Observations of a Caged Footslave

I am a caged footslave. I am confined in a Female Police cell, on my hands and knees, behind an iron grille at ground level looking out ignominiously onto the female town square.

The bars in the grille are just wide enough to allow a lady to put her leg through them for her footwear to be kissed – but the cruelty is that, if she chooses not to do so, and just to tease me with the sight of her feet and legs through the bars, there is nothing I can do about it!

Fortunately, most young women are sweet and kind when it comes to having their street feet kissed, and indulge me. The following are just some observations, from my humble, caged viewpoint:

 

Observation no. 1 – White Stilettos and Bright Orange Kneesocks

They are a curious combination of white patent leather, pointy-toed, stiletto shoes and bright, orange kneesocks, and clearly they are as curious about me as I am about them – as they approach my face-grille somewhat diffidently and foreign-touristy-like; almost as if they’re not sure what I am for!

But they soon gain in female confidence when they read the sign outside, and realise I cannot touch them without their say so.

Eventually, having hunkered down to photograph me and then straightened up again, the right leg is somewhat gingerly stretched forwards through the bars so that the pointy-toed, scuffmarked, white stiletto shoe is resting on the inner dirt of the prison-cell floor directly beneath my kneeling and confined face.

Without any further ado I lower my lips to the scuffmarked, white shoeleather belonging to the young, free woman outside – for not to do so would mean my being reported to the Female Authorities, and whipped! The bright, orange kneesock towers dominantly above me as my face descends towards the surface of the white shoe. I am gratified to observe how straight and clean the sock is – barely a twist in the narrow, vertical lines of stitching, though I had noticed a slight twist near the very top of the sock where it merges with smooth, olive-toned, feminine legskin.

This is a Mediterranean-girl sock – Spanish or Italian, I’ll wager; a Latin holidaymaker’s bright orange kneesock in the cold climate of the Gynarchy (though not cold enough for her to dispense with her white, summery shorts!)

The sock flexes excitedly around the shapely, Mediterranean-girl anklebone as my lips make contact with its shiny, but scuffmarked, white shoe-covering.

I raise my head, keeping my eyes respectfully bowed and focussed on the Spanish (?) girl’s lower sock and shoe. Said shoe doesn’t move away following the first kiss – so I must kiss it again; and again; and again – until it is eventually withdrawn from my ground-level, cell window. Those are the prison rules (written in several languages on the cell wall outside for the benefit of just such foreign tourist-mistresses!)

After four respectful kisses to its street-scuffmarked, pointy-toe area, the white stiletto is unhurriedly withdrawn from beneath me – only to be replaced by its left counterpart.

Again I must admire the immaculate straightness of the vertical stitching in the bright, orange kneesock – a sock which becomes ominously darker as it leaves the sunlight outside and enters the relative gloom of my tiny prison-cell – prior to lowering my lips to its pointy-toed, shoe covering.

I hear a Spanish-girl giggle of delight as my lips make contact with the proffered shoe.

Again – four kisses is deemed sufficient, after which the shoe and sock are withdrawn from my face.

They then turn to walk away from me – showing me a disdainfully scuffmarked pair of white high-heels in the humiliating process. I wish I had the freedom to crawl after them, and to observe them as they tour the sights of our glorious Gynarchy!

But I don’t.

The olive-skinned owner of the sweet, white, stiletto shoes and bright, orange kneesocks hasn’t breathed a word to me, but you can bet your bottom euro I’ll be featuring on her Social Networking page this evening for all her friends and family to see – the pathetic, caged footslave, confined in a dirty, hole-in-the-wall cell!

 

Observation no. 2 - Kissing Feet

The happy, young couple are standing directly outside my floor-level, cell window celebrating their mutual love and freedom in front of me.

All I can see is their feet – and, in particular, the brown leather loafers and cute, pink-frilly anklesocks of the girl as she stands on tippy-toe in order to kiss her tall and manly boyfriend on the lips.

