Gynarchy Glimpses (iii)
More glimpses of daily life in the glorious Gynarchy of Barbaria
Magnificent mistress Millicent – the tall, black girl from Despatch – towers over me like a veritable, female colossus as she sits above me on the office-corridor, shoelick-throne of female power, having her black leather, zipped-up, chunky-heeled and round-toed ankleboots dutifully lickshined.
Magnificently, she has hitched-up her black cotton, trouser hems to reveal the elasticated tops of her plain, black, ankle-length bootsocks;
Magnificently, she insists that I keep my eyes off her socks (and the pleasing backdrop of her soft, brown legskin) and that I concentrate fully on her black bootleather;
Magnificently, she is having me kiss her boots 100 times – on the slightly scuffmarked, rounded toe-areas – before I give them a leisurely lick and a shine (for magnificent, mistress Millicent never seems to be overly-burdened with urgent work in Despatch!);
Magnificently, she has me eulogise her boots whilst I am kissing them; she makes me spell out to her my unworthiness to be her public-corridor bootlicker, through the medium of humble slavespeak; and she laps it all up;
Magnificently, she uses the office, slave-whipping stick to subsequently point to the areas of black feminine ankleboot she requires me to lickshine, beginning with the same, scuffmarked toe-areas I have just been kissing; proceeding to her street-soiled, black leather, shapely insteps; then up the sides of her boots, including the zipper tracks; then the fronts of her boots, including the distinctive line of central boot-stitching; then the backs of her boots, beginning with the chunky, black heels; and finally her upper boot-rims – taking great pains not to stare at her black-cotton socktops and bare skin, as she has already stipulated (as you know) that my boot-polishing eyes must remain downcast and focussed on her outer bootleather at all times;
Magnificently, she kicks my face away from her with the now lickshiny toe of her right boot, once she is satisfied that I have finished;
Magnificently, she then climbs down from the raised bootlick-chair, and saunters off down the corridor towards her office without so much as a by-your-leave, or a word of gratitude or thanks for my obedient tonguework on her magnificent, black-girl boots;
And yet, if truth be told, miss Millicent (‘Millie’ to her friends and work colleagues) is not, objectively-speaking, all that magnificent. In fact, most of her fellow free-persons would probably describe her as a fairly ordinary-looking, if somewhat ‘ungainly’ and gauche, young black woman of above-average height, but below-average ability; a quiet and unassuming ‘black girl next door’ type!
It is only from my humble perspective, as an impotent footslave kneeling on the office-corridor floor, that she assumes goddess-like status, and soars magnificently over all that she surveys – particularly me. I am not even worthy to look her in the black bootsock – let alone the eye – for heaven’s sake! And that is why her innate, feminine superiority is magnified a thousand times, in my little world!
To me, she is the living epitome of Black-Gynarchy power; all is magnificently black!
His job is to wash feet - the feet of the female public.
Let's observe him at work, via the CCTV footage from inside his footwashing booth.
The first thing you will notice is that he is a prisoner inside his booth – which resembles a toilet cubicle. He is ignominiously chained up on his hands and knees, and his neck is weighed down by a hefty, wooden neck-collar, or 'cangue' (some people call it a 'wooden ruff' – a play on the word 'rough', since it resembles the former neck-adornment of old, though it is made of unfinished, unvarnished and rough wood, rather than fine linen or silk!)
He is kneeling in front of a podium on which the lady member of the public will be seated above him in a comfortable, straight-backed chair – her feet testing on a ledge directly at his kneeling-face level. Next to the ledge is his necessary, footwashing equipment – a foot-sized bowl (lady-footsized, that is!); a tap, through which he can fill the bowl with fresh, soothingly warm water; an array of clean towels; a temporary container for the lady-customer's discarded shoes and socks; and a laundry basket for the used foot-towels.
That's all he needs! He has no need, for example, of a drain in which to pour away his female customers' dirty footwater, for he must simply drink it all!
Let us watch how he serves this next young lady-customer as she confidently enters his booth. She locks the cubicle door behind her, so that she has some privacy (though we, fortunately, can observe her on CCTV!) and climbs up onto the comfy chair on the raised dais in front of the kneeling, cangued footslave.
