The Man In The Irony Mask
Another classic footdom story from the pen of the talented slave Paul!
The Man In The Irony Mask
By Slave Paul
It had been one of those days, when you just cannot wait to get home from work.
The young housemates returned from their respective jobs a few minutes apart. It was a warm Friday evening and the weekend was still ahead. Kirsty and Paul had been sharing the house together on the outskirts of the Gynarchy capital for 18 months now and got along quite well together. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement as the prices for even rented housing have soared in such a sought after area.
Paul worked as a construction worker for a big building firm in the city. Kirsty had a very different occupation, she had spent three very successful years as a prison guard in one of the Gynarchy’s many notorious, male prisons!
As with most aspects of freemale life in the Gynarchy, Paul’s first job of the evening was to prepare the evening meal. Kirsty was a very good cook but always left a mess in the kitchen and got very worked up and stressed at the prospect of cooking a meal. This was one of her main downfalls, her quick temper and mood changes! The pair would often laugh about it, retrospectively of course, and Kirsty very much treated Paul as her equal (this was certainly not normal in today’s modern Gynarchy!).
Once dinner was in the oven, Paul ran up to have a shower and change. Kirsty, meanwhile, simply poured herself a large glass of wine and pulled off her low heeled, black, soft leather, knee high, prison issue, uniform boots from her workaday feet and carelessly dropped them to the polished floor! She sat back in the sofa with her moist, black cotton ankle socks still crumpled up on her hot, tired feet.
Paul returned and was not impressed! He bent down and scooped up the offending footwear saying:
‘How many times do I have to tell you? Boots go in the shoe box and phew! Socks go in the washer!’
The smell of her authoritarian feet was quite pungent. Paul was not in the slightest bit attracted to the sight, or smell, of her feet!
Kirsty looked up and pulled back her hair to reply:
‘Look here, all the men I have made kiss those boots today, while locked in their tiny prison cells, would gladly carry those boots off to lick shine them and internally clean them! You do not know how truly lucky you are just being able to handle them with your bare hands. Besides, the men under my control know their place and I think it is high time you were taught a lesson, Mister! HA!’
Kirsty laughed sarcastically at this point and turned back to the television. Paul stood there motionless for a moment still clutching her soft, black leather, prison issue, uniform boots pondering the words she had just issued.
Nothing more was said on the matter and dinner passed normally. The evening news was now on the television and Kirsty was watching intently. Paul had a more distant expression and was still deep in thought. He was wondering what it would be like to be completely under Kirsty’s control and unable to escape! Being ordered to kiss and lick her boots must be so humiliating. They had seen ‘inside prison’ documentaries and punishment shows on the Gynarchy TV network. Paul knew what life inside must be like, but was still curious. His job as a construction worker was quite masculine and had little in the way of female domination.
He did not find Kirsty to be overly attractive, personally. She was still very much single, despite being in her early thirties with a good steady job and home (the one they shared). She was quite stocky in build, with mousy brown, shoulder length hair and green eyes. Her most striking feature was her prominent eyebrows, which were probably a contributory factor to her single status. The thought of being made to obey her orders was flying round his head in earnest. Meanwhile, the only thing flying round Kirsty’s head was wine!
Kirsty eventually looked down at his distant expression and said:
‘Are you alright? You look worried about something?’
This burst his bubble somewhat, as the last thing that an oppressed prisoner would expect to be asked by his harsh guard mistress would be ‘Are you alright?’
He waited a moment and replied:
‘Yes I am fine! I was just thinking about what you said earlier, making prisoners lick, and kiss, your boots! You weren’t being serious were you?’
‘Of course I was! It is the only perk in a very dull job! Watching the hapless, male prisoner stick his head through the ground level, cell door hatch and perform my orders keeps me going for the day!’
His heart began to race at this latest confirmation:
‘That must be so humiliating for the prisoner! To actually kiss your boot toe, yuck!’
‘Yes, I suppose it would be humiliating, but tough luck. They are there to be punished. Besides, that’s not the half of it; sometimes when the other guards are not looking, I slip my boot off and order the prisoner to sniff my socks for a while Ha HA! We are not supposed to do this, as some of the prisoners are ex foot slaves, and actually enjoy the experience, not that I could believe any such experience could be ‘’enjoyable’’! I mean, would you want to smell these up close and personal?’
With that, she stuck her sock clad foot under his nose and wiggled her toes! It actually took two or three seconds for Paul to pull away with disgust, as his over active imagination was in full drive! Fortunately, Kirsty was too drunk to notice!
‘Anyway, why all the questions? Do you want to go to prison or something? You should be careful of what you wish for, you know. Remember who I am!’
With that they both laughed (Paul quite nervously so).
