Aspects of Footslavery

Aspects of everyday footslavery in the Gynarchy

Aspect no. 1 - Sleeping Beauty

She looks dog-tired, though she is far from looking like a dog! In fact, she is a very beautiful, slim and petite, blonde-haired and sleepy blue-eyed, blue-uniformed air-stewardess.

But she is tired because she has been on her dainty, navy-blue-court-shoed and tan-nyloned feet all day - walking incessantly up and down the aisle of the long-haul plane, attending dutifully to her passengers' every need. Now that she is on her way home on the train, she just wants to sleep, and has fetchingly dozed off whilst resting her weary, blonde head on the table in front of her.

Underneath the train-carriage table is another fetching scene - that of her weary feet tucked around her kneeling footslave's head. What's more, her nyloned toes are resting on top of her shoes (as her feet are clearly killing her!), and thus the personal footslave is surrounded by her sweaty-nylon footstink as her warm, nylon-stockinged ankles somnolently cradle his imprisoned temples.

He too is dog-tired, but, unlike his superior mistress above him, he actually resembles a dirty dog - for he is clearly relishing the pungent aroma of his air-stewardess mistress's sweaty feet as she subconsciously wriggles her tan-nylon-covered toes beneath him! Also unlike her, he cannot catnap, being a human dog, and instead his nose is continuously twitching, eager to inhale the unique, but very personal, aroma of his personal air-stewardess mistress's sweaty, nyloned feet.

Even if he wanted to avoid the stale smell of sweaty, female feet he could not, for his blonde, air-stewardess mistress has him ably ankle-scissored on the dirty floor of the train beneath her, whilst she dreams of showering, and then making love to her sex-starved fiancé whom she is soon to marry!

Needless to say, the pathetic, nylon-imprisoned manservant beneath her feet will not be having sex with her or accompanying her down the aisle anytime soon, for he is most definitely not her sexual-partner; he is merely her slave. The only aisle he shall be accompanying her down again is the aisle of the plane - crawling submissively behind her to shapely, uniformed, nylon-stockinged heel!

 

Aspect no. 2 - Acts of Bootworship

She is new to the office and she is causing quite a stir - the Pakistani-Muslim girl in the modest, plain black headscarf; the frilly white blouse; and the navy-blue jacket with matching navy-blue trousers tucked into the tops of her black leather, knee-length boots. She looks a bit like a Cossack from the waist down - and quite a portly waist it is too!

But she also knows her own mind - the mind of a Pakistani mistress - and immediately upon her introduction to the office bootboy she gaily informs him that he shall be required to worship her boots regularly every day in the privacy of the office Faith Room. He shall be required, she informs him, to kiss her boots 70 times from creased top to scuffmarked toe on 7 separate occasions throughout the working day in accordance with her Muslim-Gynarchy traditions.

This is precisely what's causing such a stir amongst her female office-colleagues; when is this new girl ever going to get any work done?!

For the elderly, office bootboy, though, the news seemed like manna from heaven - for having to kiss-worship a fat, haughty, black-headscarfed, Pakistani-Muslim girl's scuffmarked and dusty kneeboots 7 times a day, whilst she is still wearing them, is surely every office-footslave's dream come true!

He hadn't reckoned, though, on the jealousy of her non-Muslim counterparts, and on their insistence on similar acts of bootworship on their equally scruffy, secular-girl boots! After just 3 months of constant female bootkissing his mouth became dry, and he collapsed with bootworship-exhaustion and had to be retired to the underground slave-mines.

Being an office bootslave to an office full of bossy and competitive, young women is truly a young manservant's game!

 

Aspect no. 3 - A Prickly Pair

From a distance they seemed innocuous enough – a loving, young, oriental couple walking arm in arm in the evening, spring sunshine, she modestly attired in a stripy-blue top; dark blue, skintight, denim jeans; stripy blue socks; and a pair of somewhat incongruous looking leopard-skin flats.

I didn’t really notice what he was wearing.

