Tortoise(s)hell

The ‘tortoiseshell’ – a delightfully degrading, male punishment which, arguably, could only ever have been devised by the intricate mind of a superior woman.

Slave Michael was currently experiencing the punishment of the ‘tortoiseshell’. As per usual for a humble, down-in-the-dirt footslave he was on his hands and knees staring at the dusty ground beneath him, but he now had a heavy, wooden pallet strapped to his naked back – a pallet full of heavy concrete slabs, all of which built up to resemble the shape of a tortoise’s shell.

Hence the name of the punishment! Poor slave Michael was about to be required to crawl around on all fours for three long days, with the heavy burden of his makeshift ‘tortoiseshell’ strapped to his aching back.

Tortoise-hell, more like!

And he wouldn’t be allowed to crawl about just anywhere. Even that small freedom was to be denied him! No, he would be obliged by law to follow a kilometre long circuit which was specifically designed for the ingenious punishment. It was a circuit composed entirely of a winding, circular cobblestone path – a path fiendishly designed to cut at his bare shins and knee caps as he crawled along with his heavy and humiliating, shell-like, concrete burden strapped to his back.

Moreover he would be relentlessly supervised during his painful, kilometre-long circuits – by women of course; specifically, in the first instance at any rate, by blonde-haired, 23 year old, uniformed corrections-officer mistress Louise, a tiny slip of a girl in stature, but a female officer who is nevertheless empowered by the law to carry a stinging correctional-whip which she can use to encourage the ‘tortoise’ along his humiliating path should he start to weaken or slacken.

Corrections-officer mistress Louise, however, would only be supervising his circuits for the first 7 hours of his punishment, for it would be unreasonable to burden a young woman with the responsibility for supervising the entire duration of a criminal-slave’s three-day-long physical punishment!

She would therefore be handing over the reins to one of her female-correctional colleagues in 7 hours’ time – literally so, as the supervising officer, in addition to the whip, is equipped with a pair of leather reins with which she pulls the ‘tortoise’ along behind her brown leather, corrections-officer boots.

After a further 7 hours yet another uniformed, female correctional-officer would take up the whip and the reins of power, and lead, or cajole if need be, the increasingly weak and exhausted ‘tortoise’ along the same old cobblestone circuit – round and round the circuit like a stuffed tortoise!

Slave Michael would thus be crawling along the rough, stone cobblestones beneath his heavy concrete shell for 21 hours in total. Only after the third correctional officer’s 7 hour shift had finished would slave Michael be permitted to rest – for 3 hours – before he would be compelled to begin the second day of his three day punishment – supervised yet again by a succession of pretty, fresh-faced and eager female correctional-officers, with a fresh and equally eager correctional-whip coiled up in their pretty, feminine hands.

But the good news for slave Michael is that he does, at least, get those three hours of rest each day! And he won’t be the only male miscreant crawling around the winding cobblestone pathway. At any given time there can be anything up to a dozen male-punishees undergoing the punishment of the tortoise-circuit.

Finally however, just to add insult to probable injury, he would be carrying his humiliating, concrete burden in full public view – for the authorities in the Gynarchy are very keen for female justice to always be seen to be done. Dotted along the kilometre long circuit, throughout the day and night would be various, mocking female citizens of the Gynarchy (as well, no doubt, as a goodly number of female, foreign tourists to the Gynarchy) who would delight in observing his strenuous and sweaty efforts in dragging himself along on his hands and knees – behind the brown leather, uniform boots of his female supervisors from the Correctional Department and under pain of the whip – whilst they, the mocking witnesses, snacked on refreshing fruit juice and crisps, revelling in his male-prisoner misery.

And he would not be able to ignore his pretty, civilian tormentresses positioned at various vantage points along the tortoise-circuit, for he would be required as part of his punishment to stop and kiss their feet, and to verbally praise and bless them for taking time out from their busy, feminine schedules in order to graciously mock and berate him as he crawls along the winding, cobblestone path.

