Feral Footslaves
They exist in the shadows of the glorious Gynarchy – the ‘feral footslaves’; male footslaves who have either run away from their mistresses, and who can’t be returned because their mistresses don’t want them back; or personal footslaves who have been deliberately abandoned by their mistresses as failures – left to fend for themselves on the mean streets of the capital city.
They are, arguably, the worst thing a male footslave can be in the female-dominated Gynarchy – they are homeless and mistressless; unowned and unwanted. And they therefore have to survive by scavenging on the streets, eking out a meagre living from the feet and footwear of female passers-by. Seen as a nuisance by some; certainly despised by all - even by the legitimate public footslaves whose businesses they often encroach upon.
There are many different types of feral footslaves. The following are just a few examples:
The Boot-licking Feral
Philippe is a runaway slave who therefore has brought his misfortune upon himself. He abandoned his mistress, and the Gynarchy has therefore abandoned him.
He was, in any event, never a very good footslave – apart, that is, from one thing: licking his mistress’s boots. It was the one task he could perform to his former, demanding mistress’s near-satisfaction, although she never actually praised him for his boot-shining skills. It was the sheer lack of punishment and criticism that conveyed his mistress’s satisfaction in this regard to him.
And fortunately, his humble boot-licking skills are enough for him to be able to survive on the streets – just. He crawls along the pavements, the shopping malls, the bus stations and the railway stations of the capital city avidly looking for female boots to lick. He licks them in the hope that the female owners of the boots may ‘tip’ him with a few pennies – pennies which he can then use to buy food from one of the black-marketeers, free men who form part of the whole sub-economy of the Gynarchy, supplying the scavenging, feral-footslaves with the minimum sustenance they need to survive.
Of course, it’s not exactly good quality food on the black market; mainly the leftovers from the mistresses’ bins – well past its sell-by date, and already half-eaten. But there are some women who think even this is too good for the footslave-ferals, especially given that legitimate footslaves only ever get to eat official ‘slave-mush’ – the nourishing, but tasteless, food manufactured by the Female State specifically for the sustenance of male slaves.
Be that as it may, slave Philippe’s day now revolves around licking female boots for money, and then using that money to buy waste food for his footslave stomach.
He normally begins his day at the busy, central railway station – a place of good pickings for a bootlicking feral-footslave, for there are many smartly dressed and wealthy young commuter-businesswomen wearing boots on their way into work, especially during the winter months as now.
Slave Philippe can spot a pair of pretty, feminine ankle boots at 500 metres – even if they are ‘hidden’ beneath the hems of smart, feminine, boot-cut slacks or trouser-legs. He only ever licks boots – never shoes. He lacks the confidence to lick shoes, as he fears that his clumsy, slave tongue might inadvertently stray onto the lady’s stocking or sock – something which used to happen when he tried to lick the footwear of his former mistress, and something for which she always severely punished him.
Slave Philippe is, therefore, a coward – and ensures he only lick boots, where he knows there is plenty of leather for his tongue to make purchase with, and no risk of an accidental slip of the tongue onto a superior lady’s intimate inner footwear.
And, as we have already indicated, there are plenty of dirty, female boots for him to lick clean on the streets. The world is his oyster in that sense. His advances towards mistresses are also rarely rejected, as few women in the Gynarchy can resist the sight and feel of a hungry, down and out footslave desperately licking the dirt off their pretty boots.
Nevertheless, slave Philippe has never forgotten his manners when approaching a mistress, and always petitions the commuting mistresses he approaches in the most humble of slave-speak for the honour of tongue-shining their busy boots.
Take, for example, the young, twenty-something, Asian businesswoman he has spotted standing in front of the electronic, information screens waiting for her train’s platform number to be displayed. She is quite petite, with straight, dark, shoulder-length hair, and is smartly-dressed in a dark grey, pinstriped trouser suit, with black, block-heeled ankle boots.
Slave Philippe knows they are boots and not shoes because he can see the lower part of the boot-zips beneath the hems of her pinstriped trouser-legs. He can also see a faint trace of dust and dirt along the lower, outer rim of the young Asian businesswoman’s right boot, so he knows there is a good chance she will graciously accede to his humble request to tongue-polish her boots up for her.
She is reading a newspaper whilst she stands and waits for her train to start boarding, and so he scurries hurriedly over towards her on his hands and knees (he has forgotten how to walk upright, as have most footslaves, after many years of servitude on his hands and knees), and humbly prostrates himself at her ankle-booted feet:
‘Oh pray mistress, please forgive this intrusion sweet, feminine mistress, but this slave humbly beseeches the honour of removing the dirt from the side of the superior young mistress’s ankle-boot with his dirty, slave tongue, if it would be so pleasing to the most powerful and superior young mistress.’
The young woman glances down briefly at her boots, sees the offending trace of mud on the outer side of her boot, and kindly consents to the bootlicking feral-footslave’s respectfully delivered request:
‘Very well, slave…but be quick about it!’
She then resumes reading the newspaper article that she had been studying before she was so rudely interrupted by the pathetic, feral slave at her feet.
‘Thank you, mistress. God bless you mistress.’
Slave Philippe then quickly puts his mouth where, he hopes, the money is – and vigorously starts licking the side of the young woman’s dirty, black leather, zip-up ankle boot. He can afford to be vigorous because there is absolutely no chance of his tongue straying onto the young woman’s socks (assuming she is wearing socks inside her boots – probably black ankle socks) given that he is only required to lick the lower part of her boot, that her boot is remaining fully zipped-up, and that the hem of her boot-cut trouser-leg is fully covering the upper part of her stylish, block-heeled ankle boot.
Slave Philippe can feel and taste the street-dirt coming off the sweet, feminine, Asian boot and onto his slave tongue – which is where it belongs. For whilst the dirt sullies a young woman’s boot, it graces a humble street-footslave’s tongue!
Slave Philippe feels genuinely honoured to be tasting where this superior, dark-haired, petite, young, Asian businesswoman has been walking, for she is without any shadow of a doubt, his female master and better – even though he does not know her name, and never will. Indeed, he may never see her again – which distressing thought instils him to even more enthusiastic and vigorous boot-licking.