She is pretty – blonde-ponytailed; slim and petite; mid-twenties, would you say? She is dressed in the garb of a smart and successful, young businesswoman, consisting of a black cotton trouser-suit over a frilly and revealing, white blouse, and a pair of chunky-heeled, black leather ankleboots.
Let's zoom in on the boots (rather than her chest!); they look quite dusty, but then it is late afternoon, and she has probably been on her feet for much of the day, going to business meetings; commuting etc. Her feet, like her boots, are tired and sweaty – which is precisely why she has come into the footwashing booth in order to have her dainty, female, working feet refreshed!
I like the scuffmarks on the rounded toes of her zipped-up ankleboots – they demonstrate that she's not ashamed or embarrassed to impose her unkempt feet and footwear on the lowly, public footservant who is kneeling in front of her feet; at least, not in the privacy of the footbooth!
She doesn't need to snap any female orders down at him, for she can only be here for one thing – to have her feet washed. This is, after all, a footwashing booth! So she merely unfolds her city newspaper, and starts to nonchalantly read it whilst the public footwasher gets down to work on her feet.
They are both minding their own business – the superior mistress and the inferior slave!
Note how he doesn't just unzip her boots, and remove them from her feet, without first paying his respects to them by kissing them. He kisses them several times each on the scuffmarked toes, for they are the boots of his young-female better (I reckon the dirty slave must be in his early fifties – or maybe he just looks older, having had a rough life, burdened down by his unsightly, wooden 'ruff'!)
Having kissed the boots he then proceeds to unzip them – with his teeth (I guess he is deemed unworthy to unzip them with his fingers), revealing a pair of nice, plain black cotton, ankle-length bootsocks.
Again we zoom in, as soon as the boots are fully off. The socks look sweaty and worn, with greying patches along the insteps. And they are heavily bobbled and creased on the uppers – inevitably so, having been on the pretty, young, blonde businesswoman's feet inside her warm boots all day.
He must be surrounded right now by her sweaty-sock stink, but note how he doesn't baulk at kissing her socks, and even sniffing them – on the moistest parts, around the dainty toe-areas. He knows better than to disrespect a sweaty, feminine bootsock!
He removes each damp, black sock in turn by his teeth, gently grabbing hold of them in his mouth at the sweaty toe-areas and pulling them off her ankles and feet. He then respectfully places them next to the sweaty, discarded, black ankleboots in the temporary container set aside for that purpose.
So he can still smell them whilst he works – even over the aroma of her pasty-white, bare feet!
We zoom in again. It's been a while since these pasty-white feet saw any sunlight in sandals, but then, it is still the wintertime. I also wonder when those pretty, sock-marked feet last saw water? It's been a few days, I reckon – judging by the almost imperceptible grimace on the footwashing-slave's face! Did you see it? Ha! Ha! You'd think he'd be used to a bit of feminine foot odour – in his permanently kneeling position?
Anyway, before we zoom out again, note the prominent, blue veins on the young, blonde lady's feet – and the little flecks of sweaty, black sock-lint from her inner socks. Those will soon be washed off (the traces of sock-lint, I mean – not the blue veins!) or possibly even kissed off, since, yet again, the public footslave must respectfully kiss the young woman's feet – in the sweaty and veiny raw this time – before getting down to the main business in hand; that of gently placing her greasy, white, blue-veiny feet into the bowl of fresh, warm water, and sponging her workaday ankles – with his tongue!
See how his tongue also gets to work in between her toes – removing not just any little pieces of clammy, black sock-lint, but also the equally clammy lumps of sweaty, black toejam. Indeed, her toejam is starting to discolour the water. I hate to think what that dirty footwater will do to his insides once he has to drink it!
I suppose the blue-cheesy aroma of her feet must now be dissipating in front of him, as her natural footsweat is diluted in the water; but he still has the stinky aroma of her nearby boots and socks to poison his working environment!
Note how he traces each blue-blooded, ankle vein with his tongue – truly these are the feet of his female better!
Having respectfully tonguewashed the blonde girl's feet, he dries them in a fluffy, white towel (some mistresses, I'm told, like to dry their feet on a slave's hair – but this slave hasn't got any; he's as bald as a coot!)
