The Kick-Start Treadmill

I am, by all accounts, a fundamentally lazy, treadmill footslave-prisoner, and need to be kick-started of a morning; and of an afternoon; and of an evening!

Or so my navy-blue uniformed prison wardresses say.

My prison wardresses therefore always make sure to wear heavy shoes or boots – more often than not with reinforced toe-areas (or even steel-toecapped) – so that their delicate, feminine tootsies are suitably protected from any harm and damage whenever they must kick me in the face in order to get me moving; or indeed when they must kick me in the face in order to make me stop – for I am a ‘kick-stop’ treadmill slave as well as ‘kick-start’ one!

Just to add to my pain and consternation, my treadmill – to which I am permanently tethered – is located in the female guards’ kitchenette area, next to their tea and coffee making facilities! It’s not that the footslave-dungeon is short of space, or anything; rather it’s a fiendishly female move to augment my male-prisoner suffering, as I must smell their delicious tea and coffee throughout my long, arduous, working day, knowing that I shall never be offered any liquid refreshments to help quench my treadmill-induced thirst (my only daily sustenance is a bowl of tasteless prisoner-slave mush and a scoop of stale water first thing in the morning before I start work; and I do mean first thing – I am woken at 05:30 A.M. every morning, ready to start working the treadmill at 06:00 A.M. My working day ends at midnight!).

Being located in their dungeon-kitchen I also, of course, get to hear all my treadmill-guards’ idle chit-chat and feminine gossip; their discussions on their social lives; their thoughts and opinions on the female politics of the day; on the economy; on fashion; on their boyfriends. Not that any of my guards would ever dream of chatting to me; it’s against the prison rules. I am there to work – and the only communications I ever receive from my superior, female prison guards take the form of

· curt and abrupt orders to ‘move’; to ‘stop’; or to ‘move faster’;

· the encouraging sting of the their shared, treadmill-drivers’ thin, black leather whip;

· and, of course, their female kicks to my gormless and helpless, male-prisoner face from their individual shoes and boots!

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

China

It is coming up to lunchtime and I have already been walking the treadmill, non-stop, for some 6 hours. My current driver – miss Dai-Yu – is nearing the end of her shift, and will, no doubt, be looking forward to going home soon!

Her relief this lunchtime, however, is guard-mistress Galina, who has earlier rung officer-mistress Dai-Yu on her mobile phone to inform her she is running a little bit late. I distinctly overheard miss Dai-Yu telling her not to worry – but she is, nonetheless, clearly anxious to get away on time today, as her whips to my shoulder-blades have become noticeably more frequent and irritable as the extra minutes tick by. Perhaps she has a rendezvous with her boyfriend; what young lady wouldn’t be keen to get out of this below-ground, windowless and claustrophobic dump when her manly boyfriend is eagerly waiting for her outside in the fresh, clean air?!

Miss Dai-Yu is a very beautiful, dark-haired guard-mistress of Chinese origins, who always wears nice boots and socks beneath her navy-blue, uniform trousers. Her black leather, zip-up ankleboots are quite high – almost calf-length – but she nevertheless invariably hitches up her navy-blue, bootcut trouser-hems when she is seated above and in front of me on the treadmill, meaning that I am guaranteed a nice glimpse of the tops of her black, cotton bootsocks with the yellow dragon logos as I walk the treadmill in my bare, male-prisoner feet , my pained face level with her female-guard, booted feet as they rest in front of me on the metal footplate!

Another reason why I like working under guard-mistress Dai-Yu is that her exotic, Chinese-themed socks are always neatly pulled-up, thereby denying me a glimpse of her soft, feminine, Chinese leg-skin inside her boots; that’s a touch of superior-female class, I always think! She modestly reserves her smooth, oriental skin for her beloved boyfriend; it is not for the likes of me – a dirty, treadmill prisoner-slave at her feet.

You have to admire her haughty and prudish, Chinese-girl attitude – and her loving fidelity for her free-male boyfriend!

Although she is softly-spoken, she is harshly-booted – her black leather ankleboots containing stylishly pointy toe-ends which can cause considerable damage to my face when officer-mistress Dai-Yu feels so inclined (thank God, her spiked heels are never thrust into my face; can you imagine the pain and damage they would cause?!).

However for the most part – except in circumstances such as now when she is late being relieved from her post – officer-mistress Dai-Yu is quite a reasonable taskmistress, and is sparing of my face with her boots, preferring to urge and cajole me on to better efforts in walking the treadmill by means of the thin, leather whip cutting into my bare shoulder blades, rather than the pointy, leather boot cutting into my cheekbones. And all the while showing me a glimpse of Chinese-girl, black and yellow bootsock; such a kind and considerate Chinese officer-mistress!