The station tannoy announces the platform number for the 06:53 service to the city of ‘Femina’ (the second city of the Gynarchy after the capital, Barbaria), and the young Asian businesswoman suddenly folds up her newspaper and makes to walk off. After a cursory inspection of her right boot she chucks a couple of pennies down at the footslave who is still cringing in the dirt at her freshly tongue-shined, black ankle-booted feet.
‘Oh pray, mistress…thank you mistress…God bless you, sweet and kind mistress.’
Slave Philippe never forgets his footslave-manners, and always thanks his superior, female customers for the privilege of licking clean their boots, even if they neglect to thank him for his unsolicited services (as social conventions dictate they should).
And so the young, Asian businesswoman hurries off on her important business trip whilst the bootlicking feral-footslave, Philippe, anxiously trawls through the many pairs of surrounding female feet for another pair of dirty boots to lick clean.
Unfortunately for him this particular morning the next pair of boots he happens upon are the knee-length, black leather, spike-heeled, zip up boots of one of the Female Police.
The ever-present Female Police normally leave the feral-footslaves alone. They tolerate them, as they are, at the end of the day, providing a useful service of sorts to superior women. But every so often there is a local clampdown. A particular female police officer might be coming up for her annual appraisal, and might want an easy arrest in order to boost her chances of a bonus payment. Or perhaps she is going for promotion.
Unbeknown to slave Philippe, 21 year old probationer-officer mistress Gloria is due for her end of probation appraisal later this week, and is busily arresting recalcitrant males whenever, and wherever, she can, in order to bolster her arrest figures. Slave Philippe will be easy pickings for her today, since he is operating entirely outside the law, and with no public-footslave license.
He knows he is in trouble as soon as the distinctive pair of feminine police boots make their way over to him. Such powerful, female boots – not to be messed with. He immediately lowers his forehead to touch the ground in front of them as a mark of respect. The officer is very young and quite petite, with shoulder-length blonde hair. She doesn’t look particularly strong, physically-speaking, but she has all the paraphernalia of restraint and control attached to the heavy police-belt around her svelte and shapely waist. Resisting arrest would be futile – and, no doubt, painful - for the outlaw-footslave.
Slave Philippe therefore submits to being arrested and to being shackled to her belt by means of a chain around his neck. He knows the routine, for arrest and detention is an occupational hazard for a feral-footslave. He must follow the blonde, female police-officer’s black, knee-length boots to heel, on his hands and knees of course, all the way to the police station, where he will be summarily convicted of the offence of ‘licking female boots without a licence’; caned on the backs of his legs (6 strokes probably); have his meagre earnings confiscated; and then be required, somewhat ironically, to lick clean the arresting officer’s black leather, knee-length, police-uniform boots, and those of her compatriots – even though he still doesn’t have a boot-licking license, before being, literally, kicked out onto the streets again by those same boots.
The long boots of the Female Law. Every footslave, feral or not, fears them.
At least slave Philippe will in all probability be left alone by the Female Police for a few days after his arrest and punishment. The chances of another officer picking on him again in the next few days are quite slim – given the sheer number of feral footslaves out there. And he has made a good job of licking clean the female police officers’ boots at the station – so they are unlikely to bear any personal grudges against him. The quality of sweet, feminine mercy is not strained.
As soon as he is released slave Philippe must redouble his efforts to lick the boots of female passers-by, as officer Gloria has now pocketed his meagre earnings and he has to earn some more pennies if he wishes to eat more than just female boot dirt.
And he does want to – for not even a bootlicking feral-footslave can live by female boot-dirt alone.
The Shoe-kissing Feral
Slave Michael is an abandoned footslave who specialises in kissing female shoes. Unlike his boot-licking counterpart, slave Philippe, who often works the same pitches as slave Michael, the latter sticks to kissing shoes – never boots.
This is partly because he doesn’t want to ‘muscle in on’ the footwear attended to by his fellow footslave-feral. But it is also because slave Michael lacks the confidence to lick boots clean – or to lick clean any kind of footwear for that matter. He is, therefore, even more lacking in confidence than his boot-licking feral-slave counterpart, feeling that he is only fit to respectfully kiss women’s shoes.
This all stems from the fact that the mistress who had formerly owned and then abandoned him did so because of his seeming inability to tongue-shine her footwear to her satisfaction. She was forever berating him as to his inadequacy on this score – telling him that he was fit only to kiss the dirt on her shoes, rather than lick it off and swallow it. His tongue, she informed him, just wasn’t up to the job, and so only his footslave-lips were of any use to her. She kindly acknowledged that he could at least pay his respects adequately to a woman’s footwear by kissing it.
That, and the fact that his erstwhile mistress nearly always wore shoes as opposed to boots, have developed a complex in footslave-feral Michael’s pathetic slave-mind, whereby he only feels comfortable kissing the toe-ends of a superior lady’s shoes with short, respectful kisses.
And there is, believe it or not, a market for such services out there. Many young women enjoy the sight, sound and feeling of a raggedy, feral-footslave humbly and respectfully kissing the toe of their imperiously outstretched shoe in public. It helps them to feel all superior, and to ‘lord it over’ the down-in-the-dirt slave who is grovelling at their feet. You can tell by the smug grins on their pretty faces that they enjoy being worshipped in this way.
Not that feral shoe-kisser Michael ever sees the expressions on his female customers’ faces – not unless the toes of their shoes are so shiny that he can see their reflections in them. No, he must just focus humbly on the pretty, feminine shoe he is kissing at any given time.
He has no particular favourite style of female shoe – believing that variety is the spice of a footslave’s life. But he will kiss any female footwear that does not cover the ankle or above – so everything from sandals, to court shoes, to peep-toe shoes, to shiny high-heels, to ballet flats, to brogues, to deck shoes, to sneakers.
Also, because he is not seeking to lick clean the feminine footwear, he will happily pay his slavish respects to any material of shoe – including hard-to-lick-clean suede or moccasin.
Slave Michael is currently crawling through one of the main shopping malls of the capital and soon spots a pair of female shoes worth kissing. They are the black, single-strapped, soft leather ballet flats of a young, blonde-ponytailed woman in her early twenties. She is casually dressed in blue denim jeans and a white top and jacket, and is wearing her ballet flats without socks on bare feet – quite unusual for the winter!
