Plus Ça Change!
Domina Angelina and her husband, Senator Petronius, were relaxing on separate recliners in the courtyard at the back of their suburban, Roman villa, soaking up the sun. They had been doing so all afternoon, for it was much too hot to be doing anything else! And besides, they both had nothing better to do; being in his sixties, he was retired; and, being in her forties, she was a kept woman.
She didn't even have to do any housework, as they had a household footslave-cum-dogsbody (or ‘servus provolvo’) to do that for her (Senator Petronius was a traditionalist, despite living and working in the big, cosmopolitan city of Rome, and saw housework very much as being either women's or maleslaves’ work!)
Thus, despite the stifling heat, there was one sorry individual who was hard at work that sunny afternoon – Domina Angelina's household footslave, Patheticus – though he wasn't so much serving her feet this afternoon, as scrubbing the stone courtyard in order to make it cleaner for his owners and betters to sit in; and, of course, to keep them both amused, since they loved seeing him sweating and hard at work on his hands and knees whilst they both relaxed!
It got boring after a time, however, and domina Angelina decided it was time for some devilish, domina fun at her hapless, hardworking slave's expense:
'Patheticus, come here!' she barked.
Slave Patheticus immediately put down his scrubbing brush next to his bucket and scurried over on his hands and knees to the foot of his mistress's recliner; he had been in her service for several years (a wedding-gift from her husband, master Petronius sir) and knew better than to keep his mistress waiting – though, from the heavily whip-marked state of his bare back, you could be forgiven for thinking that he hadn't learnt his lessons!
He humbly lowered his head to be next to her bare, olive-skinned feet resting languorously on the far end of her courtyard recliner (although it was a hot and sunny day, goddess-domina Angelina always went barefoot in sandals, whatever the weather; bare feet with flat brown, strappy, Roman-lady style sandals – although the sandals were temporarily discarded on the stone paving of the courtyard). Patheticus had earlier been carefully and respectfully scrubbing around the domina’s discarded footwear, for they are the brown leather, Roman sandals of his superior mistress, and contain her Roman-nobility foot excretions, and are therefore worthy of his footslavish respect!
Domina Angelina was not a total, sartorial eccentric, bless her – but nonetheless preferred to wear a short, white tunic, as opposed to her long, white, ankle-length stola, in the summer months. Mutton dressed up as lamb, some would (and did) say!
'You summoned me, domina Angelina madam?' muttered Patheticus towards her unshod feet. Patheticus was only ever permitted to address his mistress in the foot; he was not considered worthy to look her in the eye.
She unhurriedly took a sip out of her glass of refreshing wine (so submissively prepared for her earlier by the perennially thirsty slave Patheticus, who wasn't allowed to drink wine himself; only prepare it for his betters; Patheticus had to make do, like most Roman household slaves, with bread and water).
'Yes, slave... erm, forgive me if I'm wrong, but I was under the impression that I had ordered you to scrub clean the courtyard floor?'
She was toying with him, of course; she knew full well that this was exactly what he had been doing all afternoon, since he had been doing it whilst she relaxed on her comfortable recliner in front of him!
This spelt danger; sarcasm in a domina-mistress always does!
'Yes indeed, mistress; if it pleases you domina Angelina madam?'
She lazily and nonchalantly shoves the bare, wrinkled sole of her olive-toned, right foot onto his kneeling face; he can smell the sweat – a familiar smell!
'Erm... Well, in that case, how do you explain those dust-marks all over the soles of my feet, pathetic slave?'
She rubs the dusty sole of her olive-skinned foot all over his gormless, dogsbody face, as if to literally 'rub it in' (the offending foot-dust, I mean!)
Master Petronius sir joins in the fun:
'Do you think it is acceptable for your mistress to have dust on the bottoms of her feet, slave?'
Patheticus does not think it is so acceptable – though if he were at liberty to do so he would argue that the dust could not possibly have come from the diligently scrubbed-clean courtyard; not least because his indolent mistress Angelina has not set foot on the courtyard floor since kicking off her sandals some three hours ago!
