The Mad Hatters

‘Off with his head!’ the good lady judge had declared.

She wasn’t condemning the male prisoner to execution, however, but rather to the punishment of ‘groundheading’ – to his being escorted by the Female Police from the Female Court, buried in the ground up to his neck in the middle of the town square, and thereafter forced to stare at and admire the feet and footwear of all the female passers-by.

To be groundheaded in the summertime is bad enough – the heat; the dust; the flies; the sweaty, bare feet inside open-toed sandals! But to be groundheaded in the wintertime, during the snow, is a thousand times worse; the intense cold; the dirty sludge; the filthy and muddy, snow-covered boots of one’s female betters splashing wet mud onto one’s helpless and confined face!

Slave Julian, unfortunately for him, was being groundheaded during the wintertime. In the run up to Xmas, in fact – surrounded by the customary joy and frivolity of others as they ‘shopped till they dropped’, preparing to party and to feast during the season of goodwill to all free men, whilst he, an enslaved man, languished in the frozen, female earth of the Gynarchy, with only his head, from the neck upwards, visible to all and sundry above the blanket of snow that covered the entire market square.

He really was up to his neck in it!

Don’t feel sorry for him, though. Nobody else does. He is, after all, the author of his own misfortune – being judiciously punished for giving lip to his personal mistress, 25 year old miss Alice, who needed psychiatric counselling after her dirty slave, in a pique of maleslave arrogance, actually answered her back! ‘Slave, tongueshine my blue leather pixie boots again!’ was all she had said. ‘Must I, mistress? I’ve just spent all morning licking them clean!’ had been his reply.

Outrageous!

Well, he is certainly paying the price for his slavish impudence now – sentenced by the Female Court to be buried up to his neck in the centre of the town square for 5 whole days and nights, without food or water, for all the good, free women of the town to taunt and mock him with their dirty feet, boots and shoes!

Mainly boots, it has to be said – because of the snow. Indeed, the most popular pastime in the town square at the moment appears to be ‘humiliating the dirty criminal-slave by heaping up the snow with the side of one’s dirty boot onto the front of his confined, ground-level face’! Thanks to the good townspeople, slave Julian is effectively now buried up to the mouth in human-boot-soiled snow! They have just left him enough room to breathe, as they wouldn’t want him to pass out and miss any of his harsh, public punishment!

It’s amazing how lowly and vulnerable one feels when surrounded by the knee-high, black or green rubber Wellington boots, or black or brown leather riding boots, of superior and haughty, young women – women who delight in seeing one in abject discomfort; who in fact take great pleasure in exacerbating that discomfort, by piling on yet more misery and snow around your confined-in-the-ground face with the shapely, feminine insteps of their elegantly-booted feet. And laughing at you as they do so – as they scrape the snow off the roughshod soles of their rubber or leather boots down your gormless, stupid, half-frozen face!

How they love to compare and contrast their own, free situation with your imprisoned circumstances – to ‘rub in’ not just the snow, but your masculine helplessness and suffering, and contrast that with their feminine comfort and joy at being able to head home to their nice, warm houses, whilst you, the dirty prisoner-slave in the town square, must remain buried and alone in the cold, for several more long days and nights!

They can even, should they feel so inclined, enjoy watching you shivering and suffering in the frozen earth all night whilst they are tucked up in bed with their manly husbands, thanks to the live-streaming video from the municipal webcam on the roof of the Female Town Hall which is pointing directly at you!

No wonder slave Julian was feeling utterly miserable by 10.00 on the evening of just the second day of his punishment! The square was dark and deserted; dark, that is apart from the spotlight which highlighted his snowy shame in the middle of the square; and deserted, apart from one shadowy figure who was watching him from underneath an awning on the opposite side of the square.

That figure was well wrapped up in a grey coat with matching woolly hat and gloves; a blue, woollen scarf; and thick, blue denim jeans, tucked into a pair of dark blue, ankle-length, pull-on pixie boots.

