Footmistresses’ Scorecards

My trainer, mistress Milena, has today been pimping me around a female office in the heart of the city as part of my Footslave Training Course. The idea is that I have to serve the feet and footwear of some real footmistresses – in real, everyday life – who then mark my performance on a scorecard with marks out of ten.

It’s practical, on-the-job experience, if you like – as opposed to just theory in the footslave classroom.

If I pass my practical work-experience I shall be put up for auction as a personal footslave. If I fail I shall be consigned to the ranks of mere public foot-servitude. So I am keen to pass, since private footslaves get to perform much more intimate duties on their mistresses’ beautiful, bare, soft feminine feet – whereas public footslaves rarely get beyond their customer-mistresses’ shoes, boots and socks. Being a public footslave is considered a much less prestigious position here in the Gynarchy!

There is also the small matter of my being whipped in accordance with the number of marks by which I fall below the total number of marks available on my scorecards – though such punishment is at the young-womanly discretion of my trainer, mistress Milena, who can waive such punishment if she sees fit.

I doubt that she will, however, for, unfortunately for me, she tends to be regarded as one of the more pernickety footslave-trainers in the Footslave Training Academy. Tall and slim, with long, blonde hair tied back in a fetching ponytail, and a tendency to wear scruffy, no-nonsense, white keds and white sneaker-socks beneath her ubiquitous, black denim jeans, my Slovakian trainer-mistress is a great believer in the power of the female whip to instil a good performance in her footslave-trainee, to which my scarred and striped back bears eloquent testimony!

It is the moment of reckoning – the moment of mistressly judgement – as I kneel at the end of my practical-experience day in one of the Academy’s training rooms at my East European mistress-trainer’s scruffy, white keds-sneakered feet and await her overall assessment of my performance during my office work-experience, based on the hastily completed office-footmistresses’ scorecards.

There is silence and tension in the air, as well as the aroma of white sneaker-ked, as my haughty and demanding trainer-mistress Milena looks through the various scorecards and tots up my marks. I try to focus in on a tiny crease along the elasticated top of her plain, white sneaker-sock as I await news of my performance and my fate, admiring the way in which the crisp, snowy-white sock seems to enhance the relative dull greyness of the tatty, only nominally white, lace-up, keds sneaker on her shapely, right foot.

The foot of female power; the foot of destiny – at whose mercy I now kneel!

I itch to kiss the top of my female judge’s soft, cotton sneaker-sock – but mistress Milena and her training whip have taught me never to presume upon a lady’s permission to kiss sock. I have to earn that right!

So please don’t keep me in suspense, mistress Milena! Have I won the right to kiss your pure, white sneaker-sock? How have I done in my practical work- experience as adjudged by superior females? Oh pray, mistress! Oh pray! Please put me out of my aspirational maleslave misery!

Trainer-mistress Milena cleverly throws my imagined question back on me in her cute East European accent (she has not long emigrated from the Slovak Republic to the Female Republic):

‘Well, the trainee footslave, how do you think you did?’

If truth be told, I am quietly confident that I did alright – that I at least attained the necessary pass mark to become a lady’s personal footslave – 60%. As it turned out, I only had to serve three office-mistresses during my day-long work experience (the rest were too busy), and I made sure to ingratiate myself to each of the three young women concerned. I certainly parted on what I would regard as good mistress/slave company with each of them – and none had indicated any particular dissatisfaction with my humble efforts on their office feet and footwear.

Besides, I have to hope I have done well – for if I haven’t my self-respecting trainer-mistress, mistress Milena, will undoubtedly take it as a slight on her training abilities, and that would be sure to mean yet more stinging stripes across my bare, footslave back!

And yet, I must display humility in my answer to trainer-mistress Milena’s question – for there is nothing so unbecoming in a slave as arrogance and self-confidence. A slave should always be weak and humble; diffident and timid; pathetic and unmanly – for he is, after all, an un-man. Unlike the free men of the Gynarchy.