Having thoroughly dried her feet, he kisses them, before putting her still-sweaty boots and socks back onto them – again by mouth; no mean feat in a footslave! And speaking of mean feet, have you noticed how the slave hasn't taken his humble eyes off the smart, young woman's feet and/or footwear throughout the entire process? That's quite impressive, really (though, on reflection, I suppose the heavy cangue-ruff prevents him from looking up at her!)
Resocked and rebooted, she finally puts down her newspaper to watch the slave drinking her dirty footwater. She then smirks beneath her blonde ponytail, before climbing down from the raised chair and silently exiting the footbooth – her feet pleasantly washed and refreshed, though still inside her hot and sweaty ankleboots and socks!
So, what was the point you may ask?
Simple – humiliation and degradation of the slave. She just wanted to feel superior to someone; and now she does!
The footslave’s masters and betters are tucking into a hearty breakfast!
Slave at the Noisy Breakfast Table by patheticus on GoAnimate
The pretty, young, Indonesian woman in the white headscarf, dark anorak, dark jeans, and white sneakers is pointing up at me on the auction block:
‘I want that one, husband!’
Her bald-headed, indulgent husband obliges her, and bids for me.
Happily, he wins the bid, and before I know it I am being bundled and branded with my new, personal slave-markings.
My new owners survey their new property:
‘Now that we own him, let us take our new slave to our home and whip him, husband!’
‘Yes, my darling! And afterwards I will make him smell your sneakers and socks!’
I am clearly under new management – and it will be a cruel management at that!
A fat mistress enjoys a spot of lunch – and a simultaneous lunchtime bootshine!
Her Lunchbreak by patheticus on GoAnimate
The normally quite placid and chilled-out, Indian commuter customer-mistress – miss Abha – is visibly tense as she steps up onto the railway-station, shoelick throne in front of me. Her dainty, Indian-office-girl feet are vibrating incessantly up and down on their metal footrests, causing her plain, black anklesocks to crease and fold multitudinously in front of my footrest-level face beneath her flapping, grey-cotton, business-suit, trouser hems, and inside her smart, patent black leather, two-inch-heeled pumps.
And the reason for all her uncharacteristic foot-agitation? It seems that her train home is severely delayed – due to a broken down train somewhere down the line!
Gentle soul though she customarily is, I must tread carefully with my lips on her irritable shoeleather this evening – for, being an ‘employee’ of Gynarchy railways (in so far as my public-shoelick patch is on their premises) she, of course, blames me for the delay to her train.
And I am an easy fall-guy for her female frustration – being a semi-naked, kneeling, male slave at her feet; my bare back and shoulders are invitingly close to the commuter-use, brown leather punishment-belt which hangs on the railway station wall next to my hangdog-head (the ironically named ‘commuter belt’!)
I can sense that her delicate, brown fingers are twitching almost as much as her black pumps and socks – looking for something to do to pass the time whilst she waits for the line to be cleared. And all she needs is the flimsiest of excuses for her pretty hands to grab hold of that painful commuter-belt – and to bring it crashing down upon me!
So – no messing with her this evening! I get straight down to angry Indian-girl shoeshining – with my tongue, of course! Her snappy tone of voice indicates that she is definitely in no mood for mistress/slave pleasantries this evening:
‘Slave, be lickshining the filth off my shoes! And do not be touching my socks with your dirty, diseased mouth!’
‘Yes, mistress Abha! At once, goddess customer-mistress Abha!’
I presume by ‘diseased’ mouth she means ‘covered in germs’ mouth – from lickshining the dirty boots and shoes of my previous customer-mistresses? When you think about it, I must be ingesting germs all the time from the public female footwear I am obliged to lickshine! I expect my footslave-breath even reeks of feminine boot and shoeleather, so no wonder this haughty, and tonight uptight, young Indian businesswoman chooses to turn her nose up at me, and view me as a germ-ridden object of street-filth!
On a normal day I would enquire after miss Abha’s well-being, and politely offer to nose-straighten any wrinkles in her black business-socks; often with a positive, if condescending, response! But today she is clearly in no mood for an impromptu sock-nuzzling! I think she sees my denial of sock as her way of punishing me for the delay to her train. She knows I love nuzzling her soft, Indian-girl, business socks, and surreptitiously breathing in their warm, sweaty, end-of-workday aroma as she sits having her commuter shoes lickshined prior to her (normally stress-free) journey home!