Yes – it is truly a fiendish, female-inspired punishment of a helpless, male slave, but it is nothing more than slave Michael deserves. For he is guilty of the serious crime of disrespect towards his mistress. Can you believe, he actually sneezed over her bare foot?!

So don’t waste any of your pity on him. For the next three, long days he must resemble a tortoise. The only thing he cannot emulate about a tortoise is that he cannot pull in his wrinkly neck in order to hide under his shell. His gormless and pained face will therefore be on full public display all the time – even whilst he ‘rests’.

But for now his rest period is an eternity away. He is just beginning his just and righteous punishment. Slave Michael watches nervously as corrections-officer mistress Louise steps in front of him and attaches the leather collar to his scrawny and exposed neck. As he stares humbly at the somewhat dusty and scuff-marked, rounded toes of her regulation, brown leather, block-heeled, zip-up ankle boots, he really has no idea how he is possibly going to be able to move with such an intolerably weighty, concrete burden strapped onto his feeble, male back.

Perhaps that’s because, figuratively at least, he is spineless – completely lacking in backbone. He is, after all, a mere slave, not a proper man.

And his equally spindly kneecaps already feel shot to pieces on the rough cobblestones at the very start of the ‘tortoise circuit’ - even though he hadn’t yet moved an inch!

Then he espies the dark-brown, leather whip-end dangling down beside the instep of one of mistress Louise’s matching, dark-brown, leather, zip-up ankle boots – and he quickly realises that the sharp sting of the uniformed correctional-officer’s female whip would provide all the encouragement he needs to move forwards.

The sight of the business-end of officer-mistress Louise’s single-tailed whip, pathetically, actually provided him with the slavish reassurance he needed – reassurance that he would be inspired to move forwards!

Corrections-officer mistress Louise had already given him his introductory pep talk as he had contritely kissed the scuff marked toes of her regulation, uniform boots. She had done so in public, so that the small band of public-punishment, female enthusiasts who had gathered at the very start of the circuit could enjoy hearing his sentence being pronounced, and gleefully witness the dismay and fear on his gormless, footslave-face:

‘Convicted prisoner no. 98526 – you have been sentenced by the Female Court to three days of the tortoiseshell punishment for the crime of disrespecting your mistress. Your punishment shall formally begin in three minutes’ time, when I shall instruct you to “move off”.

If you fail to move off when so instructed you shall feel the end of my whip on the backs of your bare legs. Ha! Ha! Believe me, you shall decide to move after you have felt the kiss of my whip!...’

It was quite unprofessional of correctional-officer mistress Louise to laugh out loud at this point, but she was only a junior officer, and her heart was in the right place.

The watching band of female-onlookers laughed along with her at the convicted, male prisoner as she continued with her speech:

‘…You shall focus your eyes on the backs of my brown leather boot heels as I lead you along the kilometre-long circuit. You may only avert your eyes from my heels when you are required to kiss the feet of any of the female witnesses to your public punishment and humiliation. I shall direct you over to the feet of any woman whose feet you are required to pay your humble, male respects to…’

A female cheer rang out at this stage from several of the women-onlookers as they compared the dustiness of their respective shoes, sandals and boots.

Mistress Louise continued to read out her speech:

‘…Remember too, that you are required to verbally bless the mistress whose feet you are kissing – to praise and worship her feet and footwear, and then thank her for taking the time to witness your punishment and humiliation. If you fail to satisfy the mistress that you are sufficiently respectful and penitent, you will again feel the harsh sting of my lash on your bare thighs.’

Of course, the sting of the female whip would have to be delivered to the backs of his thighs and legs because the concrete, tortoise-like shell ‘protected’ his bare back. It would be a novel experience for slave Michael – or prisoner no. 98526 as we perhaps ought to refer to him from now on – to feel the smart of the female whip on his legs!

It had been a well-rehearsed and informative, if somewhat unprofessionally delivered, public pep-talk on the part of the junior corrections-officer mistress to her prisoner-footslave, and certainly one delivered from the heart.