Her relief, the red-ponytailed mistress Galina, thankfully arrives only some 15 minutes late – somewhat flustered and apologetic to her female colleague for her uncharacteristic tardiness:

‘Oh…I am so sorry, Dai! My dental appointment was overrunning! Is Alistair waiting for you outside?’

Alistair is the name of miss Dai-Yu’s white boyfriend (like I said, I hear all the female gossip, being located in the guards’ dungeon-kitchenette area!)

‘Ha! Ha! No problem, Galina – make him wait! We not go anywhere special today!’

From the corner of my eye – which I temporarily take off miss Dai-Yu’s left, fully pulled up, dragon-decorated sock-top – I can observe that officer-mistress Galina is wearing her familiar, round-toed, chunky-heeled, black leather ankleboots again today! Good! I’m in for another foot-prisoner treat – for mistress Galina always wears ropey-looking pairs of socks inside her boots which, like miss Dai-Yu’s much smarter-looking socks, are at least partially on view to me whenever the officer-mistress is seated in front of and above me on the ‘driver’s’ chair; and I do like a bit of sweet, feminine bootsock to look at whilst I’m toiling away!

Also today, given that red-haired officer-mistress Galina is somewhat flustered and had been rushing to get here, her socks will, presumably, be somewhat hot and sweaty inside her boots? Not that I shall get to smell them, of course – an officer-mistress’s boots always remain firmly on her feet whilst she is on duty! But the very thought that my flame-ponytailed, Russian, officer-mistress’s feet are perspiring heavily into her sweaty socks as she sits regally above me applying the whip to my lazy back and shoulders, is a not unpleasing one!

Do you see how pathetic I have become in this miserable place? Excited by the mere thought of a pair of sweaty, unkempt, female socks in front of my prisoner-face!

Miss Dai-Yu, in her relatively clean boots and socks, suddenly gives me the signal to stop turning the fixed-position treadmill. She kicks me with the pointy toe of her right boot in the middle of my ugly conk – quite hard:

Kick!

‘Stop, slave!’

I duly stop, for there is nothing to be gained from disobeying an officer-mistress – not unless you like being kicked repeatedly in the face!

Mistress Dai-Yu’s black and yellow cotton bootsocks disappear from view as she climbs down from the raised chair in front of me, her Chinese-girl boots vacating the metal foot-rest in front of my face for yet another day.

The two superpower girls – one Chinese and one Russian – chat happily away to one another at their shift changeover, and even embrace one another as officer-mistress Dai-Yu assures an apologetic officer-mistress Galina yet again that she was not in the least bit put out by the latter’s atypical tardiness (not, strictly-speaking, true, as the fresh, extra whip-marks on my back and shoulders will testify to!)

Officer-mistress Galina makes herself a warming cup of tea to go with her sandwiches before formally starting her shift , as officer-mistress Dai-Yu packs up her things. The two young women are laughingly and jokingly talking about what they are planning to do with their respective boyfriends this evening. They are talking to one another completely uninhibitedly – as if I wasn’t there. Which, to all intents and purposes, I’m not – being a non-person with no human rights; in these girls’ mischievous eyes I’m just a human treadmill-machine; something which starts when you kick-start it; and stops when you kick-stop it! So, they have no need to feel inhibited in front of a machine, have they?

And so I must humbly listen as officer-mistress Dai-Yu shamelessly informs officer-mistress Galina of her intention to provide oral sex for her boyfriend, master Alistair sir, this evening. I must say, he’s a lucky man to be having such luscious, Chinese-girl lips around his male member – though in an ideal world I myself would be content to merely sniff officer-mistress Dai-Yu’s discarded, black and yellow bootsocks in the corner of the master bedroom whilst she ‘gave head’ to the master-sir.

I’ve never met him, of course – but sniffing his Chinese girlfriend’s sweaty, black socks whilst she brings him to orgasm with her mouth would be an inestimable honour and a privilege for the likes of me!

But I’m only daydreaming, of course! Socks – let alone sex – are completely off the agenda for me; my prisoner-slave life is all about work; and the best I can hope for is to hear about the sexual activities of my female masters and betters, and admire their pre-intercourse socks as they are seated in front of me on the treadmill!

And so, officer-mistress Dai-Yu’s boots and socks walk out of my life for another day, as they are soon replaced on the metal footrest in front of me by the similar, but more chunky-heeled and round-toed, black leather, zip-up ankleboots of officer-mistress Galina, the red-haired, Russian mistress.

