Snapshots From The Gynarchy

So you’re visiting the Gynarchy for just one day?

Well, let’s eavesdrop on a few little scenes of daily life here in the Gynarchy. At least that way you’ll get a snapshot of what life is like here in the world’s only female-dominated, foot-fetish State!

Oh, and bring your digital camera with you!

1. The Public Shoelicker-cum-Socksniffer

It is early morning.

We begin our voyeuristic tour by observing a public shoelicker at work on his shoelick-stand in the central town square.

He is attending to the feet and footwear of a twenty-something, Filipina lady who is seated imperiously above him on the ‘sit-down’ shoelick booth. She looks truly regal as she sits there in her plain, navy blue anorak, black denim jeans, and flat, shiny black plastic, round-toed, slip-on shoes with short, sneaker-style, navy-blue socks.

Look – can you see how the elasticated tops of her dark blue socks are just visible beneath her soft brown, Filipina leg-skin as the socks disappear into the rims of her shiny, black, plastic shoes along the sides? In fact, the socks disappear completely down the backs of her heels!

Her shapely, exposed, Filipina heels look a bit rough and chapped due to their lack of sock-protection, don’t they?

The Filipina mistress may be petite in stature, but she also looks dominant and commanding as she sits above the kneeling slave, directing his mouth on her cheap footwear by means of a pointing stick which can also, no doubt, double up as a whipping stick across his exposed, bare back and shoulders should he fail to please the young, oriental woman.

Not that she would appear to have any cause for complaint, at present. Can you see how the slave’s tongue is lifting all the street dirt and grime from the side of the Filipina lady’s right shoe, leaving it sparkling in the early morning sunshine?

How humiliating; how degrading – for the footslave; having to lick (and, of course, swallow) the dirt from a young Filipina woman’s, ordinary shoe in full public view! Ha! Ha! He must surely feel ashamed? As well as honoured!

She’s saying something to the slave now; let’s move in closer and hear what she has to say:

‘Ha! Ha! You like taste of Cardela dirty shoe? Ha! Ha! Slave hungry? Want more dirt from Filipina-lady shoe?’

‘Oh pray, mistress, if it pleases you most beautiful and respected Filipina mistress, truly this slave is indeed hungry and would be honoured to fill his empty stomach with more of the superior mistress’s common shoedirt, if you would be so kind most beautiful and respected mistress.’

That’s so-called ‘slavespeak’ which the slave is using. All male slaves in the Gynarchy have to speak to their female betters like that – as subordinates. Only free men are allowed to speak normally to females – as equals.

Well – almost equals. A man can never be truly equal to a woman, since women are, by nature, the superior sex!

The Filipina mistress, of course can address the slave any way she damn well pleases. She therefore continues to mock him and tease him:

‘Ha! Ha! I not grant you your wish! I not feed you! You a slave – I make you stay hungry! Ha! Ha! Instead I stink you – I make you smell Cardela stinky feet and socks! Ha! Ha! Cardela feet hot and stinky inside shoes. Feet sweaty; socks sweaty. Cardela up on feet all night cleaning offices. Ha! Ha! I not wash feet since finish work! Ha! Ha! Now you take off Cardela shoes and smell Cardela stink. You smell Cardela dirty sock. You obey Filipina mistress. Take off shoe now – or feel whip!’

The semi-naked, male slave cowers at the feet he is about to sniff in public as the young, Filipina cleaning woman raises her stick threateningly in the air above his stooped shoulders. She does not need to actually hit him with the stick – for he clearly fears her, and her power over him.

As well he might!

See how he kisses the rounded toe-area of each black plastic, slip on shoe as he slips each shoe off the Filipina mistress’s navy-blue, socked feet in turn. He kisses the common-or-garden, non-designer shoes out of slavish respect because he must then touch them with his hands in order to slip them off his female superior’s feet – something a public footslave would not normally be permitted to do.