Although the couple's legs are blocking out my light, I should be grateful to the master-sir for choosing this particular spot to embrace his girlfriend, and for being so tall and mighty, for the very fact that his swooning girlfriend is having to stand on tiptoe in order to reach his lips is causing her flat, brown leather, loafer shoes to crease around the toe-areas, and her pink-frilly anklesocks to crease around her shapely anklebones – thereby providing me with a truly degrading floor-show as I am obliged to witness the consequences of her young-womanly lust for a better man than me, in her everyday shoes and socks!

I have no choice but to witnesses them, since I am chained to the cell-window face first, and with my eyelids sewn open, as befits a male prisoner-footslave who is being perennially punished by being confined for life behind bars, on his hands and knees, looking out at the free world of the Gynarchy.

Yes, wide-eyed and legless; that just about sums me up. And, speaking of sums, I start to count the creases on the sides of the young woman's pink, frilly-topped socks; for I have nothing better to do down here, unless and until she places one of her libidinous, but demurely-clad, feet through the bars for respectful kissing!

But I doubt she even knows I'm here down in this foot-level prison cell, for she only has eyes for her manly boyfriend on the outside!

 

Observation no. 3 – Professional Foot-Tease

Talk about being laid back!

The pleasingly podgy, young oriental woman has even brought her own portable chair with her – so that she can sit with her feet resting on the ground in front of my caged face for anything up to an hour!

And very nice feet they are too – crossed casually over at the oriental anklebones and spread out before me in their opaque, turquoise tights and flat, brown, strappy sandals. The thick, brown leather, sandal straps criss-cross her secretly fleshy, upper foot, but still leave plenty of stretched, turquoise-nylon tight on display.

The most gratifying thing of all, though, is that, despite the opaqueness of the nylon tights, I can still make out the calcified ridges of her unpainted toenails beneath the supposedly reinforced, stretched stitching of the toe-areas – chubby, turquoise-nylon-covered, oriental-girl toes which are just ripe for the kissing, and yet which are being so cruelly denied me; for the fat, young, Far-Eastern woman just will not extend her laid-back feet through the iron bars in front of my face (even though they would still fit through, despite their podginess, if she presented them to me one at a time!)

She is what’s known as a ‘professional foot-tease’ – she gets her kicks (and earns her living) by tormenting and teasing unfortunate prisoner-slaves like me with her feet. It’s considered to be a public service, and thus the Female Authorities actually pay her to do it! They probably even supplied her with the portable chair she’s sitting on!

She leans forwards in said chair, and wriggles her podgy toes in front of my mesmerised prisoner-face, purely in order to mock me through the iron bars of my ground-level, cell window:

‘Ha! Ha! Prisoner-slave like Ying-Lee stinky toes?...Ha! Ha!...Want Ying-Lee shove stinky, nylon foot on prisoner-slave ugly face?...Ha! Ha!... You not worthy!...You dirt!...You a stinky-foot whore!...Ha! Ha!... You look, but not touch Ying-Lee sweaty toes!...Ha! Ha!...Look, I wiggle my toes inside my tight, but you not able touch them with stupid prisoner-slave mouth or nose!... Ha! Ha!...That because you locked up!...Ha! Ha!... You a dirty criminal behind bars! ...Ha! Ha!...I free; you in cage, like animal!...Ha! Ha!... I better than you!...Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!...’

She laughs gleefully at my incarcerated misfortune, as I audibly moan with prisoner-footslavish impotence and frustration – such salivatingly delicious, wriggling and teasing, female-oriental toes; so near and yet so far!

I hope the authorities are paying this portly, young, Chinese, foot-tease woman good money – for she has well and truly earned it! I am reduced to tears!

‘Ha! Ha! That right, prisoner-slave – you cry! … You cry out loud! Ha! Ha! … I laugh at you!...Ha! Ha!...You just a weak old man; you in my power! You my foot-prisoner!...Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!...’

Her turquoise-nyloned toes wriggle again, this time with unfettered glee, beneath the brown leather, musty-smelling straps of her mundane, everyday sandals, as she lays back once more in her portable, foldaway chair – toe-tally jubilant!

 

Observation no. 4 – Praise be to the Pious, Young Black Woman!

From the ridiculer to the sublime – a twenty-something, black-African, religious girl is next to stop by me.