And so, using my knowledge of fluent slave-speak, I express my reservations about my performance to trainer-mistress Milena, acknowledging my firm footslave-belief that there is always room for improvement, and that I could always do better, for I can never be good enough for a superior mistress, and yet conveying my hope against hope that I will be deemed adequate to serve at the personal feet of a Gynarchy lady!

I find it easier to address my formidably slim, East European trainer-mistress in her sock, since I am certainly not fit to look her in the eye, or even in the eyelets of her lace-up, keds sneakers:

‘Oh pray, goddess trainer-mistress Milena, if it pleases you most respected and highly-talented goddess trainer-mistress Milena, this weak and pathetic, trainee-footslave merely hopes that his performance, as righteously adjudged by his superior mistresses, has not embarrassed the mistress, and has reflected all the time and whip-effort that the most gracious and beautiful mistress has invested in his development as a ladies’ humble foot-servant, if you would be so kind most powerful trainer-mistress Milena. Oh bless mistress! Oh bless! Please chastise me hard if I have failed to live up to the mark, for the biting sting of the female whip will fairly teach me my shortcomings!’

I loathe having to effectively beg for the training whip – for I truly do fear and flinch at its sharp, female sting, especially as it is laid on with joy and gusto by my mistress Milena – but, as I have already intimated, I don’t really, in my heart of hearts, think I have done all that badly. So all this footslave bluster is really just for show – to demonstrate to my trainer-mistress that, despite my undoubtedly good performance, I remain humble and subject to the female whip!

Even though I am staring at and concentrating on the fetching little crease in her right sneaker-sock, I can somehow sense mistress Milena smirking above me:

‘Hmm…well, let’s see shall we, the trainee-slave? Let’s begin by reading out of the scorecard completed by mistress Angela…’

I remember all three of my office-footmistresses extremely well, of course – since my practical work experience had only taken place earlier that same day. Mistress Angela had been my first work-experience mistress of the day, so, presumably, my trainer-mistress Milena is just going to read out the three mistresses’ scorecards in chronological order.

I am slightly nervous because Mistress Angela had been probably the most difficult office-footmistress to please – so if I’ve done well here I should be okay over all. She was a very beautiful office-mistress of about 25; a brunette; with a buxom figure and shapely, shiny-smooth, blemish-free legs beneath her modest, navy-blue pinstriped, knee-length, officewear, pencil skirt.

What had particularly enamoured me about her, though, were her spike-heeled, pointy-toed, patent black leather, zip-up ankleboots with just a hint of plain, black cotton bootsock showing over the tops. I love black ankleboots and black bootsocks on a mistress, and immediately my trainer-mistress Milena had introduced me to them I had truly yearned to serve them.

So that, at any rate, had been a good start – though I had soon discovered that mistress Angela does not suffer footslaves gladly, and her office boots and socks were not to be trifled with. She had insisted on closely directing every last detail of my service towards her boots – specifying each and every nook and cranny of the boots that I was to lick clean and in which order, and, frustratingly, insisting that I must look at, but not touch in any way – not even with my humble lips – the scrunched up tops of her black cotton, ankle-length bootsocks.

She seemed obsessed by this last point – almost to the point of being psychopathic about it. I must not touch her socks! Her socks were too good for me! Or did I think I was already experienced and worthy enough a footslave to kiss a superior young lady’s plain, black socks whilst she was still wearing them inside her office boots?

Needless to say, as part of my desire to ingratiate myself with the psychopathic mistress Angela, I humbly agreed with everything she said, and assured her in no uncertain slave-speak terms that I fully accorded with her high-handed sentiments, and that merely having permission to look at the tops of her black socks whilst I dutifully tongue-polished her black-leather, office ankleboots was privilege enough for a humble, trainee footslave such as myself. I then begged her to have me whipped for taking such a privilege.