But as the couple approached I noticed something was shining on her shoes – something on them was reflecting the sunlight! It got curiouser and curiouser as she casually approached my public footlick-stand, until I was able to see the cause of the sparkling sunlight reflection on her flat, leopard-skin shoes – lots of little, metal spikes, gleaming with pride, like their oriental owner, at being at the cutting edge of flat-shoe fashion!

The spikes spelt danger, as the seemingly modest and demure young, Chinese woman, still with her arm around her boyfriend’s waist for love and protection, stretched forth her right, spiked foot onto the ground-level footblock beneath my face:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave shine Bao-Yu spiky shoes…make spikes nice and shine! You make sure not cut slave-lip on spikes, for Bao-Yu not want dirty, slave blood on nice, clean, leopard-skin shoe! Ha! Ha!’

Her oriental boyfriend kindly chips in his pennyworth at this point:

‘Ha! Ha! You bow before my girlfriend dirty shoe, ugly slave! You do as she say – kiss; lick; make spikes shine. You cut lip and dirty my girlfriend shoe with blood – I cut open your back with whip! You understand, dirty slave of superior, Chinese-girl shoe?’

‘Y…yes, m…master sir. This slave will be ultra-careful and respectful of the beautiful, young mistress’s spiky shoe, if it so p…pleases you all p…powerful, young m…master sir! Please don’t beat me master sir!’

The couple laugh at me – the stuttering, impotent, imperilled footslave – and then kiss one another on their totally unimperilled lips; a long, lingering, passionate kiss which causes the Chinese girl’s outstretched, blue-stripy-socked foot to flex inside its spiked-leopard-skin shoe directly beneath my humbly bowed face. Oh how I wish, right now, that I was commanded merely to lick soft, stripy-blue girlsock – for there would surely be no danger of that cute, soft and inviting sock cutting my mouth open!

But as for these sexy, flat shoes? I audibly gulp as my mouth goes gingerly down onto the first of the prickly pair…

 

Aspect no. 4 – Pleasing my Polite, Pakistani Mistress

My 22 year old mistress Haleema is such a polite girl – so well brought up by her Pakistani parents, and respectful of her elders; even of me – her elderly, personal footslave:

‘Slave, will you kindly to be kissing my foot please?’

‘Slave, be fetching me my black socks from my sock-drawer and putting them on my feet, if you would be being so kind please?’

‘Slave come here! I’m afraid I have been stepping in some mud! Please to be removing it from my shoes this instant with your tongue!’

‘Please be taking off your shirt, slave; I am going to be horse-whipping you now!’ (Yes, she even permits me – a slave – to wear a shirt, albeit a horsehair shirt!)

‘I am so sorry that I have been having to whip you so sorely just now! You must be learning to be obeying me much more diligently, isn’t it? Now be kissing my feet please!’

I do try to constantly please my polite, Pakistani mistress – by forsaking all other women’s feet and keeping my eyes only onto hers, even though she tends to wear boring, old flats and I am very much a ‘heels’ manservant. But I know what’s good for me – and what’s good for me is being the personal footslave of such a kind and thoughtful, young footmistress. Especially at my age, when the underground slave-mines beckon as I outlive my footslave-usefulness!

I’m sure my mistress Haleema would prefer a much younger, hunkier model; she’s just too polite to say!

 

Aspect no. 5 - A Footslave's Flattery

20 year old, blonde airhead, customer-mistress Jessica - she of the above average good-looks and below average, female intelligence - has finally passed her exam resits and is off to Female Uni!

It is my role, as her local, public footservant on the sink estate where she lives, to fawn to her and congratulate her - for she is clearly a good-looking, blonde-haired, young chav-woman who is going places, whilst I shall remain languishing here for the rest of my miserable existence.

And rightly so - for I'm just a dumbass, ugly, middle-aged, male slave!

