more pathetic than seeing and hearing a slave whining pathetically like an animal into his mistress’s socks?!’
‘Well, it’s a good question miss!... I suppose it’s that sense that the mistress is controlling exactly how you pay homage to her socks as you “nose” them. She is dictating very exactly and precisely how you are to sniff her socks – by making you run your nose right down the groove in the stitching, which is more humiliating the longer the sock.
I mean, there is nothing to my mind that is more humiliating than having to trace your nose all the way down the thick groove in the ribbed stitching of your mistress’s kneesock, which she has probably been wearing inside her knee-length boot all day, starting from the most prestigious and least smelly part of her sock – the elasticated top – all the way down to the least prestigious and smelliest part of her sock – the part covering her toes (assuming, of course, that she is in her bare-socked feet at the time); only to then have to return your nose back up to the elasticated top of her sock and repeat the humiliating process again and again, audibly sniffing your way down each and every groove in the stitching of her kneesock, usually whilst being watched and mocked by your mistress’s friends, and whilst she herself is arrogantly and noisily slapping on her ever-present chewing gum, until such time as your black mistress is satisfied that you have paid your proper, public respects to her superior socks.
I suppose what I’m saying, miss, is that you are much less in control of your own actions when you have to “nose” a pair of socks as opposed to “nuzzling” them. When you “nuzzle” you have the relative freedom of burying your slave-nose wherever you like in the creases and folds of your mistress’s sock. But “nosing” is much more precise. I for one, in any case, always found “nosing” mistress Virginia’s calf or knee length socks much more humiliating than “nuzzling” them.’
‘And can you “nose” short sneaker socks like mine too, or do they have to be knee or calf length socks?’ enquired the curious miss Amelia.
Former footslave and expert ladies’ sockslave Albert enlightened her:
‘Oh yes, miss. Even ankle socks can be “nosed” – although I have to admit a mistress was much more likely to order her ankle socks to be “nuzzled”, especially if she still had her shoes on. Would you like me to demonstrate the difference between “nosing” and “nuzzling” on your pretty, white ankle socks, miss?’
Amelia baulked at the idea of making this elderly man kneel down in front of her ‘ugly’ pink and black sneakered feet in order to make him ‘nose’ or ‘nuzzle’ the tops of her short, plain white sneaker-socks. She became quite charmingly defensive:
‘Oh no, Albert! That’s quite alright. I don’t expect you to do that! As you said, it would be so humiliating for you!’
‘It’s quite alright, miss. It would equally be my privilege!’
‘No! No! Really, Albert. We must press on with the interview, if you don’t mind?’ responded miss Amelia, coyly tucking her sneakered and socked feet underneath her out of ‘harm’s’ way.
‘As you wish, miss,’ responded Albert disappointedly, but still in a manner well accustomed to submitting to the wishes and whims of superior, young women.
‘So what other duties did you have to perform for your mistress Virginia – apart from “nosing” or “nuzzling” her socks?’
‘Oh well, miss, perhaps it would help if I explained a typical daily routine in my mistress’s household.
I slept on my back on the floor by the side of her bed, usually with a pair of her dirty, worn socks resting on top of my face – or rather one stinky sock covering my nose; the other inside my mouth. My mistress Virginia liked me to taste and smell her footsweat from the previous day throughout the night.
As soon as she awoke in the morning she would swing her feet out of the bed and sit on the edge with her bare, black feet resting on my bare stomach. You could say, therefore, that my first task every morning was to act as my mistress’s human footrest.
Soon, however, I could expect the order to remove her previous day’s dirty socks from my mouth and face, and to get up on my hands and knees in order to pay my respects to her bare feet by kissing them. I always very much enjoyed these first, respectful kisses of the day to my black mistress’s bare feet, as it was often the last time I would get to see them bare until she retired to bed again late in the evening, and because I was also specifically tasked with licking away and swallowing any flakes of dead footskin and toe-jam that had accumulated on her bare feet overnight…’
Amelia cringed at this point. Gross! Having to swallow his mistress’s overnight dead footskin! What a loser!
