All That Glitters...
He cut a solitary figure on Xmas Eve as he knelt, confined in the wooden stocks, surrounded by freshly fallen snow in the centre of the quadrangle at the Young Ladies’ College of Central Barbaria (YLCCB).
It was mid afternoon and was already getting dark. The college grounds felt eerily quiet and unusually cold and lonely. Most, if not all, of the female students had left to spend Xmas with their friends or family. Even the other collegiate footslaves were safely tucked away in their cells. Only the inaptly-named slave ‘Victor’ remained exposed to the frosty wind as it made moan around the four corners of the college quadrangle, and to the falling snow as it covered everything – including him – in an ever thickening blanket of pure, white cold.
He was confined in the college stocks for a reason, of course. He was being punished – and for quite a serious crime against femininity; the crime of allowing himself to be distracted whilst kissing the feet of the ‘mature’ (i.e. thirty-something), overseas student from Taiwan, miss Li-Hwa.
The delectable miss Li-Hwa had ordered him to kiss her sneakered feet goodbye, ten times each, as she was leaving for her well-earned Xmas vacation, but whilst carrying out this simple and routine footslavish task slave Victor had become distracted by the sight of another, somewhat younger, college student – 22 year old miss Graciella from Mexico – adjusting the tops of her pale blue, ankle-length bootsocks inside her black, zip-up ankle boots.
He was distracted by this because he rarely got to see this particular Latina student’s socks inside her ubiquitous ankleboots. Miss Graciella, in common with many of the student-girls on campus, always wore jeans which neatly, but frustratingly, covered the tops of her boots – and the jeans, therefore, ordinarily hid her socks from public view. Slave Victor had foolishly thought it would be churlish of him not to make the most of the unexpected opportunity to surreptitiously admire the fiesta of pale blue, Latina student-girl bootsock when the opportunity had arisen.
But it had been a fatal mistake! For in concentrating on the neighbouring, pale blue, latina-girl bootsocks he had miscalculated the number of times he had kissed the oriental-girl’s left sneaker-toe. He only kissed it nine times – not the ten he had been ordered to do!
As a consequence all hell had broken loose! The slighted Taiwanese girl had reported him immediately to the female college authorities for insolence and disrespect towards her made-in-Taiwan sneakers, and the end result was what you see before you now – a shivering slave Victor confined on his bare knees in the wooden stocks in the centre of the deserted college quadrangle for three whole days – over the Xmas break!
Such unfortunate timing! The one time of the year when the collegiate footslaves could normally look forward to a few days’ rest from their more or less perpetual foot-kissing duties, as they lay in their respective isolation cells over Xmas – rather than having to endure a back-breaking three days confined in the college’s low, wooden stocks as slave Victor was having to now.
The irony was that slave Victor in no way disrespected the feet and footwear of the mature student miss Li-Hwa. She was a truly beautiful young woman, mature only in her sense of absolute female power and supremacy over the inferior male, and, even more importantly, she had been wearing very pretty Taiwanese sneakers on her shapely, oriental feet and ankles that fateful day; pink and white, low-cut, lace up, scuffed sneakers on matching pink and white, low-cut sneaker-socks, all tucked underneath the hems of her bootcut, navy-blue slacks.
Indeed, he had been admiring a tiny slither of miss Li-Hwa’s pink and white sneaker sock just below the thirty-something girl’s, still shapely, Taiwanese anklebone on her left foot at the very moment when the temptation of pale blue, Latina-girl bootsock being straightened had suddenly distracted him!
How he now wished he had remained focussed on pink and white sneaker-sock rather than pale blue cotton sock!
But it was too late. Sentence had been righteously passed, and now had to be judiciously served. There could be no rest for the wicked college footslave – not even at Xmas.
He would be celebrating the festive season alone in the stocks! And slap it in to him!
At least, he thought to himself, it is going to be a white Xmas. And again, trying to look on the bright side, the young ladies of the Young Ladies’ College of Central Barbaria were nothing if not merciful towards him, despite the heinous nature of his crime, for they had, exceptionally in view of the inclement weather, and perhaps just because it was Xmas, provided him with a warm blanket over his bare, kneeling back.
Not a particularly comfortable blanket, of course. It had to be a blanket suitable for a punished slave. It was thus a dull, grey, rough old blanket – a blanket which somewhat irritated his whip-marked back. It itched! Or it would have itched had he not been so numb with cold.
But it did, nevertheless, provide him with some considerable degree of protection from the alternative blanket of snow which was now being supplied to him by the less forgiving forces of nature; not enough to spoil his punishment and make him feel comfortable, but enough to stop him from freezing to death.
Yes, the stupid, male slave was most definitely being shown elements of sweet, feminine mercy during his wholly-justified punishment – and he was eternally grateful for that. Only his bald head and bare feet remained totally exposed to the elements, for the long blanket even covered much of his bare legs below his standard-length, white slave-shorts.
His bald head, of course, was agonizingly confined in a hole through the heavy, wooden, upper crossbar of the kneeling-stocks, forcing him to look down at the ground as he knelt in the stocks – a suitable posture for a footslave undergoing punishment I think we can all agree?
