The Government Inspectress

The government inspectress is in town!

More specifically – she is in our office. I only know this because the boss of the office – miss Marian – has summoned me to her desk to inform me that my work as the office footslave will now be under intense scrutiny during the next few days.

That’s because the inspectress is primarily here to ensure that the females of the office are treating me suitably badly and cruelly, since my work as a male, office footslave is the first part of my life sentence of punishment handed down by the Female Courts – three years’ servitude at the feet and footwear of the office women, followed by life imprisonment with hard labour in the slave-mines.

I am only 6 months into my office-footslave servitude, so I still have two and a half years of servicing female feet and footwear to look forward to before I am condemned to the underground mines – providing, that is, I pass the inspection; for, as redheaded, office boss-mistress Marian kindly points out to me as I kneel by her black leather anklebooted feet, the government inspectress has the power to curtail my public foot-servitude and have me despatched forthwith to the mines should she determine that I am not being humiliated enough in my role as a ladies’ office footslave!

It’s also within office-manageress mistress Marian’s interests that I pass muster, however, since she won’t want the hassle of having to arrange for another office footslave so soon after agreeing with the Courts to take me on. And besides, her female pride is at stake – along with the reputation of her office for playing its part in the Female Justice system and assisting with the punishment and non-rehabilitation of maleslave-offenders such as me!

Miss Marian points all of this out to me as I kneel in front of her anklebooted feet, admiring a tiny slither of plain, black cotton bootsock covering her upper, right anklebone thanks to the top of her ankleboot-zipper being partially undone beneath the hem of her ubiquitous, black cotton, bootcut, office slacks.

I make a mental note of that zip-aberration, for, despite my benefitting from it – in that I get to see a snippet of miss Marian’s black anklesock – it is precisely the sort of detail any government inspectress might pick up on and mark me down for; the government footslave-inspectresses have a reputation throughout the Gynarchy for being somewhat pernickety, to say the least!

We are both quite nervous, therefore – boss-mistress Marian and myself – as she introduces me to the government inspectress later that same morning in an office specifically set aside for the inspectress to use.

As I kiss the inspectress’s feet in humble and respectful greeting I am pleased about several things:

1. The zipper on mistress Marian’s right, black leather ankleboot is now not only covered by the hem of her bootcut trouser-leg, thanks to her standing position, but is fully pulled-up, thanks to her permitting me to rectify matters with my teeth before we headed off to meet the dreaded inspectress;
2. The inspectress herself is a very beautiful, if stern-looking, young woman of Pakistani origins. She is petite and slightly-built, and is wearing a beige-coloured, salwar-kameez style trouser-suit complete with dupatta-style headscarf;
3. More importantly, on her slender, Pakistani feet she is wearing strappy, high-heeled, brown leather sandals with open toes. Her feet are bare and pedicured, with her dainty, Asian toenails painted red – though I notice straightaway that, somewhat incongruously for a supposed perfectionist footslave-inspectress, the bright red, nail varnish on the cuticle of the big toenail on her right foot is slightly chipped! Maybe it’s a test of some sort? Maybe she wants to see if I can spot such tiny flaws in a young, Pakistani woman’s pedicure? Fortunately, I too am a perfectionist – as you have already witnessed with my female boss’s boot-zipper!

The owner of that zipper leaves me to the tender mercies of the government inspectress and shuts the door on her way out. The slim, Pakistani inspectress-mistress, whom I would guess to be in her mid to late twenties, then settles herself down onto an office swivel chair in front of me, and nonchalantly adjusts her silken, beige-coloured, dupatta-headscarf over her dark, black hair as she proceeds to dominate me.

She stretches forth her dainty, sandaled, right foot on the office floor beneath my kneeling face again – the one with the chip-varnished toenail:

‘Be kissing my foot again, dirty slave, and be continually kissing it while I am issuing you with your instructions.’

She is quite softly-spoken, though trying her best to sound threatening – and I do so love her cute, Pakistani-girl accent! She is clearly a recent immigrant to the Gynarchy, and it is right and proper that she should hold sway over an indigenous, male slave like myself – for the Gynarchy is for free women from all over the world; a place of female refuge where they can put men in their natural and rightful place – at their dainty, foreign feet!

‘Yes, goddess-mistress inspectress. At once, most respected goddess-mistress inspectress.’