I know she’s black-African because of the deliciously dark, feminine shadow she casts over me, and because of her strong, South African accent.

I know she’s pious because of her following traits:

· She is modestly dressed in a pair of purple, mary-jane-style, buckle-strapped, flat-heeled, round-toed shoes with black soles, accompanied by a pair of thick, woollen, argyle-patterned tights all the way up her long, black legs and beneath her short, grey dress;

· She condescendingly shoves her buckled, right, mary-jane shoe through the bars of my cage and up to my lips, so that I may pay slavish homage to its rounded, scuffmarked, heavily-stitched toe-end – a true act of kindness, especially after my last, professional foot-tease ‘customer’!

· She is heavily bespectacled and carrying a Gynarchy bible, thereby demonstrating to the outside world her devotion and intelligence;

· She preaches down at me, and exhorts me, in her heavy South-African accent, to repent of my maleslave sins, whilst I am devotedly kissing her divinely outstretched foot.

I, for my humble part, verbally praise and thank her – in between kissing her scuffmarked, purple, mary-jane shoe-toe – for stopping by to bless me with her dirty, modest-girl shoes. It is a genuine, good deed of graciousness and selflessness on her self-pious part, since a righteous girl like this should not have to mix with dirty, maleslave prisoner-scum like me!

How can she even bear to be in my prisoner-slave presence? I only hope my sinner-lips don’t stain her sweet and innocent, but street-soiled and blackened, shoesole!

 

Observation no. 5 - Executive Businesswoman

We don't get many executive businesswomen around these parts; this is very much a 'touristy', as opposed to a 'businessy' part of town – so she must have gone somewhat out of her way to come and humiliate me with her executive, shiny black leather, high-heeled pumps and dark nylons beneath her grey-pinstriped, business-suit, trouser hems.

I like that in a woman – determination to go that extra mile in order to demonstrate the executive power and authority of the female over the male! It's as if she's saying – as, hands on hips, she positions her right, stiletto-heeled and dark-nyloned foot through the bars of my hole-in-the-wall, ground-level cage:

'Ha! Ha! Young women like me may be considered 'blonde bimbos' in other parts of the world, slave, but here in the Gynarchy I am your female master! I am the breadwinner in my house, and my husband is the one who must stay at home and do all the housework! Ha! Ha! But even my house-husband is better than you, slave – for at least he is a free man and gets to have sex with me! Ha! Ha! You don't even get to lust after me, stuck as you are in your dirty, dingy, prison-cell! Ha! Ha! All you are fit for is to kiss my dusty and street-dirtied, stiletto shoe – like you are now! To look up to me as I tower in female freedom above you – rich and successful, and clearly your infinite better! Ha! Ha! That's right, dirty, lowly, male prisoner-slave – kiss the foot of your free, female better! Kiss it on the pointy shoe-toe; kiss it on the stiletto heel; kiss it on the nyloned anklebone; for it is the foot of a superior and successful, free woman! Ha! Ha! That's right, prisoner-slave!... And the other one!...'

Of course, she doesn't actually say any of that, since she is too high and mighty a young, blonde businesswoman to ever converse with a lowly, confined prisoner-slave such as myself. But I'm sure that’s what she must be thinking!

It's certainly what I'm thinking as I pay my humble, labial respects to her blonde-executive foot!

 

Observation no. 6 – Regulars

It never ceases to amaze me just how sweet and kind the female can be in taking time out of her busy, feminine schedule to come and harry me in my ground-level, male cell with her feminine feet and footwear!

Here are just a few more examples from amongst my regular tormentresses:

• The greasy-haired, blonde bimbo – 18 year old office-junior, miss Alexandra – who stops off on her way into work every morning to introduce my imprisoned lips to the dirty, scuffmarked toe-areas of her ubiquitous, black leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up ankleboots beneath her black cotton, bootcut trouser-hems; and this despite being 6 months pregnant by her Jamaican baby-father who has since fled the scene! It must be exhausting for her to have to stand there, cradling her bump whilst having her early-morning, unkempt, officewear ankleboots worshipped by a much lowlier representative of the male species than even the in-absentia, freemale propagator of her future offspring! But, despite this, the sweet and kind, blonde, single mum-to-be, miss Alexandra, uncomplainingly shares her dirty bootleather with me every weekday morning; such feminine magnaminity and selflessness! I only hope she continues to regale me with her cheap, workaday ankleboots when she eventually returns to work after her single-mum, maternity leave.