The Russian boots are also more scruffy and scuffmarked than the Chinese boots had been.

Russia

Officer-mistress Galina is sexily ginger and tall, and, despite her scruffy and unkempt boots, always looks stunning in her navy blue, prison-guard’s uniform – but her best feature, as I intimated earlier, is the invariably ropey nature of her equally scruffy socks inside her boots. Today I am not to be disappointed, as the Russian officer-mistress arrogantly hitches up her bootcut, navy-blue trouser-hems in front of me to reveal a pair of grey-white, twisted and bobbled, ankle-length bootsocks with a single, pleasing, blue stripe along the elasticated tops.

I have observed these particular girlboot-socks many times before – in fact, I do believe officer-mistress Galina was wearing these very same socks during her shift yesterday evening! Ha! Ha! Only a down-at-boot, treadmill footslave would notice such minor details; nobody else will be aware of, or care about, officer-mistress Galina’s unhygienic, secret sock practices!

Mind you – the realisation that her socks are two days old, combined with the fact that she has been rushing to get here thereby building up a sweat in her two day old socks, thrills me to the footslave-prisoner core! I think such callous, feminine disregard for the sock-sensitivities of a male, treadmill-footslave is actually quite appealing in a young, ginger-ponytailed woman, for it eloquently demonstrates the utter, female contempt in which officer-mistress Galina holds me!

And rightly so.

Officer-mistress Galina may be quite chatty and friendly with her fellow, female prison-guards, but her tone with me is always suitably abrupt and professional. As is customary, as soon as she has settled herself into the driver’s chair in front of and above me, and grabbed hold of the driver’s whip, she presents each of her reinforced, scuffmarked, black leather boot-toes for me to kiss in turn – the black, scuffmarked boot-toes to match the scruffy, grey-white anklesocks!

Then, the same right boot-toe which I have just respectfully kissed is quickly drawn back and lunged forwards in order to kick me harshly in the centre of the face:

Kick!

‘Move, slave!’

Officer-mistress Galina likes to reinforce her opening command with an accompanying whip-sting – just in case her reinforced boot-toe hasn’t been enough to get the message across to me.

Swish…Crack!

The crack of the whip echoes around the dark, kitchenette-dungeon walls.

I am, I should explain, not allowed to answer my guards back; not even to verbally acknowledge their orders; not even in humble slave-speak. Indeed, even an involuntary gasp of pain resulting from a particularly severe boot-kick or whip-cut is enough for me to be punished by having my meagre slave-mush rations withdrawn for a week. I must operate in total silence – my obedient legs doing all the treadmill-talking on my behalf!

It’s a harsh regime – but then, I am being punished in this footslave-dungeon! I lost my right to converse with my female betters when I upset my last mistress by laddering her tights. I have to acknowledge that I fully deserve my life sentence in the footslave-dungeons – I mean, what’s the point in an incompetent, personal footslave who actually ruins a lady’s hosiery, rather than caring for it?

Oh the love and care I would afford to officer-mistress Galina’s grubby, white bootsocks if only she would let me! But it’s out of the question, of course; I can look, but not touch.

She kicks me, and whips me again:

Kick!

Swish…Crack!

‘Move faster, slave!’

Double pain – in my shocked face and shoulder-blade!

I don’t know why I’m so shocked by the pain! Officer-mistress Galina does like to set a steady pace with the boot and the whip at the beginning of her shift; she’ll settle down shortly, and start texting her friends on her phone. Besides, receiving the whip from her isn’t all bad – every time she applies its fearsome sting I get a wider glimpse of her grubby and twisted, grey-white socktops as her navy-blue uniform trouser-hems flap around her shapely, Russian-girl anklebones – and, unlike officer-miss Dai-Yu, officer-mistress Galina is not concerned to hide her bare, lower legskin from me. She doesn’t give a damn if I catch a glimpse of her pasty-white, East-European, leg flesh above her blue-striped, white cotton socktops, for she knows I am powerless to touch her superior, feminine bare skin!

As I had predicted, the stinging whip is soon put down in favour of her cell phone, on which she starts working on her texts and social networking site. All I have to do now is keep a steady, respectable pace beneath her on the treadmill, and continue to admire her scuffmarked, black leather ankleboots and grubby, white socks, hoping that they will remain firmly on the metal footplate in front of me until the final ‘stop-kick’ of her shift.

