The Prison Visitor
السجن الزائر (The Prison Visitor)
Her job was to visit male footslave-prisoners in the Gynarchy’s infamous foothole dungeons, and 25 year old Faridah, who hailed originally from the Yemen, loved her job.
Her role did not involve befriending or comforting the male prisoners in any way; quite the opposite. It was to tease and torment them with her pretty, Arabic feet and footwear – to make them realise that their lives were effectively over; that they would be spending the rest of their miserable existences confined in their respective isolation-holes, with only their female guards’ feet for company – their guards’ feet and , if they were lucky, the occasional feet of a mocking, sneering prison visitor like her.
Faridah wasn’t paid for her worthwhile voluntary work, but the rewards she got were more than enough compensation for her – the rewards of breaking a dirty footslave-prisoner’s spirit, and, of course of having her pretty, Yemeni feet kissed and worshipped by a totally helpless and confined loser-prisoner.
Whenever she reported for visitor-duty at the prison she always had a word with the governess, with whom she had now built up a good working relationship, for Faridah particularly liked to tease and mock the new prisoners – the ones who had not yet acclimatised to their lifelong incarceration in their cold and lonely foothole dungeon-cells; the ones for whom the enormity of their crimes against femininity, and the terrible consequences thereof for them, had not yet sunk in.
For Faridah was very adept at making those terrifying consequences well and truly sink in to a stupid, male prisoner’s thick, masculine skull!
Even more, she liked to truly ‘rub it in’ to those unfortunate prisoners who had just recently been incarcerated for life on entirely trumped up charges – and today she was in luck, for one such hapless, male prisoner had only just been delivered to the male prison some 3 days ago. The fool was still harbouring a false sense of injustice, since he was entirely innocent of the crime for which he had been convicted by the Supreme Female Court! Ha! Ha! He had not yet realised – thicko that he was – that under the Female Law of the Gynarchy he was guilty as charged, for his mistress had said he was guilty.
As one of the black leather, knee-booted female prison guards now escorted Faridah down to the new arrival’s deep cell, the latter vowed to make the rookie-prisoner see the error of his ways before the day was out; not that he would know when the day was out, being confined as he was for evermore in a dank and dingy, windowless foothole-dungeon!
Faridah chuckled to herself the deeper down into the claustrophobic dungeons she went.
Eventually the uniformed, female escort and her Arab guest arrived outside the personal dungeon of the newly-arrived prisoner. His head, of course, was already projecting out of a hatch at the bottom of his heavy, iron cell-door – face downwards, just inches off the dirty ground of the isolation cell corridor. It was how he would now be spending 18 hours a day – forced to stare at the ground, and the occasional passing pair of marching, knee-high, black leather, female prison-guard’s boots.
If his behaviour was good and he was deemed to be compliant, the boots would occasionally stop and present themselves beneath his humbly bowed face for kissing. Even after only 3 days of incarceration in the foothole-dungeon, convicted prisoner no. 73219 had come to realise that it was in his own best interests to meekly kiss the proffered boots – else they would merely push his head back through the hatch into his pitch black isolation cell and he would be denied any further lip-to-boot contact – his only contact with the superior sex.
Yes, having his humble head protruding though the hatch at the bottom of his cell door now represented his only excitement in life – for it gave him his only human contact with the ‘outside’ world, in the form of his female guards’ boots. He might not be able to leave his dank and dingy cell, but at least he could see, and taste, where his female guards had been walking – the mud and grass on their boots from the outside.
Prisoner no. 73219 had not yet, however, had the even greater honour of kissing and worshipping the footwear of a civilian, prisoner visitor. But all that was now about to change!
The knee-high booted, female prison-guard pulled up a chair for miss Faridah to sit on, before she goose-stepped off, and the prison visitor duly took up her seat in front of, and above, the helplessly confined, male prisoner. She needed to sit down as she would be here for some time. Faridah liked to spend literally hours gloating over each prisoner she visited – safe in the knowledge that, unlike him, she was free to leave the claustrophobic confines of the foothole dungeons at any time!
