Dishonour Among Thieves

Even though it was Xmas Eve, slave Clumpy, the middle-aged, public street-licker, was still hard at work – busy minding his own business, licking clean the frosty streets of the Glorious Gynarchy so that they would not sully the superior shoe and bootsoles of his female betters as they rushed along the pavements frantically doing their last minute Xmas shopping.

He was, however, currently attending-by-tongue to a particularly quiet and exclusive street, which really only contained a couple of rather expensive fashion boutiques, desperately trying to ignore a somewhat incongruous-looking gaggle of scruffy, young women who had gathered on the other side of the posh street and appeared to be watching him; they looked like trouble!

There were about 5 of them – sink-estate girls, whom he had never seen in and around these parts before; dressed mainly in hoodies and jeans with sneakers or Ugg-boots; clearly up to no good. But still his female betters, and therefore deserving of his humble street-licker respect.

He was therefore trying to work out what he would say and do when his tongue eventually arrived at the other side of the street and he was required to lick in and around their girl-gang footwear. Would he, should he, politely ask them to move their feet? Or just lick around them – perhaps kissing the scruffy, scuffmarked toes of their sneakers or uggs as a demonstration of his maleslavish respect for their superior, hoodied, young-womanly femininity?

He didn’t have to wonder what he would do for too long, however, as one of the gang – the apparent leader – suddenly called over to him from across the deserted pavements:

‘Yo fatboy-streetlick! Git yoh ass over here now, yeah?’

She was mixed-race, quite dark in complexion, and was one of the young women who was wearing sneakers – in her case a pair of scruffy, pink and white, high-top sneakers, with bright red socks just peeking out over the tops beneath the hems of her tight-fitting, black cotton, calf-length leggings – black to match her black hoodie-top, the hood of which was sinisterly pulled-up over her pretty, mixed-race head.

Slave Clumpy the street-licker, whose slave-name was not ‘fatboy’, but who nevertheless was quite portly – for a slave – (caused, no doubt, by the amount of calories he consumed every day whilst licking female shoedirt and discarded food-leftovers off the female streets), immediately shuffled over on his fat, male hands and knees towards his female summoner’s feet, for the need to unquestioningly obey the superior female had been well and truly drummed into him over the years.

The mixed-race girl, and her mates, laughed at him as he anxiously crawled over towards the former’s pink and white high-tops, the right one of which was almost immediately extended beneath his breathless face as soon as he reached it, by way of a haughty, unspoken ‘invitation’ to kiss it.

Slave Clumpy humbly applied his lips to the grubby-white, rubbery, rounded toe of the extended girlgang-leader sneaker, pathetically admiring the pink canvas of the upper and its complementary, red sock-top as he did so.

The young women all continued to laugh out loud at him – the fat, semi-naked, middle-aged, street-licker man breathlessly kissing the street-soiled sneaker-toe of an uneducated and unemployed, young woman in her early twenties; let’s be honest – the dirty street-sneaker of an arrogant, girl-gang-member, street skank!

The ‘skank’ exulted in her innate, young-womanly power and authority over the middle-aged slaveman:

‘Ha! Ha! You is, like, a slave, an’ that, an’ has to do whatever I says, innit though?’ she enquired, rhetorically.

‘Yes, pretty mistress… kiss to grubby, white rubber, sneaker-toe…kiss to grubby, white rubber, sneaker-toe… Indeed I am, most beautiful and respected goddess-mistress... kiss to grubby, white rubber, sneaker-toe…kiss to grubby, white rubber, sneaker-toe…’

Well, he could hardly call her a ‘skank’ – not in front of all her friends; not in his humble position!

The other girls again laughed out loud at his obsequious response to their gang leader’s seemingly naïve question. One of them, an equally skanky-looking white girl with greasy, blonde hair and wearing a pair of somewhat misshapen, calf-length, beige-coloured ugg-boots, then spoke out on behalf of her fellow, girlgang sisters:

‘Ha! Ha! Kick his face in, Alisha! He’s being so f***ing disrespectful to ya, innit though? Ha! Ha!’

She was being f***ing sarcastic, of course. But the other girls seemed to agree that the ‘disrespectful’ sneaker-kissing slave should have his street-cleaning face unceremoniously kicked in by those same, girlgang-leader sneakers, and so, never one to disappoint her girlgang members, miss Alisha promptly ensured that her grubby, right, feminine sneaker-toe duly made harsh contact with his prone and vulnerable, male nose, painfully cracking it in the process.

