The System Works!

Here is the latest instalment from the excellent pen of regular reader, Slave Paul

The System Works!

By Slave Paul

It all happened so quickly; he just knelt there, shivering and sweating in terror and fear!

He had just thrown up on his mistress’s floor in front of her. So close, in fact, that he narrowly missed her feet. Those self-same feet are the very reason that he was sick in the first place!

Mistress Maria sat there transfixed; unable to speak. She finally drew breath and said ‘go and fetch a bucket you ignorant slave!’ with a very shaky voice and a strong French accent.

Fortunately for her queasy slave, she was a very attractive young woman in her mid-thirties, with shoulder length, blonde hair and striking blue eyes! He never was allowed to look upon his mistress’s beautiful features, of course, but when he got the chance he would have the odd fleeting glimpse!

Mistress Maria emigrated to the north of the Gynarchy from France five years ago. She has little money and has to work as a waitress in a local, French bistro. It took her four years to save enough money to buy her first slave from the second hand market. The very slave who has now fouled her floor and is hurrying back along the floor with a cloth and bucket!

So, why was he sick in the first place? Her putrid feet! As a result of her long days standing and running around taking orders and delivering food to high class customers, she does tend to have very smelly footwear. She can only afford one pair of her favourite black stockings, and has been wearing the same pair of well-worn, low heel, black leather pumps.

She had called her slave ‘Foot Moron’ and he was living up to his demeaning title! When Mistress Maria addressed him she would roll her R’s with her captivating French accent. He thought himself lucky that his Mistress could not afford carpets and that this would not take too long to clear up. He was also fortunate that he was seldom fed as the Mistress could only afford her own food bill (most of what she did eat was ‘borrowed’ from the restaurant). As a result, he did not have to work long to clear away his mess.

On his return to the kitchen, he began to wonder what his penance would be. His mistress seldom used her whip, as she was often too tired to wield it correctly. He could hear her moving about the room in her stocking-clad feet, leafing through a magazine. Maybe she was not too bothered after all?

‘Get back in ere, you foolish moron! You have not finished attending to my feet!’

He crawled as fast as he could to get back to her!

‘Sniff if you do not mind?’

He obeyed without hesitation! Loud, audible sniffs filled the room. He did not hold anything back as he wanted to impress! He gazed admiringly at her worn stockings and could see that the material was stretching over her tiny toes! The smell was still very pungent though. An atmosphere of vinegary cheesiness was building up in the room once again.

Mistress Maria leaned forward to pick up her mobile phone and put the loud speaker on. Why bother to include me in her private phone calls, he thought (whilst quietly gagging). Mistress Maria dialled the number she had found in her magazine. The loud, high pitch sound of a young woman echoed round the humble abode of his glorious Mistress:

‘Hello! You are through to the Gynarchy slave corrections and advice line. Miss Jenny speaking, how can I help?’

Mistress Maria then set about explaining the reason for her call:

‘My stupid, neglectful slave has zjust vomited on my feet and said zat zhey stink!’

That’s not true! He missed her pretty feet by several inches! And he is forbidden to talk!

‘Oh I am so sorry to hear that madam! Would you like to arrange a conviction for him on your behalf? I would suggest that, in view of the nature and severity of the crime, we try to get him sent to the slave mines! Wouldn’t you agree?’

OH NO ANYTHING BUT THAT!

Fortunately for Slave Foot Moron, Mistress Maria had other ideas:

‘Oh no madam, I do not want to lose eem as he is generally a good slave and I cannot afford another one! Could you zjust advise me on a suitable punishment as zis is my first slave, you see, and I ave little experience in these matters!’

The relief on his face was quite something to behold!

The line went quiet for a moment, and then Miss Jenny replied:

‘Oh, I’ve got it madam! I am looking at the details of our slave correctional programme. Would that be of any interest to you? The package includes all of the following punishments, 1- the stocks; 2- food training; 3- The wheel of misfortune; 4- the helmet of socks; 5- whippings and canings; and several other corrections based on the offence. This package also includes a training session and a one to one meeting with a professional mistress who will advise you on the correct way to deal with your slave! The whole process takes seven days and we include your accommodation in a five star hotel.’