As was her first, barked command:

‘Prisoner no.98526, move off!’

Just the threat of the brown leather punishment whip dangling in front of his kneeling face was enough inspiration to make prisoner no. 98526 ‘move off’ – to the audible amusement of the gaggle of girls who had earlier assembled at the start of the tortoise circuit to witness not only the male miscreant receiving his humiliating pep-talk, but also to observe him being loaded up with his heavy tortoiseshell.

Prisoner no. 98526 was somewhat disappointed that he hadn’t been ordered to kiss any of the mocking, female witnesses’ feet before being ordered to ‘move off’ – for he had been surrounded by a goodly number of pretty, female boots, shoes and sandals at the starting line of the cobblestone circuit.

One particularly fetching pair of black, canvas, high-top sneakers and multicloured, cartoon-print ankle socks - belonging to a fit and athletic-looking young black woman in her early twenties who was wearing the shortest of short, black shorts - had especially caught his eye. He would have given anything to feel the tops of her cheap, printed socks on his dry-with-fear footslave lips. It would have comforted him, if anything, to have to kiss her socks.

Comfort socks.

But then, he wasn’t here to be comforted. He was here to be punished!

And so he pulled himself together as he pulled himself along behind officer-mistress Louise’s brown leather, ankle boots.

Some female correctional-officers choose to wear light brown, knee-length skirts with regulation, dark brown, zip-up, knee-length boots on their pretty, nylon-stockinged legs, but mistress Louise preferred the second ‘uniform’ option of regulation, light brown, boot-cut trousers with dark-brown, leather, zip-up ankle boots.

Prisoner no. 98526 hadn’t seen them, but inside those dark brown, leather, zip-up ankle boots junior correctional-officer mistress Louise was wearing matching, dark brown, cotton bootsocks – just to keep her feet warm and comfortable inside her heavy, uniform boots on such a warm and humid summer’s day.

Given that he had female socks on his mind, had he known she was wearing such socks inside her ankle boots, officer-mistress Louise’s male prisoner would undoubtedly have been hoping for a glimpse of the elasticated tops of her plain, brown socks. But her boot-cut trouser legs put paid to all that. Besides, he wasn’t worthy to see the beautiful, young, blonde correctional officer’s dark brown bootsocks – for he was merely a miscreant footslave who was undergoing public punishment. The dusty backs of her blocky boot heels was good enough for him.

Speaking of which, those brown leather boot heels seemed to be picking up more and more dust as he crawled agonisedly along the cobblestone path behind officer-mistress Louise’s feet, the light-brown hems of her boot-cut trousers, and the dark brown tip of her prisoner-whip – still not drawn in anger upon the backs of his legs – flapping in front of his frightened face.

After some 300 metres or so, however, he was suddenly ordered to stop - not to afford him a rest from his crawling (although, already, he was appreciative of the rest to his aching kneecaps), but because officer-mistress Louise was now pulling his face over towards the feet of his first mocking, civilian tormentress – an Indian lady in her early to mid thirties.

That Indian lady went by the name of miss Kulwinder. A recently-arrived immigrant into the Gynarchy, she was currently an office cleaner by profession. She felt she worked hard for a living, and therefore she very much enjoyed spending her free time sitting beside the infamous tortoise circuit and observing some hapless, male creatures working and labouring even harder than she had to!

After all, the entertainment was free, and she didn’t have a lot of money.

She always came well-prepared for her day out – a flask full of hot tea; some bottled water; a box full of delicious and spicy, Indian samosas to snack on; a digital camera (which she had found as lost property one day whilst cleaning out a storeroom) to photograph the miscreants as they crawled along their agonizing route; she even brought a fold-up chair along with her to the tortoise-circuit so that she could sit by the side of the cobblestone path for hours on end watching and enjoying the male slaves at ‘work’ – albeit their entirely nugatory work of dragging their concrete shells around with them!