‘… then my mistress would take her shower whilst I prepared a fresh pair of socks, and shoes or boots for her…’
‘How did you know which pair of socks and shoes your mistress wanted to wear that day?’ interrupted Amelia, genuinely curious to know all the day-to-day minutiae of a genuine footslave’s life of servitude with his mistress.
‘..Oh, my mistress Virginia would tell me which pairs to get ready for her before she headed off to the bathroom. But I could nearly always guess what she would want to wear on her feet, anyway. She invariably wore soft, black ballet flats with black ankle socks along with her smart, black trouser suit whenever she was going out to work, or her black, scrunched up, calf length leather boots with plain grey or black bootsocks and jeans whenever she was on a day off, although she sometimes also wore white, keds-style sneakers with white ankle socks on her days off, particularly if she was wearing a skirt instead of jeans…my mistress had great legs, but was quite modest about showing them off, especially during the daytime for some reason!...’
‘Sorry to keep interrupting, Albert, but exactly what job did your mistress Virginia do during the daytime?’
‘She was a shop-assistant, miss – in the perfumery section of a major department store…’
‘Oh, so your mistress Virginia must presumably have always smelt nice?’
‘Oh yes, miss – although, as I have already explained, I spent all of my time kneeling at her feet, so my own nostrils tended to be regaled by the smells and aromas of her feet and footwear – not always nice, perfumed smells it has to be said, but odours nevertheless befitting the nostrils of a humble footslave such as myself!’
‘And presumably you preferred it when your mistress Virginia wore her ballet flats or sneakers, so that you could see her socks inside her shoes throughout the day, as opposed to when she was wearing her calf or knee-length boots?’
Albert chuckled:
‘Yes, miss. You’re learning fast! There was no greater privilege for a humble footslave than to observe his mistress’s socks creasing and folding inside her shoes underneath the hems of her trouser or jean legs as she went about her daily business…Having said that, I always admired the creases and folds on the outsides of my mistress Virginia’s black, leather calf-length boots also! And she didn’t always wear calf or knee-length boots. Quite often she wore pretty, black , zip-up, spike-heeled ankle boots, which at least afforded me a view of the elasticated tops of her socks below the hems of her jeans legs whenever she was sat down.’
Such tiny details fascinated Amelia. This was precisely why it was so valuable to quiz one of the last remaining, living, breathing ex-slaves!
‘So, you spent most of the day crawling to heel behind, staring at, and sniffing your mistresses shoes, socks or boots?’
‘Yes, miss...that was pretty much my entire day – at least until my mistress returned home in the evening, when, if I was lucky I would be ordered to take off her shoes or boots and massage her socked feet.’
‘What, with your hands?...’
‘Sometimes – yes miss!’
‘…Only I’ve read that footslaves were sometimes required to massage their mistresses’ socked feet with their faces?’
‘Oh I see…yes, of course, miss. On occasions my mistress Virginia might well order me to face-massage her socked feet, but, to be honest I think she preferred a proper, relaxing foot massage with me gently rubbing her sweaty-socked insteps with my bare, slave hands. I think my mistress Virginia personally found that even more relaxing than having her socked feet massaged by a slave’s face, but at the end of the day it was very much up to each individual mistress exactly how a slave pampered her feet! That’s the whole point – she was the mistress and he was just the slave. Her wish was his command!’
‘And after you’d massaged your mistress’s tired, socked feet; then what?’
‘Well, then it would depend on what my mistress Virginia had planned for the evening. If she was just staying in to watch television I would kneel by the end of the couch “nosing” or ‘nuzzling” her socks, concentrating on the pattern of the stitching or the creases and folds in my mistress’s socks as appropriate, whilst she concentrated on the goings-on in her favourite soap opera.
More often than not, however, my mistress, certainly in her younger, ‘bachelorette’ days, liked to meet up with friends and go out clubbing.’