But he is not at liberty to say so. He is at liberty only to apologise to the domina and dominus:
'Oh pray dominus Petronius sir; oh pray domina Angelina madam! Truly this slave regrets the dust on the mistress's soles, mistress, and humbly offers to suck it off, mistress, if it would be so pleasing to you, domina-mistress?'
'Ha! Wipe it off onto his ugly face, lady Angelina!' suggests master Petronius sir.
Ever the obedient wife, that's exactly what domina Angelina does; she shoves both of her sweaty, olive-skinned feet onto Patheticus's equally sweaty face and arrogantly transfers her feet-dust into his facial pores.
Soon his face reeks of her sweaty feet, though her feet do now, admittedly, look a lot cleaner on the soles.
'Whip him, lady Angelina!' suggests master Petronius sir, again helpfully.
The lady Angelina doesn't normally like disobeying her manly, macho husband but it's just too damn hot to lift a Roman-lady finger today – let alone the nearby punishment whip!
'I cannot be bothered, my darling husband! You whip him, if you like!'
Master Petronius sir, it seems, also cannot be bothered:
‘Nay, like you I fear I am too comfortable lying here on my recliner, my darling! Why don't you summon a professional flagellant from the local flagellatorium to come round?'
'Why, it is an excellent idea, Petronius my darling!'
Dominus Petronius is always full of great ideas; that's why she loves him so much! And, however hot the weather, domina Angelina is never too tired to clap her pretty hands and summon her maidservant to solicit a professional flagellant from the local flagellatorium for the purposes of chastising her indolent servus-provolvo!
Patheticus desperately kisses the sides of her olive-skinned feet as she gives her instructions to the maidservant-cum-messenger-girl, miss Aurelia (Patheticus always has to call her ‘miss Aurelia’, and kiss her feet on command, as she too, though a lowly handmaiden, is considered his better in this Roman household!)
'It is done!' domina Angelina gleefully declares as the maidservant smilingly departs. 'The professional flagellant should be with us within the hour!... Slave, get back to your scrubbing! We can't have you lounging around doing nothing, pending your flogging! Ha! Ha!'
'Yes, domina-mistress. May the gods bless you, domina-mistress!'
The slave reluctantly tears himself away from his mistress's olive-skinned feet, and resumes his scrubbing of the stone, courtyard floor whilst anxiously awaiting the arrival of his professional flagellant. His domina is quite right, of course – he can't just 'lounge around' whilst awaiting his justified punishment for her dusty, olive-skinned, sole surfaces; he's a household slave, and there's always nugatory work to be done…
Angela, and her husband Peter, were relaxing on separate loungers in the patio at the back of their suburban house, soaking up the sun. They had been doing so all afternoon, for it was much too hot to be doing anything else! And besides, they both had nothing better to do; being in his sixties, he was retired; and, being in her forties, she was a kept woman.
She didn't even have to do any housework, as they had a household footslave-cum-dogsbody to do that for her (master Peter was a traditionalist, despite living and working in the capital city of the Gynarchy, and saw housework as being very much either women's or maleslaves’ work!)
Thus, despite the stifling heat, there was one sorry individual who was hard at work that sunny afternoon – mistress Angela's household footslave, Patheticus – though he wasn't so much serving her feet this afternoon, as scrubbing the concrete patio in order to make it cleaner for his owners and betters to sit in; and, of course, to keep them both amused, since they loved seeing him sweating and hard at work on his hands and knees whilst they both relaxed!
It got boring after a time, however, and mistress Angela decided it was time for some mischievous, mistressly fun at her hapless, hardworking slave's expense:
'Patheticus, come here!' she barked.
Slave Patheticus immediately put down his scrubbing brush next to his bucket and scurried over on his hands and knees to the foot of his mistress's lounger; he had been in her service for several years (a wedding-gift from her husband, master Peter sir) and knew better than to keep his mistress waiting – though, from the heavily whip-marked state of his bare back, you could be forgiven for thinking that he hadn't learnt his lessons!
He humbly lowered his head to be next to her yellow-anklesocked feet resting languorously on the far end of her patio lounger (although it was a hot and sunny day, goddess-mistress Angela always wore socks, whatever the weather; socks with flat brown, strappy Roman-style sandals in the case of today – although the sandals were temporarily discarded on the concrete floor of the patio). Patheticus had earlier been carefully and respectfully scrubbing around his mistress’s discarded sandals, for they are the brown leather, Roman sandals of his superior mistress, and contain her sock and foot DNA, and are therefore worthy of his footslavish respect!