Her socks certainly look smelly from here, don’t they? Manky and somewhat damp looking in places; the socks of a cleaning girl who has, indeed, been up all night on her feet working hard – scrubbing, dusting and mopping. Can you see that line of dampness along the lower instep of her right sock? Look - that darker area there where the Filipina cleaning-lady’s foot-perspiration has seeped into the soft, cotton material of her plain-blue sneaker sock?

I, for one, wouldn’t like to have to be so close to that manky and bobbled sock! Would you?

But the public footslave, of course, has no choice! He has been ordered to smell it, and to lower his face to it!

Ha! Ha! See how he grimaces as he places his nose onto the moist and dank-looking toe-area of the Filipina girl’s right sock.

The wearer of the short, blue sock is laughing at him too:

‘Ha! Ha! What the matter slave? You not like smell of Filipina girl dirty sock? You too high and mighty for Filipina girl sock? Dirty, girl sock beneath you?’

‘Oh pray mistress! Oh no mistress! This slave is truly honoured to smell the pungent aroma of the mistress’s most beautiful sock, if it is so pleasing to you most sweet and kind mistress Cardela. Please don’t beat me mistress. You are better than me; your sock is better than me! Mercy mistress!’

That’s more like it! The slave has stopped his disrespectful grimacing now and is audibly sniffing the sock. Both socks in fact!

Ha! Ha! He has been transformed from a Filipina girl’s public shoelicker into her public socksniffer! Ha! Ha! What a sight to behold! No wonder some early bird, foreign, female tourists are laughing at him and taking pictures of him. What a dork! What a chump!

Let’s carry on watching for a few minutes, as she stinks him out with her socks. Ha! Ha! This has got to be worth a picture …

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2. In the Restaurant

Next we move into a nearby café just off the town square.

A young, black couple – a woman and her free, male partner – are enjoying a spot of breakfast, seated opposite one another at the café table.

The young, black woman’s personal footslave is kneeling beneath the table at her feet, dutifully staring at them. I’ll bet he, like the public shoelick, is also feeling hungry – for he must surely be able to smell the delicious, hot food wafting down from the café table above him. But his mistress does not seem to be giving him any titbits from her bounteous plate. Indeed, she scarcely seems aware of her footslave’s presence.

Which is precisely as it should be.

She is slightly plump, and dressed in a grey and white, patterned hoodie with matching tracksuit-bottoms. Her hood is down, however, revealing her long, dark hair and large, round ear-rings. Indeed, both she and her boyfriend appear to be festooned in bling!

She even has some bling on her feet – can you see? There on her left ankle; a golden ankle-chain atop her bright, white anklesock just inside the upper rim of her high-top, lace-up, pink and white sneaker. Gosh those multicoloured sneaker laces look nice and thick! I’ll bet her personal footslave has to spend literally hours sucking them clean!

For the black girl’s sneakers – it has to be said – do look somewhat tatty and grubby. They certainly aren’t new – or maybe it’s just the snowy-white of her anklesocks which is showing up the dirt on her outer footwear? In any case, the stylish, high-top sneakers show a considerable degree of ingrained dirt, and so we can assume that dirt and dust accumulates in the thick laces as well – or rather, it would if the slave wasn’t obliged to suck on them every night.

I wonder if the slave is thinking similar thoughts as he humbly focuses on the movement in his mistress’s sneaker-laces on her right sneaker – directly beside his face – as she subconsciously flexes her pretty foot muscles whilst she is eating her meal and conversing happily above him with her manly, black boyfriend? The down-in-the-dirt footslave must surely also able to see all the creases and folds in the soft, white cotton material of his mistress’s socks as she moves her ankles?

In fact, the dirty slave is so close to his mistress’s sneakered and socked feet he must surely even be able to see the individual stitches in her socks!

Wouldn’t it be great to be able to get inside his head – to get a truly slave’s-eye view of such an attractive, young black woman’s snowy-white socks whilst she is wearing them inside her pink and white, high-top sneakers?