The pixie boots, of course, indicated that the figure, despite the somewhat dour colouring of its attire, was unmistakeably female. But another clue to its femininity was the equally unmistakeable pleasure in its eyes – pleasure at the suffering it saw before it in the centre of the town square – even though its wryly-smiling mouth was covered by the aforementioned blue, woollen scarf.

It was, of course, the prisoner-slave’s personal mistress – miss Alice; the one who had reported him for his insolence to the Female Authorities, when she could just have dealt with his petulant outburst herself in the privacy of her own home – whipped him on the spot, or some other such impromptu punishment. But no, miss Alice was much more vindictive and cruel than that – she had wanted her rebellious slave to be publicly humiliated; hence she loved seeing him now - looking cold, alone and forlorn; surrounded by the residue of other women’s slushy bootdirt as his face languished in their piled up, muck-ridden boot-snow!

This was well worth leaving the comfort of her nice, warm house for! So much more pleasurable to witness him suffering such humiliation in the flesh, than via a mere webcam!

She was about to march over to her hapless slave across the snowy square, for, in addition to wishing to gloat, she had a special, cruel treat for him - when she suddenly heard manic, girlish laughter and giggling echoing around the empty buildings.

She stepped silently back into the shadows, because to her unutterable delight two highly rebellious-looking young women in their early twenties were now running across the otherwise deserted square towards where her middle-aged slave was buried, probably in breach of their curfews imposed under the terms of their respective ‘FASBOs’ (Female Anti Social Behaviour Orders).

Either that, or they’d just run away from Female Prison.

Alice could be such a prude and a snob at times! However, this was bound to be worth watching.

One of the girls was a ‘punk’ in appearance – with bright, pink hair tucked into a fetching, bright-red bobble hat; a brown khaki-anorak; and black, leather, calf-length, flat-heeled, lace-up Doc Marten style boots over her woolly, tartan leggings! The other was a tall, slim black girl – more stylishly dressed in a plain, white ‘hoodie’, and shiny, white, calf-length, blocky-heeled, zip-up, go-go boots to match, over plain, black woollen leggings.

Let’s see what these two bratty-looking, young women can do to my helpless prisoner-slave before I present him with his special treat – thought miss Alice to herself, gleefully!

……………………………………………………………………

Slave Julian had heard the ominous laughter and giggling as well! It sounded female and drunken. He braced himself.

The black, leather Doc Marten boots and white, leather go-go boots were actually something of a relief when he saw them come into view! At least they were something different to look at – not the aforementioned, ubiquitous black or green rubber wellies, or black or brown leather riding boots, he had had to become used to over the past couple of days (it was, we should explain, a countryside market-town he was enslaved in).

The calf-length Doc Martens were the first to approach him:

‘Aww…poor little slavey-wavey! All buried up to his necky-wecky in the nasty, cold snowy-wowy! Ha! Ha!’

‘Ha! Ha! He’s like a real life snowman, innit? Ha! Ha!’ remarked the snow white go-go boots.

‘Ha! Ha! More like a snowhead!’ replied the surprisingly feminine-looking Doc Martens.

‘Ha! Ha! Innit, though?’

‘Ha! Ha! Yeah – except that, he doesn’t have a hat on, Ellisha! That’s no good, is it though? The snowhead will catch his death of cold out here without a hat on! I mean, he’s all bald, and that, innit?’

‘Ha! Ha! Innit, though?’

‘Ha! Ha! Let’s make a hat for him, Ellisha! Let’s make him a hat out of snow!’

‘Ha! Ha! Sweet! A snow-hat, yeah?’

‘Ha! Ha! Yeah, that’s right – a snowy hat to cover his baldy head, yeah?’

‘Ha! Ha! Cool! Let’s do it, yeah?’

Slave Julian was forced to watch as the black leather DM boots and white leather go-go boots then danced merrily around him, scooping up some snowy material into a pile in order to make him a ‘hat’ – a female-inspired hat for his balding, middle-aged, male head, kindly supplied free of charge by two bratty, young, recidivistic women!

