The Righteous
There is an island to the far north of the Gynarchy, known as ‘Domina Island’, which is inhabited exclusively by the members of a Female Domination religious cult known as ‘The Righteous’.
They are a curious breed, the ‘Righteous’ – very set in their ways, and often viewed by outsiders as living in the past, for they eschew much that is considered modern:
- Electricity
- Motor Vehicles
- Modern Dress
- Promiscuity
Even the language they use is considered ‘old-fashioned’, with lots of ‘thees’ and ‘thous’, and, more importantly, some outsiders even question whether the cult members truly espouse female domination and gynarchial values at all, since the women of the cult seem to be remarkably submissive towards the free men on the island – at least compared to their mistressly sisters on the mainland.
Take, for example, their sex lives. The women of the ‘Righteous’ are not permitted to have sex outside of marriage, nor may they marry before the age of 25! Prior to marriage they refer to themselves as ‘maidens’, and must dress accordingly in dowdy clothes – long, ankle-length dresses and the like – and always with short, white anklesocks and flat, sensible shoes. For that reason the unmarried females are often referred to as ‘white-socksers’.
Then, at the age of 25, they are permitted a year of courtship, when they are free to dress as they please in order to attract a freemale mate – short leather miniskirts; high heels; fishnet stockings etc . Curiously, during this year of courtship the women of the ‘Righteous’ are referred to as ‘Debutantes’, which would be seen as an incredibly ungynarchial and insulting term on the mainland Gynarchy as it implies a degree of submissiveness and availability on the part of the female!
Within 12 months of her 25th birthday the ‘debutante’ is expected to have found a mate; if not, one will be chosen for her by her parents – again, an incredibly insulting concept for a mainland-Gynarcher.
But if you think that’s odd – just wait until you hear what happens in the life of a married woman over 25 on ‘Domina Island’! The married female must dress with modesty and sobriety once again, and actually refer to her husband as ‘lord and master’! Furthermore, she must always wear black, woolly tights – never bare legs, stockings or socks, not even in the height of summer, though admittedly the cold climate of the far-north of the Gynarchy does not, in any case, lend itself to light, summery clothing!
Nevertheless, a married female on Domina Island is known as a ‘Domina’ – hence the name of the satellite-State, and she is a true domina, despite her submissiveness and obedience towards her husband, as she will have command over a personal, male footslave, whom she can look down upon, treat with contempt, and take out all her womanly frustrations upon. Even the younger, unmarried women are permitted to own personal footslaves from the age of 22. So, it is a Gynarchy of sorts, insofar as some males are indeed subjected to the power and authority of women, even if others live like kings!
There are, incidentally, no public footslaves on Domina Island, and even the personal, male footslaves are rarely seen in public, as the free men regard them as an embarrassment to the male species, who should be kept housebound and hidden beneath the hems of their wives’ or daughters’ long, flowing dresses at all times!
How do I know all this? Because I am a slave on the island. It happened like this:
I was purchased at a maleslave-auction on the mainland some five years ago by a small group of curiously dressed, free men in long beards and tall hats. At the time I had never heard of the cult of ‘The Righteous’, or ‘Domina Island’ (I was only 21 years old and fresh out of Footslave Training Academy), so I had no idea where the men were taking me in their quaint horse and carriage, and subsequently their small rowing boat. I was concerned, because there was not a female in sight, and the men were speaking a very strange and antiquated version of English!
They had also put me in chains at the back of the boat and covered my head with a hood, so I was quite literally being kept in the dark. I feared for my future – but needn’t have worried, for it was actually a wonderful and very privileged future which lay ahead of me; privileged for a slave, that is!
The journey by sea to the island took some three hours, but fortunately the notoriously choppy northern seas were quite kind that day and, whilst I was half-freezing – being clad in nothing more than my chains, hood and flimsy male, slave shorts – I wasn’t seasick inside the confines of my hood, praise the Lord!
When the boat hit land I was taken by the men, again in some sort of horse and cart, to what appeared to be a disused barn on a farm. I was still hooded, but I knew it was a barn because I could feel straw beneath my knees (the men insisted that I remain on my hands and knees at all times and, indeed, had chained me up in such a way that it was impossible for me to stand or even to raise my bowed, hooded head); plus I could hear chickens and pigs and other farmyard animals running around. I could smell them too!
One of the unseen men advised me ‘to get thee some sleep, for thou beginnest in service to thy new mistress on the morrow!’, and he then kicked me for good measure in my exposed ribs before walking out of the barn, laughing at me, and sealing the barn door behind him.
Since I was tired, hooded and exhausted I had little to distract me from sleep, aside from the developing bruise from the mankick on my ribs, and therefore soon fell asleep.
The next morning, or ‘on the morrow’ as the man had put it, another older man entered the barn and took off my hood. It took a while, even in the relative darkness of the barn, for my eyes to adjust to the newfound light, but when they did I espied the black, lace up shoes and white anklesocks of a true vision of modest, young-womanly loveliness who was accompanying the older, bearded man.