Slave Victor was no stranger to this particular patch of ground for, being a particularly stupid and inept collegiate footslave, he had been confined in the stocks many times before. But this time the college ground beneath the stocks looked different – white and pure – thanks to the snow. He watched intently as fresh snowflakes added to the whiteness below his gormless, middle-aged, slave-face. The snow, which had only started falling that afternoon, was lying; building up. There was already a good two inches below him.
It looked pretty – pure and unspoilt – like the many superior young women who studied at the college.
He felt ashamed – like an impure male blot on the female landscape.
As dusk fell the lights automatically came on around the four surrounding corridors of the quadrangle – even though there appeared to be nobody about to walk through the hallowed halls of the YLCCB. The college was deserted. At the same time a bright spotlight highlighted slave Victor’s shame in the middle of the quadrangle - a single spotlight focussed on the exposed prisoner in the wooden stocks; stocks which were sarcastically known as the ‘seat of learning’, since any young woman who took the fancy could sit on the thick, wooden crossbar above the male punishee’s head, demurely tucking her dainty, feminine, sneakered or booted feet beneath and around his face as she sat atop him – a clear demonstration of her absolute female power and superiority over him.
Slave Victor just wished there was a female student - any female student - who would take up her seat and tuck her warm, feminine legs around his kneeling and confined face right now; for his cheeks were getting cold, and a nice pair of tight female-student jeans would warm them up nicely!
It was typical of slave Victor – always thinking of himself and his selfish needs!
He quickly realised, however, that even if there were any students left in the college they would be unlikely to sit on the heavy wooden crossbar today – it too must be covered in a layer of wet snow, though he couldn’t see high enough to observe the top of the crossbar.
He therefore concentrated on the pure white snow beneath him – lit up now by the bright, college spotlight.
Suddenly he heard a crunching noise – the crunching noise of human feet walking through the snow towards him!
He was not completely alone after all! The college was not completely deserted – even this late on the afternoon of Xmas Eve – and his slavish heart leapt for joy as he suddenly espied two pairs of feminine feet gingerly making their way through the snow of the quadrangle towards him.
The first pair of female feet were walking particularly gingerly – for they were clad in entirely inappropriate footwear for snow; shiny, black stilettos with three inch heels, and finest denier, dark nylon stockings beneath a black, calf-length overcoat.
Slave Victor recognised these stiletto-clad feet instantly. They were the shapely feet and ankles of the 19 year old, blonde-haired college administrator, miss Wendy. She never dressed like the students. He had never seen miss Wendy in the ubiquitous jeans, ankle boots or sneakers that populated the college during term time. Miss Wendy always liked to look smart and sexy, in stylish stilettos and nylon stockings. It was all part of her image of being a dumb blonde!
And why not? She had great legs after all – possibly the best legs on campus, even if they were, for the most part, hidden beneath her long, black overcoat right now. At least slave Victor could clearly see her shapely, stockinged ankles, teetering on their high heels in the snow. Piercing it; penetrating it – her spiked heels leaving a series of small, deep holes in the otherwise smooth, white, unspoilt surface.
Miss Wendy appeared to be carrying a cardboard box - something which added to her difficulty in balancing as she made her way on her high heels through the snow. Her lack of balance was making her giggle, like she was drunk.
She had not been drinking though. The only thing she was drunk with right now was impending female power.
Beside her shiny, black stilettos were a much more sensibly clad pair of female feet – protected by plain, black, calf-length moon boots over thick, grey, woollen, knee-length socks, into which were tucked a pair of blue-denim, student-girl jeans.
It was the round-toed, broad-footed moon boots that were making most of the crunching noise as they made their way firmly through the snow. Slave Victor didn’t recognise them at all. He had most definitely never seen these boots before. But he did recognise the thick, grey, knee-high socks. They were undoubtedly the socks of the Female Students’ Union leader – the Indian girl miss Rangita (NB: they weren’t actually knee-high socks; they were, in actual fact, a pair of thick, woollen leg warmers; but we won’t disabuse slave Victor of his fanciful notion since it is Xmas; he is already suffering enough; and he does like girls’ thick, woolly socks!)
As the natural, woolly, grey socks and synthetic, black moon boots came up close and then stopped directly beneath his kneeling and confined face, slave Victor noticed how the somewhat shapeless, calf-length boots, with their fetching, black drawstrings fluttering in the breeze at the tops, appeared to be shimmering beneath the concentrated light of the spotlight – thanks, no doubt, to the synthetic, polyurethane material they were made of. The black moon boots looked deliciously soft and warming – even more soft and warming than miss Rangita’s thick, woolly socks – and slave Victor soon found himself longing to kiss them. He felt they would be sure to warm up his rapidly numbing lips!
Where was mistletoe when you needed it? Mistletoe for moon-booted toe!
He noticed too, however, how snow was sticking to the synthetic uppers of the moon boots. It wasn’t melting! So the heat from miss Rangita’s pretty, Indian feet was clearly not penetrating through to the outer surface of her protective and snow-resistant moon boots. That's good, he thought to himself. Good for miss Rangita – for it means that her delicate, Indian feet must be well insulated against the cold inside her thick, heavy moon boots and equally thick, woolly kneesocks.
He was glad the Student Union leader’s precious, brown feet weren’t suffering from the cold - unlike him. For she wasn’t the one who was being punished. She had done nothing wrong – and indeed could do no wrong. For she was female.