Footslave Michael likes the fact that she isn’t wearing socks, however. It means no distractions, and he will get to see the young woman’s soft, bare, white footflesh close-up, with all the little marks and blemishes her feet will inevitably contain, for although she is to all intents and purposes a goddess (as are all women in the Gynarchy) she is, at the same time, only human.
She appears to be weighed down with several, heavy shopping bags and looks as though she could do with putting her bags down for a minute or two and stopping for a bit of a rest. The experienced footslave-feral Michael senses that the young blonde mistress will, therefore, be only too pleased to stop briefly in order to have her shoes kissed, and he crawls respectfully over towards her:
‘Oh pray sweet mistress, if it pleases you, sweet feminine mistress, this dirty slave requests the honour of paying homage to the mistress’s beautiful, black ballet-flats by kissing them, if it would be so pleasing to you most generous and kind, all-powerful, young mistress.’
You will note that his humble petition is remarkably similar to that of his boot-licking counterpart, slave Philippe, but that’s hardly surprising since humble slave-speak consists mainly of sycophantic and gushing waffle.
Sycophantic and gushing it may be, but few young women in the Gynarchy can resist an invitation to stop what they are doing and have their shoes kissed. Just as slave Michael had anticipated the young blonde woman places her multitudinous shopping bags down on the ground and gaily extends her right foot underneath the eagerly-awaiting footslave’s nose:
‘OK, footslave...you may kiss the toe of my shoe 5 times. Don’t touch the strap at the top of my shoe, or my bare skin!’
‘Thank you mistress…God bless you sweet and kind, most beautiful mistress.’
Slave Michael’s method of paying homage to young women’s shoes always entails respectfully cupping his footslave hands around the lady’s outstretched foot before humbly, and very deliberately, lowering his lips to the surface of the shoe-leather so that his upper and lower lips make contact with the toe of the shoe simultaneously. Such attention to detail, he always feels, eloquently demonstrates a footslave’s genuine respect and admiration for a superior young woman’s footwear much more than any weaselly words of footslave-speak can ever do.
Of course, he can smell the musty aroma of the beautiful, young, blonde woman’s soft, black shoe-leather – and he can even detect the faintest whiff of sweet feminine foot-perspiration emanating from within the leather shoe. He also admires how a delicate, pale blue vein running along the top of the young woman’s foot directly beneath the thin, single-buckled, black leather strap that divides the toe area of her shoe from the upper, twitches in reaction to the feel of his respectful slave lips on the toe-area of her superior shoe leather lower down her precious foot.
The twitching vein is a good sign - for it indicates subconscious pleasure on the part of the mistress having her shoe kissed, and the tiny red blemishes on the top of her otherwise pinky-white footskin only serve to make him even more humble as he raises his lips from the surface of the black leather, female shoe.
A trace of his footslave-breath appears momentarily on the surface of the leather where his lips have just been before quickly dissipating. It is a cold and frosty morning – even in the supposedly air-conditioned confines of the shopping centre.
The young blonde-ponytailed woman’s right foot remains arrogantly outstretched between his respectfully cupped hands, and slave Michael once again lowers his head and his lips to the surface of her black, ballet shoe. He must repeat this humble gesture 4 times – making 5 respectful footkisses to the toe of her shoe in all, just as the young woman had ordered.
He knew she was pleased with his efforts when she withdrew her outstretched right foot from his still cupped hands only to replace it under his kneeling nose with her left foot.;
‘And the other one…’ she barks down at him.
He notices a tiny, black mole on the top of her left foot as he lowers his lips for the first time to the toe of the young woman’s left shoe. It matches the black leather of her ballet flat.
Five times he kisses the toe of the young woman’s left shoe. He only wishes it could be more. He would happily kiss this dominant, young, blonde woman’s shoes all day long if she so desired it – but she has rested enough, it seems, for she picks up her carrier bags and heads off, without any words gratitude or thanks for the feral slave’s very public act of respect and obeisance towards her, of course, but not before she has chucked him a single penny – the loose change from the dress she has just bought at £19.99.
‘Oh praise you, mistress…thank you, sweet and kind mistress…God bless you, mistress.’
They are heartfelt thanks from the slave – for a penny is a penny and will go towards his next meal of mistresses’ leftovers when he sees his black-market food supplier later that day.
If he sees his black-market food supplier later in the day. If not, he’ll just have to go hungry – again!
The Sock-sniffing Feral
If slave Philippe can spot a lickable female boot at 500 metres, and slave Michael can spot a kissable female shoe at a similar distance, feral-slave Thomas has evolved to be able to spot a sniffable feminine sock in the distance.
Nobody seems to know his provenance – not even slave Thomas himself. He can’t remember who his previous mistress was – or even if he ever had a female owner. He has been scavenging a living on the streets for so long now that he has just become pat of the street furniture.
The one thing he is truly adept at, however, and must have learnt somewhere, is how to sniff a female sock. Fortunately for him it is a service that many women like to receive in public – for there is surely nothing more calculated to make an attractive young woman feel superior, and nothing more humiliating for a male slave, than having her socks sniffed in public.
The sock – the humblest of foot-garments, designed to soak up a superior, young woman’s foot perspiration inside her shoe or boot, as well as at the same time, of course, beautifying her shapely foot. Truly, as far as this Gynarchial society is concerned, there is no more pleasing image that so eloquently demonstrates both female power and male weakness than that of a humble, male footslave sniffing the top of a superior young woman’s sock – whilst she is still wearing it inside her boot or shoe.
And it’s almost as if slave Thomas can not only see, but also smell, the delicate aroma of warm, feminine sock from 500 yards.
Right now, for example, on the far side of the bus station – over at stand 16 – he has espied a brief glimpse of bright, pink, feminine sock inside the black sneakers of a young black woman in her early thirties who is saying goodbye to her boyfriend before boarding her long distance coach. Slave Thomas spotted the pink sock when the young woman raised herself up on tiptoe in order to kiss her boyfriend on the lips, thereby causing the hems of her black denim jean legs to ride up ever so slightly revealing a thin slither of short, pink ankle sock.
