Little Tokyo
In Barbaria, the capital city of the mainland Glorious Gynarchy, there is an area known as ‘Little Tokyo’ – where the Japanese émigrées tend to hang out.
I am employed as a public footslave in this particular, and very distinctive, area of town which, unlike other areas of the city, has some quite separate rules governing public footslavery.
For a start I am confined in the side wall of a municipal building. Only my neck and head are protruding out into the street – at foot level, ready to kiss Japanese, female feet. This is virtually unheard of at other public footlick ‘stands’ throughout the city, and is very a-la Japanese!
Also, I am forbidden to speak unless I am first spoken to. I am considered beneath the initiation of speech – as, in Japanese female eyes, I am the lowest form of maleslave life, incapable of having anything interesting to say and able to obey only the simplest of female commands like an automaton (which is a fair enough assessment given that I don’t speak or understand Japanese and therefore rely on my mistress-customers to convey their specialist requirements to me in their superior, broken English).
Because of the communication difficulties between stupid male footslave and intelligent, female Japanese brain, I therefore have a set of standing orders, which are to always begin by simply kissing the hosiery (if any) of the young woman standing in front of me, prior to licking clean her outer footwear.
It’s perhaps a little bit more complicated than that in so far as I am specifically required to kiss any wrinkles or creases in my superior Japanese mistresses’ socks or tights prior to tongue-shining their dirty, public shoes or boots, but other than that my job is actually quite simple and straightforward. To be honest, a trained monkey could do it!
Why not take some time to observe me as I begin another humiliating day attending to the superior feet and footwear of my Japanese female betters from my ‘hole in the wall’?
Nutty as a Fruitcake.
The first young, Japanese lady of the day to grace me with her presence is one of my regulars – miss Miyuki. I don’t particularly need to know her name, of course – since I’m just her public foot-cleaner – but she has graciously informed me of it, even though she has no interest in knowing my name.
I’m just an anonymous public footslave to her – an ugly, male face protruding from the wall of an equally ugly and anonymous, city-centre building.
Even though she regularly turns out to be my first customer of the morning, I would recognise her anywhere and at any time by the distinctive shape of her feet and the style of her footwear (as I do with all my regular ‘customers’).
Also, unusually for a Japanese girl, her straight, shoulder-length hair, is dyed blonde, which kind of sets her apart from the other girls in the locality who mostly have natural black, or dyed auburn, hair!
The somewhat kookie miss Miyuki is as per usual – and as is her perfect right – rather eccentrically dressed too in a long, beige cardigan; an unflattering, pink cotton, ankle-length skirt; a long, white scarf (it is the Autumn now, and admittedly quite chilly first thing in the morning); and somewhat scruffy, white keds with thick, pink laces worn with a fetching pair of pink and yellow spotted, scrunched up ankle socks on her instantly recognisable, podgy, Japanese feet.
She walks confidently up to my protruding face, as she does every morning, and Japanese-imperiously stretches forth her right foot first beneath my humbly-waiting-upon-foot, footslave lips.
Now, as I have already indicated, my first unspoken task is always to kiss sock – out of respect for my female better’s foot – and, in particular, to kiss any wrinkled or creased areas of sock on the eccentric, young, Japanese woman’s foot. Clearly, given that her pink and yellow, spotty ankle socks are ‘scrunched up’ around her ankles, I am spoilt for choice as to which area of sock to respectfully kiss on this occasion!
In fact, with a sweet, feminine sock like this I am perfectly at liberty to simply bury my lips in the soft, cotton material of the sock, and just rummage around with my mouth!
Which is precisely what I do.
This tickles the fancy of the idiosyncratically dressed young, blonde-haired, oriental woman above me, and she deigns to speak down to me in her broken English:
‘Ha! Ha! Slave like Miyuki sock? Like feel of Japanese girl sock on face? Like smell of Japanese girl sock in nose? Ha! Ha!’
‘Oh pray mistress Miyuki. Yes please, mistress Miyuki. If it pleases you mistress Miyuki.’
‘Ha! Ha! You a fool! I not wash feet this morning. Socks cover Miyuki stinky feet! Ha! Ha! Sweaty! You a dirty slave – you obey Miyuki; you breathe in Miyuki stinky sock before kiss Miyuki on sock. Ha! Ha! You obey now, or I kick dirty slave in face!’
