Groundhead Day

Note to reader: You probably won’t want to print out this story in its entirety.

I’m up to my neck in it!

I am buried up to my neck in the dirty ground as I am being punished by the Female Authorities for my pathetic, and ultimately futile, attempt at crawling away from my mistress Korinna for another, younger mistress.

It was the younger mistress who dobbed me in. I was such a maleslave-fool!

And now I am condemned to an indeterminate period of being buried up to my neck in the local town square so that all can see my shame and mock me. Indeed, the females of the town are encouraged by the Authorities, to a woman, to do more than just mock me – they are urged to positively tease and humiliate me with their pretty feet and footwear.

Behind my head is a shameful sign attached to a wall declaring my would-be crime against femininity – that of slavish disloyalty towards my mistress Korinna. A shocking, male crime by any feminine standards, and one which inevitably draws opprobrium and dirty looks from just about every dirty-shoed and dirty-booted mistress walking haughtily past me in the town square.

Furthermore, a black ankle-booted, blonde-ponytailed, uniformed Female Police officer – police-officer mistress Michaela – stands next to me, gleefully exhorting her fellow, young-women passers-by to stop for just a few minutes in order to perform their public duty of degrading and humiliating me with their dirty feet and footwear.

It’s all part of my righteous punishment as handed down by the Female Courts, and it’s nothing more than I deserve!

Black And White

First to stop by my imprisoned head this morning is a bespectacled, black businesswoman in her early thirties. From my lowly position in the dirt she looks smartly-dressed and supremely confident as she responds to police-officer mistress Michaela’s polite request to ‘kindly stop and torment the dirty footslave-prisoner in the ground’.

The black businesswoman-mistress is wearing a stylish, beige trouser-suit with flared trousers and dark brown leather, high-heeled, pointy-toed, zip-up ankle boots. She initially stops to wipe the street dust and dirt off her boots and onto the top of my head – on my hair – where she clearly believes such inferior dirt belongs. The black lady gaily mocks me in a thick, Jamaican accent as she arrogantly cleans her boots on the human-head-shaped boot-scraper beneath her:

‘Hja! Hja! How are you liking it, crawlaway slave? Hja! Hja! Not so fast on your hands and knees now, are you bwoy? Hja! Hja!’

‘No mistress…Thank you mistress…Pray have mercy on me mistress.’

My instructions are to respond politely and contritely to every mistress who sees fit to stop by and mock me, if I ever wish to be released from my dirty, public prison in the ground!

As she wipes the sole of her right boot over the top of my head, the smartly-dressed, black businesswoman’s left ankle-booted foot is resting on the dirty ground directly in front of my confined face, so I can clearly see the little bits of dried-on mud and dead grass stuck to the sole of her dark brown boot, and which will soon be joining the detritus from her right bootsole on the top of my penitent head.

The black businesswoman’s bootdirt is merely joining the boot and shoe dirt of countless previous mistresses who have already used my head as a makeshift boot-scraper (I am now into day 3 of my indeterminate sentence).

I am actually looking forward to providing a boot-cleaning service to the superior, black lady’s left bootsole, for it’s all my obstinate head is now good for. My only regret is that the mistress’s left, bootcut, beige-coloured trouser leg is covering the upper rim of her dark brown leather, high-heeled, zip-up ankleboot – so I am quite unable to determine whether or not the black mistress is wearing any socks inside her boots as she ladys it over me.

My female police-guard – officer-mistress Michaela – seems to sense my earthy frustration buried deep within the ground, as she coyly invites the black businesswoman to show me her business-boot socks:

‘Ha! Ha! Thank you for agreeing to stop by the prisoner, madam! Would madam also like to reveal her socks to the pathetic prisoner, and torment him even further? He likes ladies’ socks!’

The beige-suited, bespectacled, African-Caribbean lady laughs out loud at me:

‘Hja! Hja! So you want to see my socks do you, slave-bwoy? Hja! Hja! Well…ahm…hadn’t you better be begging me to see them then? Hja! Hja! Beg me to show you my nice socks inside my boots, bwoy! Hja! Hja!’

Officer-mistress Michaela is very impressed:

‘Ha! Ha! Oh madam – that’s very clever! Make the dirty prisoner beg for the honour of seeing your socks! Ha! Ha! Congratulations, madam!’

‘Hja! Hja! Thank you, officer…now you, the dirty pig wallowing in the mud, beg me to show you my socks!...’

And with that the black businesswoman-mistress kicks me sharply in the face with the newly wiped-clean, pointy-toe of her right, brown leather ankleboot. Her feet then come to rest side by side on the ground in front of my face, her beige-coloured, bootcut trouser hems now fully covering her smart, upper bootleather, as she listens to me humbly beg to see her socks:

‘Oh pray mistress...if it pleases you most beautiful black mistress…pray will you show this dirty slave-prisoner your socks…for it would be most pleasing for this slave to observe the mistress’s socks inside her brown leather ankle boots, if it would be so pleasing to you most superior and respected black mistress… Oh pray mistress!...Oh pray!...Your socks!...’