The girl looked to be in her early twenties. She was quite tall and ungainly, wearing a fetching, white bonnet covering her blonde, shoulder-length hair; metal-framed spectacles – giving her the look of an intelligent and studious, middle-aged librarian, albeit one from the middle ages!; a beige cardigan over a white, fully-buttoned up blouse; and a long, almost ankle-length, navy-blue, country-style dress.
The sunlight from outside the barn door happened to be directly behind the dowdily-dressed, young woman meaning that she cast an ominous, female shadow over me as she stood in front of my kneeling frame, as if surrounded herself by an angelic aura.
Suddenly the elderly man, who whilst I had been taking in the vision of sweet female loveliness in front of me had meanwhile moved to stand behind me, kicked me in the back forcing my face down into the dirt in front of the young, librarian-woman’s black, lace-up shoes and white socks:
‘Lower thy gaze to the feet of my daughter, unclean slave! Look thee only at her feet, thou vile sinner!’
The girl giggled above me.
As I obeyed the bearded man and focused all my attention on the dusty, black, flat-heeled female shoes and plain, white anklesocks in front of my now dirt-stained face, the man went on to enlighten me as to what was occurring:
‘This be my daughter, the maiden Wilhelmina, scurvy slave! She is thy better and mistress, and from now on thou art her slave, enthralled to her! As thou canst see, she be a true maiden and a white-sockser, so thou shalt respect her modesty and honour her feet – else thou shalt feel the sting of my righteous whip! Obey my daughter; please her, and thy life shall be tolerable. Displease her and thou shalt know the wrath of thy lord and master! Now kiss thee the feet of my beloved daughter, and demonstrate thine unmanly readiness to serve at her feet!’
Still attempting to suppress a giggle, the young, blonde-haired, white-bonnet-wearing, gangly-looking woman stretched forward her right foot into the dirt directly beneath my kneeling face, causing her pure white sock to crease and fold in several places above her shoeline as she awaited my demonstration of male submission and humility towards her and her superior, female feet.
Mindful of her father still standing behind me, I duly lowered my lips to the dusty and somewhat scuffmarked rounded toe of the young, bespectacled woman’s flat, black, lace up shoe and kissed it – my first kiss to the shoe of my white-sockser mistress.
The right shoe was then immediately withdrawn from beneath my face, only to be replaced by her left, with its concomitant scuffmarks and creased, white anklesock. The staid, young woman’s foot-muscles inside the short sock seemed to flex in a pleasurable reaction to this evidently rare, physical contact from the opposite sex.
Just how rare only became clear to me when I was subsequently ordered to accompany the young woman, to heel, into the family home and up to her bedroom. There she enlightened me further as to her unconventional, young-womanly lifestyle and belief-systems.
She first ordered me to kneel in front of her feet, and to stare at her shoes and socks as she sat on the edge of her bed above me:
‘Ha! Ha! As my father has just explained to thee, thou art now my personal foot-vassal, and shalt show me the respect and adulation I deserve. For I am pure, and a maiden, being just 22 years of age, and I am as yet unsullied by improper, male hands. Thy role shall be to worship and honour my maidenly feet, and to care for my footwear, for I am a superior being to thee. Thou art male, and I am female; thou art dirty, and I am clean; thou art a sinner, and I am righteous; thou belongest to me body and soul.
See to it that thou fulfillest thy slavish obligations to respect and covet my footwear with propriety and devotion, for thou art the humble servant of my shoes and socks, and any failings on thy part shall be most sorely punished with the whip!...’
At this point she produced from inside her long dress a three-tailed, brown leather whip, with knots all up and down the individual lashes, and which she studiously allowed to come into my field of vision as I knelt before her, still obediently staring at her plain, black shoes and white socks. The whip looked exceedingly painful, even though I doubted that this seemingly fragile and skinny young woman would have much strength in her somewhat scrawny, feminine arms. Those knots in the lashes would ensure, however, that even the lightest stroke left its stinging mark on my bare back .
I swallowed hard, and the young mistress must have heard it, for she exulted in my fear and consternation:
‘Ha! Ha! Thou art right to be afraid, slave of sin, for my wrath can be mighty upon the back of any slave who displeaseth me! Ha! Ha! I shall whip thee, and then whip thee again across thine old sores, shouldst thou fail to satisfy me!
Thou shalt address me at all times as ‘Righteous Mistress Wilhelmina’, and I shall call thee ‘dumbass-slave’, since thou shalt remain silent, and speak only when thou art spoken to, though thou mayest bray like a whipped mule whilst thou art writhing beneath the righteous smart of my whip! Ha! Ha!
Now kiss thee my feet once more, dumbass-slave, and this time apply thy dirty lips to the material of my socks; worship thee my socks, and praise and bless thy Righteous Mistress Wilhelmina for the honour of serving at my feet!’
With that she moved her right foot slightly forward of the left, by way of an unambiguous indication as to which white, feminine anklesock I was to pay humble, male homage to first.