Butter, like the snow, literally wouldn’t melt on her Indian moon boots!
The snow lying on the tops of the round-toed, polyurethane moon boots presented such a contrast, however, to the snow falling on the neighbouring stilettos. For the latter snow melted instantly – warmed up by the escaping heat from miss Wendy’s inadequately protected, blonde-girl feet. Indeed slave Victor noted how quickly the falling snowflakes melted as soon as they landed on the college administrator-mistress’s nylon stocking covered anklebones, leaving tiny little damp patches all over the nylon material of her delicate, feminine hosiery.
This must surely be uncomfortable for her? Slave Victor wondered whether he should not gallantly, or at least slavishly, blow-dry the young woman’s nylon-stockinged feet with his breath? He would be only too happy to try – although, on reflection, he very much doubted that his frosty slave-breath would do anything other than turn the melted snow-patches into ice!
Iced stockings! He was sure mistress Wendy wouldn’t appreciate that, however seasonal they might sound! So he held his breath.
The two girls, now both standing directly in front and above him, laughed out loud at him. Nothing surprising in that; he was, after all, a laughing stock.
It was miss Rangita, with her familiar and incredibly cute Indian accent, who spoke first:
‘Ha! Ha! How are you being liking it, slave? You are being stuck here in the stocks over Christmas, isn’t it? Ha! Ha! Are you being enjoying the snow? Isn’t it being pretty? Ha! Ha!’
‘Yes thank you, mistress Rangita. God bless you mistress Rangita. You are my better, mistress Rangita.’
Slave Victor was happy to be mocked by such a superior young woman. He deserved all he got.
‘Ha! Ha! Your ugly bald head looks like a plum pudding covered in icing, dirty slave!’ exclaimed mistress Wendy, the blonde college administrator, her partially-buried-in-the snow, stiletto-heeled, right foot twisting coquettishly to one side as she mocked, thereby causing her damp, dark-nylon stocking to crease and fold most fetchingly around her outer anklebone.
‘Thank you, mistress Wendy. God bless you, mistress Wendy. This dirty, male slave is truly honoured by your superior feminine presence, mistress Wendy.’
Superior mistress Wendy was referring, presumably, to the layer of snow that must now be covering the top of his bald head. The snow was falling quite heavily now - too fast to melt away instantly from the top of his fully exposed head.
And his cheeks too must undoubtedly be purple with the cold. Yes – slave Victor could see how his ugly, round head could indeed resemble a plum pudding with icing on top of it.
Miss Rangita could see it too – and laughed at her female colleague’s astute observations, whilst she simultaneously crunched her right, moon-booted foot forward into the snow directly beneath the slave’s kneeling and helpless face:
‘Ha! Ha! Be kissing my foot, you plum-pudding slave! Ha! Ha!’
She was playing straight into his lips, for as we already know slave Victor was keen to get his lips onto the unfamiliar and intriguing material of the Indian girl’s black, synthetic moon boots. Would the synthetic material feel as smooth and soft to the lips as it looked?
At least there was plenty of polyurethane boot-material to explore as he obediently lowered his confined lips to the broad, rounded toe area of miss Rangita’s now imperiously outstretched right boot.
He noticed how her tall, grey, woollen kneesock seemed to tower above him as he did so.
Legwarmer! It’s a legwarmer, slave Victor!
Kissing the moon boot was indeed a sensual revelation. The toe of the boot did indeed smell, and feel, miraculously soft. So deliciously soft that he could even feel miss Rangita’s socked toes flexing beneath the synthetic material of the boot (unbeknown to slave Victor the Indian girl’s toes were indeed besocked – though not with the thick, grey, woollen socks he thought they were; miss Rangita was actually wearing a pair of bright, yellow cotton ankle socks inside her black moon boots and beneath her grey, woolly legwarmers).
Miss Rangita’s Indian toes were as snug as a bug in a rug, and she wiggled her toes with delight as she felt the stupid slave’s mouth on the rounded toe of her warming moon boot. She laughed out loud at the pathetic, moonboot-kissing slave beneath her:
‘Ha! Ha! Are you being liking my moon boots, slave? Are they being pleasing to your eye?’
What else could slave Victor say?
‘Oh yes, mistress Rangita. Thank you mistress Rangita. God bless you mistress Rangita for imposing your beautiful moon boots on my face and mouth!’
Meanwhile miss Wendy seemed to be somewhat miffed that her stilettos were being ignored by the ignorant footslave:
‘Let’s get on with decorating him, Rangita! My feet are freezing!’
‘Quelle surprise!’, thought slave Victor to himself – though he would never have dared to say it out loud!
He heard the impatient office-administratress rummaging around in the cardboard box she was carrying above him, and observed the dark, nylon material of her finest-denier, stockinged ankles crease and fold still further in tandem with the rummaging. Miss Wendy handed something to miss Rangita, whose moonbooted foot had now withdrawn from beneath his face leaving some thick, rubbery-soled, moonboot tread marks in the snow:
‘Here Rangita, you put this around his neck while I wipe the snow off the top of his head!’
Slave Victor, pathetically and fruitlessly, wondered what on earth the two young women were up to – even though he was powerless to do anything about it! But all was soon revealed when miss Rangita mockingly and laughingly wrapped some green and white tinsel around his scrawny, confined neck and along the snow-laden wooden crossbar of the stocks!