I wonder if he can also smell his mistress’s sneaker-leather over the aroma of her delicious, hot food? There’s certainly plenty of leather to smell, for these sneakers are not exactly what you would describe as ‘delicate’ or ‘dainty’. In fact, they make the mistress’s feet look quite big – much bigger than they actually are!

I wonder, too, whether her feet and socks are clean inside her sneakers? Her white socks certainly look clean enough from our vantage point, but what about close-up? Plus, we can only see the top halves of them, of course! Only the young woman’s personal footslave knows how fresh-smelling or otherwise his mistress’s black feet and white socks really are inside her sneakers.

I suppose the mistress herself, and her boyfriend, may also know – but they aren’t likely to be concerned about such matters. Such things are, quite literally, beneath them – as indeed is the personal footslave. In fact, that’s precisely why the young woman has a personal footslave – so that she doesn’t have to concern herself with such mundane matters as the state of her shoes and socks! That’s what her slave is there for!

And he does look as though he takes his footslavish responsibilities very seriously, doesn’t he? See how he concentrates avidly on his mistress’s right sneaker. He has clearly been well-trained; the red whip marks on his bare back bear eloquent testimony to that!

Try and get a shot of them as you focus in on his black mistress’s stylish, pink and white sneakers…

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3. A Public Flogging

Mid morning now, and the sun is well and truly up in the sky. Nice day for a tour of the Gynarchy!

What’s all that commotion going on in the town square? Ah – sounds like we might be about to witness a public flogging!

Good! You’ll enjoy watching this! The Female Authorities in the Gynarchy really know how to impose harsh, feminine discipline on recalcitrant male slaves. The reoffending rates are virtually zero!

Let’s go watch…

Ah, so the about-to-be-punished slave is already in place – secured in the whipping stocks on the raised dais in the centre of the town square. Can you see how he is forced to kneel in the heavy, wooden stocks, with his naked back fully exposed to the female whip or cane?

I wouldn’t like to be in his position! Would you?

A cheer goes up from the, mainly female, crowd as the public whipper climbs up onto the dais.

She is a uniformed, female police officer, of course, but she is also clearly a Muslim girl – for her navy-blue uniform has been adapted for her, to retain her modesty. It consists of an additional, black headscarf or ‘hijab’, along with the standard navy-blue jacket and trousers. On her feet she is wearing plain, black leather, zip-up, chunky-heeled, police-uniform ankleboots.

The Muslim WPC looks nice; feminine, but powerful.

I actually know all about this particular officer – I read an article about her in the Gynarchy Times, for she is quite a celebrity!

Her name is WPC Lintang, and apparently she emigrated to the Gynarchy some 3 years ago – with the express intention of joining the Female Police and becoming a public punisher. You see, she used to work for the ‘Wilayatul Hisbah’ – the religious police in provincial Indonesia – administering public canings to criminals who had fallen foul of the strict Sharia laws there, but she had not been satisfied by this role for a number of reasons:

a) She thought that it was wrong that women should also be caned – especially by a man;

b) She thought it was wrong that only the women had to kneel whilst being caned, whereas the men could retain some modicum of dignity by standing up during their punishment;

c) She thought that the men should not only have to kneel to receive their cane-strokes, but should be caned on their bare backs – not fully clothed as they were allowed to be;

d) She thought that young, Muslim women, like her, should be allowed to administer the canings to the men;

e) She thought that the canings should be much more severe;

f) She thought that the men should be made to publicly kiss the feet of their female caners at the end of the punishment, as a demonstration of their humility and contrition.

Here in the Gynarchy, of course, all those wishes and desires have come true for the Indonesian WPC, WPC miss Lintang, and she now gets to cane men in public – kneeling, semi-naked men; on their bare backs; almost every other day!

See how she is cruelly positioning herself behind the kneeling prisoner, ready to steadfastly deliver the first stinging blow of her cane!

That slave must be quaking in his boots – or rather, he would be if he were wearing any!

Another uniformed WPC – a blonde, non-muslim girl – steps up to a microphone on the dais and announces the punishment to all and sundry: twelve strokes of the cane across the bare back and shoulders; well laid on.