‘That sounds fantastique! But ow much does zis service cost?’

‘As it’s our new introductory offer and his crime is so serious, fifty Fems should cover the costs, madam’.

There is no way that Mistress Maria will spend that much on a training session surely?

‘Very well, Madame Jenny. Please book the package for me!’

The next day the course began. A driver was sent to collect the Mistress and the slave. Needless to say, the slave was confined in the back of the vehicle, in the dark.

When they arrived, Mistress Maria was led away to her luxury accommodation. Slave Foot Moron now knelt in the presence of the black, high heeled, calf length boots of Corrections Officer Helen:

‘Welcome to our new, purpose built corrections facility, slave Foot Moron! Prepare to suffer and take it like a slave (you will get it anyway!). Now follow me to the cells!’

He was still unsure of what ‘it’ was exactly, and was not looking forward to finding out!

He was lead into a bright room and had to kneel on a yellow spot painted on the floor. He was told not to move from the spot ‘or else!’ Corrections Officer Helen then sat in a comfy looking swivel chair and took out some pens and paper. She then went on to explain a few more things about his coming days of torture:

‘Ok slave, we need to find out about all of your dislikes; I need you to be as honest with me as you can! We take pride in delivering a tailored punishment, and corrections service need your assistance with this!...’

He could not believe that they were asking for his help in regard to his punishment!

‘… I want you to answer the following questions truthfully: 1- Have you been whipped in the past, and rate the pain from 0-10?’

‘Yes Mistress. My last Mistress Joanne whipped me regularly. I would rate the pain at ‘seven’, Corrections Officer Helen, if it so pleases you?’

She did not reply, just made notes. He thought he should be honest with the whipping question as they would expect all slaves to be whipped!

‘2- Have you been set in the stocks (or kneeling pillory to be exact?)’

‘No, Corrections Officer Helen. This slave has never been set in the stocks, Mistress, if it so pleases you?’

‘No, it pleases me not!’ was the response.

‘3- Have you been forced to consume a woman’s toe jam before, and how badly would you rate the experience?’

He felt he had to lie now; the act of eating sweaty toe jam was so sickening to him!

‘Yes, Corrections Officer Helen. This slave has frequently consumed many women’s toe jam, and does not find the process terribly distressing and would rate it at ‘three’, if you would be so kind?’

She simply grinned an evil smile as she wrote his responses. The questions lasted for an hour until the authorities were satisfied they had a detailed enough profile of the prisoner.

Corrections Officer Helen then leaped up and clapped her hands saying:

‘Well, no time like the present! Let’s get you into a set of stocks!’

This was not something he was used to. Slave Foot Moron had lead a charmed life as a foot slave and was seldom punished by his previous Mistresses!

When they arrived at the stocks, Corrections Officer Helen fumbled with the lock on the three inch thick timber beam:

‘You will be the first victim of these stocks! How privileged you are!’

She hastily secured his neck and wrists in their respective openings and closed the lock with a loud snap! She then went to the back of the pillory contraption and guided his ankles into some kind of metal restraint. He could not see what it was, but it felt like a metal set of stocks:

‘These will keep those dirty feet of yours still, if someone deigns to lash them as they pass by!’

All he could think was how many hours will I be confined in this evil contraption?

‘Okay slave, you will be in the stocks for two whole days! That should be enough time to let the pain cut deep into your soul!’

Two days solid! She must be joking?

She then went on to set up a small camera to watch the confined prisoner’s face contorting with the pain:

‘This will send a live feed back to your Mistress in the hotel - if she can be bothered to view you’re suffering, that is! Now, kiss my boots and thank me for locking you into such a lovely set of stocks!’