Kicking me in the face is pretty much the only sanction my customer-mistresses can impose upon me, since my body, from the neck downwards, is buried inside the brick wall of the municipal building!
That’s not strictly true – they can request that I be temporarily extracted from the wall and publicly whipped at their feet, but I can’t even remember the last time a customer-mistress felt strongly enough to go to all that bother. A quick, sharp kick to the face is normally enough to assuage any dissatisfied, Japanese customer-mistress!
‘Yes mistress Miyuki. At once mistress Miyuki madam.’
‘Madam’ might sound a bit formal when addressing a kookie, young woman in her early twenties like miss Miyuki, but in my humble experience young ladies like to hear a respectful tone in a middle-aged, public footslave’s voice – and they will be less inclined to kick your prone and vulnerable face in if you treat them like a lady – with respect!
I duly bury my nose in the multitudinous creases and folds of mistress Miyuki’s scrunched up, pink and yellow spotted, ankle socks, and audibly sniff.
Her somewhat podgy, Japanese feet may well be unwashed and ‘stinky’ inside her brightly-coloured socks, but I regret to have to report that all I can smell is fresh, cotton girlsock. Her scruffy, white keds with their thick, pink shoelaces must be trapping in all the natural, girly footsweat. Still, my humble obedience clearly tickles miss Miyuki’s fancy some more, as she abruptly orders me to proceed to kiss her right sock, prior to then arrogantly changing feet beneath me:
‘Ha! Ha! Now you sniff and kiss Miyuki other sock. Ha! Ha! You cover nose again with Japanese girl sock and breathe in through nose. Ha! Ha! You a slave – you a Japanese girl sock-sniffer! You have no choice but obey sweet, Japanese girl! Ha! Ha!’
‘Yes mistress Miyuki. I obey mistress Miyuki madam.’
I’m not proud – which is why I make such a good public-footslave. I will happily sniff ‘sweet’ Japanese girl sock in public, even if she is as nutty as a fruitcake! It’s my job.
After some two minutes of sock sniffing on her left foot, followed again by a respectful kissing of the scrunched-up sock, my first customer-mistress of the day switches feet beneath me yet again, and this time orders me to pay some facial attention to the dirty-white, keds-sneaker on her right foot:
‘Ha! Ha! Now you clean Miyuki dirty shoe! You lick dirt off shoe. Make shoe nice and shine. You obey now or I punish with hard kick on slave ugly mouth!’
‘Yes mistress Miyuki. At once mistress Miyuki madam. Please don’t hurt me, mistress Miyuki.’
How on earth do you make a pair of tatty, old canvas sneakers ‘shine’? Answers on a postcard please to ‘The Anonymous Public Footslave; Municipal Wall; Little Tokyo; Barbaria; The Gynarchy 61720.’
It’s an impossible task – even on the white, rubbery, rounded toe area of the young woman’s sneaker; the street-dirt is just too deeply ingrained. Nevertheless I have to try, if I don’t want to feel mistress Miyuki’s angry, scrunched up, pink and yellow socked toes making contact with my face through that dirty, white-rubbery sneaker-toe!
And so I taste the bitter taste of dirty, white girlshoe-rubber and lick it for all its worth – which is a lot given that it is the precious, grey-white rubber on the grubby, keds sneaker-toe of a superior, young Japanese woman!
Meanwhile, dotty-socked mistress Miyuki is tucking in to some early morning fruitcake. I can tell by the occasional crumbs of cake and fruit which fall down onto the ground beneath my face.
She herself, may well be nutty as a fruitcake, but even the eccentrically-dowdily dressed miss Miyuki is not stupid! She understands that no amount of feverish licking on my part is ever going to clean up her grubby, keds sneakers to the point where they will ‘shine’ in the early morning, autumn sunshine! And so she leaves me just as soon as I have made a nominal attempt with my tongue on her equally grubby left sneaker, and as soon as she has finished eating her fruitcake.
Even though I have singularly failed to make her keds-shoes shine, I at least have one crumb of comfort in amongst the half-eaten, fruitcake crumbs now strewn beneath my face on the dirty sidewalk – she has, at least, seen fit not to kick me in the face, despite my truly feeble keds-cleaning efforts. Such a kind and magnanimous young, Japanese woman. God bless you, merciful mistress Miyuki!