That mixed-race girl, miss ‘Alisha’, sure had strong toenails inside her soft, converse sneakers!

Bloodied and cowed by punishing, girl-sneaker toe, slave Clumpy made sure his nosebleed did not sully the young, mixed-race woman’s superior, pink sneakers or blood-red socks, for that would be truly disrespectful – bleeding all over a superior, young woman’s sneakers, especially at Xmas time!

Having kicked his face in – and thereby demonstrated who was boss – miss Alisha then enlightened the slave further as to why she had summonsed him over to her sneakers. It was, it seemed, not just to humiliate him and beat him up; she had important work for him to do:

‘Ha! Ha! Yo fatboy-footlick, you sees them red boots over there in that shop window?’

Slave fatboy (sorry, Clumpy) glanced over above his now crooked and bloodied nose towards the window display of an exclusive boutique on the other side of the road, and did indeed see a pair of designer, spike-heeled and pointy-toed, red patent leather, zip-up ankleboots:

‘Erm…Y…yes…m…mistress Alisha, madam, if it pleases you, goddess-mistress Alisha madam.’

He thought he might as well refer to her by name from now on, since she was clearly keen to be on first name terms with him!

Goddess-mistress Alisha madam continued:

‘Ha! Ha! Well, you is gonna help me an’ my mates nick ‘em for me, yeah? Ha! Ha! They is gonna be, like, my Christmas present, or somefing? Ha! Ha! We is gonna create a distraction, an’ that, while you is gonna nick them boots an’ then put them on my feet, yeah?’

It wasn’t a polite request; it was an order – as evidenced by the reinforcing words of the greasy-haired, white girl in the misshapen ugg-boots (who appeared to be the deputy gang-leader and troublemaker):

‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, fatboy-slave! An’ if you gets caught nickin’ ‘em you is, like, on your own – coz we is all female an’ above the law, an’ that? Ha! Ha! The Female Filf can’t touch us, an’ that? Ha! Ha!’

Slave Clumpy knew that the white girl was speaking the truth; he almost felt compelled to kiss her misshapen ugg-boots out of sheer respect for her intimate knowledge of the Female Law – a female could never be punished for a crime in the Female Courts; if they were caught thieving the designer, female boots, he alone would be held responsible, being male!

But what choice did he have, but to obey? He was being ordered, by a superior, young mixed-race woman, to steal a pair of boots for her! Not obeying her was not an option!

And besides, he quite wanted to obey miss Alisha, for he had been promised that he would be helping her to try on her newly-nicked boots, and that would inevitably involve touching her socks; a rare opportunity for a public street-licker to actually fondle a superior young woman’s intimate, inner footwear!

It was certainly an opportunity not to be sniffed at!

‘Yes mistresses. This slave hears and obeys the all-powerful, pretty mistresses, if it is so pleasing to you, most beautiful and respected mistresses.’

Guffaws of young-female laughter echoed around the deserted street, as the girl-gang then happily made their way over towards the exclusive fashion-boutique, with slave Clumpy in tow.

They pushed their way into the shop, and expertly distracted the female shopkeeper – just as they had said they would – whilst thief Clumpy ‘lifted’ the designer, red boots from the window display, and surreptitiously slinked out of the shop with his girlboot-swag!

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The girl-gang met up with him again in a nearby alleyway, where miss Alisha now sat imperiously on top of a large wheelie-bin, her pink and white, high-top, converse-sneakered feet dangling in the air so that slave Clumpy could kneel in front of her and unlace her sneakers, prior to putting on her new boots.

He did, of course, make a point of touching miss Alisha’s bright, red socks with his bare fingers as he changed her into her new, designer footwear – and perfectly legitimately so! For a slave is expected to straighten his young mistress’s socks prior to putting on her boots!

Furthermore, just as soon as he had unlaced her high-top sneakers, he discovered that her socks were not, in fact, pure red from tip to toe, but were exciting, Christmas-themed socks, with lots of little green, sparkly Christmas trees running down the fronts and sides, though some of the pointy trees had admittedly lost their ‘tinsel’ thanks to repeated wear and tear; evidently the young woman’s socks were a Christmas present from several Christmases ago!

The red and green patterned socks felt nice and warm, and moist, as he smoothed them over miss Alisha’s shapely, mixed-race soles and ankles before zipping up the new boots onto her pretty, Christmassy-socked feet, all under the watchful eyes of her fellow, girl-gang members.