They were decorating him up like a Christmas tree! How festive!
Miss Wendy, meanwhile, was wiping the snow off the top off his bald head with her black leather gloved hands, and applying some sort of glue to it. He then felt and saw little flakes of gold-coloured glitter falling onto his head and down his cheeks, landing eventually in the snow beneath his face as the blonde girl sprinkled the sparkly, golden glitter all over him.
It’s true what they say: all that glitters is not gold. It can be slave!
Miss Rangita, meanwhile, had taken some purple baubles out of the cardboard box and was none-too-gently attaching them to his ears – like a pair of giant, garish, Christmassy earrings!
To crown it all, miss Wendy then glued a sweet, plastic fairy in a white tutu to the top of his head – a fitting symbol of feminine superiority over him, the oppressed male. He was, in effect, being trampled underfoot by a model of a delicate, tiny, ballerina-like fairy!
How the two young women laughed at him, in their capacity as two sweet representatives of the superior, female race!
‘Deck the slave with bells of holly, fa la la la la, la la la la...’ sang miss Wendy in a mocking voice as she added the finishing touches to the footslave Christmas-tree.
Miss Rangita, being a Hindu, was unfamiliar with the Christmas song, but soon picked it up and joined in – at least with the ‘fa la la’ bits – the polyurethane material in her black moon boots creasing in rhythmic accompaniment to the music directly beneath the mesmerized and glitter-covered face of the justifiable object of female derision.
Miss Rangita then sighed contentedly as she looked down on the hastily decorated footslave in the stocks:
‘Ha! Ha! You are being looking so beautiful, slave. We have really been transforming you into a most beautiful Christmas tree! Ha! Ha! Now you are looking much more Christmassy, isn’t it?’
Slave Victor was ever so grateful for being made to look festive:
‘Yes mistress Rangita. Oh thank you mistress Rangita. God bless you both, sweet and kind mistresses Rangita and Wendy.’
Miss Rangita continued:
‘Ha! Ha! It is being far too cold now, slave. We must be leaving you, for we are having nice, warm homes to go to, isn’t it? But miss Wendy has been kindly agreeing to be coming back and feeding you with some bread and water tomorrow, isn’t it Wendy?’
‘Erm… not tomorrow, Rangita. Tomorrow is Christmas day, and that! ...But I’ll try and get out on Boxing day, if I can. I’m not sure what Michael has planned!’
Michael was miss Wendy’s latest boyfriend. Even slave Victor knew that – for, being a collegiate footslave, he got to hear all the girly gossip as he humbly attended to the female students’ feet.
Rangita just laughed at her friend Wendy’s nonchalance:
‘Ha! Ha! Oh well, maybe not tomorrow then, slave! But at least you will be having some female company on Boxing day, isn’t it – if miss Wendy and her boyfriend are not being too busy and are being able to be feeding you!’
‘Yes miss Rangita. Yes miss Wendy. Than you miss Wendy for your kind offer’, grovelled slave Victor, acutely aware that he must be looking utterly ridiculous underneath the tiny, plastic feet of the female fairy (she even had little, white stiletto shoes on!)
And speaking of stilettos, miss Wendy, the young blonde woman who might, or might not, be bringing him some non-Xmas fare on Boxing day, depending on whether or not she and her boyfriend could be bothered, now languorously stretched forward her own black-stiletto-shod foot in the snow for kissing.
Slave Victor kissed the shiny, pointy, black toe with genuine slavish respect for his female better. When she withdrew her foot, he noticed how the imprint of miss Wendy’s thin and narrow stiletto shoe-sole now criss-crossed the thick, rounded tread mark left by miss Rangita’s moon boot in the snow beneath his decorated face.
The two girls turned and walked off – leaving him literally under the spotlight, with only their aforementioned footprints for company over the festive period. Slave Victor, somewhat pathetically, made a conscious effort to strain his confined neck forwards in the stocks, as he desperately wanted his head to protect the two young women’s glitter-splattered, snowy-foot imprints from being covered by fresh snow.
In this regard the plastic fairy would help him, for she would catch some of the snow with her magic wand, giving him something exciting to look at over Xmas – the carefully preserved, snowy imprints of two very different girls’ very different styles of feminine footwear.
Merry Xmas, miss Rangita! Merry Xmas, miss Wendy! God bless you both for leaving me with your precious foot imprints in the snow! I am not worthy!
Addendum:
Miss Wendy never did visit slave Victor on Boxing Day. She forgot. Ha! Ha! She always was a bit of an airhead when it came to things like that, bless her!
But it didn’t really matter, since the slave was due to be released from the stocks the following day anyway.
And slave Victor was truly glad when he was eventually released from his outdoor, festive, wooden prison, by the blonde college-administrator and her boyfriend the day after Boxing day, for the snow had by then melted away, taking the two superior mistresses’ residual foot imprints with it. There was, therefore, nothing left for him to look at and admire through his wooden window.
Yes, it was now several degrees warmer, and Xmas was well and truly over - even though the Xmas fairy didn’t seem to want to take her tiny, plastic stiletto-shod feet off the top of the slave’s head!