• The pint-sized, Pakistani, shop-assistant mistress with the dainty, but always fully-shod, feet – goddess-mistress Sadia – who never fails to wear demurely dark-coloured socks inside her flat, soft, black leather loafers, again beneath a pair of smart, black cotton, trouser-hems, whatever the weather, come rain, hail or shine! She wears socks, at least in part, to prevent me from lusting inappropriately after her bare, brown Pakistani-girl footflesh, since she is acutely aware that I am being punished by Female Society for some maleslave misdemeanour or other (though she doesn't need, or want, to know the details), and that it is therefore only right that I should suffer the indignity of having to observe socked Pakistani-girl foot whilst I worship Pakistani-female shoe; and soberly-coloured, predominantly black sock at that too! I do like it when a demure and softly-spoken, Pakistani girl – the lust-object of many a free man on the outside – takes such sock-things into consideration when graciously imposing her dainty, black loafers on an unworthy and impotent footslave-prisoner’s incarcerated mouth!

• Even though, by way of contrast, tall and mighty, black goddess-mistress Loretta opts not to hitch up her blue-denim, jean hems in order to show me her sock-tops inside her black patent leather, pointy-toed and spike-heeled ankleboots, she always graciously informs me of the colour of her hidden socks inside her boots – as she doesn't mind giving me a cheap thrill behind my metal grille (or is it just that she gets a kick out of teasing and frustrating me by cruelly raising my footslave-prisoner ardour, whilst denying me even a fleeting glimpse of that which I yearn to see most with my downcast and imprisoned eyes – namely her tall-black-girl stinky socks!). Her black boyfriend certainly gets a kick out of witnessing his woman's sock modesty during her female-dominant interaction with me as I kneel before the happy couple behind the bars of my ground-level, cell window – since he regularly accompanies her, and orders me to thank and praise his black girlfriend for graciously informing me of the colour of her sweaty bootsocks inside her hot, spike-heeled, black leather ankleboots. And the master-sir is quite right, of course – lanky mistress Loretta would be quite within her female rights to leave me in total ignorance of her socks, so I must be grateful for such small mercies on her magnanimous part, even if she's not prepared to go that extra few inches and hitch up her dust-stained, jean hems to actually show me her socks!

Today, she informs me, they are purple.

 

Observation no. 7 – Black Girl’s Foot-Faggot

Not all my black female visitors are regulars. Many are first timers.

This one looks like an absolute stunner – in the prime of life – maybe 18 or 19; tall; handsome; justifiably proud of her appearance; wearing a skimpy, naval-exposing, floral-patterned top; ultra-short green shorts; and with bare legs – long, shimmering, deliciously mocha-hued, bare black legs which seem to go on and on forever from my humble, caged and kneeling, lowly prisoner-slave viewpoint!

Most men – free men on the outside – would be fantasising about licking her body all over; about fondling her skimpily-covered breasts; about entering her luscious vagina beneath those tight shorts. But I am not most men, and I am not free!

As she presents her bare, right leg through the bars of my cage for kissing, all I can think about is her rolled-up, untidy-looking, black cotton anklesock inside her scuffmarked, brown leather, chunky-heeled, lace-up shoe; about how that sock must smell on such a warm and sunny day; about how the black-female, cotton sock must surely be thinning and greying along the sweaty insteps – worn down and faded by repeated wear and tear, and copious amounts of feminine foot-perspiration inside such a heavy pair of chunky-looking, brown leather, laced-up girlshoes!

And that’s just about all I can think about as my lips make contact with a prominent scuffmark on her rounded, brown-leathery shoe-toe, arrogantly proffered to me through the iron bars of my ground-level cell window with a cheeky cock of the curious, female head.

No wonder she despises me; no wonder she calls me a ‘foot-faggot’ as she switches elegant legs between the bars of my kneeling-cage! She’ll be off soon to bag herself a real man – a man who is free to worship more than just her unkempt and scruffy shoes and socks!