‘And what sort of footwear did she wear to go out clubbing…?’ enquired miss Amelia (who looked like the sort of girl who wouldn’t be seen dead herself in a nightclub. Albert guessed that a girl like Amelia would probably spend her nights out relaxing in the local library, or with friends at the local bookclub!) ‘...Surely your mistress wouldn’t have worn the same black, ballet flats and socks that she had been wearing to work all day when she went out clubbing in the evenings?’
‘Oh no, miss. I would have changed her into her strappy, golden, stiletto-heeled sandals by then, either worn on her shapely, bare, black feet in the summer or on a pair of dark, nylon stockings in the winter months. My mistress’s shapely, black legs, I have to say, looked stunning in finest-denier, dark nylon stockings. She got all her pairs of stockings at discounted prices in the department store where she worked – a perk of the job, I suppose!’
‘Were you really allowed to put stockings onto your mistress’s bare legs?’
Albert laughed at miss Amelia’s seeming naivety:
‘Ha! Ha! Oh no, miss, certainly not! At least, not beyond the levels of her knees. My role was restricted to carefully scrunching up the delicate, nylon stocking in my slave hands and then gently rolling it up my mistress’s bare, black shin and calf muscle as far as her pretty knee.’ (Amelia was glad she was wearing jeans at that moment as she regarded her own knees as quite knobbly!) ‘…My mistress would take over herself from the knee upwards, rolling the rest of the dark, nylon stocking onto her soft, black thigh – a thigh I never once got to touch, for I was very much her foot slave, not her leg slave! I was not permitted to so much as look at my black mistress above the knees, let alone touch her above the knees!’
‘I see. And how did you cope in the nightclubs? I mean…whilst your mistress was dancing? Did you have to follow her feet on your hands and knees around the dance-floor?’
‘Yes, miss. I had to stare at her nylon stockinged feet and ankles whilst she danced – doing my level best to humbly observe the tiny creases and folds in her dark, nylon stockings caused by the movement of her pretty, black feet – even though it was always quite dark down on the dance-floor.’
‘I can imagine…’ agreed miss Amelia. (Imagine was all Amelia could do for, as Albert had correctly surmised, the studious, bookish, bespectacled, young woman had never actually been to a nightclub herself!)
‘…but, didn’t you find the feet of all the other young women on the dance-floor a distraction?’
‘Oh yes, miss...but my mistress Virginia had me well trained. I knew that I could expect a truly terrible beating if I allowed my eyes to stray even for one second to another young woman’s feet – except, of course, when I was specifically ordered to kiss miss Virginia’s friends’ feet…’
‘Oh, she made you kiss her friends’ feet too?’
‘Oh yes, miss – all her female friends’ and relatives’ feet. My mistress was forever making me pay my humble, slavish respects to the feet of all her female acquaintances. I think she liked “showing me off” - especially in front of her friends - as most of her female friends during her ‘clubbing’ days were still at college and couldn’t afford a personal footslave of their own. So they liked to use me instead, and, with my mistress’s blessing, I often had to lick and tongue-polish the boots, sneakers, shoes and spike-heeled, strappy sandals of other young women of my mistress’s age!’
‘And nose their socks?’ asked miss Amelia, half tongue-in-cheek!
‘Indeed, miss. I have nosed lots of different girls’ socks over the years!’ replied Albert, pathetically proud of the fact.
‘And what about your mistress Virginia’s men-friends? I mean, she must have had men-friends too?’
‘Oh yes, miss, my mistress Virginia loved the company of free men and had many lovers over the years. In fact, that was the main reason she loved going out clubbing so much – to ‘pull’ a man!’
‘And what about you? Did you have to kiss their feet too?’
‘Oh no, miss!’ exclaimed Albert, clearly horrified by the very thought! ‘… A lady’s footslave in the Gynarchy of Barbaria was never required to kiss a man’s feet – not even a superior, free man’s feet. That would have been anathema to the principles of the Gynarchy!’
‘But you presumably had to behave respectfully towards your mistress’s male lovers – for they were, after all, free men; real men – as opposed to a girl’s footslave like you. And therefore they were regarded as your superiors and betters, were they not?’