As he crawls closer to the sneakers and socks he can see that only the elasticated tops of the socks are visible. They are modern, low-cut sneaker socks – and being bright pink are such a nice contrast both to the soft, brown texture of the young woman’s footskin, and the rich black of her sneakers.
Slave Thomas respectfully, and bravely, interrupts the kissing couple, and addresses the master. It is one of the unwritten conventions of a footslave-feral’s existence: if the young woman’s ‘man’ is present, you must address him first - respectfully ask his permission to service his girlfriend’s footwear:
‘Oh pray master, please forgive me master…but this dirty sockslave craves your permission to sniff the top of your beautiful girlfriend’s sock, if the master and mistress would be so kind to the slave, most powerful master.’
The young black couple stop kissing, look down at the pathetic slave cringing at the young woman’s sneakered and socked feet, and burst out laughing at him:
‘Well, honey…what do you think? Shall we let him sniff the tops of your pink sneaker-socks?...Would you like to hear him sniffing them?’ asks the man of his partner.
‘Erm…Okay, honey…so long as his nose doesn’t touch my bare skin!’ responds the arrogant and smug young woman.
The man laughs:
‘Ha! Ha! …Did you hear that, slave? My girlfriend has agreed to let you sniff the tops of her socks inside her sneakers. You can run your nose along the tops of her pink socks and sniff them out loud – but don’t touch her bare flesh with your nose, or I’ll break it for you! Is that clear, slaveboy?’
‘Yes master…thank you master…God bless you, master and mistress.’
Slave Thomas’s nose has actually already been somewhat put out of joint by the master’s suggestion that he might allow his footslave nose to inadvertently brush against the young woman’s skin. He regards himself as an expert sock-sniffer, who can keep his nose on the elasticated top of a young woman’s short sock even if she, for her part, refuses to keep her foot still!
This particular young black goddess, however, is actually facilitating his sock sniffing by hitching up the hem of the black denim jean leg on her now outstretched right foot, and twisting said foot to one side, coquettishly raising her sneakered foot on tiptoe so that the slave has an uninterrupted view of the elasticated top of her short, pink sock running along the upper rim of the black sneaker.
Thomas, the feral sockslave, dutifully lowers his nose to touch the soft, cotton material of the sock and begins sniffing along the elasticated rim.
‘Sniff louder, slave…we want to hear you sniffing my girl’s sweaty sock over all this din!’ declares the master over the noise of a nearby departing bus.
Again, sockslave-feral Thomas is somewhat put out by the master’s suggestion that he might not know how to audibly sniff a young woman’s sock in public. But he bites his lip, and obeys the master – sniffing the master’s girlfriend’s short pink sock even louder than he had already been doing.
The female owner of the sock just giggles, and resumes kissing her manly and masterful boyfriend, whilst slave Thomas is relegated to sniffing her other sock on her left foot which is resting flat on the ground – a somewhat trickier operation than sniffing the top of he right sock had been as the hem of her left jean leg is a bit more in the way!
Nevertheless he succeeds in inhaling the pleasant aroma of the young woman’s pink sock on her left foot. Of course, he is frustrated not to be able to sniff the smelliest part of her pink sock – the part deep inside the young woman’s black sneaker which coves her pretty, black toes. But a mere feral-footslave such as Thomas rarely, if ever, gets to sniff ladies’ inner socks – given that he is not an officially licensed public footslave with a footslave-stand on which his female customers can sit down relax, and have him take off their shoes for more serious sock-sniffing.
But he is content with just sniffing the tops of female socks – especially when, as now, the recipient of his humble sock-sniffing services chucks a whole 5 pence down at him! His words of gratitude to the black master and mistress are genuinely heartfelt:
‘Oh pray, master and mistress…God bless you, master and mistress. This dirty sock-sniffing queer is honoured to have been of service to the mistress, if it so pleases you all-powerful master and mistress!’
The couple just laugh at him, before resuming their wistful french-kissing, as it will soon be time for the young woman’s coach to leave.
The Scavenger Feral
Believe it or not, the sock-sniffing feral footslave is not, actually, the lowest of the feral-slaves.
There is another category of footslave-ferals who are considered even lower than the three types we have observed above – the so-called ‘scavenger-footslaves’: footslaves who lack the confidence and ability to serve women’s footwear, even the footwear of strangers, whilst they are still wearing it, and who are therefore reduced to scavenging for discarded women’s shoes, boots, socks and tights on the Gynarchy’s rubbish tips.
They scavenge for female footwear because they can’t live without it! A male footslave – by nature – must have female footwear in his life even if he has no mistress! He craves for it; he yearns for it – for at least he can then sniff and taste the traces of female feet on worn-out, discarded footwear.
Slave Stuart is one such ‘scavenger-footslave’. He sniffs out, and collects, the discarded shoes, boots and socks of superior women from the city’s main landfill site. When he finds a female shoe, boot or sock he takes it back to his den and worships it, trying to imagine what sort of woman would have worn it.
Of course, there is no income from any of this. He receives no pennies as he is not performing a service for any mistress. The shoes, boots and socks he collects have been thrown out by their mistresses – no longer required or wanted, rather like the feral footslaves themselves. Slave Stuart therefore feeds himself with the scraps of food he finds himself on the rubbish tip in amongst the discarded, female shoes, boots and socks. It’s the only ‘tip’ he gets!
But at least he gets to rest his head on a pillow of worn-out female socks every night, and his makeshift den next to his place of work (the rubbish tip) smells strongly of the musty smell of ladies, well-worn boot leather. He feels comfortable and secure in his den, for it is, effectively, constructed of female footwear and he is never happier than when he is surrounded by female footwear.
Indeed, the irony is that all our feral footslaves are happy. They almost have a sense of personal freedom – being largely outside the law as they are, and no longer a part of the formal strictures that apply to enslaved males in the legitimate slave-sector.
As we have seen, uniquely amongst male slaves in the Gynarchy the footslave-ferals decide which mistresses to serve, which type of footwear to serve, and how and when to serve it. They approach the mistress, rather than the other way round. It’s an alien concept to most slaves, but thanks to the sweet, feminine indulgence and generosity of their female betters, the dirty, male footslave-ferals can and do survive.