Pathetically, he wished the two young female dancers would stand still for just a few moments, as he wanted to admire the scuffmarks on their respective winter boots – the grey scuffmarks on the thick, rounded, reinforced and heavily-stitched toes of the pink-haired, red bobble-hatted, punk girl’s fully laced-up Doc Martens; and the contrasting black scuffmarks on the tall, Afro-Caribbean, white-hoodied-girl’s shiny, white leather, chisel-toed, fully zipped-up, go-go boots.

He had now spotted also, close up, that both young women were wearing thick, warming socks inside their boots over their leggings – thick, plain grey woollen socks in the case of the punk girl, which nicely contrasted with her red-tartan patterned leggings; and white-boot-matching, calf-length, thick white cotton socks in the case of the black girl. Socks primarily designed to keep their soft, young-womanly tootsies warm, but which also indirectly beautified still further their shapely, booted, calf and ankle muscles.

In particular he noticed how the white sock inside the black girl’s left go-go boot was fetchingly wonky and twisted at the top. Momentarily, he wished he could straighten it for her – with his Rudolf-like nose.

But he wasn’t there to nose or sniff female sock – or even to lick snow off female boot; he was there to be punished and humiliated for answering back his mistress Alice, who was probably tucked up in bed right now, snug as a bug in a rug! His head should, by rights, be underneath the end of her duvet right now, immersed in the soft warmness of her bright pink, fluffy towelling socks which she likes to wear in bed on cold, winter nights such as this – not stuck in the ground, exposed and vulnerable, being merrily danced around by two chavvy, young women!

Oh why had he been so foolish, and so rude towards his beloved mistress Alice’s poxy boots – sorry, pixie boots! Slave Julian would have shed a tear if his tearducts, like his nose, weren’t frozen solid at that particular point in time.

His ‘hat’, it seemed, was now ready for fitting, as the pink-haired punk-girl, whom he now noticed had several extravagant nose piercings, crouched down in front of him to scoop up the girlboot-dislodged snow in her gloved hands and transfer it onto the top of his balding pate. Her mere act of crouching down in front of him caused the laced-up tops of her black leather, calf-length Doc Martens to open wider at the rims, revealing yet more of her thick, grey-woollen socktops to the sock-starved slave.

He had to admire her, and her grey, woolly socks. No, really – he had to. He was in no position to do otherwise!

The pink-haired punk girl was clearly the hat ‘designer’, whilst the black girl was the milliner – for it was the latter who moved to position herself behind him in order to mould the snow on top of his bald head into the shape of a hat – a freezing cold, pure white, conical-shaped, dunce’s hat!

The nose-pierced, punk girl stood up straight again meaning that her grey, woolly socktops once again became hidden from view by her black leather bootrims, but at least her intriguing, reinforced, Doc Marten boot-toe scuffmarks were now directly beneath slave Julian’s gormless face. He liked the way the wet snow stuck to the greying scuffmark-grooves, and imagined the pink-haired girl ordering him to lap it all off her precious, scuffmarked DM boots.

Meanwhile, however, his hat-fitting was apparently nearing completion, as he heard the English-Caribbean voice of the black girl behind him announce her satisfaction with the initial results (Sadly her chisel-toed, patent white leather go-go boots were temporarily out of sight – camouflaged perhaps by the snow?)

‘Ha! Ha! It suits him, though, innit Gloria?’

‘Ha! Ha! Sound! It, like, matches his snowy-white neck-scarf, doesn’t it though?’ replied the scuff-marked DMs, their black laces swaying slightly as they almost lost their footing temporarily in the slippery, compressed snow around the prisoner-slave’s grounded head. The slip-up was understandable – the pink-haired girl reeked the most of alcohol.

Meanwhile the calf-length, shiny white leather go-go boots and matching white cotton sock-tops had, mercifully, come back into view, as they made their way round to examine the slave’s new dunce’s-cap-made-of-snow from the front, and to add the finishing touches – a letter ‘D’ made up of some nearby, broken twigs:

‘Ha! Ha! Yeah – now he looks the bomb, innit though? But, how’s he gonna pay for his hat though Gloria? I mean, it ’aint like he’s got any money, and that?’