In the meantime she expresses her utter, young-black-womanly contempt for me by kicking me with the scuffmarked toe of her brown leather shoe, as a means of exhorting me to greater labial efforts on her dirty, exterior footwear.

Quite a few of my lady customers get a kick out of me, as my bruised prisoner-face can readily testify!

 

Observation no. 8 – Flirting

More often, though, I get a kick out of them! Take my next ‘customer-mistress’, for example:

The twenty-something, miniskirted, Japanese tourist-girl’s low-top, black and white, almost pristine, lace-up, converse sneakers have clear instructions written in English on the white, rubbery toe-areas as they are condescendingly placed, one after the other, through the bars of my ground-level cage.

Each contains a speech bubble, with the words ‘kiss here’ written inside it!

They could be meant as a playful come-on for her lover, of course – but when the flirty sneaker is stretched forth through a set of rusty, iron, prison-cell bars, it is clearly meant as a degrading order from a female superior which must be obeyed by the pathetic and powerless, male prisoner-slave!

I admire her scrunched-up, pure white cotton, thick-stitched, oriental, calf-length socks which pleasingly broaden her young-womanly ankles as my lips make humble contact with the designated area of white, rubbery shoe-toe on her imperiously outstretched, right foot. She giggles, withdraws her socked leg from my cage, and replaces it with her left leg:

kiss here

To my shame, I notice that on their giggling withdrawal from my cage the fresh, thick, white cotton, calf-length socks are now rust-stained from the iron bars. But the young, oriental woman doesn’t seem to mind. She even turns her back on me and gigglingly positions her right, white-rubbery converse sneaker-heel through the bars of my cell.

To my surprise each flighty, white-rubbery heel contains the words ‘and here!’ together with a knowingly smiley face J. What a fun pair of oriental-girl sneakers, and what an unusual privilege to kiss the backs of a young woman’s sneakers, and to observe, close-up and personal, the creases and folds in the backs of her snowy-white socks!

Shame about the brown rust-marks! I see her Japanese boyfriend flirtingly remonstrating with her, and attempting to dust down her rusty, white socks as she walks away with him in the distance. Any excuse to touch her legs! I wonder if his freemale lips will be where mine have just been – on her shapely heels – later on this evening in the privacy of their hotel bedroom, whilst her tourist-girl socks are being washed downstairs in the hotel laundromat?

I would happily mouthwash those socks for free – since it’s my fault they are stained in the first place!

 

Observation no. 9 – French Kissing

It’s a case of kissing with tongues when it comes to the next pair of white sneakers to grace my cage with their sweet-feminine presence – their leathery, white tongues and my soft, pink tongue – as the laces on the high-tops are stylishly undone, thereby exposing the thick, white tongues of the female sneakers to my caged mouth!

The beautiful, auburn-haired wearer of the casually-undone high-tops gives me her specific permission to flirt with tongues, in a decidedly French accent, lest I blush and be shy and seek to focus only on the thick, white-leathery, scuffmarked toe-areas of her high-top sneakers.

Flirting with tongues is, of course, much more satisfying and intimate – since it brings me even closer to her red and green patterned anklesocks, though I most definitely do not have permission to kiss sock, more’s the pity!

Then again, just how far can a feisty and flirty, young, auburn-haired French woman be expected to go on a first ‘date’ with a convicted footslave-prisonnier? Tongues is generous enough!

 

Observation no. 10  - The Footslave Bar(re)d

Finally, here is a little poem what I wrote, describing my unenviable, incarcerated condition:

Ladies’ Legs are the only thing I see,

Female Feet are my only company.

As I lay prostrate in my dirty cell,

Staring out from my living hell,

Some stop by, to give me succour,

Requiring me my lips to pucker.

Others choose to give me a kick

(Still preferable to receiving the stick!).

But all of them, be they cruel or kind,

Know I'm in no position to mind.

For I have been deliberately laid low,

And I am a footslave with nowhere to go!

 

So there you have it – my humble view of the female world from my lowly, street-side, prison cell. And the outlook is for yet more female boots, shoes and sandals!