Surely only a sweet and kind, feminine Gynarchy would tolerate such brutish males on its female streets!
The End
They are, arguably, the worst thing a male footslave can be in the female-dominated Gynarchy – they are homeless and mistressless; unowned and unwanted. And they therefore have to survive by scavenging on the streets, eking out a meagre living from the feet and footwear of female passers-by. Seen as a nuisance by some; certainly despised by all - even by the legitimate public footslaves whose businesses they often encroach upon.
There are many different types of feral footslaves. The following are just a few examples:
The Boot-licking Feral
Philippe is a runaway slave who therefore has brought his misfortune upon himself. He abandoned his mistress, and the Gynarchy has therefore abandoned him.
He was, in any event, never a very good footslave – apart, that is, from one thing: licking his mistress’s boots. It was the one task he could perform to his former, demanding mistress’s near-satisfaction, although she never actually praised him for his boot-shining skills. It was the sheer lack of punishment and criticism that conveyed his mistress’s satisfaction in this regard to him.
And fortunately, his humble boot-licking skills are enough for him to be able to survive on the streets – just. He crawls along the pavements, the shopping malls, the bus stations and the railway stations of the capital city avidly looking for female boots to lick. He licks them in the hope that the female owners of the boots may ‘tip’ him with a few pennies – pennies which he can then use to buy food from one of the black-marketeers, free men who form part of the whole sub-economy of the Gynarchy, supplying the scavenging, feral-footslaves with the minimum sustenance they need to survive.
Of course, it’s not exactly good quality food on the black market; mainly the leftovers from the mistresses’ bins – well past its sell-by date, and already half-eaten. But there are some women who think even this is too good for the footslave-ferals, especially given that legitimate footslaves only ever get to eat official ‘slave-mush’ – the nourishing, but tasteless, food manufactured by the Female State specifically for the sustenance of male slaves.
Be that as it may, slave Philippe’s day now revolves around licking female boots for money, and then using that money to buy waste food for his footslave stomach.
He normally begins his day at the busy, central railway station – a place of good pickings for a bootlicking feral-footslave, for there are many smartly dressed and wealthy young commuter-businesswomen wearing boots on their way into work, especially during the winter months as now.
Slave Philippe can spot a pair of pretty, feminine ankle boots at 500 metres – even if they are ‘hidden’ beneath the hems of smart, feminine, boot-cut slacks or trouser-legs. He only ever licks boots – never shoes. He lacks the confidence to lick shoes, as he fears that his clumsy, slave tongue might inadvertently stray onto the lady’s stocking or sock – something which used to happen when he tried to lick the footwear of his former mistress, and something for which she always severely punished him.
Slave Philippe is, therefore, a coward – and ensures he only lick boots, where he knows there is plenty of leather for his tongue to make purchase with, and no risk of an accidental slip of the tongue onto a superior lady’s intimate inner footwear.
And, as we have already indicated, there are plenty of dirty, female boots for him to lick clean on the streets. The world is his oyster in that sense. His advances towards mistresses are also rarely rejected, as few women in the Gynarchy can resist the sight and feel of a hungry, down and out footslave desperately licking the dirt off their pretty boots.
Nevertheless, slave Philippe has never forgotten his manners when approaching a mistress, and always petitions the commuting mistresses he approaches in the most humble of slave-speak for the honour of tongue-shining their busy boots.
Take, for example, the young, twenty-something, Asian businesswoman he has spotted standing in front of the electronic, information screens waiting for her train’s platform number to be displayed. She is quite petite, with straight, dark, shoulder-length hair, and is smartly-dressed in a dark grey, pinstriped trouser suit, with black, block-heeled ankle boots.
Slave Philippe knows they are boots and not shoes because he can see the lower part of the boot-zips beneath the hems of her pinstriped trouser-legs. He can also see a faint trace of dust and dirt along the lower, outer rim of the young Asian businesswoman’s right boot, so he knows there is a good chance she will graciously accede to his humble request to tongue-polish her boots up for her.
She is reading a newspaper whilst she stands and waits for her train to start boarding, and so he scurries hurriedly over towards her on his hands and knees (he has forgotten how to walk upright, as have most footslaves, after many years of servitude on his hands and knees), and humbly prostrates himself at her ankle-booted feet:
‘Oh pray mistress, please forgive this intrusion sweet, feminine mistress, but this slave humbly beseeches the honour of removing the dirt from the side of the superior young mistress’s ankle-boot with his dirty, slave tongue, if it would be so pleasing to the most powerful and superior young mistress.’
The young woman glances down briefly at her boots, sees the offending trace of mud on the outer side of her boot, and kindly consents to the bootlicking feral-footslave’s respectfully delivered request:
‘Very well, slave…but be quick about it!’
She then resumes reading the newspaper article that she had been studying before she was so rudely interrupted by the pathetic, feral slave at her feet.
‘Thank you, mistress. God bless you mistress.’
Slave Philippe then quickly puts his mouth where, he hopes, the money is – and vigorously starts licking the side of the young woman’s dirty, black leather, zip-up ankle boot. He can afford to be vigorous because there is absolutely no chance of his tongue straying onto the young woman’s socks (assuming she is wearing socks inside her boots – probably black ankle socks) given that he is only required to lick the lower part of her boot, that her boot is remaining fully zipped-up, and that the hem of her boot-cut trouser-leg is fully covering the upper part of her stylish, block-heeled ankle boot.
Slave Philippe can feel and taste the street-dirt coming off the sweet, feminine, Asian boot and onto his slave tongue – which is where it belongs. For whilst the dirt sullies a young woman’s boot, it graces a humble street-footslave’s tongue!
Slave Philippe feels genuinely honoured to be tasting where this superior, dark-haired, petite, young, Asian businesswoman has been walking, for she is without any shadow of a doubt, his female master and better – even though he does not know her name, and never will. Indeed, he may never see her again – which distressing thought instils him to even more enthusiastic and vigorous boot-licking.