This done, she simply left him in the underground tunnel alone with his thoughts.

Later that day, Corrections Officer Helen came back with a bowl of food for the prisoner. Well maybe this won’t be so bad after all then? I may even put on some weight he thought to himself!

‘I have brought you some corn flakes, prisoner. Open up!’

He peered into the bowl and saw the ice cold milk and corn flakes as promised. This was going to be a real treat! He had not eaten real food in twenty years as a slave!

The spoon was thrust into his mouth and he began to chew hard. These don’t taste like corn flakes? Corrections Officer Helen simply laughed in his face and said:

‘They are the toenail clippings from the other prison-guard girls! Ha, what a fool! Hurry up, there are still another eight spoon-fulls to go, at least!’

He spent the next ten minutes crunching on the putrid offering. Once he had swallowed the last mouthful, Corrections Officer Helen enquired after his comfort level in the pillory.

‘It is most constrictive, and causing my neck and arms to cramp up, if it so pleases you Mistress Helen?’

‘Yes, this does please me!’

Then she went round to the back again and the next thing he felt was a waft of cool air across the soles of his confined feet. This was closely followed by a shaft of searing pain!

‘OOOW!’

‘Ha, sorry slave! I cannot resist a slave’s confined feet! They are just begging to be caned!’

‘No they are not!’, he said under his breath.

Corrections Officer Helen then put down a small, glass, jam jar and what appeared to be a small spatula or spoon. She then sat herself on a stool that she had carried down and proceeded to remove her boots. This done she then offered her black cotton, uniform socks up to be sniffed by the prisoner. They were not too bad, but very moist from being confined in those leather boots.

She then removed her socks and draped them over the back of his head temporarily. Corrections Officer Helen then began to work the mini spoon under her un-painted toenails and remove large quantities of sweaty toe jam! His heart began to pound in his chest. Eating toenail clippings was one thing, but this black gunk is too much to bear! Fortunately for him, Corrections Officer Helen simply dropped the accumulated gunk into the jar and screwed the lid on tightly. She then put her boots and socks back on, and left him alone to suffer.

The next visitor to his long tunnel of sorrow appeared to be a civilian! She was quite beautiful; around twenty five years of age; five feet tall; and a trim waist. Her most striking feature was her auburn hair that reached just above her hips! She was wearing a tight white t shirt and blue jeans with white, lace up, deck shoes. He could not see any socks, which disappointed him, as they were his favourite ladies foot-covering!

She walked over to the confined slave and patted him on the head saying:

‘Poor boy! All locked up on such a lovely, sunny day! Would you like me to let you out?’

‘Oh, yes please, most kind and respected mistress!’

‘Tough! I don’t have the key anyway, not that I would let you out, of course! You are meant to be suffering! I am the daughter of the Manageress of this facility, and it will be a pleasure to donate to you!’

Why does everyone here have to be so cruel, he thought? And what did she mean by ‘donate to you?’

All was soon revealed. She picked up the jar and read the label to him:

‘Please donate all of your toe jam to this prisoner, as he cannot get enough of it! See him eat it on the slavetube website!’

With no further address, she sat on the stool and removed her white canvas shoes. This revealed a pair of pasty white feet and black lacquered nails. The sweat seemed to sparkle in the artificial light of the tunnel. The unknown Mistress produced several large lumps of black toe jam and helpfully added it to the growing collection in the jar, before saying:

‘Brrr, its cold in here! I’m going now; see ya later, foot dork! Bon appetite!’

It was intentionally cold down here in the tunnel. The whole facility was designed with air conditioning to ensure that all slaves are kept at 5 degrees, for maximum discomfort!

Several more guards and civilians visited slave Foot Moron that night and donated unreservedly to his collection! All he focused on was the red flashing light of the cameras, hoping that Mistress Maria would see his suffering and set him free. Little did he know that she was having a fantastic time being waited on hand and foot (literally), as the hotel had highly trained foot slaves employed!