Ha! Ha! Faridah liked that thought!
She had, of course, chosen her footwear carefully for the occasion. Always a modestly dressed girl, thanks to her strict Yemeni upbringing, she still wore a black veil and a matching, long, black burka, but on her feet she liked to demonstrate to her prisoners that she was a liberated and modern young woman of the Gynarchy. Hence her predilection for wearing sneakers and socks beneath her plain, black burka.
And not just any old sneakers and socks – but modern, brightly coloured, fun and free sneakers and socks.
Her choice of socks was particularly important to her, for Faridah did not want the dirty prisoners to have the thrill of seeing her soft, bare, Arabian feet. They were not worthy of that.
She did offer ‘her’ prisoners one small concession, however – she always deliberately wore ultra-short ankle socks, so that they would get a tantalising glimpse of her bare, if somewhat bony, Yemeni-girl ankle bones, for she was a very slender and beautiful Arabic girl, with well-turned ankles. Ha! Ha! The male prisoners could look at her prominent, bare ankle bones – but not touch them.
She only ever allowed her prison-visitees to touch her sneakers and socks with their imprisoned mouths, for she felt it added to their sense of despair and helplessness to be so near to a mysterious and beautiful young Arab woman’s soft, bare footskin, and yet so far!
Having made herself comfortable in the chair, Faridah introduced herself to the new prisoner beneath her by hitching up the black hem of her flowing burka, imperiously extending her right, sneakered-and-socked foot into the prison dirt directly beneath his bowed and confined face, and uttering the following words of support, her voice sounding somewhat muffled behind her black burka-veil.
‘Ha! Ha! I miss Faridah. I your prison-visitor. You show respect for Faridah. Show respect for all Muslim women. You kiss miss Faridah dirty sneaker or I call back guard. Have you locked up!’ ………………………………………………………………………………….
Prisoner no. 73219 really had no idea what was going on! All he could see was a somewhat scuff-marked and dirt-stained, pink and white, low-cut, lace-up sneaker and a short, multicoloured, stripy sneaker sock.
He also couldn’t help but notice a pretty, silver anklet-chain nestling over the elasticated top of the young Arab woman’s short, multicoloured sneaker-sock on her now authoritatively extended right foot. Moreover, the young woman’s pink-and-white-sneakered foot appeared to be extending, somewhat incongruously, out from beneath the hitched-up hem of a somewhat musty-smelling, black, ankle-length burka – such a stark contrast to her stripy-socked and bejewelled, westernised foot.
Not that he needed the burka to inform him that his gracious prison-visitor was an Arab girl. Her accent also gave that one away – as did the beautiful, pale brown hue of her soft ankle skin above the stripy sock.
The final clue, of course, was her stated name – miss Faridah!
But prisoner-slave no. 73219 remained, for the most part, puzzled - for he was really nothing more than a gormless, male idiot. That was how he had ended up in this predicament in the first place. He was a fool.
He was not so clueless, however, that he would, in his footslave confusion, hesitate to obey the young, traditionally-dressed Arab woman’s perfectly legitimate order to pay his respects to her proffered sneaker. Just 3 days at the booted-foot mercy of his female prison-guards had taught him always to kiss female feet promptly and respectfully when commanded to do so. Otherwise you only got pain; the pain of utter isolation and loneliness as the slighted boots angrily pushed your face back into your cell, and the hatch – your only avenue to the outside world - was locked firmly shut in your disobedient and rebellious face!
Prisoner no. 73219 hated that, for he was a gregarious slave, and quite afraid of the dark. Ha! Ha! Yes - a grown slave, 32 years old, afraid of the dark! Ha! Ha!
What a pity he had ended up in here!
He lowered his lips to the rounded, scuff-marked toe of the young Arab woman’s right, pink and white, lace-up sneaker, and respectfully kissed it.