I didn’t quite catch the slave’s crime; did you? No? Oh well, it doesn’t matter. At least justice is being done – whatever the crime against femininity.

The blonde WPC calls out the first stroke. The Indonesian WPC takes a slight step backwards, raises her cane high into the air behind her, and then brings it crashing down with a whoosh and a sickening splat onto the kneeling prisoner’s bare, white back.

He screams with shock and disbelief at the exquisite nature of the judicious pain; the crowd cheers with glee at the sight of the recalcitrant, male slave getting his come-uppitinance; and then laughs as they hear him beg for sweet, feminine mercy.

Mercy! Ha! Ha! But doesn’t the stupid dolt realise he’s already been tried and convicted? It’s not WPC Lintang’s place to show him mercy. She must only carry out the wishes of the Female Court!

And, you’ve got to admit, she is doing so with sweet, feminine relish. She appears to be very good at her job. Just look at the red stripe now running across the convicted criminal’s bare, right shoulderblade! That’s gotta sting! Ha! Ha!

Did you notice how we also got a flash of white sock beneath WPC Lintang’s navy-blue, police-uniform trouser hem as she took that small step backwards in order to deliver the cut of the cane?

That’s one small step for a woman; one giant stripe for mankind!

And - naughty WPC Lintang! I thought the female police were supposed to wear regulation navy-blue socks – even manky ones would do, like those worn by the Filipina cleaning girl, miss Cardela! Anyway, I’m sure she shouldn’t be wearing non-regulation, white socks inside her police-uniform, black leather ankleboots; not whilst she is performing her public duty on national television!

Oh yes – all public floggings are televised in the Gynarchy – just as they are in Indonesia. WPC Lintang is a star! Which is probably why the prisoner-slave, after his whipping is over and just as soon as he is released from the wooden stocks, feverishly kisses the dusty bottoms of her regulation black boots, and the elasticated tops of her non-regulation white socks, whilst he is kneeling on the floor of the raised podium. After all, it isn’t every day that a mere slave gets to kiss the feet of a famous, female TV celebrity! And besides, he is duty bound to thank his punisher and bless her for caning him in such a painful and efficient manner!

The female crowd jeer the whipped slave, and cheer WPC Lintang. Some of them even climb up onto the dais to ask for her autograph. She obliges them, and orders the penitent prisoner-slave to kiss their feet too, including the feet of several, fellow-muslim girls.

Female Law and Order – you can’t beat it! But it can, and will, beat you – if you are a transgressive, male slave!

I dare you to ask WPC mistress Lintang to victory-pose for a picture - holding up her punishment cane whilst the prisoner kisses her boots…

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4. The Slave-Market

Where shall we go after our spot of lunch?

Fancy owning a slave? Oh no – you can’t, can you? Ha! Ha! Either you are a man, or you are a woman who isn’t fortunate enough to live here in the Gynarchy!

No matter, we can still observe other women purchasing their slaves at the central maleslave-market. It’s just off the main square.

Look at how young most of the women are milling around the maleslave merchandise! That’s because many of them will be first time buyers – and a woman is only allowed to own a personal slave when she reaches the age of 21, although she can utilise the services of public slaves from the age of 18 upwards.

Well, that’s the official line anyway!

See how they touch and prod the semi-naked and chained-up male slaves with their dainty and soft, feminine fingers. The young women are perfectly correct to do so, for they need to know that their potential purchases are fit and healthy. No point in purchasing a male-weakling who can’t take the whip!

One thing any potential buyer can be sure of is that, in an official slave-market like this one, the maleslaves will all have been well-trained in how to serve their female betters. They will all be in total fear and awe of the female whip, and will be well versed in the humble slavespeak we heard such a fine example of earlier.

I’m afraid that can’t always be said of the slaves for sale in the backstreet slave-markets. They are cheaper – yes! But many of them are runaways, uppity and difficult to handle. I’d steer clear of them if I were you (and if I were a woman!).