Miss Kulwinder also always had a few choice words for each miscreant, tortoise-like prisoner-slave as he approached the area of the circuit where she normally based herself – some 300 metres from the start.

With her pretty mouth still half-full of spicy samosa, she caught officer Louise’s attention by arrogantly mocking the slave in her instantly-recognisable Indian accent:

‘Ha! Ha! How are you liking it, you dirty slave? Are you being enjoying your heavy burden on your back? Is it being pleasing to you to be having to crawl around these cobblestones on your dirty hands and knees? Ha! Ha!’

She then took a snapshot of his suffering.

A smiling officer-mistress Louise immediately lead the criminal-slave, by means of the leather reins attached to his neck, over to the feet of the seated miss Kulwinder that he may ‘praise and bless’ the Indian cleaning woman for mocking him, and may answer her rhetorical questions whilst kissing her feet.

Precisely because she was seated, the frayed hems of cleaning-mistress Kulwinder’s black, corduroy jeans had ridden up above the tops of her shiny black, low-heeled, slip-on shoes to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of short, white sneaker sock. Only the elasticated tops of her short white socks were just visible – running along the insteps of her shiny, black shoes – but they each contained a fetching, thin, single, yellow stripe along the centre of the elasticated part of the sock.

Her black, slip-on shoes glistened in the sunlight.

As he approached the Indian cleaning lady’s yellow and white socks and black, shiny shoes, convicted prisoner no. 98526 felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of slavish admiration for the female shoes and socks now directly in front of his crawling face – for they were the patent leather shoes and bright white, yellow-striped socks of a hard-working and very beautiful Indian immigrant-woman, and were therefore patently worthy of his respect and admiration.

To say he felt nothing other than slavish admiration for the Indian cleaning lady’s shoes and socks is, of course, not strictly-speaking true, for he also felt the increasingly heavy burden of his concrete tortoiseshell on his aching back and shoulder muscles.

Nevertheless, it was easy and natural for prisoner-slave no. 98526 to lower his lips to the mocking Indian lady’s now imperiously outstretched right foot, and to kiss her shiny, black shoe whilst he thanked and blessed her in humble slave-speak for her mockingly rhetorical questions, all the while being closely observed by the brown-booted, whip-twitching, corrections officer, mistress Louise:

‘Oh pray, Indian mistress, God bless you, Indian mistress, if it pleases you mistress. This slave thanks the Indian mistress for her questions to the slave, and assures the mistress of his justly-deserved pain and suffering underneath his great burden, if it is so pleasing to you most respected Indian mistress. Oh pray mistress, truly this dirty, convicted prisoner-slave admires the mistress’s shoes and socks, and praises and blesses them, if you would be so kind and merciful to this humble slave, most respected Indian mistress.’

You will note that prisoner-slave no. 98526, whilst he recognised the ethnicity of the beautiful, Indian mistress, was unable to address his female better by her full title – ‘mistress Kulwinder’ – since he did not know her name. She was a stranger to him – a mocking stranger.

And he, presumably, meant nothing to her – just another, anonymous male prisoner doing penance on the tortoise-circuit. Nevertheless his obsequious, verbose sycophancy clearly tickled miss Kulwinder’s fancy, as she just burst out laughing at him, and promptly withdrew her right, shiny black shoe from his lips, replacing it with her left:

‘Ha! Ha! Be kissing my other shoe, you stupid, ignorant footslave, and then be kissing the top of my left sock, but do not be letting your dirty lips stray over the yellow line at the top of my sock. Otherwise I am being complaining to your supervisor-mistress, and you will be being whipped! Ha! Ha!’

As if to confirm the veracity of the Indian mistress’s words, corrections-officer mistress Louise ostentatiously unclipped her brown, leather corrections-whip from her belt at that point. She then furled it up in her pretty, white hands, ready to strike at the backs of her prisoner’s thighs should he carelessly allow his lips to stray over the designated yellow boundary on the elasticated top of the Indian lady’s short, white sneaker sock, being worn on her soft, brown, left foot inside her patent black leather, slip-on shoe.