Thoughtless & Speechless
You might think I’d be tempted to lick up those street-soiled, fruitcake crumbs after miss Miyuki has gone – and you’d be right! For I am starving!
But I don’t have time – for they are soon thoughtlessly ground into the dirt by the black leather, anklebooted soles of the next young Japanese woman to grace me with her early-morning foot presence by my wonder wall.
I don’t recognise this particular young lady, or her boots – unlike miss Miyuki she is not one of my regulars. She is wearing a black leather jacket over a frilly, white blouse, and skin-tight, blue denim jeans tucked into the tops of her block-heeled, black leather ankleboots.
The boots look nice, with a series of criss-crossed leather straps covering the entire length of the boots. Interesting! No zippers either – they are pull-on ankleboots. Nice rounded toes as well – with mouthwatering scuffmarks just crying out for my slavish attention!
This particular young, oriental woman – whoever she is – scores eight out of ten for her choice of footwear. I like it! She only loses a couple of points because I have no way of knowing whether or not the young madam is wearing any socks inside her boots. Her skinny jeans are covering any socks which may, or may not, be inside her stylish and distinctive, Japanese ankleboots. And that’s a shame – for I would hazard a guess that this young, dark-haired woman is probably wearing short, black ankle socks inside her black leather boots – to match her black, leather jacket.
I do love black ankle socks on a haughty, young and unthinking Japanese woman!
She is on the phone and chattering away in Japanese as she almost subconsciously projects her right, anklebooted foot underneath my nose. Since there is no visible sock to kiss, I must, by law, get straight down to tongue-shining the young woman’s outer boots. She is not obliged to give me the order to do so, since
a) She is clearly busy on the phone to her Japanese boyfriend; and
b) It is obvious what she wishes me to do. Those scuffmarks really must be sanded down and removed by tongue, for they sully an otherwise perfect pair of stylish, young-womanly, black leather ankleboots.
I diligently lick the rounded, scuffmarked toe of the distracted, young woman’s proffered right boot, and am pleased to say that my coarse, boot-hardened tongue has the desired effect. The scuffs have all but disappeared, and the rounded toe of the boot is now glistening with my unworthy, male-footslave saliva in the early-morning, autumnal sunshine.
The young, oriental woman herself says nothing (at least, not to me – she is still jabbering away on the phone to her boyfriend in Japanese, however) as she arrogantly and superciliously changes feet beneath me, that I may afford the same footslavish care and attention to her equally scuffmarked left boot. Her uncaring, left boot, which – along with her right boot – has just inadvertently destroyed my breakfast of discarded fruitcake crumbs by callously grinding them into the dirt!
For just a split second I thought I caught a glimpse of elusive, black anklesock-top inside the dainty, left boot, but on reflection I think I may have just imagined it. And speaking of reflections, the left boot-toe is now equally shining. I can almost see my gormless maleslave-face in it.
The anklebooted, Japanese mistress suddenly moves off – without so much as a ‘by-your-leave’, having heartlessly ground my fruitcake breakfast into the dirty ground beneath the soles of her freshly-licked boots. I think some of the crumbs and squashed fruit must even be walking away with her – stuck to the soles of her boots!
Still – job done! And the taste of her bootdirt is more than enough compensation for my unworthy, footslave mouth and stomach. Pathetically, I actually prefer the taste of feminine bootdirt to fruitcake – having been a public footslave for so long now. My palate has adapted to the taste of dirty, female footwear just as my tongue has evolved to become coarse and rough – ready to capture any offending streetdirt on the surfaces of my superior Japanese customer-mistresses footwear!
Converse-ation
Which is just as well, for there is no rest for a wicked footslave’s tongue!
The next young woman to step up to the mark is another stranger, dressed in a pale blue, denim jacket; a short, black mini-dress; pink, opaque, nylon tights; and scruffy, high-top, black and white converse-style sneakers.
She is not what I would call the most ‘glamorous’ or ‘pretty’ of Japanese mistresses – she has a rather long face and straggly, unkempt hair. But she is clearly aroused by my state of bondage at her feet, and that in turn makes her enormously appealing to me:
‘Ha! Ha! You a prisoner at my feet! Ha! Ha! You stuck in wall. You not able to move. Ha! Ha! I better than you! You old and slave; I young and free! I free to walk about – you only able taste where I been walking! Ha! Ha! You show respect for superior, Japanese girl – you kiss crease in Japanese-girl ankle!’