But this evening her train, as we know, is delayed – and so I must be punished for that, by focussing on her shoes alone!
WHACK!
She suddenly reaches down and smacks me with the back of her pretty, commuter hand across my right cheek:
‘YOU ARE MISSING A BIT, ISN’T IT STUPID SLAVE? THERE – BY MY HEEL!’
Ouch! That was a belter! Miss Abha really is in a foul mood this evening!
The right side of my face turns red – as much with shame, as with pain:
‘Oh p…pray, goddess m…mistress Abha! P…Pray f…forgive me, mistress!’
WHACK!
‘SHUT UP, YOU INDOLENT PIG! LICK!’
Another belter of a backhand from the pretty, irate Indian girl – this time across my left cheek!
I shut up, and lick – my head spinning from the two blows.
This really is the commuter belt I’m living in!
The trouble with being a rental-agency slave is that you have absolutely no control over when, and where, and whom, you must serve next.
Mind you – does any slave?
Today I am starting work in a Gynarchy office. The fat, white, unfriendly office-manageress is curtly explaining to me my new role in her office, as I kneel humbly before her, staring at her fat ankles in their dark nylons and black leather pumps:
‘Dirty, male rental-slave, you will be employed here as a personal footrest for one of my prettiest members of staff – miss Lei-Li. Her occupational health assessment has recommended that she rest her feet on a footslave’s upturned face at all times whilst she is seated at her desk – and you shall be that human footrest! Believe me, you will soon come to regard it as a privilege to lie beneath her on your back and have her shoedirt adorning the outside of your ugly, maleslave face! But don’t get too excited, slave! Although miss Lei-Li is an exceptionally pretty, young Chinese woman – she is surly with it; and she always wears slacks and ankleboots – so you won’t be getting to peek up her skirts! Ha! Ha! Up-sock, possibly – and maybe even up some of her bare leg beneath her trouser-hems; but that shall be the limit of your licentious enjoyment, filthy slave!
And, my God, you had better please her! If your face doesn't fit her feet I'll have you instantly whipped and dismissed! I suggest, therefore, that you concentrate hard on being a good and comfortable footrest for this beautiful, young, oriental lady. Never forget that she is your infinite better, being young, female and beautiful. You must constantly think about how even her boots and socks are higher than you – literally so – as you lie on the ground below them, acting as their comfort zone. I suggest you even study and count all the visible stitches in the tops of her socks, for you may be asked questions about them later! Remember, your continued employment in this lowly role depends upon your satisfying and pleasing miss Lei-Li's boots and socks, and your fate is in her feet and footwear. From now on you are nothing more than an appendage to her feet, and shall be treated by all as such!
Do I make myself clear, foot-rentboy?'
'Yes, goddess-mistress manageress. If it pleases you, most respected and feared goddess-mistress manageress. I will be a good and diligent footrest to your pretty, Chinese employee, mistress!'
'Very well, slave. Follow me now on your hands and knees, and I’ll introduce you to her. Make sure you keep your head bowed and low over her feet until she permits you to lie on your back under her desk. And remember, the whip and the door await you if you fail to satisfy her!'
'Yes, mistress.'
................................................................................................
Two minutes later I was kneeling before an inordinately pretty, but – as the office-manageress had pointed out, somewhat surly-demeanoured – Chinese girl, looking nonetheless resplendent in her bright, yellow top; her dark, navy-blue cotton trouser-suit (with bootcut trouser-hems); and her black leather ankleboots. Because my new Chinese desk-mistress was seated on her swivel chair facing me with both her anklebooted feet resting firmly on the ground, I had no view – as yet – of her socks. But the boots in and of themselves were a delight to behold – pointy-toed, spike-heeled; zip-up; black leather ankleboots on a, presumably, well-turned pair of beautiful, Chinese-girl anklebones!
Miss Lei-Li had me kiss both her pointy, office boot-toes briefly, before pushing me with those same boot-toes into the space beneath her desk, and ordering me to lie on my back with my head next to her swivel chair. She then swivelled round herself to face her desk, and try my upturned face out for size.