The black mistress above me laughs out loud:

‘Hja! Hja! That’s more like it, bwoy! Hja! Hja! What a dork! What a lamebrain! Hja! Hja!’

And with that she slowly raises her right booted foot up onto its pointy toe and coquettishly hitches up the hem of her right, beige-coloured trouser leg to reveal the elasticated top of a plain, white cotton anklesock!

Even though I am in the earth, I am in heaven – for there is surely no more wonderful sight on earth than a black lady’s white sock inside her brown leather ankleboot. The sharp contrast between the whiteness of the sock, her dark brown leather boot, and her soft, brown ankleskin is just too magnificent for words.

These are white socks that mean business – a black lady’s business!

The black mistress, and police-officer mistress Michaela, can both see that I am speechless, and laugh at me accordingly – the public prisoner pathetically mesmerized by a snippet of white, feminine business-sock!

‘Ha! Ha! I think he likes it, madam! I think he very much likes your plain, white sock!’

‘Hja! Hja! Reckon he does too, officer! Hja! Hja!’

But the black business lady swiftly drops her trouser leg to hide the sock-show from my humble view once again. I am, after all, here to be punished and tormented – sock-tormented; so there is absolutely no prospect of my being permitted to actually place my lips onto the top of that adorable, white cotton bootsock, let alone being permitted to unzip the side of the black mistress’s brown leather business-boot in order to pay homage to her shapely-socked anklebone like a public footslave might be made to do!

I’m just a head – a punished head in the ground! And so the white sock on the black mistress’s right foot remains firmly hidden beneath her beige, bootcut trouser hem in front of my face as she wipes the muddy and grassy sole of her left ankleboot on my hair – just as I had predicted she would!

Holey Sneakers!

Just as predictable are the grubby, black and white, converse-style, high-top canvas sneakers that grace my head immediately after the black businesswoman-mistress has shown me a clean pair of boot-heels. For the town square also pays host to a Female College, and there are many student-girls in the vicinity – especially at this time of the morning before lessons begin.

Indeed, over the last few days scruffy, lace-up sneakers beneath the ripped and torn hems of tatty, blue-denim jeans have become something of a staple diet for my head.

The current high-top, black and white sneakers appear to belong to a dark-haired, young white woman in her early twenties. I somehow sense in the back of my feeble, confined mind that I may have had the pleasure of their company before – although it’s hard to tell given how girls’ sneakers all start to look alike after a while!

The smell of musty, wet canvas and rubber is certainly familiar as the young lady chooses to use the front of my face – my nose and mouth – to extract the ground-in dirt from her dirty, white rubber sneaker-treads. As an extra humiliation for me she appears to be sockless – or, if she is wearing socks at all, they must be a pair of ultra-short, below-the-ankle, so-called ‘secret’ socks for there is just no hint of sock about her shapely, canvas-covered ankle bones.

How degrading to think that whilst the young student-woman is wiping the dirt from the outsides of her high-top, canvas sneakers onto my exposed cheeks, the perspiration from her pale, white feet is seeping directly onto the insides of her canvas sneakers – stinkifying them without the protection of any sweat-absorbing, cotton sock to protect the inner linings!

Such wanton disregard for sock shows the young woman’s complete contempt for the footslave-prisoner at her feet. She has no need to verbally berate or denigrate me. Her contempt for me is written large on the sweaty, inner-linings of her sneakers – sneakers containing several little holes through which the aroma of her inner foot-perspiration escapes up my nostrils as my outer nose serves as a dirt-scraper for the outsides of her black and white, lace-up, converse sneakers!

Chipped Toenails, Dry Skin & Feminine Foot-Cheese

Down here I get to see all the little imperfections in the passer-by mistresses’ feet – not just the holes in their sneakers! The next mistress to actually stop and impose upon me with her feet is another student-girl mistress – only this time a curly-haired, hippy-chick in a long, ankle-length, flowing, floral-patterned dress and flat, brown, Moses-style sandals on her bare, white feet.

The irony is that this particular young woman should probably be the very one to be covering up her feet – for they are not the best to look at in the dirt; podgy, misshapen toes with chipped, bright-red nail-varnish; considerable areas of dry and cracked skin on her equally podgy heels; and a long, blue vein pulsating prominently down the front of her right foot from the top of her prominent anklebone to the base of her fat, big toe.

At least her feet, though dirty and dusty, don’t smell – unencumbered as they are by open-toed, backless, strappy, brown leather sandals!