And with that the young, straggly-haired, Japanese punk-woman projects her right, pink-tights-covered leg directly beneath my helpless and confined face.
So I can glean from all this that she is a local girl – despite my not seeing her feet before. She clearly knows my humble situation well and all the public-footslave rules of etiquette – a slave must first kiss any creases in his customer-mistress’s hosiery, and this young woman has spotted just such a crease in the opaque, pink nylon material of her tights just above the open flaps of her high-top, converse-sneaker rim beneath her shapely, right anklebone.
Her act of extending her foot forwards only serves to accentuate the nylon crease in her pink stocking, and concurrently my slavish desire to show respect for the young punk-lady’s choice of exciting legwear. I am particularly enamoured by the ‘bobbling’ effect on her tights – especially over the ankle area – as the little balls of nylon fluff confirm that these particular tights have been worn many times before. They must surely be imbued with the young lady’s Japanese foot DNA.
How could I not respect such a pair of well-worn, pink nylon tights?
‘Yes mistress. At once pretty, oriental mistress!’
She laughs at my middle-aged obsequiousness, and clearly revels in a rarely received compliment on her ‘prettiness’ – not something she is accustomed to hearing from her free male partners:
‘Ha! Ha! That right slave! You kiss pink tight of beautiful Japanese girl! Ha! Ha! You like my whore! You a ‘ho-in-the-wall’! Ha! Ha! You have do whatever I say! Ha! Ha! You in my power, even though you older than me! Ha! Ha! You a fool! You a moron!’
‘Yes mistress. This foolish, old slaveman obeys you, most beautiful, young mistress-madam.’
She suddenly kicks me in my big mouth. I have obviously put my foot in it – or rather her foot!
‘You shut up, slave! You not talk! You just a dirty slave. I spit on you!’
And with that, true to her broken-English word, she noisily spits down some Japanese-girl phlegm onto the top of my middle-aged, balding pate.
‘Ha! Ha! Look at you – you covered in superior Japanese girl spit! Ha! Ha! I laugh at you! You a nothing! You a nobody! Ha! Ha!’
I would like to respond with a ‘Yes mistress. Thank you mistress. God bless you mistress-madam’ – but I have been specifically ordered not to speak, and so I just lower my head in shame below her punk-pink tights.
The young woman is, justifiably, full of herself now:
‘Ha! Ha! Now you clean my shoe. You lick dirt off front of shoe. You swallow dirt. You a whore! You swallow Japanese-girl, stinky shoe-dirt! Ha! Ha!’
Yet again I find myself licking dirty, white sneaker-rubber as I concentrate on the ‘front’ of the young woman’s high-top, black and white, converse sneaker – specifically the grubby, white-rubbery toe area.
But that, it seems is not enough for this demanding, young, scruffily-dressed, oriental punk-woman in the pink tights:
‘Tch! You not just lick toe, stupid slave! You lick canvas part of shoe as well! You obey, or I stamp on you!’
Still forbidden to speak, I bite my tongue prior to extending it onto the black canvas upper of the young woman’s scruffy, converse sneaker. I can taste, and feel, dust and dirt coming off the fabric of the girlsneaker and onto my tongue.
She cocks her straggly-haired head triumphantly over me:
‘Ha! Ha! You pathetic! You a fool! Ha! Ha! How you become a slave?’
I’m presuming that I now have permission to speak again:
‘Oh pray mistress, if it pleases you mistress-madam, I was born a slave, and have served as a footslave all my adult life.’
‘Ha! Ha! That right! You born a slave – and you die a slave! Ha! Ha! You always be a slave! You never be free; I never be slave! Ha! Ha! I always be free. I a young woman. I better than you. I pure; you filth!’
I fully acknowledge the young, Japanese woman’s moral purity, and conversely, my moral filthiness.
‘Yes mistress-madam. God bless you mistress-madam. You are truly better than me. I am nothing but the dirt under your superior, feminine feet, if it is so pleasing to you most respected mistress-madam.’
She must have heard and seen enough, for the pure, Japanese punk-goddess with the pink tights and black and white high-tops walks away from me laughing without even waiting to have her left foot attended to!