That is how my boss-mistress Marian has ordered me to address the all-powerful, young government inspectress – under pain of the whip.

Speaking of which I note that, along with her clipboard and pen, the government footslave-inspectress has a slim, single-tailed whip attached to her government belt – presumably for marking my bare back should I fail to live up to the mark!

But I haven’t got time to worry about that now – my footslave senses are being much too assailed by the power of the young Pakistani woman’s beautiful, dainty feet. I am particularly gratified to note, as I respectfully place my lips, as before, on one of the brown leather sandal-straps which criss-cross her delicate toe area (as opposed to her toenails or toeskin themselves – which would probably be regarded as much too intimate on only a first or second meeting with a lady’s feet) that her Pakistani feet, though pedicured, are unperfumed, meaning that my nose can detect the faint aroma of natural-smelling girlfeet – just the faintest hint of living, breathing girlfoot-perspiration, but nothing to write home about!

This is such an honour – to be made to kiss the brown-sandaled feet of a modest, young, beige-headscarfed, Pakistani woman who holds such unfettered, female power in her government-inspectress’s clipboard; she can literally make or break me with her handwritten notes – and make me break rocks at the stroke of a pen should she feel so inclined.

I therefore concentrate hard on what she saying in her cute, Pakistani accent as I repeatedly kiss her Pakistani-girl, brown leather sandal-straps and admire her browny-blue foot veins whilst she explains how her inspection of my work will proceed:

‘My name is being miss Sameena, dirty slave, and I will be being inspecting your performance as a footslave over the next few days, isn’t it? I will be observing you as you are being attending to the feet and footwear of your office-mistresses and will be awarding you marks out of ten, isn’t it? At the end of the inspection if I am deciding to pass you, you may be staying here for the remainder of your three year sentence as an office-footslave before you are being condemned to the hard-labour mines. But if you are not satisfying me with your performance I shall be sending you straight to the mines where you will be suffering most cruelly under the female whip! Are you being fully understanding of my power and authority over you now, dirty footslave?’

She readjusts her dupatta headscarf as she awaits my humble response:

‘Yes, goddess-mistress government-inspectress. This slave hears and obeys the government-inspectress mistress, and is indeed most respectful of her female power and authority over him, invested in her by the Female State, if it is so pleasing to you most revered and admired government inspectress-mistress. Please have mercy on me, mistress Sameena!’

I am, of course, genuinely most respectful of her and her power. As she herself has so eloquently pointed out, my male fate is in her sweet, feminine hands, and on her female clipboard. I must not fail – for my own sake, as well as that of my mistress-boss’s reputation!

Miss Sameena replaces her right, Pakistani-sandaled foot with her left beneath my kneeling face as she continues with her arrogant introduction:

‘In a few moments we will be going to the Office Reception Desk where I shall be observing you on your fixed-point duties at the receptionist-mistress’s feet, isn’t it slave?’

As I kiss the sandal straps on her seemingly flawless, left, pedicured foot, I can tell already that miss Sameena is on the ball and fully au-fait with my daily, office-footslave duties. She clearly knows about my mixture of ‘fixed point’ and ‘mobile’ duties. Fixed point is when I must kneel behind an office-mistress’s desk just admiring, or sometimes kissing, the backs of her booted or court-shoed heels; mobile is when I must ‘do the rounds’ – crawl around the office from desk to desk, offering my footwear-tongueshining services to the office ladies, though that isn’t usually until the afternoons.

This morning I am designated an hour-long fixed point kneeling behind the booted feet of the beautiful, Indian-girl office receptionist, miss Nadhiya.

As myself and my Pakistani inspectress-mistress approach miss Nadhiya from behind I can see that, beneath her desk in the front Reception area, she is wearing her ubiquitous, black leather, calf-length, chunky-heeled, buckle-covered, biker-style office boots below the hems of her bell-bottom, black polyester, officewear trousers.

Even when she is seated – to my enormous chagrin – I never get to see a flash of miss Nadhiya’s bootsocks inside her boots; her boots are just too high, and the lower hems of her trouser legs are, frustratingly, always covering the upper rims of her calf-length, biker boots!

I imagine that, like most office girls, she is wearing plain black anklesocks inside her boots – but who knows? They might even contain a dash of bright, girly pink on the heel or toe areas! Or she might even be a bit of a rebel, and like to wear multi-coloured, cartoon socks inside her rebellious, Indian-girl, biker boots!