I think my obsequiousness and pandering to her pathological whims went down well with footmistress Angela, as she very much enjoyed seeing me whipped. So, how did I do? How has she marked my performance out of ten on her Academy-supplied scorecard? Remember, I need at least 6 out of 10 if I am to avoid the dreadful drudgery of public foot-servitude, and aspire to the exalted ranks of the personal footslave – perhaps even to being the personal footslave of an unstable and egotistical mistress like brunette mistress Angela!

Each mistressly scorecard includes a comment on certain set aspects of my performance, before delivering the overall marking; so my trainer mistress Milena now reads out to me, in full, office-mistress Angela’s assessment as recorded on her scorecard in crazy green ink:

 

Footmistress Angela’s assessment of trainee-footslave performance:

1) Slavish attitude/demeanour: Not humble enough. Not fully aware of my innate, female superiority over him. At times arrogant and self-confident. Not pathetic enough.

2) Skill at allotted task (please state task): Boot-licking. Average; the slave was instructed to tongue-shine my stiletto boots, and did a decent enough job. However he required constant reminding not to touch my socks with his face or mouth, and was observed to be perpetually lusting over the tops of my socks.

3) Deficiencies/Inadequacies: The slave was seen to raise his head above the tops of my ankleboots on several occasions, thereby demonstrating a lack of concentration and understanding of his role as my office boot-boy. His fluency in humble slave-speak was also lacking, often lapsing into the use of the personal pronoun.

4) Recommendations: The slave is not fit for private foot-service. I would recommend him for public service only; and would suggest that he be subjected to more of the female whip in order to correct his haughty attitude.

5) Overall Assessment: Poor. 4/10

 

I am in shock and feel sick in my stomach! Just 4 out of 10! How could I have performed so badly in respect of mistress Angela? She’s not just a psychopath – she’s a pathological liar!

And yet, precisely because I must respect her feminine superiority, I must submit to her mistressly judgement and assessment. If she says I was poor, I was a poor performer.

I turn crimson with embarrassment as my trainer-mistress Milena puts down the scorecard and laughs at me:

‘Ha! Ha! Not the terribly promising start, is it arrogant footslave?’

‘No mistress. God bless you mistress. Please mistress Milena - I beg of you! The whip!’

It seems to me that I have no choice now but to beg for the whip since I know that mistress Angela has condemned me to at least 6 stinging lashes – the amount by which I have fallen short of the maximum possible mark – 10. I might as well accept my punishment with slavish humility and good grace!

But I have not abandoned all hope – for I remember the next office-footmistress whom I served had been much friendlier and kinder. She had, in fact, been the office cleaner – a petite, Pakistani woman in her late twenties, replete in her cleaning-girl uniform consisting of a black silken, dupatta-style headscarf; bright blue plastic pinafore; and blue denim jeans, cut off just above her shapely, Pakistani ankles.

On her feet she had been wearing a pair of cheap-looking, round-toed, shiny black plastic, slip-on loafers and fancy black and red anklesocks with frilly, red trims. The frilly tops of the short anklesocks looked like they had seen better days as they were somewhat faded and worn in places – clearly a well-worn and oft-washed pair of Pakistani cleaning-girl anklesocks!

My allotted task with practical work-experience mistress no. 2 had been to nuzzle the lacy tops of those socks whilst the somewhat petite, Pakistani mistress stood over me leaning on her mop in the office kitchen. Unlike my previous task, I was not to kiss or lick her outer footwear – her black plastic loafers. In complete contrast this task was to touch only her socks with my face. But girls’ socks are my strength – and, to be honest, I found this the easiest of all three of my allocated, work-experience tasks, even if it was the most degrading and demeaning.

My mistress Milena kindly reads out the Pakistani, office-cleaning lady’s scorecard, properly filled out in normal black ink this time:

 

Footmistress Jehan’s assessment of trainee-footslave performance:

1) Slavish attitude/demeanour: Very good; the slave was being very humble and obedient towards me at all times. I am being liking his attitude very much!

2) Skill at allotted task (please state task): Sock-nuzzling. Good. The slave was nuzzling my socks most efficiently, and was not tickling me in any way. He was making sure to be only looking at my socks, and was not being distracted by other women, isn’t it?