The station tannoy announces the platform number for the 06:53 service to the city of ‘Femina’ (the second city of the Gynarchy after the capital, Barbaria), and the young Asian businesswoman suddenly folds up her newspaper and makes to walk off. After a cursory inspection of her right boot she chucks a couple of pennies down at the footslave who is still cringing in the dirt at her freshly tongue-shined, black ankle-booted feet.
‘Oh pray, mistress…thank you mistress…God bless you, sweet and kind mistress.’
Slave Philippe never forgets his footslave-manners, and always thanks his superior, female customers for the privilege of licking clean their boots, even if they neglect to thank him for his unsolicited services (as social conventions dictate they should).
And so the young, Asian businesswoman hurries off on her important business trip whilst the bootlicking feral-footslave, Philippe, anxiously trawls through the many pairs of surrounding female feet for another pair of dirty boots to lick clean.
Unfortunately for him this particular morning the next pair of boots he happens upon are the knee-length, black leather, spike-heeled, zip up boots of one of the Female Police.
The ever-present Female Police normally leave the feral-footslaves alone. They tolerate them, as they are, at the end of the day, providing a useful service of sorts to superior women. But every so often there is a local clampdown. A particular female police officer might be coming up for her annual appraisal, and might want an easy arrest in order to boost her chances of a bonus payment. Or perhaps she is going for promotion.
Unbeknown to slave Philippe, 21 year old probationer-officer mistress Gloria is due for her end of probation appraisal later this week, and is busily arresting recalcitrant males whenever, and wherever, she can, in order to bolster her arrest figures. Slave Philippe will be easy pickings for her today, since he is operating entirely outside the law, and with no public-footslave license.
He knows he is in trouble as soon as the distinctive pair of feminine police boots make their way over to him. Such powerful, female boots – not to be messed with. He immediately lowers his forehead to touch the ground in front of them as a mark of respect. The officer is very young and quite petite, with shoulder-length blonde hair. She doesn’t look particularly strong, physically-speaking, but she has all the paraphernalia of restraint and control attached to the heavy police-belt around her svelte and shapely waist. Resisting arrest would be futile – and, no doubt, painful - for the outlaw-footslave.
Slave Philippe therefore submits to being arrested and to being shackled to her belt by means of a chain around his neck. He knows the routine, for arrest and detention is an occupational hazard for a feral-footslave. He must follow the blonde, female police-officer’s black, knee-length boots to heel, on his hands and knees of course, all the way to the police station, where he will be summarily convicted of the offence of ‘licking female boots without a licence’; caned on the backs of his legs (6 strokes probably); have his meagre earnings confiscated; and then be required, somewhat ironically, to lick clean the arresting officer’s black leather, knee-length, police-uniform boots, and those of her compatriots – even though he still doesn’t have a boot-licking license, before being, literally, kicked out onto the streets again by those same boots.
The long boots of the Female Law. Every footslave, feral or not, fears them.
At least slave Philippe will in all probability be left alone by the Female Police for a few days after his arrest and punishment. The chances of another officer picking on him again in the next few days are quite slim – given the sheer number of feral footslaves out there. And he has made a good job of licking clean the female police officers’ boots at the station – so they are unlikely to bear any personal grudges against him. The quality of sweet, feminine mercy is not strained.
As soon as he is released slave Philippe must redouble his efforts to lick the boots of female passers-by, as officer Gloria has now pocketed his meagre earnings and he has to earn some more pennies if he wishes to eat more than just female boot dirt.
And he does want to – for not even a bootlicking feral-footslave can live by female boot-dirt alone.
The Shoe-kissing Feral
Slave Michael is an abandoned footslave who specialises in kissing female shoes. Unlike his boot-licking counterpart, slave Philippe, who often works the same pitches as slave Michael, the latter sticks to kissing shoes – never boots.
This is partly because he doesn’t want to ‘muscle in on’ the footwear attended to by his fellow footslave-feral. But it is also because slave Michael lacks the confidence to lick boots clean – or to lick clean any kind of footwear for that matter. He is, therefore, even more lacking in confidence than his boot-licking feral-slave counterpart, feeling that he is only fit to respectfully kiss women’s shoes.
This all stems from the fact that the mistress who had formerly owned and then abandoned him did so because of his seeming inability to tongue-shine her footwear to her satisfaction. She was forever berating him as to his inadequacy on this score – telling him that he was fit only to kiss the dirt on her shoes, rather than lick it off and swallow it. His tongue, she informed him, just wasn’t up to the job, and so only his footslave-lips were of any use to her. She kindly acknowledged that he could at least pay his respects adequately to a woman’s footwear by kissing it.
That, and the fact that his erstwhile mistress nearly always wore shoes as opposed to boots, have developed a complex in footslave-feral Michael’s pathetic slave-mind, whereby he only feels comfortable kissing the toe-ends of a superior lady’s shoes with short, respectful kisses.
And there is, believe it or not, a market for such services out there. Many young women enjoy the sight, sound and feeling of a raggedy, feral-footslave humbly and respectfully kissing the toe of their imperiously outstretched shoe in public. It helps them to feel all superior, and to ‘lord it over’ the down-in-the-dirt slave who is grovelling at their feet. You can tell by the smug grins on their pretty faces that they enjoy being worshipped in this way.
Not that feral shoe-kisser Michael ever sees the expressions on his female customers’ faces – not unless the toes of their shoes are so shiny that he can see their reflections in them. No, he must just focus humbly on the pretty, feminine shoe he is kissing at any given time.
He has no particular favourite style of female shoe – believing that variety is the spice of a footslave’s life. But he will kiss any female footwear that does not cover the ankle or above – so everything from sandals, to court shoes, to peep-toe shoes, to shiny high-heels, to ballet flats, to brogues, to deck shoes, to sneakers.
Also, because he is not seeking to lick clean the feminine footwear, he will happily pay his slavish respects to any material of shoe – including hard-to-lick-clean suede or moccasin.
Slave Michael is currently crawling through one of the main shopping malls of the capital and soon spots a pair of female shoes worth kissing. They are the black, single-strapped, soft leather ballet flats of a young, blonde-ponytailed woman in her early twenties. She is casually dressed in blue denim jeans and a white top and jacket, and is wearing her ballet flats without socks on bare feet – quite unusual for the winter!