‘Yes, miss – that’s exactly right. I had to call them ‘sir’ or ‘master’, and obey their orders – just as I obeyed my mistress Virginia’s orders. But I never had to kiss a man’s feet! Ugh!’
A shiver went down Albert’s back. For the first time he was visibly disgusted. His recollections of nosing his mistress’s sweaty, dirty grey bootsocks and swallowing her overnight, dead footskin had not disgusted him, but the very idea of kissing a man’s shoes clearly had! Amelia made a note. This was interesting stuff- the male slave’s interaction with his mistress’s male lovers. There wasn’t a lot written about this subject in any of the history books she had ever read:
‘And so, if you were literally under her feet all day and night, didn’t you get in the way when your mistress Virginia and her various male lovers wanted to make love?’
Albert now laughed:
‘Ha! Ha! Not at all miss. You see, you must remember that we slaves were very much viewed as mere objects – as ‘things’- by our superior mistresses and masters. They would quite happily make love with a footslave present in the room – although I could expect to be consigned to a corner of the bedroom with my nose buried in the sweaty and moist toe-ends of my mistress’s discarded nylon stockings and gold-coloured, strappy sandals. I would usually be under the master’s strict orders to concentrate on my mistress’s warm, freshly-worn footwear whilst he, the master, made love to her soft, supple, warm, black body.’
‘You were presumably never allowed to have sex with anyone, least of all your own mistress, yourself?’
‘Absolutely not, miss. For a humble footslave such as myself sexual intercourse was totally out of the question – and, as you say, least of all with my mistress Virginia! To be honest, the thought never even occurred to me! I mean, if I’d wanted to have a sexual relationship with a woman I wouldn’t have opted to become a slave, would I?’
‘Quite!’ responded Amelia, suddenly realising that she was speaking to a 90 year old virgin! Even the modest and bookish Amelia had lost her virginity 3 years ago at the age of 18! She felt another sudden surge of superiority vis-Ã -vis the pathetic, old, male footslave.
‘So tell me, Albert, did you never hanker to become a public footslave, as opposed to a personal footslave? I mean, it might have been more interesting for you to deal with many different strangers’ feet throughout the day in the Town Square – lots of different styles of footwear; lots of different types of shoes,boots, sandals, socks and tights to sniff and lick! Some clean; some dirty; some smelly. Would you not have preferred that to serving just one mistress all the time?’
Albert looked slightly affronted by this suggestion:
‘Oh no, miss. Public footslavery was considered much less prestigious a position than being the personal footslave of a superior, young woman! I mean, only a personal footslave could ever become intimately acquainted with the sight, feel, taste and personal smells of a superior young woman’s feet and footwear. Public footslaves basically just licked clean ladies’ outer footwear. They rarely got to smell their female customers’ socks or bare feet!...And besides, as I’ve already explained, my mistress Virginia did require me to pay homage to her friend’s feet and footwear, so I did get regular experience of other young women’s footwear!’
Amelia laughed internally at the thought of the sniffing of a lady’s sweaty, bare feet or stinky socks as being considered a ‘privilege.’
Nevertheless, during the course of her interview with the former footslave Albert she had simultaneously, and somewhat paradoxically, warmed to him as she had grown to despise him.
Indeed, she had warmed to the whole idea of male slavery!
‘Tell me Albert, do you miss your slavery days? Do you wish you were still a humble footslave?’
Albert paused for a moment and sighed:
‘Oh yes, miss. I rue the day the Gynarchy collapsed!’
‘Tell me what happened to you after the fall of the Gynarchy, Albert.’
‘Well, miss, I was nearly 47 years old when the male uprising occurred. I couldn’t believe that some do-goody women even supported the male rebels! I still think those women ‘freedom-fighters’ were a disgrace to their sex! The uprising would never have succeeded without their support. And besides, what they didn’t seem to realise was that it was the free men who were rising up against the Gynarchy – not the slaves! We were male slaves by choice! We were happy in our bondage to women. It was the free men who wanted so called “equal rights with women” - better job prospects etc! But, of course, they dressed it all up as ‘fighting for the freedom of the male slaves”. Poppycock! I didn’t want anyone fighting for my ‘freedom’. The freedom to be a woman’s slave was all I ever wanted!