………………………………………………………………………………………

On the second day of his unholy confinement, he was on the point of crying when Corrections Officer Helen came marching along the tunnel:

‘Morning, slave! How are the stocks for you today?’

‘Very unpleasant,’ was his only response. He did not have the energy to add the sycophantic slave-speak to the end of his sentence!

Fortunately for him, Corrections Officer Helen was used to prisoners forgetting these little niceties whilst undergoing punishment:

‘I’ve come to feed you up, prisoner. I see that your donations jar filled up nicely yesterday! HA! You fool! Did you think I did not know you were lying on the questionnaire? Who would really like eating this crap! Now, open up, you foul mouthed little creep! Here comes the aeroplane…’

Four tea-spoon sized portions were forced into his mouth and his face contorted with disgust at the vile taste and smell!

Corrections Officer Helen simply laughed, and said:

‘All caught on camera!’

She spat in his face, and left him alone for the rest of the day.

…………………………………………………………………………………

Day three finally arrived, and slave Foot Moron was even looking forward to his next torture session, if it meant getting out of the stocks!

Corrections Officer Helen came along the tunnel with the key in her right hand:

‘This is the part I hate! Unlocking the stocks is so depressing for me, as the relief on the captive’s face really irritates me!’

Click!

‘Oh the relief!’ he sighed, as he finally could move his cramped limbs.

‘Move, prisoner! I need to get you to your next ordeal quickly!’

She kicked him up the rear to move him along the passage.

The second stop on this grand tour of misery and foot degradation was to be something called the ‘helmet of socks’! Corrections Officer Helen’s golden locks swayed in anticipation of what was to come next!

She produced a metal globe with some kind of mechanical apparatus on the rear and a padlock on the front:

‘This goes on your head, and then gets filled with the sweatiest and stinkiest socks that we could find! Furthermore, the apparatus on the back injects ‘fresh’ foot sweat every hour, so your nose cannot get accustomed to the stench!’

She hastily locked the helmet into place, and stood back to see her handiwork. Slave Foot Moron could see nothing, or hear nothing. The helmet was designed to heighten the olfactory sense in every way.

And what a sense it was! The assault on his nose was never ending; this was pure torture!

Corrections Officer Helen had even put a pair of Mistress Maria’s old stockings in the front of the helmet:

‘The question is, what do I use to restrain your body while you suffer in that contraption? Oh I know, what about the scavenger’s daughter? That is one of my favourite toys, and you will be punished by the daughter! HA!’

He, of course, heard nothing of what she had just said. He was simply roughly guided into the modern reproduction, medieval torture frame. The lactic acid that had built up from the many hours in the stocks had not left his system yet. This caused him great pain, and made him breathe heavily through the putrid socks! Corrections Officer Helen simply got up from fastening the fetters and left him in the new cell to soak in the experience!

…………………………………………………………………………………..

The fourth day finally dawned!

Corrections Officer Helen finally re-entered the cell to release the nearly dead prisoner from his cruel bonds. The helmet opened with a creaking sound, and a whoosh of cool, untainted air finally hit his face!

‘Oh! You are still there then?’

‘Yes, Corrections Officer Helen’, with heavy panting.

‘Good! I wouldn’t want you to miss our most technically advanced correctional aid! Come along slave’.

His shattered body dragged itself towards the cruel woman brandishing the keys to his freedom.

They entered another cell. This one was more high tech and had a large control panel on the wall. In the centre of the room was a large, wooden wheel with four restraints attached to it, and a lot of heavy looking cables trailing along the floor!

‘This is the wheel of misfortune, slave! Want to give it a try?’

No, of course he didn’t! But one thing was for sure; he had no choice at all in the matter! At least Mistress Maria was getting value for money!

Corrections Officer Helen began strapping his ankles and wrists to the device. She then began rubbing oil into his body! This was actually very pleasant - to be fussed over by such a beautiful young woman! I thought that this was supposed to be a torture session, he wondered.