The Arab wearer of the sneaker laughed, her laughter echoing down the empty corridor of the dungeon:
‘Ha! Ha! That right, prisoner! You show respect for Faridah dirty sneaker! Ha! Ha! Faridah better than you. I a free, Muslim woman …you just a dirty, male prisoner at superior Muslim woman feet! Ha! Ha! My sneaker better than you. My sock better than you! You just a slave – a Muslim woman, dirty-sneaker slave! Ha! Ha!.... Now you kiss Faridah other sneaker!’, and with that the young Arab woman withdrew her right sneaker from his lips, only to replace it with her equally dirty and dusty left sneaker.
This time prisoner no. 73219 couldn’t help noticing that the top of the arrogant and self-assured, young Arab woman’s left, stripy sneaker-sock, though it lacked the exotic, silver jewellery on her right sock, was nevertheless fetchingly twisted on her foot, revealing a little bit more of her lean, bare, Arabian ankle than he had seen of her right ankle.
He was grateful for such small mercies, for after just 3 days of incarceration he was truly hankering after some bare, female foot-company! The guards’ black, knee-length, leather boots were nice to look at and to kiss – but oh how he longed to see, touch and smell their warm, bare, female feet hidden inside their boots!
At least now he could see some bare, feminine anklebone, beneath this strange young Arab woman’s traditional, black burka!
A million questions were racing through his not very bright footslave-prisoner brain, but miss Faridah soon enlightened him with her superior knowledge as to exactly what was going on, all whilst he was repeatedly kissing the scuffed toe area of her left sneaker (something else he had quickly learnt in prison was not to stop kissing a proffered female foot until it was formally withdrawn from one’s prisoner-lips):
‘Ha! Ha! I here to mock you and laugh at you! Ha! Ha! I here to watch you suffer - make you kiss superior Arab-woman sneaker and sock! Ha! Ha! You a male prisoner; I a free woman! Ha! Ha! You a loser! I a winner! I better than you! Ha! Ha! You not fit look Faridah above Faridah sock. Ha! Ha!’
Her mocking words and sneering laughter only made prisoner no. 73219 want to kiss his prison-visitor’s pink and white sneaker all the more fervently, for he did admire the young Arab woman’s undisguised delight in his misfortune.
And besides, he was clearly at her mercy and in her female power. She could kick him at any time with the scuff-marked, rounded toe of her leather sneaker, and he would be able to do nothing to protect his face from the blows – for even the liberty of withdrawing his ugly, male prisoner-head back into his cell was denied to him. His head was fixed there – until such time as his female guards released the hatch mechanism and pushed his head back inside his cell door with the leather sides of their dusty boots, which, somewhat ironically, was precisely what his prison-visitor mistress had just threatened him with should he fail to please her.
He was in a no win situation. As miss Faridah herself had so perceptively pointed out, he was nothing but a loser!
Loser-prisoner no. 73219 wanted to verbally assure his exotic prison-visitor mistress of his weak and feeble, male submission to her absolute, Arab-girl power over him, but he knew that prisoners were forbidden from speaking unless asked a direct question by a female.
His chance to speak came soon enough however, as the young Arab woman proceeded to do just that – ask him a direct question:
‘Ha! Ha! What you in for, prisoner?’
Prisoner no. 73219 was still, incredibly, in denial about his trumped up crime, and therefore had to grit his teeth and bite his tongue as he confessed his non-crime to his female visitor in the lowliest of prison slave-speak:
‘Oh pray mistress, if it pleases you mistress, this slave was accused of disrespecting his mistress’s white anklesocks by not cleaning them properly in his mouth, if you would be so kind mistress.’
Convicted prisoner no. 73219 just could not bring himself to say that he had been convicted by a Female Court of Law of disrespecting his mistress’s white anklesocks – rather than just acknowledging that he had been ‘accused’ of such an horrendous crime against femininity. For he knew, in his heart of hearts, that his erstwhile mistress Patricia had not owned any white socks! He was therefore as surprised as anyone when his mistress had submitted a pair of dirty white anklesocks before the Female Court as evidence against him. He had been forced to acknowledge, under oath, that the white socks were indeed dirty, but he also foolishly swore that he had never seen them before in his life!