Granny Boots
The next young Japanese woman is much more conventionally dressed – for a Japanese girl: a stripy, black and white cardigan over a black, calf-length dress with a ruffled hem; and black, flat-heeled, lace-up ankleboots with frilly, white anklesocks which also have tiny, black bows on the sides. She is clearly a ‘frill’ seeker, enamoured by sweet feminine frills and bows and general, feminine laciness.
She is yet another stranger to me, however, and her pretty Japanese face, framed by shoulder-length, jet-black hair, looks incredibly grumpy as she walks up to my middle-aged, bald-headed, white European face in the wall. She remains serious and sullen as she deliberately stretches out her right, anklebooted foot beneath my concrete-confined face.
Whilst the lacy rim of her white anklesock fits neatly over the upper rim of her boot, there are inevitably creases along the elasticated top of the sock. So I immediately kiss them, as I am expected to do. I feel her oriental ankle muscle quiver in a delighted reaction to my slavish lips on the top of her sock. This seems to spur her into talking:
‘You not touch Setsuko bare skin with dirty, slave lips. You kiss only Setsuko sock!’
It’s a warning shot across my bowed head:
‘Yes mistress Madam. Of course, mistress Madam Setsuko. This slave obeys the mistress.’
Too right he does! Those feminine-looking ‘granny boots’ look like they may have reinforced toecaps, and they are even more scuffmarked than the previous telephone-girl’s strappy, black, pull-on ankleboots. I certainly don’t relish the thought of the youth-reinforced granny boots making sudden and painful contact with my fragile, middle-aged face.
I wonder if miss Setsuko’s well-worn ankleboots may even be hand-me-downs from a bygone era, worn previously by her mother and grandmother in their youth; seeped in her family’s Japanese-female DNA.
Her socks, by way of contrast, appear very fresh and new. Not a mark on them – more’s the pity! For I do like a dusty and grubby, feminine-white sock in front of my face!
This no-nonsense and staid young, Japanese woman gets straight down to my humble business :
‘Now you lick Setsuko boots. You use tongue – lick off muck and dirt.’
‘Yes mistress Setsuko. At once mistress Setsuko.’
Definitely reinforced boot-toes! I can feel the strength in the reinforced toeleather as I furiously lick away at the ingrained scuffmarks on the rounded boot-toes.
Intriguingly, her thin bootlaces are actually brown – though that could be with age. Perhaps they were originally black to match the leather of the boots, and the blackness of this sullen young Japanese woman’s heart?
She says nothing as she changes feet beneath my extended face. Yet more creased, frilly white anklesock to kiss, and this time I allow myself the little footslavish indulgence of kissing her white anklesock on the black bow. It’s all done in the best possible taste – and purely out of respect for the surly Japanese mistress and her pretty socks.
However, I don’t dare to linger on the sock. The boot must be tongue-shined with alacrity, since my customer-mistress has ordered it to be so, and she is the one with all the power in her reinforced, oriental boot-toe!
How can such a sweet, feminine sock cover such powerful and potentially face-damaging toes? It’s a truly humbling thought!
She may have black hair and a black heart, but she turns out to be an extremely fair and merciful, young Japanese mistress. I am not kicked or punished in any way by the recycled granny boots.
Nor am I thanked for my efforts, needless to say!
A Sad Reflection On Me
Sadly, I can’t have sweet feminine, white-frilly hosiery all the time, and my next customer-mistress, another of my instantly recognisable regulars, is local office-worker, miss Kumi, who never wears socks, stockings or tights with her ubiquitous sandals – not even in the depths of winter (though she does wear bulky, yellow-synthetic moon boots when it’s snowing).
She just likes to stop by and have her bare, sandaled feet kissed on the way into work. And why not?
Miss Kumi clearly doesn’t really feel the cold on her pretty, Japanese feet, and likes to let them breathe au naturel inside her sandals. Nor does she paint her toenails, or pedicure her feet, in any way. They are just naturally beautiful. Even the little imperfections on her bare, oriental feet are beautiful – such as the familiar, little, black mole on her left instep, or the hardened corner of skin at the top left hand side of her big toenail on her right foot.
She is, undeniably, a beautiful-looking, auburn-haired, Japanese office-girl – despite her invariably conservative, officewear clothing. Today, for example, she is wearing a plain, black trouser-suit with the black cotton trousers turned up at the calves – a feature which only seems to accentuate the shapeliness of her smooth, bare Japanese anklebone as she now stretches forth her right, sandaled foot through the dirt and towards my wall-hanging face for worshipful kissing.