As she climbs up onto the graffiti-ridden, sink-estate, plastic shoelick-seat of power above me in her grey anorak for one last time - beaming with pride at her intellectual achievement - I verbally flatter her, whilst routinely kissing her scruffy, white keds and black anklesocks beneath her skin-tight, pink cotton, jean-hems:

'Oh pray, pretty miss Jessica...kiss to dirty white keds sneaker-toe...kiss to dirty white keds sneaker-toe...if you'll forgive me, most beautiful and clever miss Jessica...kiss to bobbled and creased black anklesock...kiss to bobbled and creased black anklesock...please permit this dirty slave to congratulate the eminent, young mistress on her admission to university, miss...kiss to dirty white keds sneaker-toe...kiss to bobbled and creased black anklesock...if you would be so kind to a lowly and ignorant, public footservant, miss...kiss to bobbled and creased black anklesock...kiss to dusty and frayed pink jean-hem...'

Yes, I know that last kiss to a young lady's dusty jean-hem was somewhat presumptuous and audacious, but you have to grab every footslavish opportunity in life with both lips - just as mistress Jessica is grabbing the opportunity to go to university - and I am taking a calculated gamble that the blonde wearer of the scruffy and frayed, pink jean-hem will be in such a good mood today that she will overlook my indiscretion and forwardness, bamboozled as she is by my slimy and verbose, footslavish unctuousness!

I'm right - she just laughs at me from on high:

'Ha! Ha!... Just fink, slave, you'll never get to see or kiss my sneakers and socks again as I'll soon be leavin' this dump forever when I goes to Uni, innit though? Ha! Ha!...'

It's a deliberately cruel and cutting comment – for miss Jessica is a blonde-haired, young woman in her absolute prime, and therefore my infinite better; and she damn well knows it! It is always an honour for the likes of me, a middle-aged, male footslave, to kiss her familiar, scruffy, unkempt, everyday, student-girl keds and socks, however unremarkable they may seem to the outside world.

I start to sob tears of genuine frustration and regret!

Blonde-airhead miss Jessica smiles triumphantly down at me:

'Ha! Ha!... Aww...there, there; don't cry, slave! Here, I'll leave you wiv somefing to remind you of me...and give you somefing to cry about at the same time though, innit?...Ha! Ha!...'

And with that she reaches for the communal-use whipping stick and beats me hard with it across my bare shoulder - just the once, but much harder than she has ever beaten me before!

I can feel the burning, red weal forming instantly on my back:

'Aoowww!...Oh!...Oh pray, mistress!...sob...sob...Oh thank you, mistress!...kiss to dirty white keds sneaker-toe...kiss to bobbled and creased black anklesock... God bless you, mistress Jessica!...kiss to bobbled and creased black anklesock...'

I daren't kiss her scruffy, pink jean-hem again - not whilst the whipping-stick is still in her ingenious, blonde-girl hand!

 

Aspect no. 6 - Lowering the Tone

My mistress  Yolande is a very bubbly and vivacious, black girl of West African origins - outgoing, sociable and gregarious; someone who always likes to see the best in other free people, and who always has a big, broad, West African smile and a cheery word to say to them in her naturally ebullient and squeaky, high-pitched voice:

'Hi, Samantha! Nice to see you again! You're looking well; how's it going?'

Or,

'Paul! Great to have you back - we've really missed you! Ha! Ha! How's Gloria?'

Or,

'Ha! Ha! I heard about your good news, Annabelle! Ha! Ha! Many congratulations! I'm so pleased for you!'

She likes to wear bright and loud clothing to match her bright and cheery disposition too – especially brightly-coloured, ankle-length, traditional-style, African dresses, with multicoloured, stripy anklesocks and somewhat incongruous, black leather, chunky-heeled and round-toed, zip-up ankleboots!

But in amongst all the African-girl quirkiness, brightness and vivaciousness, her mood will suddenly darken, and she will momentarily lower her tone to speak to me - her personal boot and sock slave:

'Slave, kiss my boot.'

'Slave, straighten my sock.'

'Slave, rub my feet.'

And the most dark and ominous of all:

'Slave, fetch my whip!'