The point is I shall never know – not unless I am ever lucky enough to be kneeling on a fixed point behind her office-receptionist boots when she subconsciously reaches down to straighten the tops of her socks inside her boots – and that’s never happened yet!

But perhaps it’s a good thing that – today of all days – I am not to be distracted by a beautiful, long-dark-haired, slightly chubby, Indian girl’s bootsocks as I kneel behind the backs of her biker boots and stare admiringly at the creases and folds in the plain, black leather, all under the watchful eye and critical clipboard of the Pakistani-mistress government inspectress.

The latter introduces herself to her fellow desi-female, and exhorts her to carry on as normal as if she wasn’t there. She reassures her India counterpart that she is there to judge me – not the Receptionist!

Besides, miss Nadhiya doesn’t have to do anything – just sit there and look pretty as she always does, occasionally signing for a package delivered by a lovestruck courier (all the freemale couriers fall in love with the stunningly beautiful, fully-westernized, and big-bosomed miss Nadhiya at first sight; that’s why she’s such a good receptionist, and such a boon to the public face of the office!)

Miss Nadhiya, as per usual, is sitting with her feet resting on a wooden shelf at the base of her Reception desk, and with her round-shaped, biker-booted toes turned fetchingly inwards towards each other – a most sexy and feminine pose, though it is entirely subliminal on her part; she’s just a girly girl, despite her fondness for wearing such heavy boots!

I, meanwhile, stare intently at the backs of her twisted-inwards boots, quietly and unobtrusively observing the creases and folds in her wrinkled, black bootleather – and paying particular attention to any movement in the leather, as I am required to do under the conditions of my office-footslave servitude.

It’s relatively easy work, being on a ‘fixed point’ – though humiliating – but I do hope that my inspectress-mistress standing behind me with her clipboard can read my slave-mind and appreciate the full extent of my humility and girlboot-obsessiveness as I kneel behind miss Nadhiya’s chunky, black bootheels. I ensure that my every thought is directed towards those boots, and make a concerted effort, for once, not to speculate about miss Nadhiya’s socks inside her boots – for I am sure that this highly efficient, young government-inspectress would be quick to pick up on a slave’s sock-wandering mind!

Fortunately there is much to admire about the backs of miss Nadhiya’s boots – not just the texture and consistency of the leather, but the tell-tale signs of street wear and tear on the base of the chunky-heels, where the black leather is starting to go all scuffmarked and grey, and looks somewhat uneven. I’m confident that the seemingly astute and efficient, government inspectress has noticed that I have noticed that, and, hopefully, I will pick up some positive marks for my girlboot-observational skills, as opposed to some negative whip-marks.

Certainly the Pakistani-girl inspectress’s whip appears to be staying put on her slender, leather waist-belt!

Just as I also stay put – for a whole, respectful hour – kneeling with my humble face directly behind receptionist-mistress Nadhiya’s calf-length boots, so close that I can smell them. It’s a fairly uneventful hour – the only excitement being when mistress Nadhiya inadvertently dropped her pen and had to reach down from the counter to pick it up. Needless to say, there was a considerable amount of movement in her boots at that point in time, but I managed to remain fully focussed on them.

Thankfully, there was still no sight of any distracting, Indian-girl bootsock (normally I would have said ‘disappointingly’, but I really could do without the visual distraction of beautiful, Indian-girl bootsock on a day like this when my footslave-behaviour is under such close, female-inspectorial scrutiny!)

The hour-long, fixed point behind the reception desk seems to go without a hitch – particularly without a hitching-up of the chubby, Indian receptionist-girl’s bell-bottom, trouser-hems – and so I am satisfied that I have passed this particular test.

My Pakistani inspectress and I move on to my next fixed point – at the entrance to the office cafeteria where I face the much more demanding role of serving as a doorstopper-slave i.e. I must kneel with my head humbly bowed by the entrance to the female cafeteria and respectfully kiss the feet of any office-woman who voluntarily presents her feet to me for kissing as she enters or exits the café.

Not all of them do, of course – some are in just too much of a hurry; and even those that do tend to stop for just one, quick kiss to the toe of each office ladyboot or ladyshoe. None of them talk to me – or issue any kind of foot-kissing orders to me – for it is obvious what I am required to do; I must simply kiss their outstretched feet!