But miss Louise, and indeed miss Kulwinder, need not have worried – for slave Michael was an expert sock-kisser of many years’ experience. His own mistress – the one whose soft and feminine bare foot he had so uncharacteristically sneezed over – often wore socks, although, paradoxically, not on the day he had had his involuntary sneezing fit!

Soiling his mistress’ precious sock would have been bad enough! But her precious bare foot!

But the point is that mistress Kulwinder’s left sock was perfectly safe on slave Michael’s mouth. He genuinely respected it, and its Indian female owner/wearer – and he demonstrated that by ably kissing it below the yellow stripe, after he had first paid all-due slavish homage to the Indian cleaning-lady’s black, slip-on shoe, of course.

Miss Kulwinder was impressed by the prisoner-footslave’s slavish humility towards her shoes and socks. She made a note of his number in her ‘slave-spotter’s’ notebook. She decided she would stay in her place until this particular prisoner-slave came around again, when she would have him brought over in order to kiss her shoes and socks again. She was keen to know just how steady his lips would be on her socks after he had endured a full tour of the punishing tortoise-circuit!

A sharp kick from the scuff-marked and dusty, rounded toe of officer-mistress Louise’s brown, leather zip-up ankle boot indicated in no uncertain terms to prisoner-slave no. 98526 that it was time to move on, and so, reluctantly, slave Michael withdrew his lips from young Indian-woman white sneaker-sock and continued on his painful, burdensome circuit under the hot, summer sun.

After what seemed like only a further 20 metres or so he happened upon a delightful young Japanese tourist in her early twenties. At least, he was guessing she was a tourist from her touristy attire – dark sunglasses; bright, pink and white T shirt; white shorts; and brown, leather strappy, open-toed sandals on bare, Japanese feet with purple-painted toenails.

As he crawled closer to the young, oriental woman’s bare, sandalled and pedicured feet – he observed also that she was wearing a very fetching, silver-coloured toe-ring on the big toe of her beautifully soft-looking and petite right foot.

He heard the young woman switch on her tourist-camcorder as he approached – evidently recording her mistress-slave encounter for her Japanese friends back home:

She spoke with a strong and unmistakable, Japanese accent in admirably good English:

‘Ha! Ha! Prease officer – Suki want srave kiss feet. Prease, you make criminal kiss Suki big toe while Suki film him, yes? Ha! Ha!’

‘Yes certainly, miss’ replies the ever obliging correctional-officer mistress Louise, who just loves her job.

She pulls her charge’s gormless and sweating face down to the Japanese girl’s bare feet:

‘Prisoner-slave no. 98526, kiss the feet of our Japanese guest this instant. Kiss her big toe, and praise and welcome her to the Gynarchy!’

The sweet and petite Japanese girl, a broad smile on her pretty, oriental face, quickly positioned her right, sandalled foot on the dusty ground directly beneath the overburdened footslave’s face and nose, all the while happily filming his degradation and humiliation from above:

‘Ha! Ha! Srave obey officer-mistress - kiss miss Suki big toe! But srave not touch miss Suki metal toe-ring, or Suki have srave whip!’

Focus your eyes on my brown leather boot-heels!... Do not be letting your dirty lips stray over the yellow line at the top of my sock!... Srave not touch miss Suki metal toe-ring!

What is it about modern young women in positions of absolute, female power - that they are so uniformly fussy about precisely how and where on their feet a slave’s eyes may focus and his lips may touch?!

Officer-mistress Louise’s dangling whip soon dispelled all such rebellious and distracting thoughts from prisoner-slave no. 98526’s weak and feeble, male mind. His role was to obey; not to question.

And so he did obey. He obeyed his petite, blonde, uniformed supervisor-taskmistress, officer mistress Louise, by verbally praising and worshipping the equally petite Japanese guest-mistress, mistress Suki, as he welcomed her to the Gynarchy by kissing her purple-varnished, big-toenail whilst carefully avoiding any lip-contact with the cold metal of her ornamental toe-ring.