By lowering her tone and delivering her commandments to me in such uncharacteristically curt and abrupt language she is audibly demonstrating to all and sundry around her the utter contempt in which she holds me, and my sub-human status. For I am not worthy of her polite and cheery conversation - I'm just a slave! And by speaking to me in such a disdainful way she can continue to beat and abuse me with a clear conscience, since I am clearly not her friend, or even her equal; I am her inferior, and she is my infinite better!

They call it 'mistress-speak' - and my mistress Yolande speaks it fluently!

Aspect no. 7 – Rejection

She is a beautiful, petite and dark-haired, Chinese girl - and as she surveys the footslaves on sale in the slave market accompanied by her freemale partner, who is also young and Chinese, I am determined to sell myself to this happy couple!

I am determined to sell myself not just because she is so beautiful, and not just because she is wearing a nice pair of flat, brown leather loafers with plain white anklesocks beneath her dark grey jean-hems, but because the Arab slave-trader - master Abdulqadir sir - requires us to attempt to sell ourselves, under pain of the whip every evening if we fail to do so; and, after three weeks on the footslave-market, my back is now very red and sore!

I therefore make my move on the modestly-attired, Chinese mistress as she approaches the corner of the market where I am kneeling and - still arm in arm with her boyfriend - stretches forth her right foot beneath my humbly-bowed face in order to test out the merchandise.

I feverishly and enthusiastically kiss her not just on her dusty, brown leather, rounded flat-shoe toe; I also kiss her on the exposed, white cotton anklesock - right in amongst her white cotton sock-creases! And I simultaneously grovel and fawn to her, verbally expressing my desire to be her loyal footservant, if she will only have me:

'Oh pray, Chinese mistress, if it pleases you most beautiful and sweet Chinese mistress - and most strong and powerful young Chinese master-sir - truly this slave would be honoured to be the personal footslave of the most respected, young mistress-madam, if you would be so kind and generous to a lowly, elderly footslave, miss? Oh pray, beautiful young Chinese mistress! Oh pray! Truly this slave will be a good and diligent footslave to you, miss! This slave will worship and honour your shoes and socks day and night, young mistress, and will forsake all other female shoes and socks for the glory of the mistress! Oh mistress - please purchase me mistress, that I may lick the dirt from the soles of your brown leather shoes, and sniff the sweat on your pure, white socks, miss - for I will be a good and diligent footslave for the mistress, if it pleases you most magnificent young, oriental mistress-madam and most handsome young, oriental master-sir? Oh pray, mistress! Oh pray, master! Pray buy me for the pretty mistress!'

The couple laugh above me as she deftly switches her Chinese-loafered feet on the dusty ground beneath my face, and say something to one another in Mandarin.

It suddenly occurs to me that they might not even speak English, and they all my obsequious, slave-speak efforts to sell myself may have been in vain! But, hopefully, this bright, young Chinese woman can still sense my devotion and eagerness to please in my forthright shoe and sock kissing.

...............................................................................................

She moves off - and doesn't return.

Epic fail! There will be yet more whip-marks for me tonight!

 

Aspect no. 8 - The Slapper

50 year old, regular customer-mistress Tahira is a slapper - a face-slapper that is! She loves to slap a helpless, trussed-up, public shoelicker across his prone and vulnerable face on the slightest excuse, and sometimes purely on a womanly whim!

Some women - especially middle-aged women like Pakistani-headscarfed mistress Tahira - are just like that; they love to punish and exert their middle-aged, female authority over a male servant in a way that appears both unpremeditated (though it is often quite the opposite!) and hateful (though often it's because, I suspect, the lady harbours secret desires upon the younger male at her feet and is quite simply frustrated at her inability to satiate her female-predatory, sexual appetites on him, given her far too superior, social status over him; polite, female society would never forgive a superior, Pakistani-Muslim lady like madam Tahira having sexual congress with a dirty, lowlife footslave like myself - even if she is widowed!).