‘Too true, Ellisha! And we went to a lot of trouble to make him that hat, though! He’s gotta pay us somehow or other, innit?’

‘Ha! Ha! I know – why don’t we kick his face in, and that? Ha! Ha! That’s gotta be one way he can pay us back, though?’

Slave Julian didn’t know which he should fear most – the chiselled toes of the tall and strong looking black girl’s white leather go-go boots, or the thick, round, reinforced toes of the pink-haired punk girl’s black leather DM boots. The thick, warming socks inside the girls’ boots were unlikely to soften the blows for him; both types of female boot were bound to hurt, let’s face it!

But the girls were quite right, of course – they had to have some sort of recompense for their kind and thoughtful gift to the prisoner of a degrading, bootmade snow-hat!

He had to think quickly – come up with something off the top of his, now snow-covered, head. Well, he did have his dunce’s thinking cap on, after all!

Fortunately it came to him – just in the nick of time, it seemed, as the cruelly smiling punk-girl’s thick, right DM boot, and her black colleague’s chisel-toed, right go-go boot, were already raising themselves up behind their respective owners in readiness to come crashing into his prone and vulnerable face:

‘Oh pray, pretty mistresses! Oh pray! Pray don’t kick my face in, sweet mistresses, for I fear the force of your beautiful boots will dislodge my nice new hat from my head, most sweet and kind mistresses! Oh pray mistresses, oh pray! Pray let me recompense you both for my wonderful gift of a hat by honouring and worshipping your pretty boots with my slave-mouth, if you would be so kind most feared and all-powerful mistresses! Oh pray young mistresses! Pray let me kiss your black and white boots a thousand times each, by way of my humble remuneration for your kind gift to me, for I can do no other most sweet and feminine goddess-mistresses!’

Both girlish boots came gently to rest in the snow again, as the two mocking milliners suddenly burst out laughing at the prisoner-slave’s obsequious and melodramatic slavespeak!

‘Ha! Ha! You hear that, Ellisha? The snowhead-man wants to pay us back by kissing our dirty boots, and that! What do you fink? Is that good enough, and that?’

‘Ha! Ha! Reckon it’ll have to be, Gloria. I mean, like he says, iffin we kick his face in his hat’ll get all broken and maimed and that, innit? Ha! Ha! And besides, my boots could do with a good toungin’, though! They is like, mingin’ with all the snow and that?’

‘Ha! Ha! Go for it, girl! Ha! Ha! You go-go for it, Ellisha! Ha! Ha! Shove your dirty boot-toe inside his big, ugly gob and see how he likes it! Ha! Ha!’

Gloria in excelsis Dea! The two girls had actually ‘gone-gone’ for it! He was to be spared a wholly justifiable female kicking, in exchange for some vigorous female-boot worshipping. Ha! Ha! Mugs! So easily manipulated – like so many, feckless young women, including his mistress Alice, wherever she was! Ha! Ha! Result!

The black girl, egged on by her pink-haired co-conspirator, masterfully inserted her snow-covered and scuffmarked, chiselled, white-leather boot-toe inside slave Julian’s mouth – penetrated it; took ownership of it; possessed it. It was only now that he felt the outline of the electronic tagging-device deep down inside the bowels of miss Ellisha’s smart, shiny white, go-go boot on the cold outside of his boot-sucking cheek as he devoured her patent-leathery boot-toe inside his gaping mouth!

Slave Julian sucked all the more vigorously on the curfew-breaking, black girl’s chiselled, white leather boot-toe, in the light of her white-sock-hugging, electronic tag – for she was clearly risking everything to humiliate him this late in the evening; though she would probably be forgiven by the authorities when she explained she had broken her tag-curfew merely in order to publicly torment a convicted criminal-slave!

Respect!