But, as you know, miss, the uprising, unfortunately, succeeded; the Gynarchy of Barbaria became the “Democratic Republic of Barbaria”; and we slaves were freed against our will!’
The bitterness in Albert’s voice was palpable.
Amelia, for the first time, felt truly sorry for him:
‘And what happened to you after the emancipation, Albert?’
‘Oh, I got a job – a boring job, working in an office, alongside women, as their equal! I mean, it just wasn’t me! I’m afraid I turned to drink and ended up taking early retirement on the grounds of ill-health. My doctor (a former ex-slave himself) signed me off with depression.’
‘And your mistress Virginia? You didn’t stay with her?...I know some emancipated slaves remained in their former mistresses’ households as paid servants, for example?’
Former slave Albert now looked truly downcast:
‘No, miss. My mistress Virginia was by now settled down and married to a retired army officer from the country of her birth, Jamaica, and neither of them wanted a ‘servant’ around the house. My mistress said if she couldn’t legally beat and whip me she didn’t want to keep me. She cast me out!... I never saw her again! I heard that she died suddenly of natural causes about ten years later after she and her husband, my master, had emigrated back out to Jamaica.’
A little tear was now running down Albert’s pathetic, wizened old face.
Amelia took pity on him:
‘Albert…erm…slave Albert…would you like to kiss my feet?’ she asked.
Albert looked up at Amelia’s expectant, bespectacled face, and then looked down at her pretty pink and black, lace up sneakers and short, white ankle socks, which she had once again stretched out on the floor in front of her:
‘Oh miss…oh miss Amelia… oh yes please miss Amelia, if it would be pleasing to you, miss Amelia!’
‘That’s mistress Amelia to you, footslave!’ barked Amelia, rising to her feet as she rose to the occasion.
‘Get down on your hands and knees this instant and kiss my sneakers, slave!’ she snapped in the most masterful voice she could muster.
Slave Albert, though nowhere near as sprightly as he once was, managed to get up out of his chair and down onto his hands and knees for one last time in front of the superior, sneakered-and-socked feet of a beautiful, young woman. Miss Amelia’s right foot was now directly extended under his kneeling and humbly-bowed, wrinkly old face, as she stood imperiously above him, hands on hips, like the mistresses of the Gynarchy had routinely done back in the slavery days:
‘Thank you, mistress Amelia. God bless you, mistress Amelia…’ he spluttered as he closed his eyes and lowered his lips to the leathery top of the plain, young woman’s pink and black, lace-up sneaker.
How the memories came flooding back to him as his lips tasted young woman shoe leather! He imagined he was once again a young, twenty-something slave-man kissing the shoes of his beautiful, black mistress, mistress Virginia – she who had so callously cast him out onto the streets many years later when she was no longer permitted by law to whip him.
‘And my sock – kiss the top of my sock too!’
Miss Amelia’s sharp, young voice broke his temporary reverie, and reminded him that he was not kissing the feet of his erstwhile, black mistress, mistress Virginia, but of a representative of the new generation of young women – the generation that had never known the thrill of enslaving a submissive man.
But Amelia was experiencing it now!
As he kissed the elasticated top of the plain, bespectacled mistress Amelia’s plain, white sneaker sock, and admired her veiny, white ankle bone, slave Albert could only hope that this modern, intelligent, and self-evidently superior young woman - newly converted to the ways of female domination - might now become the catalyst for a female counter-revolution that would put men and women back in their rightful place; that would re-establish Gynochratic power in Barbaria!
Long live the Gynarchy! Long live Female Domination! Long live mistress Amelia!
And long live slave Albert, or, at least, long live his dream of a restored Gynarchy!
The End