Another officer-mistress – bespectacled, African-Caribbean officer-mistress Phoebe – enters the kitchen after a few minutes, to make herself a cup of coffee. Officer-mistress Phoebe isn’t on treadmill-monitoring duties as such today – though I have had the privilege of her lace-up, black leather anklebooted feet and black socks resting on the foot-plate in front of me many times before. A quick, furtive glimpse over towards her African-Caribbean feet confirms that she is wearing those self-same , lace-up ankleboots with the delightfully clumpy heels – though her navy-blue, officer-mistress trouser hems are, frustratingly, hiding her socks as she stands next to the kettle.

I’m nevertheless confident that bespectacled, officer-mistress Phoebe will be wearing plain, black anklesocks inside her boots; she always does – not that I shall be getting to see them today. Sadly!

‘Hi, Galina! How’s your tooth?’

‘Hi, Phoebe! Well, it’s lot better now, thanks! I saw dentist this morning, and he gave me filling!’

I feel jealous – not of the dentist who was able to give flame-haired officer-mistress Galina a filling; but of officer-mistress Phoebe, who is in a position to converse with my treadmill-taskmistress and politely enquire after her wellbeing. For I would dearly love to discuss officer-mistress Galina’s tooth with her; and, indeed, discuss her boots and socks with her – for I would love to know all about them; their provenance; their history; their comfort, or otherwise, on her Muscovite feet. They are, after all, the socks and boots of the young, red-haired woman who is currently in a position of absolute power and authority over me!

And I must never forget that!

The black girl and the white girl continue to chat with one another in a friendly manner for several minutes, before officer-mistress Phoebe leaves the kitchenette-cum-treadmill-dungeon to return to her admin desk, whilst officer-mistress Galina returns to her texts.

No more impromptu boot-kicks or whip-cuts for me, so I must have been maintaining a satisfactory pace, despite the distraction of a black girl’s black, lace-up ankleboots in the room!

Indeed, I receive no more pain throughout officer-mistress Galina’s six hour shift, and her scuffmarked, right boot-toe only makes painful contact with my permanently bruised face again when her relief arrives – bang on time!

Kick!

‘Stop, slave!’

I stop.

‘Hi, Galina!’

‘Hi, Padmal!’

India

Officer-mistress Padmal must have swapped shifts with one of her colleagues, for she never does the evening shift! Even officer-mistress Galina seems surprised to see her:

‘I thought Teertha was my relief?’

‘Yes, she is being doing a half-day today, so I am being agreeing to cover the first half of her shift for her, isn’t it?’

Ah – that explains it; one Indian-girl, prison-guard mistress, miss Padmal, doing a favour on behalf of another, miss Teertha! That’s nice!

And seeing miss Padmal is a very nice surprise for me – for, unlike virtually all the other officer-mistresses, miss Padmal always elects to wear a navy-blue, knee-length, uniform skirt with thick, black woolly tights and shiny black, chunky-heeled, round-toed, single-strapped, mary-jane style shoes on her dainty, Indian feet. No masculine-looking trousers for her!

She is also such a sweet and delicate looking young woman – quite petite and skinny; though her shiny shoes can sure pack a punch, as my bruised face can visibly testify.

Petite of stature she may be, but she seems to tower above me like a veritable, Indian-girl colossus as she climbs up into the recently vacated treadmill-driver’s chair, in place of her Russian colleague.

It is now India in the driving seat!

I respectfully kiss her shiny, black, mary-jane shoe toes each in turn s they are presented to me.

What I particularly like about officer-miss Padmal – apart from her woolly-tighted legs and shiny, black, mary-jane shoes – is the fact that, whilst she will happily chat to her female colleagues in her broken English, she never speaks to me; not even to verbally command me to ‘move’ or to ‘stop’. The delicately-boned and taciturn Indian girl lets her shiny, black shoes, and black leather whip, do all the talking!

And so it is merely with a sudden creasing of her black, woolly tights, and a concomitant kick from her rounded, mary-jane shoe-toe, that I am kick-started into action at her superior, Indian-girl feet shortly after officer-mistress Galina has vacated the dungeon.

Kick!

No words; no verbal command.

Thereafter copious amounts of silent shoe-kicking and whistling whip-sting ensure my continued, efficient operation of the heavy treadmill – kicks and whips always delivered in silence, but with great attention to detail, such as whip-cut overlays when a particularly strenuous effort is required of me; miss Padmal knows that the strength of my efforts will be analogous to the amount of pain I am suffering from her shiny, black leather shoe-toe and her matt, black leather, driver’s whip. She is very clever that way, and learnt her trade driving animals on her family farm back in rural Gujarat.