It took the combined strength of both miss Wendy and her manly boyfriend Michael to eventually rip her off him!
Miss Wendy really shouldn’t have used superglue.
Doh!
It was mid afternoon and was already getting dark. The college grounds felt eerily quiet and unusually cold and lonely. Most, if not all, of the female students had left to spend Xmas with their friends or family. Even the other collegiate footslaves were safely tucked away in their cells. Only the inaptly-named slave ‘Victor’ remained exposed to the frosty wind as it made moan around the four corners of the college quadrangle, and to the falling snow as it covered everything – including him – in an ever thickening blanket of pure, white cold.
He was confined in the college stocks for a reason, of course. He was being punished – and for quite a serious crime against femininity; the crime of allowing himself to be distracted whilst kissing the feet of the ‘mature’ (i.e. thirty-something), overseas student from Taiwan, miss Li-Hwa.
The delectable miss Li-Hwa had ordered him to kiss her sneakered feet goodbye, ten times each, as she was leaving for her well-earned Xmas vacation, but whilst carrying out this simple and routine footslavish task slave Victor had become distracted by the sight of another, somewhat younger, college student – 22 year old miss Graciella from Mexico – adjusting the tops of her pale blue, ankle-length bootsocks inside her black, zip-up ankle boots.
He was distracted by this because he rarely got to see this particular Latina student’s socks inside her ubiquitous ankleboots. Miss Graciella, in common with many of the student-girls on campus, always wore jeans which neatly, but frustratingly, covered the tops of her boots – and the jeans, therefore, ordinarily hid her socks from public view. Slave Victor had foolishly thought it would be churlish of him not to make the most of the unexpected opportunity to surreptitiously admire the fiesta of pale blue, Latina student-girl bootsock when the opportunity had arisen.
But it had been a fatal mistake! For in concentrating on the neighbouring, pale blue, latina-girl bootsocks he had miscalculated the number of times he had kissed the oriental-girl’s left sneaker-toe. He only kissed it nine times – not the ten he had been ordered to do!
As a consequence all hell had broken loose! The slighted Taiwanese girl had reported him immediately to the female college authorities for insolence and disrespect towards her made-in-Taiwan sneakers, and the end result was what you see before you now – a shivering slave Victor confined on his bare knees in the wooden stocks in the centre of the deserted college quadrangle for three whole days – over the Xmas break!
Such unfortunate timing! The one time of the year when the collegiate footslaves could normally look forward to a few days’ rest from their more or less perpetual foot-kissing duties, as they lay in their respective isolation cells over Xmas – rather than having to endure a back-breaking three days confined in the college’s low, wooden stocks as slave Victor was having to now.
The irony was that slave Victor in no way disrespected the feet and footwear of the mature student miss Li-Hwa. She was a truly beautiful young woman, mature only in her sense of absolute female power and supremacy over the inferior male, and, even more importantly, she had been wearing very pretty Taiwanese sneakers on her shapely, oriental feet and ankles that fateful day; pink and white, low-cut, lace up, scuffed sneakers on matching pink and white, low-cut sneaker-socks, all tucked underneath the hems of her bootcut, navy-blue slacks.
Indeed, he had been admiring a tiny slither of miss Li-Hwa’s pink and white sneaker sock just below the thirty-something girl’s, still shapely, Taiwanese anklebone on her left foot at the very moment when the temptation of pale blue, Latina-girl bootsock being straightened had suddenly distracted him!
How he now wished he had remained focussed on pink and white sneaker-sock rather than pale blue cotton sock!
But it was too late. Sentence had been righteously passed, and now had to be judiciously served. There could be no rest for the wicked college footslave – not even at Xmas.
He would be celebrating the festive season alone in the stocks! And slap it in to him!
At least, he thought to himself, it is going to be a white Xmas. And again, trying to look on the bright side, the young ladies of the Young Ladies’ College of Central Barbaria were nothing if not merciful towards him, despite the heinous nature of his crime, for they had, exceptionally in view of the inclement weather, and perhaps just because it was Xmas, provided him with a warm blanket over his bare, kneeling back.
Not a particularly comfortable blanket, of course. It had to be a blanket suitable for a punished slave. It was thus a dull, grey, rough old blanket – a blanket which somewhat irritated his whip-marked back. It itched! Or it would have itched had he not been so numb with cold.
But it did, nevertheless, provide him with some considerable degree of protection from the alternative blanket of snow which was now being supplied to him by the less forgiving forces of nature; not enough to spoil his punishment and make him feel comfortable, but enough to stop him from freezing to death.
Yes, the stupid, male slave was most definitely being shown elements of sweet, feminine mercy during his wholly-justified punishment – and he was eternally grateful for that. Only his bald head and bare feet remained totally exposed to the elements, for the long blanket even covered much of his bare legs below his standard-length, white slave-shorts.
His bald head, of course, was agonizingly confined in a hole through the heavy, wooden, upper crossbar of the kneeling-stocks, forcing him to look down at the ground as he knelt in the stocks – a suitable posture for a footslave undergoing punishment I think we can all agree?
Slave Victor was no stranger to this particular patch of ground for, being a particularly stupid and inept collegiate footslave, he had been confined in the stocks many times before. But this time the college ground beneath the stocks looked different – white and pure – thanks to the snow. He watched intently as fresh snowflakes added to the whiteness below his gormless, middle-aged, slave-face. The snow, which had only started falling that afternoon, was lying; building up. There was already a good two inches below him.