Ha! Ha! Look – one young, dark curly-haired, Hispanic woman has just purchased her slave and is having him chained up behind her feet. She looks ever so confident and proud, whilst the slave looks confused and frightened – as well he might be, judging by the way his new mistress is enthusiastically fondling her complimentary whip (most slave-dealers in the official markets offer a free whip with every purchase!)

Still the newly-purchased footslave shouldn’t be concentrating on that; he should be focussing on the scuffmarks on the backs of his young, Hispanic mistress’s striking, red leather ankle boots beneath her tucked-in, blue denim jean-hems – for he is going to be seeing a lot of the backs of those stylish, spike-heeled, red leather ankle boots from now on. They, along with their wearer, are his new owners – and he must serve them; worship them; fawn to them. Otherwise he will become intimate with that slim, leather slave-whip!

It’s his choice – the boots or the whip!

Which would you choose?

Ha! Ha! He’s struggling now to keep up with his new mistress as he is forced by his chains to crawl after her on his hands and knees. Don’t worry – he’ll soon get used to it. After all, he will now be spending the rest of his unnatural life crawling after his new mistress’s bootheels; tasting the dust thrown up by them onto his face; admiring the creases and folds in the bright red leather; longing for the occasional glimpse of the elasticated tops of his, young, curly-haired, Hispanic mistress’s bootsocks (pity we can’t see what colour of socks she has on inside her red boots right now!); imagining what her socks must smell like inside her red-hot boots as she goes about her daily business; and, at the end of each day, finding out how her bare, Hispanic feet smell when he must remove her boots and socks from her feet in order to mouth-clean her dirty, used footwear!

Some of the other slaves in the slave-market look quite jealous.

Ha! Ha! Take a snapshot of them, why don’t you? Their faces look a picture…

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5. The Launderette

Speaking of dirty, sweaty girlsocks – why don’t we pop into this nearby launderette to observe one of the Gynarchy’s laundry-slaves at work?

Of course, most of the ladies’ clothes are machine-washed like they would be in any other developed country, but the law of the Gynarchy states that a woman’s hosiery must be at the very least pre-washed by mouth – either by the lady’s own personal footslave, or by one of the public laundry-slaves.

To compensate the ladies for the inconvenience of not being able to just chuck their dirty socks and tights in with the rest of the weekly wash, the public laundryroom slaves’ services are offered for free! Ha! Ha! All day long they must suck the feminine foot-perspiration out of ladies’ socks – but they must also do so in a very ritualistic manner.

Let’s watch the laundryroom slave at work as he mouth-washes a pair of dirty, white, feminine anklesocks which have a fetching, lacy trim.

You will note that the first thing he must do is lay the socks out, nice and neatly, on the floor beneath his kneeling face, and then kiss each sock 20 times, from tip to toe. This is how he demonstrates his respect not just for the sock, but also for its female owner - not that he is ever likely to meet her in the flesh. The nearest he will get to her flesh is the dead skin particles he will consume from her socks!

He must then, you see, turn the lacy socks inside out, and sniff them; again, 20 times to each sock. He’s lucky. Because these anklesocks are pure white he can easily see the yellowish-brown sweat stains on the insides of the socks. So he has no excuse for not knowing exactly where to sniff; and, of course, where to suck when he eventually places them inside his mouth.

He must then mouth-soak the dirty socks one at a time. Ha! Ha! I wonder if that white, lacy trim is tickling the roof of his mouth? Serves him right if it does – for almost all laundryroom-slaves are criminals who are undertaking community servitude as public sockwashers as part of their punishment.

I hope the young woman’s stale footsweat and dead footskin tastes foul inside his mouth! How must he feel when he finally takes the once-dirty, female sock out of his mouth and observes how all the yellow and brown sweat and inner-shoe stains have gone? That female footsweat, bacteria and dead skin is now deep inside his stomach! Ha! Ha! How humiliating for him! How sickening!

And yet – how lovely!