At the end of her half-shift, when her fellow Indian-officer relief, miss Teertha, appears, I am temporarily stopped from walking by another silent, but swift, kick to the face from a black, shiny mary-jane shoe, and my aching leg muscles can finally grind to a halt.

Kick!

How do I know it’s the kick-signal to stop? Because, unlike the other shoe-kicks exhorting me to move faster, it is not accompanied by a crack of the Indian whip! Plus, of course, miss Teertha has entered the dungeon-room!

I only wish the throbbing sting in my bare back and shoulders would grind to a halt also, but I fear it shall linger with me for some time yet – especially in and around those overlays!

The sweet mary-janes climb down, and a familiar pair of much less sweet-looking, steel-toecapped, blocky-heeled, black leather kneeboots replace them on the footrest – though the boots are, for the most part, hidden beneath those damned, navy-blue, uniform trouser-hems again!

You wouldn’t know they were an Indian girl’s boots – were she not conversing in Hindi with her fellow, now talkative, officer-mistress. Perhaps if I could speak Hindi officer-mistress Padmal would be more inclined to boss me about verbally?

Anyway, I am soon left alone with the unforgiving, and cold-to-the-kiss, steel-toecapped jackboots of the somewhat sturdier, Indian officer-mistress, miss Teertha – a beautiful , but stockily-built, young Desi woman.

Having kissed the cold steel, I brace myself for the inevitable kick-start to the face from one of those self-same, unforgiving, steel toecaps:

Kick!

‘Move, slave!’

I see stars, so harsh is the cold steel, chisel-shaped boot-toe on my prone and vulnerable, treadmill-prisoner face!

Looking on the bright side, however, I know from experience that I won’t be receiving any more whip-cuts during this next three hours of miss Teertha’s half-shift – which will take us up to midnight. She’s not a whipper – but she is a kicker; very much so! In fact, I can only assume she chose to buy a pair of heavy, steel-toecapped kneeboots precisely because she enjoys kicking helpless and vulnerable treadmill-prisoners like me in the face so much.

And she is perfectly within her female rights to do so! This is a male prison, after all!

I just hope she doesn’t damage my teeth with her steel toecaps, for, unlike officer-mistress Galina, I have no chance of receiving any dental treatment should I require it! The Female Health Service is certainly not for the likes of me – a dirty, male prisoner slave – so any resultant toothache would simply have to be endured along with my continual face ache and back ache!

As expected, stocky officer-mistress Teertha gaily kicks me with abandonment throughout her stint on the treadmill driver’s chair – and, unlike her much shyer and more diffident colleague, miss Padmal, miss Teertha does like to reinforce her kicks to my face with verbal commands:

‘Kick!…Move faster, slave!...Kick!... Faster!...Kick!…Faster!’

Throughout the onslaught of Indian-girl, steel toecap on my face I am semi-conscious of the fact that officer-mistress Teertha is, almost certainly, wearing a pair of garish, multicoloured, cartoon-themed socks inside her kneehigh boots – not that I have the remotest chance of seeing said girlsocks today, of course, well-hidden as they are deep inside her warming, winter kneeboots.

But I know about her Indian-girl sock-preferences because, in the spring and summer months, she will often wear her black, low-top, lace-up sneakers to work – and then her ubiquitous, cartoon-themed socks are very much on view in front of my bruised and mesmerized, treadmill face! (Her summer sneakers are, naturally, much softer on the face than her steel-toecapped, winter boots, but she compensates for this by even more frequent kicks to my treadmill nose and cheekbones!)

There is no reason to think she would not be wearing similar, cartoon socks inside her kneehigh boots during the wintertime, and so I torment myself with the thought that the socks protecting her podgy, Indian-girl toes and fleshy, brown ankles inside her reinforced-toecapped boots are laughing at me and mocking me, the way cartoon socks are supposed to do!

My face is well boot-bruised by the end of miss Teertha’s 3 hour shift; I should be truly grateful it was only a half-shift today!

But I am actually sorry to see her go as her steel toecaps climb down from the chair, and as she then turns out the light before locking me away in the deserted, pitch dark dungeon-kitchenette; for I love being under her booted, female power! It keeps me on her steelcapped-toes!

After she has gone, I ruminate in the pitch darkness about all my treadmill officer-mistresses of the day, and internally praise and bless them for disciplining me with their respective shoes and boots, as befits a penitent and diligent footslave-prisoner.

In particular, I think about officer-mistress Dai-Yu graciously performing oral sex on her boyfriend, master sir Alistair, and I imagine myself humbly sniffing her crumpled up, black and yellow bootsocks in the corner of her boyfriend’s bedroom as I drift off to a fitful sleep on my cruel treadmill…