Corrections Officer Helen then wiped the oil off her hands and produced a box of electrodes:

‘These go all round your body and induce a cramp sensation. The computer over there monitors your vital signs and applies the highest possible, safe voltage to your limbs on an alternating cycle. Which setting do you think I should use, slave? Low? Medium? High? Experimental?... Well?’

Oh it was a question, then?

‘Begging your pardon, Corrections Officer Helen, this humble slave…’

He was cut short with:

‘I think you look strong enough to try the experimental setting, slave! Ha!’

Oh the pain!

The cycles of soul destroying pain were quite random. Slave Foot Moron never knew when the next shock would come! The cell was intentionally sound proofed, as no respectable young lady wants to hear screams of that magnitude and intensity! Worse still was the screen that projected pictures of women’s feet and footwear, with slogans such as ‘you are pathetic! You only exist to clean these!’ ; and then a picture of some flip flops, with a pink bow attached!

This torture session lasted for the whole day.

When Corrections Officer Helen returned to release him, she found his quivering body drenched in sweat! Even the floor beneath the aptly named ‘wheel of misfortune’ was drenched in sweat!

‘Well done, slave! I have never tried the experimental setting before! How do you feel?’

‘Ohh… Uhh… Mmm’, was all he could utter!

‘Oh well, slave, don’t worry! I’ve got some good news for you! You are half way through the rehabilitation course, and you are off to the whipping post now!’

‘Uhhh… No!’

Corrections Officer Helen had to drag the slave to the whipping post. She needed help securing his lifeless body to the whip-marked post. She whispered into his ear:

‘Your Mistress was impressed with your performance last night on the wheel; she stayed up for hours watching you shudder with the pain!’

He could not believe that this was true! Mistress Maria was such a kind soul! Oh well, he thought, I had better prepare for this whipping!

Sometime later, a very young and inexperienced looking whip mistress emerged in a smart, new uniform, brandishing a new whip. The whip itself was so new that the rubber bands had not yet been removed from the packaging process!

A slightly older correctional officer accompanied her.

‘Pay attention, you worthless, oppressed scum! This is my trainee correctional officer’s first whipping. So, you had better be prepared for a long session; we need to get this right, don’t we? We all had to wield the whip for the first time once, didn’t we?’

All these questions! As if he could disagree with her!

As a matter of fact, he did. He had never had to whip someone before!

The young Correctional-Officer-to-be stepped forward, and unfurled the crisp, new whip with anticipation! She issued her first comment to the prisoner:

‘Slave, you are to be whipped in accordance with Gynarchy law. I must warn you that this process is very painful, and will cause you some physical damage. In the interest of health and safety, I would recommend that you do not get whipped in the future!’

SWISH… CRACK!

The first swipe of the whip was let loose on his poor, naked back!

Actually it was not too bad! He thought that he should let out a customary cry of pain, to congratulate the young mistress, and show more pain than was actually being induced! Three more relatively painless swipes took place. This won’t be too bad after all!

‘No! No! Not like that, dear! You aim for the middle of the back, and put your whole body weight into it!’

The slightly older Corrections Officer counselled her young apprentice well. The next three swipes made slave Foot Moron cry with a primal roar of agony!

‘That’s it! You’ve got it now! Don’t relent, keep up the pace!’

‘Please Mistress, Stop! No more! I humbly beg for mercy, Mistress!’ he shouted and screamed repeatedly on deaf ears!

‘You hear those cries? That’s the sound of a punished slave! Carry on!’

……………………………………………………………………………………..

He awoke some time later, lying on his front in a holding cell. Today was his lucky day! He had another three hours to go before his next ordeal. He would be allowed the luxury of sleep at last!

All too soon he was awoken by Corrections Officer Helen, who kicked him hard in the ribs!

‘Wake up, you vile little cretin! Or you will be late for your next ordeal! We better hurry, they are arriving now!’

Who is arriving? And where?