But he hasn’t finished with the socks just yet. Having divested them of their owner’s residual foot and ankle sweat, he must now put them in one of the washing machines in order to divest them of his dirty, slave saliva! Only once they have had a good soaking inside the machine can he take them out, lay them out respectfully on the floor again, and then watch them dry (he isn’t, of course, allowed to spin-dry the precious and delicate, female socks lest they get damaged).

He must watch them dry under his nose – however long it takes; though he is allowed to speed up the process by breathing on them.

Finally, when they are dry, he must turn them the right way out again; iron them; and then kiss each freshly-laundered sock 20 times again before rolling them up into a ball ready for their unknown, female owner to collect.

She will never know – or care – exactly which laundryroom-slave has mouth-washed and laundered her dirty socks. All she knows is that her socks are now fresh and clean again – at least for another couple of days!

Take a photo of the laundryroom-slave sorting through that newly-delivered pile of fetid, stinky socks over there. Ha! Ha! Say cheese, laundryman…

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6. Hard Labour in the Salt Mines

If you think the laundryroom-slave has it tough – spare a thought for the poor slaves toiling away in the Gynarchy’s salt mines. Any slave worth his salt would much rather be sucking socks than mining salt!

We need to go slightly outside the city to see the salt-mine slaves hard at work. We won’t be alone, of course. It makes for a nice day trip for any young woman – a sightseeing trip to the salt mines. All those semi-naked and sweaty male bodies – breaking salty deposits from rocks as the female whips of the female overseers break their skin.

The overseers are all employed by the Female State, and wear a fetching uniform of crisp, white blouses, navy blue, knee-length skirts, and black, knee-high leather boots with blocky heels and square-shaped toes. It’s important that their boots are sturdy, as they often need to keep a firm foothold on the jagged rocks whilst they are bringing down their whips on some lazy or physically exhausted slave.

It’s amazing, though, how quickly the sting of a female whip can reinvigorate a slave – as can the sight of the elasticated top a female-overseer’s, knee-high, black nylon bootsock.

Look at that blonde-ponytailed taskmistress over there! Imagine what it must be like to be that poor slave who is currently cringing at her feet! Imagine what it must be like to see such a pretty pair of black leather, knee-high, female boots and dark nylon popsocks bearing down on you as you toil on your hands and knees under the hot, summer sun – breaking salt from the rocks with a tiny, blunt pick-axe which is secured to your mouth. You must surely be conscious of the fact that the blonde-haired, whip-carrying taskmistress’s dark, nylon popsocks are damp and sweaty inside such heavy boots – especially around the toe areas – and yet, as part of your lifelong punishment, you have the frustration of not being permitted to touch or smell them!

The nylons are purely there for the comfort of the blonde-haired, black-booted taskmistress – to absorb her precious, feminine foot-and-lower-leg sweat as she goes about her daily business of whipping you and keeping you hard at work. Ha! Ha! See how her blonde ponytail swings behind her in the air in tandem with her whip-strokes to the dirty slave’s back!

It is, of course, the public laundryroom-slaves who have the inestimable honour of sniffing, kissing and mouthwashing the State taskmistresses’ dirty nylon popsocks – the nearest you will ever get to them, if you are a salt-mine slave, is the sight of their dark-rimmed, elasticated, nylon tops!

Still no-one can stop you from dreaming – not even the whip-wielding taskmistresses!

But if the taskmistress’s boots and nylons aren’t inspiration enough for you, the sting of her lash certainly will be! Note how few of the labourers have unmarked backs! Ha! Ha! That one over there has a strawberry-coloured back! Oh! And there’s another fresh line of strawberry to add to his collection! Ha! Ha! You must work harder slave! Move! Break away those salts!

It’s a hopeless task – and a nugatory one; for nothing is done with the extracted salt. Modern machines extract all the salt the Gynarchy really needs. The work of the male, salt-mine slaves is really just hard labour for hard labour’s sake.

It does also, however, help to entertain the day-trippers from the female capital!