The Japanese girl clearly enjoyed the feel of the helpless slave’s lips on her big toenail, so much she had to stop filming in order to start giggling and expressing out loud her innermost thoughts:

'Tee! Hee! Srave-man have to obey Suki! He kiss Suki dirty foot on big toe! Hee! Hee! Suki better than him! He just a no-good piece of dirt on Japanese girl big-toe! Hee! Hee!’

Mistress Louise happily confirmed the prisoner-slave’s lowly status to the young oriental woman:

‘Ha! Ha! That’s right miss. Feel free to lord it over the prisoner all you like, for he is not worthy to even be in your presence. Kick dust into his face if you like, miss, for that’s all he’s good for – the dust from the soles of your sandals!’

The dark-haired, Japanese girl evidently liked the blonde, correctional-officer’s helpful suggestion, and did just that. She flicked street-dust into the kneeling male-prisoner’s eyes with the toe of her brown, leather sandal – seemingly not in the least bit concerned that in so doing she was getting dirt and dust under her carefully-painted, bright purple toenails. Miss Suki didn’t care because she was enjoying herself too much. She was enjoying the sight, through her protective sunglasses, of the gormless prisoner-slave screwing up his eyes in a vain attempt to protect them from her dirty, Japanese sandal-dust!

Another young woman, apparently the same black girl whose black, canvas high-tops and bright, multicoloured, cartoon-print ankle socks he had so admired at the starting line of the circuit - and who was evidently following his painfully slow progress all along the cobblestone pathway – gleefully rushed over to join in the dust-kicking, and after the dust, and the young black woman’s high-topped sneakers, had eventually settled, prisoner-slave no. 98526 was at last given the opportunity to kiss the dusty toes of her black canvas sneakers as well.

The black girl even spat on him – a highly visible display of her righteous contempt for him. Frustratingly, however, she still wouldn’t permit his eager lips to pay their footslave-respects to the soft and inviting, scrunched-up tops of her thick, warm, and now dusty, cartoon-print socks.

And so prisoner no. 98526 continued on his punishing circuit under the unrelenting sun, shaded only by his tortoiseshell, concrete burden – round and round the cobblestone footpath like a slow-moving tortoise, stopping only to kiss female boot, shoe, sandal or sock as directed by his all-powerful supervisor – officer mistress Louise, whose own dust-covered, brown leather, zip-up, ankle boots continually loomed large in his footslave field of vision as she lead him by the reins along the circular path.

Out of the corner of his eye he had the added frustration of seeing the scrunched-up tops of those multicloured, cartoon-print socks on smooth, black legs still walking along beside the track – so near, and yet so far!

Then, after what seemed like an agonizingly long time, he espied once again the familiar black, patent leather shoes and fetching white and yellow-striped sneaker-socks of the Indian cleaning-lady mistress, shimmering in the sunlight. He must have come full circle, and would be doing so again and again throughout the day– for another 20 hours in fact, before he would be granted any respite.

Much to her regret, miss Kulwinder would only be able to watch five or so of this particular footslave-prisoner no. 98526’s painfully slow circuits that day. After all, she was a free woman, and had a busy life to lead. She was due to go out for a meal with her husband that evening, and would have to head home in a few hours’ time in order to get changed. But she now very much wanted to see prisoner no. 98526 complete at least another three or four full circuits under the blazing hot sun, and she was delighted to observe that he was now, after only one full circuit, sweating profusely, his breath laboured and his muscles shaking under the ever-oppressive weight of his concrete tortoiseshell burden.

Her familiar, mocking, Indian voice rang out once again:

‘Ha! Ha! Now you are feeling it, isn’t it slave? Now you are wishing for some water to quench your thirst, and for your burden to be lifted from your shoulders, isn’t it slave? Ha! Ha!’