It looked pretty – pure and unspoilt – like the many superior young women who studied at the college.
He felt ashamed – like an impure male blot on the female landscape.
As dusk fell the lights automatically came on around the four surrounding corridors of the quadrangle – even though there appeared to be nobody about to walk through the hallowed halls of the YLCCB. The college was deserted. At the same time a bright spotlight highlighted slave Victor’s shame in the middle of the quadrangle - a single spotlight focussed on the exposed prisoner in the wooden stocks; stocks which were sarcastically known as the ‘seat of learning’, since any young woman who took the fancy could sit on the thick, wooden crossbar above the male punishee’s head, demurely tucking her dainty, feminine, sneakered or booted feet beneath and around his face as she sat atop him – a clear demonstration of her absolute female power and superiority over him.
Slave Victor just wished there was a female student - any female student - who would take up her seat and tuck her warm, feminine legs around his kneeling and confined face right now; for his cheeks were getting cold, and a nice pair of tight female-student jeans would warm them up nicely!
It was typical of slave Victor – always thinking of himself and his selfish needs!
He quickly realised, however, that even if there were any students left in the college they would be unlikely to sit on the heavy wooden crossbar today – it too must be covered in a layer of wet snow, though he couldn’t see high enough to observe the top of the crossbar.
He therefore concentrated on the pure white snow beneath him – lit up now by the bright, college spotlight.
Suddenly he heard a crunching noise – the crunching noise of human feet walking through the snow towards him!
He was not completely alone after all! The college was not completely deserted – even this late on the afternoon of Xmas Eve – and his slavish heart leapt for joy as he suddenly espied two pairs of feminine feet gingerly making their way through the snow of the quadrangle towards him.
The first pair of female feet were walking particularly gingerly – for they were clad in entirely inappropriate footwear for snow; shiny, black stilettos with three inch heels, and finest denier, dark nylon stockings beneath a black, calf-length overcoat.
Slave Victor recognised these stiletto-clad feet instantly. They were the shapely feet and ankles of the 19 year old, blonde-haired college administrator, miss Wendy. She never dressed like the students. He had never seen miss Wendy in the ubiquitous jeans, ankle boots or sneakers that populated the college during term time. Miss Wendy always liked to look smart and sexy, in stylish stilettos and nylon stockings. It was all part of her image of being a dumb blonde!
And why not? She had great legs after all – possibly the best legs on campus, even if they were, for the most part, hidden beneath her long, black overcoat right now. At least slave Victor could clearly see her shapely, stockinged ankles, teetering on their high heels in the snow. Piercing it; penetrating it – her spiked heels leaving a series of small, deep holes in the otherwise smooth, white, unspoilt surface.
Miss Wendy appeared to be carrying a cardboard box - something which added to her difficulty in balancing as she made her way on her high heels through the snow. Her lack of balance was making her giggle, like she was drunk.
She had not been drinking though. The only thing she was drunk with right now was impending female power.
Beside her shiny, black stilettos were a much more sensibly clad pair of female feet – protected by plain, black, calf-length moon boots over thick, grey, woollen, knee-length socks, into which were tucked a pair of blue-denim, student-girl jeans.
It was the round-toed, broad-footed moon boots that were making most of the crunching noise as they made their way firmly through the snow. Slave Victor didn’t recognise them at all. He had most definitely never seen these boots before. But he did recognise the thick, grey, knee-high socks. They were undoubtedly the socks of the Female Students’ Union leader – the Indian girl miss Rangita (NB: they weren’t actually knee-high socks; they were, in actual fact, a pair of thick, woollen leg warmers; but we won’t disabuse slave Victor of his fanciful notion since it is Xmas; he is already suffering enough; and he does like girls’ thick, woolly socks!)
As the natural, woolly, grey socks and synthetic, black moon boots came up close and then stopped directly beneath his kneeling and confined face, slave Victor noticed how the somewhat shapeless, calf-length boots, with their fetching, black drawstrings fluttering in the breeze at the tops, appeared to be shimmering beneath the concentrated light of the spotlight – thanks, no doubt, to the synthetic, polyurethane material they were made of. The black moon boots looked deliciously soft and warming – even more soft and warming than miss Rangita’s thick, woolly socks – and slave Victor soon found himself longing to kiss them. He felt they would be sure to warm up his rapidly numbing lips!
Where was mistletoe when you needed it? Mistletoe for moon-booted toe!
He noticed too, however, how snow was sticking to the synthetic uppers of the moon boots. It wasn’t melting! So the heat from miss Rangita’s pretty, Indian feet was clearly not penetrating through to the outer surface of her protective and snow-resistant moon boots. That's good, he thought to himself. Good for miss Rangita – for it means that her delicate, Indian feet must be well insulated against the cold inside her thick, heavy moon boots and equally thick, woolly kneesocks.
He was glad the Student Union leader’s precious, brown feet weren’t suffering from the cold - unlike him. For she wasn’t the one who was being punished. She had done nothing wrong – and indeed could do no wrong. For she was female.
Butter, like the snow, literally wouldn’t melt on her Indian moon boots!