Corrections Officer Helen kindly explained to the slave that his fifth day of atonement would be spent in the ‘foot-box’. She demonstrated it to the hapless, male slave-prisoner with glee!

The box in question was a small, wooden contraption with a padded hole for the prisoner’s neck to be secured into place with a padlock. His face would then be inches away from two other holes that were smaller in size and similarly padded.

‘Believe it or not, some women are actually set in the stocks in the Gynarchy, slave! The women we have chosen are repeat offenders for things like shoplifting, and breaking and entering! They will have their feet locked into the box along with your head. That is what the padding is for, to act as an air tight seal! Don’t worry we are not going soft! It is not for protecting your scrawny neck! HA!’

Once he was secured in handcuffs and locked into the box, a bright light came on:

‘This will help you focus on the girl’s feet more, and help them to perspire a little more strongly! We have instructed them not to shower for one week, so that they will be nice and smelly. This is part of their punishment, and you can be proud of the fact that you are assisting the Gynarchy with this judicial process!’

The first visitor to his foot box was Miss Chandler. She was of Jamaican descent, and had been found guilty of shoplifting and sentenced to watch a slave whipped twenty times and have a slave humiliated in a foot box for two hours!

What a harsh sentence, he thought!

Corrections Officer Helen helped the, slightly overweight, young woman into a chair and then asked her to remove her shoes and/or socks. Slave Foot Moron hoped that she would keep the socks on, as he wanted to see them up close and personal! He got his selfish wish!

The poor girl then put her feet into the stocks, and Corrections Officer Helen bent down to secure the device with a lock saying:

‘I’m sorry Miss, but I have to secure the box to your feet as part of the sentence.’

‘Whatever!’ was the only response from the young criminal.

Phew! Those feet did stink! He got to examine her socks in minute detail, as she leafed through a magazine above him. They were not all white, as he could now see the ingrained sweat stains set heavily throughout the cotton material.

He felt sure that an hour had gone by when the young lady said loudly:

‘What! Only ten minutes? Oh, I want to go home!’

The rest of the day passed equally slowly, for him!

The next criminal was a young brunette. Sadly for slave Foot Moron, she was barefoot in her ballet flats. All he got to see this time was dirty feet and lots of sweaty toe jam!

He was finally released from the hot, and now very smelly, foot-box at midnight by Corrections Officer Helen.

‘Congratulations, slave! That’s day five over. Now you can get some rest in your cell before tomorrow. I see that no other torture has been prescribed for today. Oh to hell with it! I am going to put you back in the stocks for tonight, as I want your Mistress Maria to get excellent value for her money! Ha!’

What a truly cruel tormentress you are, Corrections Officer Helen!

………………………………………………………………………………………….

At last day six had dawned!

He was eager to be freed from the stocks, when his now well-known and feared tormentress, Corrections Officer Helen, returned:

‘Well, it’s here! The last day of torture has arrived, prisoner! Aw, poor thing; just think, after today there will be no more stocks, or harsh whippings, for you to attend! Tomorrow you will attend a lecture with your Mistress Maria on how to treat a slave, and what is expected from a slave. I will also be recommending some punishments to your Mistress, based on what I have learned about you here over the week. But, all that is tomorrow. I have saved the best to last for you, my foot oppressed friend! The rack! Ha Ha!’

He screamed internally at this comment! He was close to breaking yesterday, and this was too much! He had seen a film years ago where some poor sole was interrogated on the rack until he confessed. And I have got nothing to confess to, he thought to himself in a panicked state!

The lock was then removed from the stocks. He did not withdraw his aching limbs so readily this time, as he would have actually rather stayed in the relative safety of the stocks!

He was dragged to the rack by his hair! He was quickly trussed out on the evil device, with no care or ceremony afforded to him by his torturer, Corrections Officer Helen.

I apologise in advance, as this rack is brand new and creaks loudly when it is cranked up! But don’t worry - it is still a truly horrific ordeal to undergo (or so I am told by my many victims!). Prepare to welcome Mistress Pain, you vile slave!’