Mistress Angela was not a total, sartorial eccentric – her short, cotton socks, bless them, were yellow to match her short, summer's dress.
'You summoned me, mistress Angela madam?' muttered Patheticus towards her socks. Patheticus was only ever permitted to address his mistress in the sock; he was not considered worthy to look her in the eye.
She unhurriedly took a sip out of her glass of refreshing fruit-juice (so submissively prepared for her earlier by the perennially thirsty slave Patheticus, who wasn't allowed to drink juice himself; only prepare it for his betters; Patheticus had to make do, like most suburban household slaves, with bread and water).
'Yes, slave... erm, forgive me if I'm wrong, but I was under the impression that I had ordered you to scrub clean the patio floor?'
She was toying with him, of course; she knew full well that this was exactly what he had been doing all afternoon, since he had been doing it whilst she relaxed on her comfortable lounger in front of him!
This spelt danger; sarcasm in a suburban-mistress always does!
'Yes indeed, mistress; if it pleases you mistress Angela madam?'
She lazily and nonchalantly shoves the sole of her yellowy, right-socked foot onto his kneeling face; he can smell the sweat – a familiar smell!
'Erm... Well, in that case, how do you explain those dust-marks all over the soles of my socks, pathetic slave?'
She rubs the dusty sole of her yellow-socked foot all over his gormless, dogsbody face, as if to literally 'rub it in' (the offending sock-dust, I mean!)
Master Peter sir joins in the fun:
'Do you think it is acceptable for your mistress to have dust on the bottoms of her socks, slave?'
Patheticus does not think it is so acceptable – though if he were at liberty to do so he would argue that the dust could not possibly have come from the diligently scrubbed-clean patio; not least because his indolent mistress Angela has not set foot on the patio floor since kicking off her sandals some three hours ago!
But he is not at liberty to say so. He is at liberty only to apologise to the mistress and master-sir:
'Oh pray master Peter sir; oh pray mistress Angela madam! Truly this slave regrets the dust on the mistress's socks, madam, and humbly offers to suck it off, madam, if it would be so pleasing to you, mistress-madam?'
'Ha! Wipe it off onto his ugly face, Angie!' suggests master Peter sir.
Ever the obedient wife, that's exactly what mistress Angela does; she shoves both of her sweaty, yellow-socked feet onto Patheticus's equally sweaty face and arrogantly transfers her sock-dust into his facial pores.
Soon his face reeks of her sweaty socks, though her socks do now, admittedly, look a lot cleaner on the soles.
'Whip him, Angie!' suggests master Peter sir, again helpfully.
Angela doesn't normally like disobeying her manly, macho husband but it's just too damn hot to lift a suburban-lady finger today – let alone the nearby punishment whip!
'I can't be assed, honey! You whip him, if you like!'
Master Peter sir, it seems, also can't be assed:
‘Nah, like you I'm too comfortable lying here on my lounger, honey! Why don't you order a professional whipper from the local whipping house to come round?'
'Great idea, Peter darling!'
Master Peter is always full of great ideas; that's why she loves him so much! And, however hot the weather, mistress Angela is never too tired to pick up her cell phone and order a professional whipper from the local whipping-house for the purposes of chastising her indolent footslave!
Patheticus desperately kisses the sides of her yellow socks as she does so online.
'Sorted!' she gleefully declares. 'The professional whipper should be with us within the hour!... Slave, get back to your scrubbing! We can't have you lounging around doing nothing, pending your whipping! Ha! Ha!'
'Yes, mistress madam. God bless you, mistress madam!'
The slave reluctantly tears himself away from his mistress's yellow socks, and resumes his scrubbing of the concrete patio floor whilst anxiously awaiting the arrival of his professional whipper. His mistress is quite right, of course – he can't just 'lounge around' whilst awaiting his justified punishment for her dusty, yellow sock sole surfaces; he's a household slave, and there's always nugatory work to be done…
… Plus ça change!