The good lady judge had, understandably, not taken kindly to the slave inferring that his mistress was a liar, and had accordingly increased his sentence from 20 years in the foothole dungeons, to life in the foothole dungeons, even though in a panic he had subsequently sought to retract his true statement in a pitiful effort to reduce his sentence whilst he was being led away to the cells.
How the Female Court had laughed! The stupid slave’s protestations of guilt had come much too late. He had had his chance to offer up a false confession while in the dock, and had blown it.
Now he must pay the consequences for the rest of his miserable life!
Mistress Faridah could tell from the prisoner’s arrogant tone that he was still in denial. She liked that, for she would soon knock that defiant spirit out of him:
‘Ha! Ha! You a slut! You a dirty foot-whore! You deserve spend rest of life in prison. You a filthy pig for not clean mistress’s socks properly! Ha! Ha! You convicted by Female Court of Law! You guilty as charged! I spit on you, pig!’ and with that prisoner no. 73219 heard the burka-clad Arabian mistress gather up female sputum and snot in her mouth prior to lifting up her black face-veil and then noisily expelling her mucus down onto the top of his already balding head.
To his horror and shame some of the Arab girl’s expelled mucus slid off his slippery, bald head and down onto her still-extended-beneath-his-face, left sneaker. This clearly annoyed the young Yemeni woman, as she uttered a thinly veiled threat from behind her black veil:
‘Tch! Dirty slave! Infidel! You clean up mess on Faridah sneaker, or Faridah call guards! Have you punished! You lick away Faridah spit from top of shoe! You swallow Arab girl shoe-spit! You a dirty dog!’
‘Yes mistress Faridah! At once mistress Faridah’
Prisoner no. 73219 may have been having difficulty coming to terms with his conviction for sock-neglect, but even he could not deny that his shiny, bald head was to blame for mistress Faridah’s spit sliding down his worthless face and onto her expensive sneaker. To his horror he noticed that some of the Arab girl’s sputum had even sullied the top of her multicoloured ankle-sock, although thankfully her precious, bare ankle bone appeared to be untouched by the offending slime!
He began, however, by licking the offending bacteria - which had originated in the Arab girl’s mouth - off her sullied sneaker-toe, and into his own cesspit of a slave-mouth. Since he had not been ordered to remove any of her spit from her sock he left the sock well alone. Perhaps the mistress had not noticed the sullying of her sweet, Arab-female sock in the relative gloom of the dungeon corridor, and in any case the soft, cotton material of the short, stripy girlsock would, hopefully, soon absorb the offending sputum without her feeling it.
It was a close shave, though. Rather like his bald head!
Miss Faridah was now feeling even more antagonistic and unsympathetic towards the dirty, convicted footslave at her feet. She decided to rub it into the slave, whilst he was rubbing her spit off her sneaker into his spittoon of a mouth:
‘Ha! Ha! You a loser! You forced to lick Arab girl dirty spit! Ha! Ha! I not clean my teeth for two days! Ha! Ha! You taste Faridah bad breath on spit? Ha! Ha!’
Prisoner no.73219 had indeed noticed a faint aroma of halitosis emanating down from the young woman’s mouth when she had temporarily lifted her veil in order to expel her spit down onto his prisoner-head, but he had been much too much of a gentleman-slave to say anything at the time.
Now he had no choice:
‘Y...yes mistress. This slave can indeed taste the mistress’s bad breath, if it is so pleasing to you most respected and feared mistress.’
The thought that miss Faridah’s mouth was ‘unclean’ actually only served to enhance his sense of slavish humiliation at her sneakered feet as he lapped up her superior, bacteria-teeming spit.