You might think, as I did, that a ‘hippy-chick’ mistress like this would be all love and peace towards me – but I hadn’t reckoned on the LSD she was clearly high on, for she gigglingly decided that the best way to humiliate and degrade me was to make me suck on each of her fat toes individually – or ‘shrimping’ them as she called it – whilst she was still wearing her sandals.

The nearby police-officer mistress Michaela appeared bemused, both by the fuzzy-haired, fuzzy-headed hippy-mistress’s LSD trip and by her willingness to let my dirty mouth actually touch the very essence of her pure, feminine toejam:

‘Ha! Ha! Suck out all the stinky, black toe-cheese from underneath my toenails, earth man! Ha! Ha!’ ordered the hippy-chick mistress, almost poetically.

‘Yes mistress…at once mistress; this slave will avidly consume the mistress’s precious toe-cheese in order to please her,’ I responded, equally almost-poetically!

I knew enough about crime and punishment in the Gynarchy to know that this was a rare treat indeed for a convicted footslave-prisoner – getting to eat a mistress’s stinky toe-cheese, especially when I am only fed by the guard-mistresses once a day, and then on meagre rations of tasteless slave-gruel. At least the toe-cheese tastes poignant. It lingers on the taste buds as one admires the many little imperfections in the hippy mistress’s pale white, veiny, and in places hard-skinned feet.

The hard-skinned heels of a sweet-natured hippy mistress!

I also very much admired the toe imprints at the front of her musty-smelling, brown leather Moses-sandals – the sign of frequent wear with bare feet! And yet this young, psychedelic woman must wear socks on some occasions – for there are distinctive, tell-tale sock-lines just above her protuberant anklebones and below the flowing hem of her flower-power, summer’s dress, and even one or two fading ‘tank-tracks’ where the sock elastic has been digging into her soft, white, feminine leg-skin.

Perhaps that’s precisely why she doesn’t like wearing socks and prefers the freedom of bare feet, even on a relatively chilly morning like today – no nasty sock-elastic irritating her soft and vulnerable, feminine, upper ankleskin.

We both get high – this hippy mistress and me; I on her toejam; she on her LSD.

Back Down To Earth With A Pair Of Black Leather Ballet-Flats!

It’s back down to good old ballet-flats and socks – my favourite, female foot-combo born of the fact that familiarity breeds respect – for, as I said earlier, my punishment-pitch is close to a Female College and consequently student-girl ballet-flats and socks are legion in this particular area of town!

But it’s how they are worn that really counts of course, and I must say this next pair are especially well-worn: scruffy, scuffmarked, round-toed, black leather ballet-flats worn with an equally scruffy-looking pair of plain, black sneaker-socks – socks which barely manage to put in an appearance above the upper rims of the soft, leather girl-shoes!

Still – at least I know they are there; protecting the student-mistress’s feet; absorbing her precious footsweat for some lucky, household footslave to mouthwash away at the end of the day; or perhaps at the end of tomorrow.

The pretty, petitely-built wearer of the ubiquitous, student-girl ballet-flats appears to be Pakistani, for her soft, shapely legs are brown-skinned as they disappear beneath her ultra-short shorts up above me. Her accent confirms it:

‘Ha! Ha! Look at you buried up to your neck in the dirt, stupid slave, isn’t it? Ha! Ha! You are looking like being a most despicable and dirty fellow, isn’t it?’ and she promptly leans over to spit on top of my head:

‘Ha! Ha! I must be cleaning your head with my spit before I am being able to wipe the bottoms of my shoes on it! Ha! Ha!’

I know it sounds terribly selfish of me but all I can think about is that the soft soles of the young Pakistani student-woman’s black leather ballet-flats should at least feel nice and gentle on the top of my head, especially if they are gliding through her spit!

Her black socks – or what little I can see of them – crease and fold most fetchingly below her delicate, Pakistani ankle bones as she then crouches down in front of me to offer her young-womanly sympathy and support for my slighted mistress Korinna, wherever she may be (in bed with her boyfriend I would guess), by spitting directly into my face – lest I get the impression that by cleaning the top of my buried head with her spit she in any way wished to cleanse me and absolve me of my male-footslave sins!

Oh how I ache to press lip to such short, black, feminine, Pakistani-girl sock! It reminds me of the bit of sock I had planned to crawl away to – before my mistress Korinna was informed of my plot! But I know it shall not be – Asian-girl, black sock shall not be gracing my lips; not now, not tomorrow, and not for the foreseeable future. For I am being punished, and who knows how long an ‘indeterminate’ sentence may last in the cruel Gynarchy of Barbaria?

Tomorrow I shall doubtless be doing this all over again; serving as a boot-scraper, a toejam-scraper and a spittoon for anonymous, but superior, angry young women; and the next day; and the next; and the next…

No wonder they call this particularly cruel and unusual punishment ‘Groundhead Day’!

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