Footslave Michael likes the fact that she isn’t wearing socks, however. It means no distractions, and he will get to see the young woman’s soft, bare, white footflesh close-up, with all the little marks and blemishes her feet will inevitably contain, for although she is to all intents and purposes a goddess (as are all women in the Gynarchy) she is, at the same time, only human.
She appears to be weighed down with several, heavy shopping bags and looks as though she could do with putting her bags down for a minute or two and stopping for a bit of a rest. The experienced footslave-feral Michael senses that the young blonde mistress will, therefore, be only too pleased to stop briefly in order to have her shoes kissed, and he crawls respectfully over towards her:
‘Oh pray sweet mistress, if it pleases you, sweet feminine mistress, this dirty slave requests the honour of paying homage to the mistress’s beautiful, black ballet-flats by kissing them, if it would be so pleasing to you most generous and kind, all-powerful, young mistress.’
You will note that his humble petition is remarkably similar to that of his boot-licking counterpart, slave Philippe, but that’s hardly surprising since humble slave-speak consists mainly of sycophantic and gushing waffle.
Sycophantic and gushing it may be, but few young women in the Gynarchy can resist an invitation to stop what they are doing and have their shoes kissed. Just as slave Michael had anticipated the young blonde woman places her multitudinous shopping bags down on the ground and gaily extends her right foot underneath the eagerly-awaiting footslave’s nose:
‘OK, footslave...you may kiss the toe of my shoe 5 times. Don’t touch the strap at the top of my shoe, or my bare skin!’
‘Thank you mistress…God bless you sweet and kind, most beautiful mistress.’
Slave Michael’s method of paying homage to young women’s shoes always entails respectfully cupping his footslave hands around the lady’s outstretched foot before humbly, and very deliberately, lowering his lips to the surface of the shoe-leather so that his upper and lower lips make contact with the toe of the shoe simultaneously. Such attention to detail, he always feels, eloquently demonstrates a footslave’s genuine respect and admiration for a superior young woman’s footwear much more than any weaselly words of footslave-speak can ever do.
Of course, he can smell the musty aroma of the beautiful, young, blonde woman’s soft, black shoe-leather – and he can even detect the faintest whiff of sweet feminine foot-perspiration emanating from within the leather shoe. He also admires how a delicate, pale blue vein running along the top of the young woman’s foot directly beneath the thin, single-buckled, black leather strap that divides the toe area of her shoe from the upper, twitches in reaction to the feel of his respectful slave lips on the toe-area of her superior shoe leather lower down her precious foot.
The twitching vein is a good sign - for it indicates subconscious pleasure on the part of the mistress having her shoe kissed, and the tiny red blemishes on the top of her otherwise pinky-white footskin only serve to make him even more humble as he raises his lips from the surface of the black leather, female shoe.
A trace of his footslave-breath appears momentarily on the surface of the leather where his lips have just been before quickly dissipating. It is a cold and frosty morning – even in the supposedly air-conditioned confines of the shopping centre.
The young blonde-ponytailed woman’s right foot remains arrogantly outstretched between his respectfully cupped hands, and slave Michael once again lowers his head and his lips to the surface of her black, ballet shoe. He must repeat this humble gesture 4 times – making 5 respectful footkisses to the toe of her shoe in all, just as the young woman had ordered.
He knew she was pleased with his efforts when she withdrew her outstretched right foot from his still cupped hands only to replace it under his kneeling nose with her left foot.;
‘And the other one…’ she barks down at him.
He notices a tiny, black mole on the top of her left foot as he lowers his lips for the first time to the toe of the young woman’s left shoe. It matches the black leather of her ballet flat.
Five times he kisses the toe of the young woman’s left shoe. He only wishes it could be more. He would happily kiss this dominant, young, blonde woman’s shoes all day long if she so desired it – but she has rested enough, it seems, for she picks up her carrier bags and heads off, without any words gratitude or thanks for the feral slave’s very public act of respect and obeisance towards her, of course, but not before she has chucked him a single penny – the loose change from the dress she has just bought at £19.99.
‘Oh praise you, mistress…thank you, sweet and kind mistress…God bless you, mistress.’
They are heartfelt thanks from the slave – for a penny is a penny and will go towards his next meal of mistresses’ leftovers when he sees his black-market food supplier later that day.
If he sees his black-market food supplier later in the day. If not, he’ll just have to go hungry – again!
The Sock-sniffing Feral
If slave Philippe can spot a lickable female boot at 500 metres, and slave Michael can spot a kissable female shoe at a similar distance, feral-slave Thomas has evolved to be able to spot a sniffable feminine sock in the distance.
Nobody seems to know his provenance – not even slave Thomas himself. He can’t remember who his previous mistress was – or even if he ever had a female owner. He has been scavenging a living on the streets for so long now that he has just become pat of the street furniture.
The one thing he is truly adept at, however, and must have learnt somewhere, is how to sniff a female sock. Fortunately for him it is a service that many women like to receive in public – for there is surely nothing more calculated to make an attractive young woman feel superior, and nothing more humiliating for a male slave, than having her socks sniffed in public.
The sock – the humblest of foot-garments, designed to soak up a superior, young woman’s foot perspiration inside her shoe or boot, as well as at the same time, of course, beautifying her shapely foot. Truly, as far as this Gynarchial society is concerned, there is no more pleasing image that so eloquently demonstrates both female power and male weakness than that of a humble, male footslave sniffing the top of a superior young woman’s sock – whilst she is still wearing it inside her boot or shoe.
And it’s almost as if slave Thomas can not only see, but also smell, the delicate aroma of warm, feminine sock from 500 yards.
Right now, for example, on the far side of the bus station – over at stand 16 – he has espied a brief glimpse of bright, pink, feminine sock inside the black sneakers of a young black woman in her early thirties who is saying goodbye to her boyfriend before boarding her long distance coach. Slave Thomas spotted the pink sock when the young woman raised herself up on tiptoe in order to kiss her boyfriend on the lips, thereby causing the hems of her black denim jean legs to ride up ever so slightly revealing a thin slither of short, pink ankle sock.
As he crawls closer to the sneakers and socks he can see that only the elasticated tops of the socks are visible. They are modern, low-cut sneaker socks – and being bright pink are such a nice contrast both to the soft, brown texture of the young woman’s footskin, and the rich black of her sneakers.