They are, therefore, I like to think, slaps of sexual frustration more than anything else - a sublimation of middle-aged, female desire, more than a demonstration of outright hatred.

Whatever their motivation, they still sting - and can leave a slapped footslave feeling dazed, fearful and confused!

With frustrated, middle-aged customer-mistress Tahira, for example - the dilemma I always face is whether or not to kiss her brown, bare footskin within her ubiquitous, shiny, black patent leather, high-heeled mules beneath her tapered-at-the-ankles, silken, shalwar trouser-hems. For there is plenty of soft, fat, middle-aged, Muslim-woman footflesh there to kiss!

However, on the last two occasions alone I have been variously slapped for:

SLAP!

• Inadvertently brushing my nose against her bare, fat, brown-skinned ankles whilst lickshining her pretty shoes (as it was deemed to be a sign of footslavish carelessness towards a superior mistress’s beautiful, brown ankleflesh)

SLAP!

• Advertently brushing my nose against her bare, fat, brown-skinned ankles whilst lickshining her pretty shoes (as it was seen as a sign of 'unseemly footslavish lust' towards a superior mistress’s beautiful, brown ankleflesh)

SLAP!

• Failing to brush my nose against her bare, fat, brown-skinned ankles whilst lickshining her pretty shoes (apparently because it demonstrated my insulting lack of maleslave desire for a superior mistress’s beautiful, brown ankleflesh)

SLAP!

• Failing to lickshine her black patent leather shoes with sufficient vigour ('you missed a bit, you damned stupid slave!')

SLAP!

• Lickshining her black patent leather shoes too vigorously (such that I was in danger of licking away the patent leather surfaces of the shoes)

SLAP!

• Respecting her 20 year old, hijab-wearing daughter, miss Samira, by complementing her on her nice, black leather kneeboots, beneath her modesty-preserving, kneelength skirt and black woolly tights, whilst lickshining them vigorously in her mother's presence (misinterpreted, again, as unseemly lust towards her daughter on my part)

SLAP!

SLAP! (Both mother and daughter slapped my face for this next perceived insult)

• Disrespecting her 20 year old, hijab-wearing daughter, miss Samira, by not complementing her on her nice, black leather kneeboots and black, woolly tights, beneath her modesty-preserving, kneelength skirt, whilst lickshining them (misinterpreted as arrogant, maleslavish disinterest in her daughter on my part)

SLAP!

SLAP! (Again, both mother and daughter slapped my face for the following perceived insult)

• Crying out unmanfully in pain at the foregoing capricious, female slaps

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

• Not crying out unmanfully in pain at the subsequent, female slaps

So you see, it's no wonder I'm dazed and confused at the feet of a couple of slappers like mistress Tahira and her daughter, miss Samira! I can seemingly do no right - except to accept my mistress Tahira’s slaps with humility and resignation, whilst turning my other cheek for her daughter, miss Samira, to slap at will (her own, pretty, Muslim-girl face protected by her stylish, hijab-veil!)

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

Those last 4 face-slaps were, apparently, for talking to you when I should have been concentrating on madam Tahira's divine, middle-aged feet!

SLAP it into me!

P.S. Incidentally, those knee-high boots of miss Samira's - very Muslim-girl modesty preserving! They even had only partial zips on the sides - over the ankle areas - so that she didn't have to unzip the whole of the side of her boot like some slapper, just so as to afford my dirty, maleslave tongue access to her black-woolly-tighted anklebone - a touch of class, and a sure sign of a well-brought-up young, Pakistani-Muslim lady!

 

Aspect no. 9 -  Bodily Modifications

My thin and wiry, 30 year old, greasy-blonde, personal footmistress Yvette is fully aware that her feet and ankles are not the most attractive to look at. Her skinny legs and ankles make her feet look inordinately large - and the situation is not helped by her penchant for wearing dirty-white, almost cream-coloured, ballet-flats with contrasting, black, nylon tights, as the creaminess of the ballet flats only serves to accentuate the size of her veiny feet against the backdrop of her dark-nylons!

