The Slave-Stalker
It was pouring with rain and the alleyway was, as a consequence, deserted – deserted, that is, apart from the public shoelick no. 998319A who was, as ever, kneeling over his humble shoelick-stand, getting soaked.
Always on duty. Always ready to serve. 24/7. 365 days a year. Whatever the weather.
He had no choice.
31 year old miss Anne-Marie had a choice, however. She could have simply stayed indoors on a miserable day like this. But she chose to go out and visit public shoelick no. 998319A.
She chose to do so because she was his personal stalker-mistress. They are a recognisable phenomenon within the Gynarchy. Lonely, young women – typically in their late twenties or early thirties. Invariably unmarried. Slaveless. Their only buzz in life is to torment a public footslave.
Often they start out as harmless slave-spotters – a popular pastime in the Gynarchy. But then they ‘spot’ a slave they particularly like to humiliate on a regular basis – and that’s when they turn into slave-stalkers; dedicated to making their chosen victim’s life a misery!
It’s all perfectly legal, of course – making a slave’s life a misery. In fact, slave-stalking is positively encouraged by the Gynarchial authorities. But it can be an unpleasant business.
Sheltering under her large umbrella, miss Anne-Marie makes her way off the main street and down into the familiar alleyway where her public footslave is stationed. She is wearing a grey raincoat over a black, knee-length skirt. Her flame-red hair is done up in a bun. She wants to look severe and threatening. She wants to see her slave quivering with fear as well as the wet and the cold.
On her still-shapely legs she is wearing flesh-coloured nylon stockings and black leather courts with one inch heels. She has deliberately chosen her somewhat sobering foot and leg attire because she knows ‘her’ slave actually prefers young women who wear jeans, sneakers and socks. She does own all of the above items of casual footwear, but she is not here to please the slave; she is here to torment him!
Even though it’s only 3 o’clock in the afternoon, it’s quite dark in the alleyway, thanks to the heavy cloud cover. A single spotlight has automatically come on, however, in order to light up the rain-sodden, wooden footblock over which public shoelick-slave no. 998319A is kneeling.
Anne-Marie smiles to herself – a wicked smile. The dirty slave will still be able to make out each and every trace of rainwater-dirt that has splashed onto her shoes; each and every individual stitch in the sensuous material of her nylon-stockinged ankles; each and every splash of dirt on those stockings.
And if he can see them, he can worship them and honour them!
Her lonely heels echo around the alleyway as she approaches him. Slave no. 998319A recognizes her footsteps. It’s funny how each and every mistress has her own very distinctive and recognisable gait.
And her own recognisable footwear. As soon as the slender, nylon-stockinged, right leg is projected onto the wet, wooden footblock beneath his face slave no. 998319A receives the dreaded confirmation that this is his personal stalker-mistress, mistress Anne-Marie, for he recognises that plain, black court shoe only too well. He ought to; he’s tongue-shined it often enough!
More particularly, however, he recognises the prominent, nylon-covered, blue vein running down the outer side of mistress Anne-Marie’s shapely anklebone. Again, his tongue has been required to lick that blueblood vein often enough – though always through the protective nylon stocking.
And they are stockings – not tights. Mistress Anne-Marie often takes great pleasure in adjusting her stocking-tops whilst he is attending to her feet and ankles – just so that she can humiliate him even further! Demasculinize him. Make him feel impotent and powerless in her superior, female presence.
One good thing about today, though, is the presence of that large umbrella, for it is now not only sheltering mistress Anne-Marie’s stocking clad leg and foot from the rain, but also, by default, the kneeling public footslave.
He should be grateful for such small mercies, for it is the only mercy he is ever likely to get from the likes of mistress Anne-Marie.
He pretends to be glad to see his mistress-stalker, and flatters and fawns to her as behoves a down-in-the-dirt, helpless, public footslave when confronted by his all-powerful, female stalker:
‘Oh pray mistress Anne-Marie! God bless you mistress Anne-Marie, and thank you for visiting me in such inclement weather, most admired and respected mistress!’
Mistress Anne-Marie, as is her womanly wont, merely sneers down at him:
‘Be quiet, slave, or you’ll feel the whip!... Tongue-shine my dirty shoe… Lick off all the filth… And don’t touch my stocking!’
‘Yes mistress. Forgive me mistress. At once mistress!’
Of course, slave no. 998319A, like any slave, can’t win in these situations. If he had failed to greet mistress Anne-Marie with a suitably chirpy and friendly greeting she would have whipped him with the nearby public-use whip for footslavish insolence. Now, he was being threatened with the whip for being slavishly polite!
But the main thing to remember is that a mistress is always right – even when she’s a psychopath!
As he lowers his tongue to the pointy toe-end of her black leather court shoe it is clear, however, that mistress Anne-Marie does wish to talk – only about the things that interest her; such as the fresh whip-marks on the kneeling footslave’s back, left by a previous customer.
Mistress Anne-Marie finds them funny:
‘Ha! Ha! I see you’ve got a few new stripes on your shoulders, slave?’
‘Yes mistress… lick…lick…Thank you mistress…lick…lick…’
She almost makes them sound like they are a badge of honour – like a police sergeant’s stripes! But they are, of course, a mark of shame – of failure to satisfy a previous female-customer. He can hardly, therefore, wear his stripes with pride!
‘Ha! Ha!...You should get those seen to, slave. That one on your right shoulder is looking particularly nasty!’
‘Yes mistress…lick…lick…God bless you mistress…lick…lick…’
Now mistress Anne-Marie really is mocking him, for she knows full well that a slave is never permitted treatment for any wounds inflicted on him by a mistress! Ha! Ha! What would be the point in punishing a slave, only to then help him heal? Ha! Ha!