Fortunately, her dainty, female boots fitted my gormless, maleslave face like a glove – and I was delighted to be in a position whereby I could now see right up her pretty trouser-legs as far as her smooth, Chinese-girl, upper calf-muscles. And, even more importantly, I could see her plain, black cotton, anklesock tops – all twisted and creased on her shapely, upper ankles.
The only downside was the underside of her boots which were dusty and dirty; plus, of course, her spiked heels presented an element of danger to my prone and vulnerable footrest-face – particularly when she deliberately dug her heels into my forehead perilously close to my eye-sockets. I much preferred it when she switched to dragging her black leather bootsoles across my face in order to clean them. That I could cope with!
‘You shut up and look at Lei-Li dirty feet, slave! You look only at dirty bottoms of Lei-Li ankleboots. You not worthy look at Lei-Li sock and bare legskin! I catch you look at sock, I break your face with sole of boot! You my footrest-slave! You not here for enjoy Lei-Li socks; flesh. You here for work – for make Lei-Li pretty feet comfortable inside boots beneath desk!’
Mmm – it would appear that surly, and haughty, miss Lei-Li is not one of those office girls who likes to slip off her boots and rest her socked feet on a footrest’s face! There will be no delicious, sweaty, Chinese girlsock-smells for me! And despite the kind advice of the fat office-manageress, I am not, it seems, to be permitted by this sullen, young Chinese woman even to look her in the sock!
Oh well, at least I will still get to smell the strong aroma of her leathery, Chinese bootsoles. I can smell them now – a heady mixture of black boot-leather, and everyday street dirt and detritus, including, I now notice, a piece of well-flattened and blackened, presumably now flavourless, female chewing gum stuck to one of the treads in her left bootsole (I know it’s female chewing-gum because males – even free males – are not permitted to chew gum anywhere in the Gynarchy; only young women are allowed to look and act slovenly in the Female State!)
I still have so many unanswered questions:
· How long is my appointment as miss Lei-Li’s personal, human footrest for?
· Is it a temporary, or permanent position? (It certainly sounds tenuous!)
· Am I to remain here on the floor beneath her desk all night – after she finishes work for the day?
· If so, am I to be tethered? (Being a slave, I always feel more comfortable when I am in chains and shackles!)
· Who will feed me, and clean me?
· Will I be subject to any other punishments (other than having my face stomped on by her spike-heeled, leather boots) if I displease my Chinese desk-footmistress?
· Does she ever wear any other type of footwear in and around the office?
· Does she always wear plain, black anklesocks inside her boots?
· Will I eventually be entrusted with studying her bootsock-tops – in a non-lascivious manner, of course?
· Will I ever be required to lickshine the soles of her boots? (Here’s hoping – for I would dearly love to taste where she has been, as well as see and smell it!)
· Is my new desk-mistress married? Or does she have a boyfriend?
· Why is she seemingly so surly all the time?
· What does she really think of me – the human footrest beneath her booted feet? Am I just a piece of human office-furniture to her? Or, if I serve her well, might she some day take me home and use me as her personal, household footservant (when, hopefully, I would get to not just serve as her household footrest, but also as her bare and socked foot-masseur; her sock-mouthwasher; her bootlicker; and her toenail cleaner!)
Such questions are racing through my mind as I silently, and obediently, stare up at charming, oriental miss Lei-Li’s dirty bootsoles, trying desperately not to look at, or even think about, her sweaty, black bootsocks inside her pretty, Chinese-girl, zip-up ankleboots. For I am not yet deemed worthy to do so, and must earn that extra privilege by being a good facial-footrest for her boots.
Yes, I may be lying on my back beneath an arrogant, young Chinese woman’s dirty office-boots, but at the same time I can’t help feeling like I’ve landed on my feet! What a privilege! What an honour – to serve as a Chinese girl’s office-footrest; to be lowlier than her everyday, common-or-garden, office boots and socks!
I hope this particular assignment lasts a long time!
Now They All Want One! by patheticus on GoAnimate
There’s no room for three in a bed – not in this Gynarchy household!
Two's Company; Three's a Stocking-Sniffer by patheticus on GoAnimate