Everyone agreed that the bright red boots were a good fit on her, and matched her red sock-tops perfectly, as she then strolled up and down the alleyway-cum-catwalk with slave Clumpy once again in tow, showing off her new, designer footwear.

Slave Clumpy particularly liked the way her three inch heels click-clacked along the cobblestoned pavement of the alleyway as she marched, somewhat unsteadily, up and down in front of his crawling face; the sharp, spiked heels reminded him of her absolute, young-womanly power and authority over him. And just imagine what it would be like to be kicked in the face by those pointy, red boot-toes!

It certainly bore thinking about!

His footslavish reverie, and the impromptu catwalk show, were suddenly interrupted, however, by the untimely arrival of two, familiar to him, uniformed, Female Police officers. They walked up to miss Alisha and her gang, saluted them, and duly began to question miss Alisha:

‘Excuse me, miss,’ said one of the female officers – a blonde-ponytailed girl of about 20, looking resplendent as always in her navy-blue uniform consisting of smart jacket and trousers, with chunky-heeled, black leather, zip up ankleboots beneath her police-officer, bootcut trouser-hems. ‘Erm…Can you tell us where you acquired those red boots, please?’

The girl in the misshapen, beige-brown ugg-boots, who appeared, in addition to being deputy girlgang-leader, to also fulfil the role of miss Alisha’s attorney when it came to dealing with the ‘Female Filf’, answered on her ‘client’s’ behalf:

‘Yeah…this here slave gave them to her, miss, as a Christmas prezzie an’ that; innit though Alisha?’

The thick, rounded toes of the beige brown ugg-boots were now pointing accusingly towards slave Clumpy as he knelt dutifully behind miss Alisha’s bright red, but shameless, stolen bootheels:

‘Reckon that’s right, Carly,’ responded miss Alisha, less than convincingly.

The Female Police officers weren’t stupid, of course! They knew slave Clumpy well as the local street-licker, since he worked on part of their beat (and, indeed, since some of the dirt and muck he regularly consumed off the pavements was from the soles of their very own, police-uniform boots as they pounded that selfsame beat!). They knew that he was in no position to give unsolicited, Christmas presents to foreign, girl-gang members from the other side of town. He had obviously been forced to nick the boots on their behalf. I mean, look at the state of his bloodied nose! Ha! Ha!

But none of that mattered. If the girls said he had given them to miss Alisha as a present, then they were innocent victims of his male thievery! Even if they had put him up to it, the girl-gang members had not committed any crime, not even conspiracy to shoplift; for, as the erudite girl in the ugg-boots, miss Carly, had earlier pointed out to slave Clumpy, females are above the Law in the Gynarchy and therefore cannot be guilty of any crime.

And rightly so.

The blonde-ponytailed officer-mistress therefore had no choice but to break the bad news to a shocked and stunned, law-abiding miss Alisha:

‘I’m very sorry, miss, but I’m afraid those boots have been nicked from a nearby shop! We’ll have to impound them and take them back!’

‘Aw what? No way, man! You means this f***ing slave was, like, tryin’ to give me stolen goods, an’ that? Tch!’

‘I’m afraid so, miss! But don’t worry – we’ll be ‘impounding’ the thieving slave too! Ha! Ha! It’s life in the underground slave-mines for him from now on! Ha! Ha!’ responds the pretty, blonde-haired, police officer.

Her dark-haired, female-police colleague; the sweet and innocent miss Alisha; the perjurious miss Carly; and the rest of the girl-gang members all laugh out loud with undisguised, feminine glee as slave Clumpy – soon to be life-prisoner Clumpy – is then ignominiously obliged to change miss Alisha, his nemesis, back into her scruffy, converse sneakers – touching girl-gang Christmas-sock for one last time in his miserable, maleslave life.

For there are no girlsocks, Christmassy or otherwise, on display in the underground slave-mines; only strict, knee-high, black leather girlboots; the boots of the whip-happy, prison taskmistresses as they stand over their kneeling prisoners who must mine salt with their bare hands, 365 days a year; including on Xmas day!

The two Female Police officers permitted miss Alisha, and each and every member of her girl-gang – including her greasy, ugg-booted advocate, miss Carly – to have one last, ceremonious kick to the thieving maleslave’s face, before they cuffed him and threw him unceremoniously into their waiting police van.

The girls were then free to go, and everything was right in the Female World. Justice had been done – and had been seen to be done – even if miss Alisha now had to find another Xmas present for herself.

Merry Xmas, miss Alisha!

Merry Xmas, lifer prisoner-slave Clumpy!