More time passed and Paul ceased his questioning as he did not want to draw attention to himself anymore. Kirsty was now the one with a distant expression on her rounded, slightly drunken face!
Another bottle of wine later and Kirsty switched ends of the sofa and was now sitting closer to Paul. She playfully dragged her finger up his forearm and bit her top lip before slurring:
‘You never answered me. Do you want to go to prison and become MY prisoner?’
Paul was slightly the worse for wear now too and the wine had served to lower his inhibitions to a certain extent. He formulated a reply in his head that said ‘No, I was being silly. Who would want to actually go to prison and serve your boots Kirsty?’
What actually came out was:
‘You should experience everything once in this life. I have never been in trouble with the law!’
OOPS!
She smiled back and drifted off in an alcohol induced haze.
The next day came round and all was forgotten. Paul was still very curious as to what Kirsty’s job precisely entailed but would never have the courage to ask about it again. He felt quite embarrassed! Kirsty seemed to have forgotten about it all, rather fortunately for Paul.
It was now Saturday morning and Paul was about to leave for his overtime job on the construction site (men are only paid half wages in comparison to women in the Gynarchy). Just then, the doorbell rang. Paul was passing through the corridor anyway, so opened the door to greet the visitor.
It was Jenny, a close friend of Kirsty and a successful lawyer working for the GPS (Gynarchy Prosecution Service). She was a bubbly, fun loving character and much more to Paul’s taste in that she was a tall blonde with striking blue eyes, and never to be seen without her killer, spiked stiletto heel shoes, even on a weekend!
‘Hi Paul, Kirsty up yet?’ she said pushing past into the hallway. Jenny did not even wait for his response and just pressed on into the living room to where the now hung-over Kirsty was waiting on the sofa.
Another hard, laborious day passed slowly for Paul and he finally returned home. To his utter surprise, Kirsty had made him his dinner! She was stood in the doorway wearing a pretty, striped apron looking like the archetypal housewife! This was certainly abnormal, something must be afoot!
Following a lovely meal, and another bottle of the now much regretted wine, they retired to the living room to watch the television. Paul put the news on and began to dose off. Kirsty leant over and switched the television off and roused Paul deliberately:
‘What you said last night, ‘you should experience everything once in this life, I have never been in trouble with the law’. Did you mean it?’
He was about to answer with a nervously constructed NO!
Kirsty continued:
‘I could arrange for you to be my prisoner, on a purely temporary basis of course! It would have to be for real though; all of the correct documentation!’
A long silence filled the room:
‘Are you serious? I could not do that! We would get found out!’
‘Ha, get found out! You did not tell me to drop it then? So you have considered becoming my prisoner! Admit it!’
She seemed so very excited at the prospect of it all; he was amazed that she was thinking along the same lines as he was!
The conversation continued for hours, with all of the pros and cons being considered. It was finally settled on that they would give it a try! Kirsty would prepare a fake prison folder for him and he would spend a week in jail on a petty offence. He would be given a fake name and social security number so everything would add up! He had to admit, Kirsty had planned for everything quite meticulously! Sunday evening was settled on as the perfect time, as the least number of guards would be on and the prisoners would be on ‘lockdown’.
Sunday morning dawned and Paul awoke to find a letter from Kirsty that read:
‘Have gone to the prison to make preparations, arrive at the back door by 19:00. Do not be late and do not fail to show up, PRISONER!’
He now had all day to ponder the situation. It was agony deciding what to do, was it all just a wind up, and would she and all her friends be waiting outside the prison as some kind of sick joke? He simply had to find out!
The time finally came round and he made his way to the prison and waited. The door to the rear of the prison building creaked open and a hand beckoned for him to enter! Once inside, the door slammed shut with a loud bang! It was Kirsty in her prison guard mistress uniform as promised. The anticipation was apparent on both of their faces! They were whispering to each other along the corridor so as not to arouse suspicion or draw unwanted attention to themselves.
They entered the interrogation room that was helpfully soundproofed so they could talk normally. Once inside Kirsty informed Paul of the final details of the plan in a formal tone as if reading from a list.
1. In five minutes time you will consider yourself my prisoner and totally under my control. No conditions or requests will be made, orders will be issued and obeyed. Understand?
‘Yes Mistress’, came the reply.
2. Your prison issue shorts will be your only clothing for the week. You will now strip naked and change into them.
3. You will be subject to a number of additional punishments as listed in your prison file according to your crime. Oh, before you ask, no you cannot read what I have put in your file! Suffice to say, your new temporary name is Steve Smith and you are prisoner 1122556.
4. I will be placing you in restraints and escorting you to the cell area to lock you up.
5. You will respect all female staff in this institution and not reveal our little secret to anyone!
6. Most important of all, you will kiss my boot whenever I decide to open your cell door hatch!
Now, strip!