Ask that blonde taskmistress, politely, if you can take her photograph. They’re well used to tourists taking their pictures…

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7. Public Transport

Back to the city – and this time let’s travel by public slave-cart. We’ll need to share a cart with a lady, of course – unless you yourself are female – for males, even free males, are not permitted to use slave-carts unless they are accompanied by a female. And even then they must sit quietly in the back.

Fortunately, however, we find a hip, young, student-woman who is happy for us to pay the slave-cart fee back into town, in exchange for us being able to hitch a ride with her.

She, of course, will sit up front, as only a woman can drive in the Gynarchy. The slave, you will note, is actually kneeling below her seat – his face level with the metal footrest on which she places her flat, brown-leather, hippy-chick, strappy-sandaled feet. That means that all he can see is the backs of her bare heels and ankles below the hemline of her flowing, flowery-patterned, ankle-length summer dress as he pushes her (and us) along.

He must be feeling the weight of all three of us on his back – but I’ll bet his back doesn’t ache as much as those of the poor salt-mine slaves!

And besides, he has the delightful sight of the young hippy woman’s bare, pasty-white and pink heelskin to focus on as he pushes her along the dirt track that leads from the salt-mines back to the city. I’ll bet he is even counting the wrinkles in her delicately soft and exposed heel-skin! He can do that, because he has no need to concentrate on the road ahead of him. His mistress-driver will do that for him. She will steer him and guide him, by means of the metal bit attached to his mouth.

That’s the only drawback for him – having to kiss her brown-sandalled feet at the end of the journey with a metal bit in his mouth. It means he can only brush his lips against her bare footflesh. He can’t really taste her bare footskin with his confined tongue being trapped under the bit.

I suppose that’s a torture of sorts!

Photograph him trying not to slobber over the hippy-mistress’s brown-sandalled feet…

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8. A Dusky Maiden

It’s early evening now; dusk.

We’re back where we started, next to the public-shoelicker’s stand in the central town square. Ha! Ha! We’ve been out and about – taking in all the wonderful sights of the glorious Gynarchy, but he, fool that he is, is still chained up and kneeling here – down in the dirt, and tongue-shining the street-dirty shoes and boots of his female betters.

Look at the arrogant young black woman seated above him as we speak. She looks dressed for a night out on the town – a fetching Afro-hairstyle; a revealing, sparkly-silver top; an ultra-short, bright red miniskirt; and chunky, red, high-heeled, peep-toe shoes on her bare, brown legs and feet.

I like the way her toenails are painted silver to match her sparkly top, and that she is nonchalantly applying her make-up whilst the slave applies himself to her sexy footwear. Such feminine poise; such class!

Can you see how the shoelick-stand’s highly directional spotlight illuminates the non-working girl’s pretty, black feet as they rest on the wooden footblock in their seductive, red shoes beneath the working-footslave’s face? Not only does it make her clumpy, red, high-heeled shoes glisten with the humble footslave’s saliva – we (and he!) can clearly see the blue-blood veins running down the front of her feet and beneath her bright, red shoeline.

How humiliating for the footslave – to have to study the superior, young, black woman’s blue-blood coursing through her feet as he attends to her tarty-looking, bright red shoes! Who knows, she might even make him nose her foot-veins – by way of a demonstration of her absolute power over him and his utter helplessness at her black-girl feet?

From a Filipina night-worker’s, manky, navy-blue socks to a nightclubbing, Afro-Caribbean girl’s varicose foot-veins – he really is at the mercy of his female superiors’ feet and footwear from dawn till dusk!

See if you can’t zoom in on his haughty, young black customer’s foot-veins – and remember to turn on the flash, for it is getting rather dark now...

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Well, there you have it – just some of the sights, sounds and smells of day-to-day life in the Gynarchy, all captured by you on camera. I hope they will give you many happy memories of your day-trip to our great Gynarchy!

Now all you have to do is upload them to a photo-sharing website for everyone else to enjoy!

Smile…

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