What sets her apart from the many other Japanese office-girls who frequent my face, however, is the highly distinctive design of her officewear sandals – thick, wedge-heeled, brown leather sandals, but with mirrors in the wedged heels, meaning that I can actually see my stupid and ugly, maleslave face reflected back at me as I lower my lips, as per usual, straight to mistress Kumi’s bare, unpainted toenails.
Truly miss Kumi has a unique foot-grace and style! Such an elegant pair of open-toed, strappy sandals for her; such ignominious footwear for me, as my face is humiliatingly reflected back at me lower than the mistress’s own, bare, wedge-raised foot. It’s as if she is walking on my reflected face!
Miss Kumi too has some words of young-womanly, oriental wisdom for me, like the granny-booted miss Setsuko before her:
‘Slave not touch Kumi footskin. Only toenail!’
‘Yes mistress-madam Kumi. This slave obeys you, mistress-madam Kumi.’
I make sure to only kiss the unpolished, and rather rough-feeling, feminine big toenail on her extended right foot, smelling in the leather of her criss-crossed, brown leather, ankle straps as I do so. The exotic aroma of unperfumed, bare, Japanese-girl footskin mixed in with Japanese-girl, raw sandal leather. To hell with socks and tights! This is what I call living!
And then I am reminded of my truly pathetic existence as I see my lustful face staring back at me in mistress Kumi’s mirror-decorated, wedged heels. How disgusting my face looks – a male stain on my mistress’s feminine sandals. It deserves to be crushed under her soft, Japanese foot!
Oh if only my lips were permitted to kiss that soft, bare, young-womanly, oriental big toe skin, rather than just her coarse and rough toenail! Big toe, in little Toe-kyo!
Mistress Kumi wishes me to move on:
‘Now slave lick Kumi brown sandal-straps. Not touch Kumi bare skin; only leather.’
‘Yes mistress-madam Kumi. At once mistress-madam Kumi’
Damn! It’s not to be. Her bare, unpowdered and unpampered, but naturally soft and beautiful, oriental footskin, is clearly out of bounds to me – again; it always is! But, if I’m honest, rightly so – for mistress Kumi is way too high above me in the social scale for me to be allowed to touch her bare flesh with my dirty, slave lips; even her bare footflesh – the humblest, dirtiest part of her everyday body!
Disappointed, male face reflected below superior, Japanese-girl foot – it sort of sums me up, don’t you think?
Consolation Prize
I console myself with some well-timed, thick, woolly tights. My next customer-mistress of the morning hitches up the ground-length hem of her long, white, cotton dress to reveal a pretty pair of brown leather court shoes with brown leather bows over the rounded toe-areas; brown, one inch heels; and matching, brown, woolly, herringbone-patterned tights.
Talk about creases! The thick, brown, woollen material in this young woman’s tights is creased as far up her outstretched, skinny, oriental anklebone and calf muscle as the footslave-eye can see! I relish the feel of creased herringbone-stitching on my parched and dry lips, along with the close-up sight of soft, brown, Japanese wool next to my nose and face as I humbly pay my public-footslave respects to Japanese-girl, thick, woolly tights.
Such an honour! Such a treat – given that the young lady’s long, white dress would normally be hiding her brown, court shoes and matching brown, woolly tights from view! Though she be a stranger to me, she has seen fit to hitch up her dress just for me, and for all I know may even be wearing these pretty shoes and tights – just for me!
I almost feel like she is my bride, in her long, white, bridal gown, and that I am to be married to her shoes and tights! Ha! Ha! What a ridiculous thought – like this superior, young woman would ever dream of marrying the likes of me; a humble face in the wall! Ha! Ha!
You’re welcome to stay for a while longer, if you so wish, here in Little Tokyo – for I’m only just getting started. It’s not even 09.00 yet, and I shall be kissing Japanese-girl socks and tights, and licking Japanese-girl shoes and boots, for the rest of the day and well into the night-time.
Never free. Never off duty. My face always near my female superiors’ socks, tights, shoes, boots and bare feet in the dirt of the street.
Who on earth would want to be me?
You, perhaps?
No Mercy
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