Slave Thomas respectfully, and bravely, interrupts the kissing couple, and addresses the master. It is one of the unwritten conventions of a footslave-feral’s existence: if the young woman’s ‘man’ is present, you must address him first - respectfully ask his permission to service his girlfriend’s footwear:
‘Oh pray master, please forgive me master…but this dirty sockslave craves your permission to sniff the top of your beautiful girlfriend’s sock, if the master and mistress would be so kind to the slave, most powerful master.’
The young black couple stop kissing, look down at the pathetic slave cringing at the young woman’s sneakered and socked feet, and burst out laughing at him:
‘Well, honey…what do you think? Shall we let him sniff the tops of your pink sneaker-socks?...Would you like to hear him sniffing them?’ asks the man of his partner.
‘Erm…Okay, honey…so long as his nose doesn’t touch my bare skin!’ responds the arrogant and smug young woman.
The man laughs:
‘Ha! Ha! …Did you hear that, slave? My girlfriend has agreed to let you sniff the tops of her socks inside her sneakers. You can run your nose along the tops of her pink socks and sniff them out loud – but don’t touch her bare flesh with your nose, or I’ll break it for you! Is that clear, slaveboy?’
‘Yes master…thank you master…God bless you, master and mistress.’
Slave Thomas’s nose has actually already been somewhat put out of joint by the master’s suggestion that he might allow his footslave nose to inadvertently brush against the young woman’s skin. He regards himself as an expert sock-sniffer, who can keep his nose on the elasticated top of a young woman’s short sock even if she, for her part, refuses to keep her foot still!
This particular young black goddess, however, is actually facilitating his sock sniffing by hitching up the hem of the black denim jean leg on her now outstretched right foot, and twisting said foot to one side, coquettishly raising her sneakered foot on tiptoe so that the slave has an uninterrupted view of the elasticated top of her short, pink sock running along the upper rim of the black sneaker.
Thomas, the feral sockslave, dutifully lowers his nose to touch the soft, cotton material of the sock and begins sniffing along the elasticated rim.
‘Sniff louder, slave…we want to hear you sniffing my girl’s sweaty sock over all this din!’ declares the master over the noise of a nearby departing bus.
Again, sockslave-feral Thomas is somewhat put out by the master’s suggestion that he might not know how to audibly sniff a young woman’s sock in public. But he bites his lip, and obeys the master – sniffing the master’s girlfriend’s short pink sock even louder than he had already been doing.
The female owner of the sock just giggles, and resumes kissing her manly and masterful boyfriend, whilst slave Thomas is relegated to sniffing her other sock on her left foot which is resting flat on the ground – a somewhat trickier operation than sniffing the top of he right sock had been as the hem of her left jean leg is a bit more in the way!
Nevertheless he succeeds in inhaling the pleasant aroma of the young woman’s pink sock on her left foot. Of course, he is frustrated not to be able to sniff the smelliest part of her pink sock – the part deep inside the young woman’s black sneaker which coves her pretty, black toes. But a mere feral-footslave such as Thomas rarely, if ever, gets to sniff ladies’ inner socks – given that he is not an officially licensed public footslave with a footslave-stand on which his female customers can sit down relax, and have him take off their shoes for more serious sock-sniffing.
But he is content with just sniffing the tops of female socks – especially when, as now, the recipient of his humble sock-sniffing services chucks a whole 5 pence down at him! His words of gratitude to the black master and mistress are genuinely heartfelt:
‘Oh pray, master and mistress…God bless you, master and mistress. This dirty sock-sniffing queer is honoured to have been of service to the mistress, if it so pleases you all-powerful master and mistress!’
The couple just laugh at him, before resuming their wistful french-kissing, as it will soon be time for the young woman’s coach to leave.
The Scavenger Feral
Believe it or not, the sock-sniffing feral footslave is not, actually, the lowest of the feral-slaves.
There is another category of footslave-ferals who are considered even lower than the three types we have observed above – the so-called ‘scavenger-footslaves’: footslaves who lack the confidence and ability to serve women’s footwear, even the footwear of strangers, whilst they are still wearing it, and who are therefore reduced to scavenging for discarded women’s shoes, boots, socks and tights on the Gynarchy’s rubbish tips.
They scavenge for female footwear because they can’t live without it! A male footslave – by nature – must have female footwear in his life even if he has no mistress! He craves for it; he yearns for it – for at least he can then sniff and taste the traces of female feet on worn-out, discarded footwear.
Slave Stuart is one such ‘scavenger-footslave’. He sniffs out, and collects, the discarded shoes, boots and socks of superior women from the city’s main landfill site. When he finds a female shoe, boot or sock he takes it back to his den and worships it, trying to imagine what sort of woman would have worn it.
Of course, there is no income from any of this. He receives no pennies as he is not performing a service for any mistress. The shoes, boots and socks he collects have been thrown out by their mistresses – no longer required or wanted, rather like the feral footslaves themselves. Slave Stuart therefore feeds himself with the scraps of food he finds himself on the rubbish tip in amongst the discarded, female shoes, boots and socks. It’s the only ‘tip’ he gets!
But at least he gets to rest his head on a pillow of worn-out female socks every night, and his makeshift den next to his place of work (the rubbish tip) smells strongly of the musty smell of ladies, well-worn boot leather. He feels comfortable and secure in his den, for it is, effectively, constructed of female footwear and he is never happier than when he is surrounded by female footwear.
Indeed, the irony is that all our feral footslaves are happy. They almost have a sense of personal freedom – being largely outside the law as they are, and no longer a part of the formal strictures that apply to enslaved males in the legitimate slave-sector.
As we have seen, uniquely amongst male slaves in the Gynarchy the footslave-ferals decide which mistresses to serve, which type of footwear to serve, and how and when to serve it. They approach the mistress, rather than the other way round. It’s an alien concept to most slaves, but thanks to the sweet, feminine indulgence and generosity of their female betters, the dirty, male footslave-ferals can and do survive.
Surely only a sweet and kind, feminine Gynarchy would tolerate such brutish males on its female streets!
The End