Mistress Anne-Marie is smiling at her own sense of warped humour. She may be lonely, but she is not unhappy – especially when talking down to a humble, public footlick!
She twists her right, nylon-stockinged foot slightly to one side in order to afford the professional shoelicker easier access to the instep of her muddy, plain black leather, court shoe. Her finest-denier, flesh-toned, nylon stocking creases and folds slightly around her anklebone as she does so, giving the kneeling footslave irrefutable proof that she is wearing flesh-coloured nylons on her legs, should he still need it.
Anne-Marie laughs out loud as she sees a great dollop of mud disappearing off the side of her shoe and into the public footslave’s mouth:
‘Ha! Ha! I hope you’re liking it, slave? I hope you’re liking the taste of my shoemud?’
‘Yes mistress…lick…swallow…Thank you mistress …lick…swallow…God bless you mistress Anne-Marie…swallow…gulp…’
Of course, mistress Anne-Marie is wishing nothing of the sort. She hopes the slave is hating the bitter taste of her leather shoemud. He just can’t say it! Ha! Ha!
She abruptly changes feet on the footblock, and the process of shoemud-removal-by-mouth starts all over again.
‘Would you like to smell me, slave?’ asks mistress Anne-Marie out of the blue.
Not that it’s the first time she has ever offered the slave a whiff of her personal body-perfume. She’s talking about her foot-perfume of course. And it is all natural. Mistress Anne-Marie doesn’t bother to use foot-deodorant.
The slave is duty bound to sound enthusiastic:
‘Oh pray mistress…oh pray…yes please mistress…This slave would be honoured to smell you, mistress Anne-Marie!’
The object of his perverted desire laughs:
‘Ha! Ha! I should be particularly fragrant this afternoon, for I haven’t showered in over two days – and my stockings could do with a wash! Ha! Ha!’
She wasn’t telling him this in order to give him the opportunity to withdraw his ‘request’, of course! To get cold feet over her warm and sweaty feet! No - she was telling him purely in order to add to his sense of utter, male powerlessness and humiliation in the face of superior, nyloned, feminine feet!
The sound of the rain battering against her umbrella gets louder as the rainfall gets heavier, but still mistress Anne-Marie magnanimously and selflessly slips her left, stockinged foot out of its protective court shoe in order to afford her personal, public footslave a whiff of her sweaty, nyloned toes.
And the dark, reinforced toe-area of the nylon is indeed damp – not with rain, but with sweat. The accumulated sweat of two days, it seems.
She wriggles her toes inside the nylons in order to release more of the pungent, vinegary smell as slave no. 998319A ostentatiously buries his nose into the reinforced nylon.
Mistress Anne-Marie laughs. His nose tickles. She could, of course, have him whipped for that. But she won’t. For she is not a cruel girl. Just lonely. In need of a male slave to dominate.
And she has found him!
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Two years later, and slave no. 998319A was no longer confined in his dark, backstreet alleyway – he was confined in mistress Anne-Marie’s back yard.
She had had to pull a few strings to achieve it – pay a few bribes to the Municipal Authorities. For public footslave no. 998319A was never, officially, for sale.
But where there’s a female will, there’s a way! And Anne-Marie had inherited quite a lot of money thanks to her rich, Irish Aunt’s will!
She treated slave no. 998319A (whom she had renamed ‘Foot-Fairy’ on account of his being her foot-fairy at the bottom of her garden) quite well – feeding him once every day in the morning; washing him; shaving him. And she only beat him when she felt like it.
Furthermore, she frequently visited him in her back yard, when she would role play. She would pretend to be various types of mistresses who were visiting their public shoelick, and would dress the part accordingly:
· As a sharp-suited businesswoman, in stiletto-heeled, pointy-toed, black leather ankleboots with matching black, anklelength bootsocks beneath her bootcut, pinstriped trouser hems;
· As a dominant air-stewardess, complete with bright red uniform skirt; finest denier, flesh coloured stockings; and shiny, red, patent leather, high-heeled pumps;
· As a scruffy, freckle-faced, student girl, with grubby, white, keds-style sneakers and even grubbier, white socks beneath a pair of ripped and torn, blue denim jean-hems;
· As a uniformed, female police officer with black, leather, zip-up, knee-high boots and a navy blue skirt;
· As a sadistic, lady doctor with white pumps, white stockings and a white, surgeon’s coat;
· As an anorak-wearing, aristocratic landowner, with brown, corduroy trousers tucked into muddy, green wellies;
· As a strict riding-mistress, with shiny, but also mud-encrusted, black rubber riding boots over smart, cream-coloured riding britches (and carrying a leather riding crop!)
They were all aspects of miss Anne-Marie’s rather complex character, which was precisely why she needed her own private public-footslave!
Slave ‘Foot-Fairy’s’ only regret was that she never released him from his makeshift shoelick-stand at the bottom of her garden. He would have dearly loved to serve her inside her opulent-looking house – as a proper, personal footslave: washing her bare feet; clothing her feet; mouth-washing her discarded, dirty socks or nylon stockings; smelling the insides of her freshly-worn shoes or boots; providing her with foot-massages and full pedicures – whatever her chosen character for the day.
But none of that was to be. Mistress Anne-Marie merely wanted him as her personal, public-footslave fantasy at the bottom of her garden. Her personal, imprisoned foot-fairy on whom she has exclusive visiting rights.
And what Anne-Marie wants – she gets. For she is now a wealthy, if slightly deranged, mistress – living alone in the Gynarchy, with lots of time on her hands, and a personal footslave on her feet.
The End