I decided, right from the off, not to even attempt to speak the old-fashioned language of this strange place, since I was not properly schooled in it. I was fluent only in slave-speak, which is quite flowery enough, without attempting to emulate the beautiful language of my righteous superiors and betters. And besides, it sounded like I was only rarely to be given permission to speak, though now, it seemed, was one such instance since I had just been ordered to ‘praise and bless’ my new mistress Wilhelmina whilst kissing her on the white sock.
I was happy to comply, given the proximity of the whip:
‘Oh pray Righteous Mistress Wilhelmina…kiss white sock...kiss white sock…if it pleases you most beautiful and respected, Righteous Mistress Wilhelmina...kiss white sock…kiss white sock…truly this slave is honoured to serve at the feet of one so pure and chaste…kiss white sock… kiss white sock…and to submit to your righteous, feminine will…kiss white sock…kiss white sock…if it is so pleasing to you, most powerful and erudite, Righteous Mistress Wilhelmina... kiss white sock…kiss white sock…’
She laughed at me, and now thrust her left foot further forward on her bedside carpet, that I may pay equal homage to the sock on her left ankle:
‘Ha! Ha! It pleaseth me indeed, scurvy, dumbass foot-vassal, that thou dost appreciate thy lowliness and worthlessness at my feet. Kiss thee my left sock with equal relish, else my whip shall make its first acquaintance with thy naked, slave back! Ha! Ha!’
I kissed her left sock with a heady mixture of decorum and abandonment, for it did feel nice and soft on my lips, especially where it was twisted and creased just below her anklebone, and I much preferred the softness of female sock to the harshness of female whip!
The contrast between the white of her sock and the black of her shoe was also easy on the eye. I found myself yearning, however, to divest this supremely powerful, young, bespectacled woman of her outer shoes in order to inhale the, no doubt, moist and sweaty aroma of her imprisoned, inner socks.
The same, sexy thoughts were, evidently, going through her own mind, but being holy and righteous, and made of sterner, female stuff, she gaily informed me that I would have to wait for such ultimate privilege:
‘Ha! Ha! My feet do sweat inside my shoes, dumbass-slave, and thou shalt be required to attend to their perspiration in due course. First, however, thou must familiarise thyself with the contents of my sock and shoe drawer. Follow thee behind me on thy hands and knees at my heel, like the dog that thou art!’
I nearly replied ‘Yes, Righteous Mistress Wilhelmina’, until I realised that I had not been given renewed permission to speak. And so, stopping my mouth just in time, I crawled silently behind the shoed and socked heels of my vainglorious, new mistress across the bedroom floor towards a common chest of drawers.
Here, Righteous Mistress Wilhelmina stooped down to open the bottom drawer, causing the backs of her white anklesocks to crease and fold most enticingly in front of my lecherous and sinful, footslave eyes. The contents of the drawer were even more of a pleasure, however, to one so weak-willed as myself – row upon row of neatly folded-up, white anklesocks; some lacy; some plain – like the ones she has on now; some cotton; some woollen.
There were no tights or stockings, or even other coloured socks – just white; but then, what would one expect to see in the sock-drawer of a ‘white-sockser’?
Next to the socks, at the far end of the drawer, were a pair of strappy, flat, brown-leather, Moses-style sandals, and a pair of matt grey leather, pull-on, pixie style ankleboots turned over at the cuffs. That was the sum total of Righteous Mistress Wilhelmina’s outer footwear – a 22 year old woman with only three pairs of shoes! Remarkable!
But then, as I was to discover some three years later, after my mistress’s 25th birthday, the righteous, young women of Domina Island only become profligate in their footwear during their yearlong, courtship season – when anything goes; anything from thigh-length, black patent leather, lace-up, spike-heeled boots, to metal-studded, killer-heeled, designer sandals. A brief period of young-womanly footwear-extravagance, before she settles down to a single, wifely pair of plain, black loafers and matching, black woolly tights!
Yes – I had it all ahead of me as the personal footslave of the Very Righteous Mistress Wilhelmina, even though I soon discovered she did not actually stick to all the rules of the deeply religious and conservative society around her.
That very evening, as I was sniffing her inner-socked feet and getting accustomed to her personal foot-scent, as she had promised me I would, there was a knock on her bedroom window, and a young, bearded man entered her room having climbed up a ladder!
To my astonishment my 22 year-old virgin mistress then climbed naked into bed with him, leaving me with her hastily discarded, yellowy-brown-sweat-stained, not-so-pure, white anklesocks, and equally warm and moist black leather shoes, to humbly sniff and admire in the corner of her bedroom whilst she made premarital love beneath her soon-to-be-soiled, bed linen.
Judging by the moans and groans emanating from beneath her bedsheets, my Righteous Mistress Wilhelmina was enjoying herself very much! But then, who am I to judge? I am clearly the only real virgin in this room - and rightly so. For I am but an unclean slave, and unworthy to have sex like the Righteous; my place is to sniff the virginal-white socks of my female superior and better in the corner of her boudoir whilst she maketh love with a real man, and to respect her hypocrisy and privacy!
Her dirty secrets are safe with me – as are her dirty, white socks!
The End