This woman is actually quite mad, he mumbled over the squeaks and clunks of the instrument of torture!

Corrections Officer Helen took her time in between each click of the mechanism and explained the effects on his torso:

‘This will literally drag you apart, if you are not careful, you know? But I am a professional; you are in safe hands!’

She then thrust her sweaty socks into his gaping, agonised mouth.

Click!

‘AARRGH!’, he screamed.

Roll on day seven!

………………………………………………………………………………………..

At last he was released from his temporary bondage to Corrections Officer Helen, and given over to the custody of Mistress Maria once again. He threw fevered kisses onto her ubiquitous pumps!

‘You foolish pwisoner! I ave enjoyed watching you suffer for your mistakes on my television!’

Oh how he had missed her French accent!

The pair attended a lecture on how to deal with slaves, and were then taken for the one to one meeting with the professional Mistress. (Technically this was three people, but as his Mistresses pointed out, he didn’t count).

This lasted for some time. At the end of the session they called in Corrections Officer Helen to hand over her report. They read it together and giggled like school girls!

Corrections Officer Helen came over to slave Foot Moron to say goodbye:

‘I have enjoyed torturing you so much! You are a vile, corrupted little creature, and I hope that you have a long life that is filled with emptiness and longing! Oh, and let’s not forget our old friend, toe jam!’

The professional Mistress then turned to Mistress Maria and said:

‘Have you ever considered fitting a fool mask to your slave?’

His kind and merciful goddess replied:

‘Oh no! It is zo cruel! I ave seen zem in ze street; I would not know where to buy one anyway!’

The slave smiled, and was never so proud to be her foot slave!

The professional Mistress simply laughed, and said:

‘Do not worry, my dear! We have the latest design software and machinery here, and you can get a grant from the Gynarchy to help pay for the apartment you live in, and this will also cover the design and manufacture of a fool mask for your slave!’

Mistress Maria was still unsure about the mask idea, so Corrections Officer Helen offered some further encouragement:

‘Let us at least scan his ugly features into the computer to see what he would look like with a mask?’

This was done free of charge, like some kind of paint mixing service! His face was scanned into the machine, and the professional Mistress could then call up shapes and colours to add to his digital features. Mistress Maria laughed, but said:

‘I do not think zat I could make anyone wear that permanently. It is so cruel!’

‘Don’t worry, my dear, he won’t mind! If you are happy, I will press ‘send’, and the design will be automatically made on our laser cutter from the materials you have selected!’

What did she mean by ‘he won’t mind’? Nobody even asked!

The two women agreed, and the machine burst into life!

The mask was hand delivered by one of the female guards. It was made from green latex to look like someone who was feeling sick from smelling too many smelly stockings! It had pink cheeks and a few words on the front of the mask, with an arrow pointing to his mouth. The words read:

‘toe jam and nail clippings go in here!’

Mistress Maria was still unsure about the mask! The other mistress exclaimed:

‘Your kindly Mistress could have ordered a permanent mask that is locked with rivets at the back! You are truly a lucky slave; this mask will be fastened with a padlock, so your mistress can remove it if she so wishes!’

She said all of this while ramming the custom made mask onto the slave’s face without asking permission from Mistress Maria!

It fitted like a glove (or, at least, like a custom made foot-fool mask!).

When Mistress Maria saw it on his actual face she laughed hysterically at his comic features! She instantly threw away the key to the padlock and shouted:

‘I will never remove zis ideous mask from your face! It is a fitting garment for a foolish slave such as you!’

This evil place had changed the Mistress, and the slave, alike! She was now a cruel, cold and callous Mistress, with a masked foot-fool and two cheques – one for her house-keeping; and one to purchase a set of stocks (also mentioned in Corrections Officer Helen’s report).

He, on the other hand (or should that be foot), would never baulk or throw up in his Mistress’s presence again!

The system works!