The Pakistani inspectress-mistress stands back a bit so as not to distract the office mistresses as they go about their daily business in the cafeteria, but she is busy making notes all the time on her clipboard of power.

Fortunately, it’s quite busy in the cafeteria this morning (being a Monday the office ladies have lots of weekend gossip to catch up on) and I am presented with several pairs of female office-worker boots and shoes to kiss. I pride myself on being a good foot-kisser – never missing a toe area on a lady’s boot or shoe, however quickly she presents and then withdraws her booted, shoed, or even sandaled feet to my kneeling, footslave lips for kissing.

Of course, there is, inevitably, a distraction of young-womanly socks, for not all the office mistresses by any means wear sock-hiding trousers and boots like goddess-mistress Nadhiya on Reception; there are a plethora of black, office ballet-flats and black socks – some of the feminine socks having fetching little, multicoloured logos and patterns on them, and every conceivable kind of patterned stitching. I am also confronted by a goodly array of ultra-short sneaker-socks – though not necessarily worn with sneakers; their tantalizing elasticated tops appear above the rims of many different types of low-cut, shoes more suitable for the office – including smart, brown leather, lace-up, oxford brogues; shiny black plastic loafers; and low-heeled, black leather courts.

I am also required to show oral respect to one pair of scruffy, white keds-sneakers and grey-white sneaker-socks, but they belong to some visiting work-experience student from the local university who is also wearing a pair of scruffy, blue denim jeans! She’ll never get a full-time job in an office dressed like that!

But then, she’s not the one being inspected, and whose future career is on the line; I am the one in that frightening position! And so I kiss scruffy, white canvas sneaker every bit as diligently and respectfully as I kiss smart, brown leather, oxford brogue!

Even the ladies wearing ankleboots seem to have an element of bootsock on display inside the upper rims of their boots today, especially if they are wearing skirts or dresses with their boots, instead of slacks! Perhaps they are deliberately sock-teasing me, in an effort to make me fail my inspection! I’m sure none of them give a damn about my possibly being sent straight to the slave-mines; there are plenty more office footslaves where I came from – the Female Courts!

One young, blonde sock-tease, in particular, is wearing a pair of bright yellow anklesocks inside her pointy-toed, high-heeled, black leather, zip-up ankleboots! It is sheer torture trying to ignore such lemon-fresh socktop, and to focus on her bootleather.

But I do my best not to be distracted by those tempting flashes of bright yellow girlsock, and to concentrate on kissing her arrogantly pointy boot-toes, as befits a humble doorstopper slave – especially one who is being closely observed by a Female-Government inspectress!

My lips taste of female boot and shoe leather by the end of my two-hour fixed point duty on the office cafeteria doorway, but I think the Pakistani inspectress-mistress is suitably impressed by my performance as a humble, doorway footkisser. She certainly presents her own sandaled feet for me to kiss again as she enters the cafeteria in order to partake of some refreshments herself, and then instructs me to kneel behind her sling-backed heels as she sits at a table drinking her tea and eating her sandwich.

That’s got to be a good sign, hasn’t it?

I stare dutifully at the hard skin on the backs of her Pakistani heels even though she has set aside her clipboard for the time being. You can never be too careful – she may still be watching my every move; this may be another test of my loyalty and focus on a young woman’s feet. And so I play it safe, and study her every, light brown foot-pore.

The real test, however, comes in the afternoon when, as part of my rounds, I am required to lickshine the laced-up, office ankleboots of a particularly demanding, grossly overweight, Goth-girl mistress – the bullying, 18 year old, junior office-mistress Tracey – who never fails to find fault with my middle-aged, bootlicking performance, and who I know will be only too happy to express her inevitable dissatisfaction to the government inspectress!

The problem I have is that goddess-mistress Tracey insists on wearing the most exciting and intriguing, calf-length, Goth-girl, socks with her rather plain and ordinary, low-heeled, round-toed black leather, ankleboots, and since she never wears trousers – always short skirts, designed to show off her fatty, bare legs – I get to see a large portion of her socks’ uppers as my tongue is running along the upper rims of her unnaturally stretched, ankleboot leather!

Her Goth-themed socks are predominantly black, but with multicoloured, cartoon depictions of various ghosts, ghoulies, vampires and monsters on them. Halloween socks, really! This does of course, make them highly distracting to any self-respecting office footslave, whatever the time of year; a humble, male slave who is programmed to admire female socks by virtue of his footslave-DNA, but obliged, by law, to concentrate on licking female boots!