3) Deficiencies/Inadequacies: The slave was not audibly sniffing my socks while he was being nuzzling them. I was very much wanting to be hearing him sniff along the tops of my socks.

4) Recommendations: I am thinking that the slave should be being taught more respect for his mistresses’ socks – particularly he should be being made to smell them out loud, isn’t it?

5) Overall Assessment: Good. I am being very satisfied. 9/10

 

God bless you mistress Jehan! I am back on track for a fitted marking for personal foot-servitude! Such a sweet and kind Pakistani footmistress! And I’m truly sorry I forgot to audibly sniff the tops of your socks whilst I was nuzzling them! I can assure you I was inhaling them (I always inhale), and they did smell nice and moist!

Only 1 lash for such a blatant error – truly you are a sweet and forgiving cleaning-mistress! God bless you! God bless you!

‘Don’t get carried away with yourself, you the dirty slave,’ counsels trainer-mistress Milena seated above me, conscious of my misplaced sense of footslave-pride. ‘I’m going to downgrade mark from miss Jehan to ‘7’, since I think that failure to sniff and smell beautiful, young Pakistani woman’s socks while you are nuzzling them is much more serious error than she believes!’

My heart sinks! I’ll have to score a perfect 10 from my final office-mistress’s assessment if I am to stand any chance of qualifying as a personal footslave now – though I must confess my maths is not good enough to work out if even that would be enough! I’m only good at counting stitches in superior mistresses’ socks . Perhaps I should be counting the stitches in mistress Milena’s white sneaker-socks right now – or even audibly sniffing them; just to prove that I do know how to respectfully sniff girlsock!

But instead I just keep my head down and thank my trainer-mistress for berating and derating me:

‘Oh pray mistress Milena! Thank you mistress Milena! God bless you mistress Milena, and pray lay on my extra lashes with appropriate venom, if it is so pleasing to you mistress Milena, for this slave must learn to show proper respect to the socks of his female betters, if you would be so kind and understanding all-powerful mistress Milena!’

Nine lashes of the female whip, and a lifetime of drudgery as a public footslave, now possibly await me. My fate is in the hands of my final office-footmistress and her assessment of my performance.

I’m not optimistic, for I felt even on the day that I was having some difficulty ‘hitting it off’ with the final mistress – the intelligent, black, office-manageress mistress, mistress Philomena, an African-Caribbean woman in her early to mid thirties.

Don’t get me wrong – we had parted on good enough terms (as I thought I had done with all my work-experience mistresses on the day) but right from the off I had been disappointed that such a beautiful and fit-looking, tall and lithesome young woman of Jamaican origins had been wearing brown leather, chunky-heeled and round-toed, zip-up, knee-high boots with tanned nylon stockings on her shapely legs. She should have been wearing a bright red tracksuit and red and white running shoes with matching white sneaker-socks – so ‘athletic’ did she look in her build!

But, of course, such attire would hardly have been appropriate for an office-manageress at work, even a sporty-looking one, and one of the lessons a humble footslave has to quickly learn is that the choice of female attire and footwear made by a footmistress must always be respected and admired – even if it is not always to one’s personal taste!

It’s not that I don’t ordinarily admire knee-high, brown leather boots and tanned nylon stockings on a superior, black female – it’s just that the close-up sight of mistress Angela’s scrunched-up, black bootsocks and mistress Jehan’s red and black, frilly anklesocks had fired me up for socks, and I remember I couldn’t help thinking how much prettier those brown leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up, knee-high boots would have looked on the black mistress’s shapely and powerful Jamaican legs and calve-muscles with a pair of knee-high, black woolly bootsocks peeping out over the tops!

But what of mistress Philomena’s written assessment of me, and of my footslavish performance? Did I manage to pull the wool over her eyes if not over her knees?