Her unclean mouth hadn’t finished humiliating him just yet, however. Indeed, miss Faridah clearly felt she was only just getting started:
‘Ha! Ha! Faridah insult you now – I wipe soles of feet on you. Ha! Ha! I make you lick bottom of Faridah dirty sneaker! I make you taste where Faridah been! Ha! Ha! I free to walk out of here any time! You stuck here in dirty hole! You belong in hole. You a prisoner. You not free go outside, like free Arab woman go outside! Ha! Ha! Weather lovely outside today; nice and bright. I enjoy sunshine - but you stuck here in darkness like sewer rat. You never see daylight again. Ha! Ha! You only taste outside from bottom of my shoe. Ha! Ha! You a nothing! You a nobody! You dirt beneath superior, Arab woman shoe!’
Prisoner no. 73219 felt like sobbing, for he knew that the beautiful, young Arab woman with the thinly-veiled, bad breath was not just mocking him with her harsh words; she was speaking the truth. The only brightness and colour right now in his miserable footslave-prisoner life were the bright colours in her stripy sneaker-socks, and the pink stripes down the sides of her white sneakers.
Yet even these snippets of colour were effectively denied to him as he was now being obliged to lick the dull, beige-coloured sole of the young Arab woman’s now helpfully raised-up, street-dirty sneaker sole.
Indeed, so lowly was he now feeling, he even found himself pathetically hoping that the young Arab woman might have trodden in some chewing gum, just so that he could get some flavour into his mouth – flavour that would wash away the lingering, bitter taste of the Arab mistress’s sputum.
But it was not to be – for mistress Faridah had clearly avoided walking in discarded chewing gum. All he could taste on the bottom of her shoe was mud and dirt – bitter tasting street-mud and dirt that was stuck in the thick grooves of her bland, beige sneaker-treads.
His only consolation, as he humbly tasted where mistress Faridah had been walking, was that her sweet, multicoloured sneaker-sock suddenly reappeared again in front of his footslave-prisoner eyes, now fetchingly creased and folded, as she twisted up her sneakered foot underneath her burka in order to afford his tongue greater access to the filthy bottom of her western shoe.
Prisoner-slave no. 73219, you see, liked looking at girls’ socks, especially when they were all creased around a young woman’s shapely ankles – which is why his punishment in the foothole dungeon was all the harder to bear. He would never have neglected a pair of his erstwhile mistress’s white anklesocks – had she owned any!
And yet from now on he would be, for the most part, denied even the sight of sweet, feminine sock on a young woman’s foot, as his cruel, female guards had already gleefully informed him that prison regulations meant they could never take off their boots in front of the prisoners!
But, they do say that every cloud has a silver lining, and the silver lining of mistress Faridah’s silver ankle bracelet atop her stripy, right sneaker-sock reminded prisoner no. 73219 that he would at least get to see the socks of his female Arab prisoner-visitor – hopefully on a regular basis, if he behaved himself fittingly in her presence; short but exotic, Arab-girl socks which would brighten up his otherwise dreary existence in the bowels of his foothole dungeon!
He now realised, of course, that the Arab-girl was just his official prison-visitor – not his friend. But convicted prisoner no. 73219 resolved, as he licked clean the black-burka-clad, miss Faridah’s dirty, beige sneaker-sole, and admired the tiny creases in her multicoloured, stripy sneaker-socks, that he would ingratiate himself towards her - acknowledge his guilt; humbly consume her spit; diligently tongue-shine her muddy sneaker-soles and taste wherever she had been.
He would literally suck up to miss Faridah and her sneaker dirt, as well as sucking up her mocking laughter and verbal denigration – all in order to encourage her to visit him in prison on a regular basis, so that he might experience the occasional, thrilling glimpse of her short, colourful sneaker socks on her superior, Arab-girl, westernized feet beneath her traditional, black burka.
He simply had to win over her stony heart, and woo her back to his foothole-dungeon time and time again. For her exotic, Arabian sneakers and socks were already beginning to prey on his weak and feeble footslave-prisoner mind, and were dominating his thoughts. She was fast becoming the light of his pathetic, incarcerated life.
And, at the end of the day, or even at the beginning of the day, he was in no position to visit her!
The End