Slave Julian sucked a thousand times, or what seemed like a thousand times. He sucked instead of kissed, for that, it seems, is what his young, black female-master wanted.

He felt both honoured, and humbled to be the black girl’s personal bootsucker. Sucking on feminine footwear is so much more intimate than merely kissing it, don’t you think? (His own mistress Alice, who was a bit of a prude, would certainly never countenance it on her footwear – at least, not while she was wearing it!)

He did something similar to the pink-haired, nose-pierced, punk-girl’s right, Doc Marten style boot – though her thick, rounded boot-toe wouldn’t quite fit all the way inside his mouth; so regrettably he had to make do with kissing and/or licking its snowy exterior a thousand times. She did not appear to be tagged, but was almost certainly jealous of her best friend’s, status-symbol ankle-tag!

And so, slave Julian worshipped snowy, female, bad-girl boots - two thousand boot ‘kisses’ in exchange for his nice, winter-cold hat; a bargain!

…………………………………………………………………………

He still got his just deserts, though, you’ll be pleased to hear. For he clearly still needed to be taught a lesson.

After the two mad hatters had gone, his own grey-woolly-hatted mistress Alice suddenly appeared out of nowhere, as if through the looking-glass.

She stood in front of her imprisoned slave and mercilessly mocked him in his dunce’s cap. Slave Julian recognised the sneering voice of his mistress Alice, of course – as well as the now infamous, snow-covered, pixie boots with their scrunched-up, blue leather and folded down collars. How he yearned to kiss and lick them a thousand times in a feeble attempt to make belated amends to his beloved mistress!

But she was having none of it. The pixie boots were not for licking at a time and place of his choosing – but whenever his mistress demanded it; that was the lesson the dunce had to learn!

However, his mocking, gloating mistress was not totally heartless and unforgiving. As we mentioned before, she had a special treat for her punished slave.

Standing somewhat precariously on one leg, she slipped off her right pixie boot in front of him to reveal not only her delicious, familiar black anklesock, but also a rather unappetizing and dirty, white-bread insole. Miss Alice gaily informed her slave that she had been wearing the same pair of black socks, and the dirty bread-insole, for the two, whole days of his confinement thus far. She explained that this was why the bread, though nominally white, was now covered in blackish-brown stains from the warm and moist, inner linings of her pixie boots, and was seasoned with little flecks of her black cotton sock-lint!

She ‘apologised’ to the slave for the somewhat unhygienic state of the bread, but opined that he should be glad of any sustenance after two days without food or water! She then quickly slipped her right pixie boot back onto her black-socked foot because it was getting cold, before crouching down in order to feed her slave with the warm insole-bread, sweaty piece by sweaty piece.

She humiliated him by making him study, smell, and then humbly beg for each boot, sock and sweat-soiled piece of young-womanly footbread, before shoving it ignominiously with her grey, woolly-gloved hands into his gaping mouth and then ordering him to chew on it, extract the ‘goodness’ out of it, savour it, and finally swallow it.

It was an agonizingly slow process, for each individual piece of stinky bread took some 10 minutes to consume in this way. But slave Julian did exactly as he was told, since he was now a dunce and could no longer think for himself.

Just desserts indeed for an insufferably arrogant and impudent, male slave!

Having fed him his degrading supper, mistress Alice then happily left her personal footslave to languish for 3 more days and nights in his ground-level, public prison, as decreed by the Female Courts. Ha! Ha! Sweet, feminine malice in the wonderland that is the Gynarchy – don’t you just love it?

………………………………………………………………………

Slave Julian’s snow-peaked cap didn’t last long on top of his bald head, for the following day a thaw set in. It was a pity, really, for everyone said the snowy dunce’s cap did very much suit him and, pathetically, he was actually quite proud to have his photograph taken in it by some mocking, female tourists.

Still, at least the thaw meant that he was able to wash away the lingering taste of his mistress Alice’s sweaty footbread, as the melting remains of his humiliating hat slid glacially down the front of his duncelike features and into the crooked corners of his, suitably chastened, slave-mouth!