The snow lying on the tops of the round-toed, polyurethane moon boots presented such a contrast, however, to the snow falling on the neighbouring stilettos. For the latter snow melted instantly – warmed up by the escaping heat from miss Wendy’s inadequately protected, blonde-girl feet. Indeed slave Victor noted how quickly the falling snowflakes melted as soon as they landed on the college administrator-mistress’s nylon stocking covered anklebones, leaving tiny little damp patches all over the nylon material of her delicate, feminine hosiery.
This must surely be uncomfortable for her? Slave Victor wondered whether he should not gallantly, or at least slavishly, blow-dry the young woman’s nylon-stockinged feet with his breath? He would be only too happy to try – although, on reflection, he very much doubted that his frosty slave-breath would do anything other than turn the melted snow-patches into ice!
Iced stockings! He was sure mistress Wendy wouldn’t appreciate that, however seasonal they might sound! So he held his breath.
The two girls, now both standing directly in front and above him, laughed out loud at him. Nothing surprising in that; he was, after all, a laughing stock.
It was miss Rangita, with her familiar and incredibly cute Indian accent, who spoke first:
‘Ha! Ha! How are you being liking it, slave? You are being stuck here in the stocks over Christmas, isn’t it? Ha! Ha! Are you being enjoying the snow? Isn’t it being pretty? Ha! Ha!’
‘Yes thank you, mistress Rangita. God bless you mistress Rangita. You are my better, mistress Rangita.’
Slave Victor was happy to be mocked by such a superior young woman. He deserved all he got.
‘Ha! Ha! Your ugly bald head looks like a plum pudding covered in icing, dirty slave!’ exclaimed mistress Wendy, the blonde college administrator, her partially-buried-in-the snow, stiletto-heeled, right foot twisting coquettishly to one side as she mocked, thereby causing her damp, dark-nylon stocking to crease and fold most fetchingly around her outer anklebone.
‘Thank you, mistress Wendy. God bless you, mistress Wendy. This dirty, male slave is truly honoured by your superior feminine presence, mistress Wendy.’
Superior mistress Wendy was referring, presumably, to the layer of snow that must now be covering the top of his bald head. The snow was falling quite heavily now - too fast to melt away instantly from the top of his fully exposed head.
And his cheeks too must undoubtedly be purple with the cold. Yes – slave Victor could see how his ugly, round head could indeed resemble a plum pudding with icing on top of it.
Miss Rangita could see it too – and laughed at her female colleague’s astute observations, whilst she simultaneously crunched her right, moon-booted foot forward into the snow directly beneath the slave’s kneeling and helpless face:
‘Ha! Ha! Be kissing my foot, you plum-pudding slave! Ha! Ha!’
She was playing straight into his lips, for as we already know slave Victor was keen to get his lips onto the unfamiliar and intriguing material of the Indian girl’s black, synthetic moon boots. Would the synthetic material feel as smooth and soft to the lips as it looked?
At least there was plenty of polyurethane boot-material to explore as he obediently lowered his confined lips to the broad, rounded toe area of miss Rangita’s now imperiously outstretched right boot.
He noticed how her tall, grey, woollen kneesock seemed to tower above him as he did so.
Legwarmer! It’s a legwarmer, slave Victor!
Kissing the moon boot was indeed a sensual revelation. The toe of the boot did indeed smell, and feel, miraculously soft. So deliciously soft that he could even feel miss Rangita’s socked toes flexing beneath the synthetic material of the boot (unbeknown to slave Victor the Indian girl’s toes were indeed besocked – though not with the thick, grey, woollen socks he thought they were; miss Rangita was actually wearing a pair of bright, yellow cotton ankle socks inside her black moon boots and beneath her grey, woolly legwarmers).
Miss Rangita’s Indian toes were as snug as a bug in a rug, and she wiggled her toes with delight as she felt the stupid slave’s mouth on the rounded toe of her warming moon boot. She laughed out loud at the pathetic, moonboot-kissing slave beneath her:
‘Ha! Ha! Are you being liking my moon boots, slave? Are they being pleasing to your eye?’
What else could slave Victor say?
‘Oh yes, mistress Rangita. Thank you mistress Rangita. God bless you mistress Rangita for imposing your beautiful moon boots on my face and mouth!’
Meanwhile miss Wendy seemed to be somewhat miffed that her stilettos were being ignored by the ignorant footslave:
‘Let’s get on with decorating him, Rangita! My feet are freezing!’
‘Quelle surprise!’, thought slave Victor to himself – though he would never have dared to say it out loud!
He heard the impatient office-administratress rummaging around in the cardboard box she was carrying above him, and observed the dark, nylon material of her finest-denier, stockinged ankles crease and fold still further in tandem with the rummaging. Miss Wendy handed something to miss Rangita, whose moonbooted foot had now withdrawn from beneath his face leaving some thick, rubbery-soled, moonboot tread marks in the snow:
‘Here Rangita, you put this around his neck while I wipe the snow off the top of his head!’
Slave Victor, pathetically and fruitlessly, wondered what on earth the two young women were up to – even though he was powerless to do anything about it! But all was soon revealed when miss Rangita mockingly and laughingly wrapped some green and white tinsel around his scrawny, confined neck and along the snow-laden wooden crossbar of the stocks!