But my mistress Yvette always opts for comfort over style; she is not some floozy out to attract a mate - she is a spindly spinster, and happily so!

She knows, however, that a dirty, lecherous footslave like myself needs some help in concentrating all the time on her relatively unattractive, veiny and bony, nyloned feet, and therefore she has kindly done all of the following in order to 'modify' my behaviour:

• She has welded a pair of black leather blinkers into my temples so that, whilst I am kneeling at her white-ballet-flated and dark-nyloned, veiny feet and bony ankles, I am not distracted by the more attractively-shod feet of other women (a nice touch is that the blinkers have the words 'foot' and 'slave' emblazoned in big, bold, white lettering on the insides as a constant reminder to me of my lowly status in life!)
• She has surrounded my neck with a heavy, wooden slave-collar known as a 'cangue', which forces me to permanently bow my neck over her unattractive feet as I kneel next to them; attempting to raise my head by even an inch causes intolerably painful muscle-spasms in my wood-imprisoned neck and shoulders!
• She has fitted my brain with an electronic 'concentrator' device which compels me to think only of her feet, ballet-flats, and lower tights - and to think only worshipful thoughts at that! Any deviation from this electronically-set 'norm' leads to my experiencing a shockingly painful jolt of electricity through my pathetic, footslave mind!
• She requires me to perpetually kiss her feet throughout the day, be they bare, bare-nyloned, or fully shod in her ubiquitous, cream-coloured, supposedly white ballet-flats (this makes her a so-called 'perpetuant' mistress, requiring constant oral attention to her feet - the most foot-demanding type of footmistress!)
• She regularly beats me with a thin and wiry cane, from the nape of my neck to the base of my spine - just to remind me who's boss, and whose feet I am enslaved under! (I must say, for a skinny-armed girl she can sure pack quite a punch with the rattan cane; my bare back is always very sore!)

All of these bodily modifications help to mortify my naturally-wandering, male-footslave lusts, such that I am not even distracted by the black leather, chunky-heeled, round-toed, zipped-up ankleboots and bright purple bootsocks of her beautiful, plump, 19 year old, neighbouring office-desk colleague miss Priscil...AAAOOOWW!

That's the cruel concentrator device kicking in!

 

Aspect no. 10 - The Loser

In my previous, pre-enslavement existence I was a suitor for her affections - but my love was not reciprocated. Abigail (whom I must now address as 'customer-mistress Abigail madam') only had eyes for my love-rival Stuart (whom I must now address as 'master Stuart sir' ), and between them they successfully brought about my downfall by falsely accusing me of making unwanted sexual advances on her (all I did was buy her some flowers) as a result of which I was sentenced by the Female Court to life imprisonment as a public footslave.

Mistress Abigail madam and master Stuart sir then went on to marry, and set up their conjugal love-nest together nearby to where I was enslaved, just so that they could visit me often and gloat over my slavish misfortune!

And so, as she is seated above me on my public-shoelick stall right now - her black-leather, anklebooted feet resting on the two metal footrests in front of my permanently kneeling face, and with just a hint of her black cotton, cartoon-decorated bootsocks showing beneath her hitched-up, trouser hems - I face, yet again, the unutterable humiliation of having to publicly lickshine blonde, 30 something, regular customer-mistress Abigail's street-soiled bootleather whilst my victorious, erstwhile love-rival, master Stuart sir, gloatingly looks on:

'Ha! Ha! That's right, slave - clean my beautiful, blonde wife's boots with your tongue, and think about where my tongue will be going when I get her back into bed later this evening! Ha! Ha!'

They both laugh at me - for we all know he is referring to her vagina; lucky man!

'Yes, master Stuart sir. This slave obeys his masters and betters, master Stuart sir!'

And with that I continue to obediently lick his smiling, lovestruck wife's dirty ankleboots whilst she embraces the potent master-sir above me, triumphant in the knowledge that she chose the right man, for she is now pregnant by him - again!