Once again, officer-mistress Louise’s brown-leather boots lead him over to the patent black leather, slip-on shoes and short white and yellow sneaker-socks of the Indian cleaning lady, mistress Kulwinder. Officer-mistress Louise may have been quite junior in her job, but she was acutely aware that a female spectator’s perfectly legitimate questions must always be humbly and respectfully answered by a dirty, male prisoner-slave undergoing punishment.

Prisoner-slave no. 98526 knew it too, and therefore addressed the youngish Indian woman’s beautiful shoes and socks once again, albeit more breathlessly this time:

‘Oh pray mistress… if it pleases you Indian mistress… truly the mistress is an astute and observant mistress… for truly this prisoner-slave craves for some water and for respite from the heavy burden on his aching back , if you would be so kind most beautiful and respected Indian mistress.’

Ha! Ha! You’ve got to laugh, haven’t you? It almost sounds like the foolish prisoner-slave thinks miss Kulwinder was actually offering him some of her bottled water! Ha! Ha!

Miss Kulwinder just laughs with undisguised glee. She would rather spill her water down the drain than alleviate the prisoner-slave’s thirst.

She, perhaps deliberately, takes a long swig out of her bottle of water, even though she is not particularly thirsty herself:

‘Ha! Ha! Be showing him no mercy, officer! Be making him crawl continuously throughout the rest of the day without any rest or water! He is being a land tortoise, not a sea turtle – so water should not be touching him! Ha! Ha! Be making the dirty criminal work hard on dry land until he is collapsing, and then be whipping him please, officer! Ha! Ha!’

Once again, to slave Michael’s pathetic, footslavish delight, the Indian lady’s right foot was then arrogantly extended beneath his sweating face for him to respectfully kiss.

He may have been imagining it, but he was sure that there was less white sock visible this time inside the shiny, black shoe. That thin yellow stripe along the elasticated top of her instep had almost disappeared down inside the Indian lady’s shoe in places. The sock must gradually be slipping down inside her shoe! Presumably because her feet were starting to sweat inside the warmth of her patent, black leather, slip-on shoe?

Or else he was starting to hallucinate?

Then he remembered that it had been the white sock on her left foot that he had earlier been required to kiss, and sure enough a quick glance over to the other sock reassuringly revealed more of the yellow-striped top.

He was not hallucinating after all!

Nevertheless, the very knowledge that the Indian lady’s socks were not straight and even on her feet, and had been carelessly and unthinkingly put onto her feet without any thought as to their aesthetics, only inspired slave Michael to redouble his efforts in paying his respects to the humble footwear of the hard-working, immigrant Indian-woman. He just hoped against hope, as his lips once again brushed against soft, white, feminine sock that the sock on her right foot wouldn’t have disappeared completely down inside the top of her shoe by the time he had finished his second agonizing circuit – for the Indian lady’s, short yellow and white sneaker socks were now what inspired him to go on.

But he needn’t have worried, for miss Kulwinder had already decided to straighten her socks in readiness for the footslave’s next circuit – for she liked having him pay oral homage to the elasticated tops of her socks every bit as much as he liked kissing them. And she was, if truth be told, quite impressed by the fact that, even though he was now visibly shaking with physical exhaustion, his slave lips still did not inadvertently stray above the thin yellow stripe at the top of her working socks – not even on her lower-down right sock.

These were the shoes and socks she wore to work; the shoes and socks she wore whilst mopping the office floors; and they were the same shoes and socks she routinely wore to torment the tortoise-footslaves; slaves such as prisoner no. 98526, otherwise known as slave Michael, who deserved everything he got.

You can continue to watch him crawling, and sweating, and kissing sweet feminine feet and footwear if you wish. You have plenty of time. After all, he still has some 19 hours to go before his first, three hour rest period in the early hours of the morning!

Who knows, you might even get to see him kissing the scrunched-up tops of that mysterious black girl’s cartoon-print socks above her high-top, black canvas sneakers! She still appears to be stalking him.

But I’m afraid I have to go now. My own mistress is summoning me. She wants me to massage her bare feet.

Hope I don’t sneeze!


The End