They were decorating him up like a Christmas tree! How festive!
Miss Wendy, meanwhile, was wiping the snow off the top off his bald head with her black leather gloved hands, and applying some sort of glue to it. He then felt and saw little flakes of gold-coloured glitter falling onto his head and down his cheeks, landing eventually in the snow beneath his face as the blonde girl sprinkled the sparkly, golden glitter all over him.
It’s true what they say: all that glitters is not gold. It can be slave!
Miss Rangita, meanwhile, had taken some purple baubles out of the cardboard box and was none-too-gently attaching them to his ears – like a pair of giant, garish, Christmassy earrings!
To crown it all, miss Wendy then glued a sweet, plastic fairy in a white tutu to the top of his head – a fitting symbol of feminine superiority over him, the oppressed male. He was, in effect, being trampled underfoot by a model of a delicate, tiny, ballerina-like fairy!
How the two young women laughed at him, in their capacity as two sweet representatives of the superior, female race!
‘Deck the slave with bells of holly, fa la la la la, la la la la...’ sang miss Wendy in a mocking voice as she added the finishing touches to the footslave Christmas-tree.
Miss Rangita, being a Hindu, was unfamiliar with the Christmas song, but soon picked it up and joined in – at least with the ‘fa la la’ bits – the polyurethane material in her black moon boots creasing in rhythmic accompaniment to the music directly beneath the mesmerized and glitter-covered face of the justifiable object of female derision.
Miss Rangita then sighed contentedly as she looked down on the hastily decorated footslave in the stocks:
‘Ha! Ha! You are being looking so beautiful, slave. We have really been transforming you into a most beautiful Christmas tree! Ha! Ha! Now you are looking much more Christmassy, isn’t it?’
Slave Victor was ever so grateful for being made to look festive:
‘Yes mistress Rangita. Oh thank you mistress Rangita. God bless you both, sweet and kind mistresses Rangita and Wendy.’
Miss Rangita continued:
‘Ha! Ha! It is being far too cold now, slave. We must be leaving you, for we are having nice, warm homes to go to, isn’t it? But miss Wendy has been kindly agreeing to be coming back and feeding you with some bread and water tomorrow, isn’t it Wendy?’
‘Erm… not tomorrow, Rangita. Tomorrow is Christmas day, and that! ...But I’ll try and get out on Boxing day, if I can. I’m not sure what Michael has planned!’
Michael was miss Wendy’s latest boyfriend. Even slave Victor knew that – for, being a collegiate footslave, he got to hear all the girly gossip as he humbly attended to the female students’ feet.
Rangita just laughed at her friend Wendy’s nonchalance:
‘Ha! Ha! Oh well, maybe not tomorrow then, slave! But at least you will be having some female company on Boxing day, isn’t it – if miss Wendy and her boyfriend are not being too busy and are being able to be feeding you!’
‘Yes miss Rangita. Yes miss Wendy. Than you miss Wendy for your kind offer’, grovelled slave Victor, acutely aware that he must be looking utterly ridiculous underneath the tiny, plastic feet of the female fairy (she even had little, white stiletto shoes on!)
And speaking of stilettos, miss Wendy, the young blonde woman who might, or might not, be bringing him some non-Xmas fare on Boxing day, depending on whether or not she and her boyfriend could be bothered, now languorously stretched forward her own black-stiletto-shod foot in the snow for kissing.
Slave Victor kissed the shiny, pointy, black toe with genuine slavish respect for his female better. When she withdrew her foot, he noticed how the imprint of miss Wendy’s thin and narrow stiletto shoe-sole now criss-crossed the thick, rounded tread mark left by miss Rangita’s moon boot in the snow beneath his decorated face.
The two girls turned and walked off – leaving him literally under the spotlight, with only their aforementioned footprints for company over the festive period. Slave Victor, somewhat pathetically, made a conscious effort to strain his confined neck forwards in the stocks, as he desperately wanted his head to protect the two young women’s glitter-splattered, snowy-foot imprints from being covered by fresh snow.
In this regard the plastic fairy would help him, for she would catch some of the snow with her magic wand, giving him something exciting to look at over Xmas – the carefully preserved, snowy imprints of two very different girls’ very different styles of feminine footwear.
Merry Xmas, miss Rangita! Merry Xmas, miss Wendy! God bless you both for leaving me with your precious foot imprints in the snow! I am not worthy!
Addendum:
Miss Wendy never did visit slave Victor on Boxing Day. She forgot. Ha! Ha! She always was a bit of an airhead when it came to things like that, bless her!
But it didn’t really matter, since the slave was due to be released from the stocks the following day anyway.
And slave Victor was truly glad when he was eventually released from his outdoor, festive, wooden prison, by the blonde college-administrator and her boyfriend the day after Boxing day, for the snow had by then melted away, taking the two superior mistresses’ residual foot imprints with it. There was, therefore, nothing left for him to look at and admire through his wooden window.
Yes, it was now several degrees warmer, and Xmas was well and truly over - even though the Xmas fairy didn’t seem to want to take her tiny, plastic stiletto-shod feet off the top of the slave’s head!
It took the combined strength of both miss Wendy and her manly boyfriend Michael to eventually rip her off him!
Miss Wendy really shouldn’t have used superglue.
Doh!