My trainer-mistress Milena gleefully enlightens me:

 

Footmistress Philomena’s assessment of trainee-footslave performance:

1) Slavish attitude/demeanour: Very poor. The slave was arrogant and uppity in his demeanour throughout his brief period of servitude towards me, looking disparagingly on my brown leather boots like they were not good enough for him, or something? He totally disrespected me and my boots.

2) Skill at allotted task (please state task): Knee-boot kissing. The slave’s task had been perfectly simple – to kiss my boots 100 times each from tip to toe. I specifically ordered him to deliver a series of crisp, respectful kisses to my boots, but instead he seemed to slobber lazily all over them. It’s like he wasn’t listening to what I said, or something? He also appeared distracted by the frilly anklesocks of our office cleaning-girl who happened to be cleaning my office at the time, even though he’s finished serving her!

3) Deficiencies/Inadequacies: Unable to concentrate; seemingly unable to distinguish between respectful bootkisses and lascivious bootkisses; easily distracted; ugly to look at; thick and stupid.

4) Recommendations: In my view not fit to be in the superior company of women, let alone service their feet and footwear. A vile, unedifying creature who should be soundly whipped and consigned to the underground slave-mines for life as a hard-labour slave.

5) Overall Assessment: Crap! 1/10

 

I immediately throw myself on my trainer-mistress Milena’s grubby-grey keds sneakers and snowy-white sneaker-socks, begging her for mercy and the whip, for I have clearly failed my work experience and let her down! I had scored just 40% - that’s a total fail! Even public footslaves are required to get 50%!

And I have managed to earn myself 18 lashes into the bargain!

I needn’t have worried about having to beg for the whip, for my mistress Milena was already uncoiling her single-tailed, training slavewhip, readying it for my bare back.

And, unbeknown to me, a Female Police van was already waiting for me outside to take me away to the slave-mines, as recommended by the African-Caribbean, office-manageress mistress Philomena. Not only had I failed to make the grade as a ladies’ personal footslave – I had been righteously adjudged unfit even to be seen in public at ladies’ feet!

All those months of training down the drain – and my life as a footslave down the pan! Or, more accurately, down the mine, for that is where my miserable slave-existence will be spent from now on!

That will teach me not to be so arrogant and confident in my abilities. I do thank all the ladies involved for showing me the error of my ways, and my true worthlessness at their superior feet. Now please whip me, mistress Milena, and take out your anger and frustration at your footslave-trainee’s failure on his worthless back!

…………………………………………………………………………….

Several weeks later the three office-mistresses who had so kindly taken time out of their hectic schedules to prejudge me, accompanied by my former training mistress, came to the female viewing platform in the underground slave-mines to witness me at my hard, backbreaking labour.

They seemed pleased to see my sweating and suffering, and I was obliged by one of the saltmine-taskmistresses, under pain of the whip, to kneel before them and kiss each of their feet fifteen times in turn, thanking them for exposing my footslavish incompetence.

Mistress Jehan, in particular, seemed to take great pleasure in my downfall, and was even wearing the same frilly, red and black anklesocks she had been wearing during my work-experience back in the office. How she laughed as I was now denied a feel of her lacy socks on my nose, and was compelled merely to kiss her shiny, black plastic loafers on the dusty toe areas whilst she towered above me on the viewing platform, adjusting her black, dupatta headscarf over her jet-black and somewhat greasy hair!

The psychopath mistress Angela was in her element, surrounded as she was by all those sweaty, whipped, male bodies. She clearly loved the way her footsteps echoed around the underground cavern as she marched over to me in her stiletto-heeled, black leather ankleboots in order to have her lying feet kissed!

And as for mistress Philomena, she was smiling broadly as she took a brown envelope stuffed with what looked like wads of cash from my erstwhile trainer-mistress Milena. Anyone would think the Slovakian girl had paid her to mark me down! Ha! Ha! What a ridiculous thought – why on earth would she have done that? Unless she really hated me!

To cap it all, mistress Philomena was dressed in a red and white tracksuit, and matching red and white, lace-up sneakers – but still no socks on her athletic, black feet!

Cruel, or what?

The End