Small wonder, then, that my lips and tongue do not always perform to the high standards expected of me by fat, bullying, Goth-girl mistress Tracey!

But, of course, none of these excuses will be taken into account by the slim and thin-lipped, Pakistani government inspectress, miss Sameena, and, as miss Tracey once again finds fault with my bootlicking efforts, and angrily requires me to lickshine the top of her chubby, left boot a second time, I can sense the cartoon-zombie at the top of her Goth-themed anklesock laughing at me as the government inspectress-mistress grimly marks me down on her ubiquitous, judgemental clipboard!

…………………………………………………………………………

For three days she followed me around the office – noting my every success and failure; particularly my failures, since a good report would be no report. The whole point of an inspection, surely, is to find room for improvement – or to fail me outright?

The moment of truth comes when an angry, redfaced, redheaded office boss-mistress Marian calls me back into her office three days later to reveal the government inspectress’s findings to me.

She reads out the Pakistani inspectress’s report verbatim:

‘The slave is most definitely being underemployed in the office, and is not being required to be working hard enough.

He is generally an indolent and lazy fellow, who is being content to do the minimum of work. Whilst he is being perfectly capable of kissing ladies’ feet with humility and efficiency, I am finding that he is being too easily distracted, particularly by his mistresses’ socks, to be doing a good enough job in tongueshining their boots and shoes to the high standards expected of a footslave. This was being particularly evident when he was being required to lickshine the boot-tops of one charming and kind, young mistress who was wearing novelty socks…(She got that bit right! That’ll be a reference to Goth-mistress Tracey’s cartoon socks!)….

I am therefore recommending that the dirty, dissolute slave be supervised at all time by a permanent taskmistress who can be ensuring by means of the whip that the slave is fulfilling his tasks to the best of his ability, isn’t it?

Nevertheless, I am recommending that he should be allowed to continue with his sentence of office footslavery for the full term of his three year sentence prior to enslavement in the mines, subject to a further review and inspection in 6 months’ time.

Signed: Inspectress-mistress Sameena. Government Inspectress no. 432’

All the while miss Marian is reading out the Pakistani inspectress’s report, her anklebooted foot is jiggling with anger and irritation directly in front of my kneeling face, causing the twisted, elasticated top of her plain, black bootsock to crease and fold in front of my easily-sock-distracted eyes.

I know why she is angry. I may have ‘passed’ my inspection – which is an enormous relief – but the Pakistani inspectress’s recommendations, which by law must be carried out, will mean the extra expense for my boss-mistress of having to employ a full-time taskmistress!

That’s not good – for we all know that boss-mistress Marian likes to save the pennies. I mean, just look at her cheap boots and socks!

Ah yes – the socks! It was the female socks which, yet again, have proved to be my downfall!

Mistress Marian was so annoyed with me that she took out her punishment cane from her office drawer and gave me sixteen sharp cuts across the backs of my bare thighs – ironically affording my kneeling face quick glimpses of her black cotton sock-tops with every stinging cane-cut as her bootcut, office trouser-hems rose and fell in line with each stroke of her well-practised arm!

Yes – I’ve got to hand it to the government inspectress, miss Sameena; she got me down to a tee, and, quite rightly, has condemned me to harder work, and more pain and suffering. Yet she has also been perfectly fair and balanced in her conclusions – allowing me to remain, for the time being at least, in my office-footslave capacity, and postponing my imprisonment in the dreaded slave-mines.

It’s pretty much the best outcome I could have hoped for and I very much look forward to kissing her dainty, pedicured Pakistani feet and sandals again in six months’ time, and showing her my extra whip-stripes – courtesy of my new taskmistress.

The End

Addendum:

Bully for me!

Regrettably, boss-mistress Marian appointed the stroppy, Goth-girl, junior office-mistress Tracey as my new, full-fat, full-time taskmistress – in order to save money; a role the former office assistant truly relished, resulting in the premature curtailment of my office-footslavery due to excessive, female-whip injury, and my consequent, ignominious despatch to the slave-mines after a further period of a mere 4 months.

So I never did get to see the Pakistani inspectress-mistress’s slim, brown feet and sandals ever again, thanks to my painful demise at the end of a bullying, Goth-girl’s whip!