This was something he was not looking forward to. He was not attracted to Kirsty in that way and did not want to be seen naked by her. He felt scared, but at the same time excited!
He hastily changed into his new uniform shorts ad turned to face his guard. The next bit was not going to be fun either. He was not interested in bondage and had no desire to be chained like a common criminal, but this was all part of the experience! Click click went the shackles.
‘On your knees, prisoner, and follow me to your new cell!’
The experience was so very real!
They arrived at the tiny cell and Paul was backed in to it. It was a stone clad room not much bigger than a broom cupboard, with no window and only the floor level hatch to serve as a light! Before he could make sense of it all, the steel door was swung shut and locked from the other side. He was entombed!
The thoughts raced in his mind. He would be kissing those soft, leathery boots as a prisoner in just a few moments time! The anticipation was incredible!
Sadly for the new prisoner on the wing, the hatch never opened. Kirsty simply marched off to the guards’ restroom. She knew precisely what she was doing! The suspense was growing ever higher for both prisoner and guard!
The next day came round very slowly for the prisoner. It was a very cramped cell and Kirsty had forgotten to remove his escort shackles in her haste to secure his cell door the night before. As a result he got no sleep.
Sometime later, the heavy hatch was finally lifted and Kirsty’s booted left foot could at last be seen! The dust from the concrete corridor covered the scuffed surface of the well-worn boot. At least Paul knew what colour her socks were inside those neglected, leathery coverings!
‘Prisoner 1122556, you will now kiss my boots ten times each before you receive your daily ration!’
The taste of those boots was as good as he had imagined! It was such a strange experience. He knew what the boots felt like in his freemale hands, and how badly the insides smelt, but the utter sense of humiliation of being made to kiss the outside toecaps in full view of the occupant was truly palpable. It was strangely erotic for both of them!
He was also frustrated that the hatch was only wide enough to allow his head to protrude. His arms were still held captive by the shackles she had placed him in all those hours ago. All too quickly, the familiar footwear was removed and the food ration was placed on the floor. As Kirsty stood up, she whispered:
‘Don’t want to draw too much attention do we?’
The process remained the same for most of the week. Boot kissing in the morning and afternoon, ahead of scorn and ridicule and long periods of confinement.
At least this was a temporary affair. Paul felt genuinely sorry for his fellow inmates who had no chance of release. Some of them were lead away for whippings, or periods of confinement in the stocks, as an additional corrective method. He hoped that this was not what she meant by ‘’additional punishments’’.
On Thursday, something went wrong with the plan! Kirsty was taken ill and sent to the hospital with food poisoning from the takeaway meals she was now having to eat while Paul was imprisoned! Paul was now in the hands of the other guards who did not know it was all a game! It was frightening to have to kiss the strange boots of another guard mistress. She tutted down at him and marked his cell door with a single line of chalk denoting one lash of the cane due to poor kissing technique! She remarked that all prisoners are removed from the cells on Saturday and taken for their respective whippings that they have earned during the week!
‘Save me Kirsty!’
On Monday morning all Paul had to show for his week in prison was a heavy set of cuts on his bare back from the punishment cane! He was still no nearer release as Kirsty was still off sick! To make things much worse, he had been given his court date! He still was none the wiser as to his fake crime, or what the circumstances might be! He could not say anything as this would most likely lose Kirsty her job! He was in a total sense of despair.
On Tuesday he was lead to the jeering court. The female magistrate, a powerful looking Indian lady called for silence:
‘Prisoner 1122556, I am being finding you guilty of striking a young woman in the face while drunk and calling her a smelly, fat whore!’
A loud roar of disdain rang out in the court!
He jumped to his feet and cried:
‘No this is not real; my name is not Steve Smith; I am not guilty! Ask prison-officer Kirsty; she will confirm this is all just a game!’
‘Guard, please to be gagging the criminal as I am not wanting to hear his lies!’
A large ball gag was hastily thrust into his mouth and fastened in place.
‘Dirty prisoner in the dock, I am hereby sentencing you to five years’ imprisonment! In line with creative sentencing, I also order that you be made to wear a sock mask to hide your UGLY features. I further am decreeing that your mask is to be filled with the smelliest socks that can be found, and donated by the free women of this great nation. Now we will be seeing who is fat and smelly, won’t we, my dear fellow? Take him away!’
He was unceremoniously dragged back to his cell to have something called a ‘sock mask’ fitted! The replacement guard mistress knelt down and removed his gag with an audible pop as it came out. She then produced a box that contained the device ordered by the court to cover his face for the next five years!
It resembled an iron face mask that enclosed the whole head. The eyes had bars on them to make the occupant feel trapped and alone, the mouth had a row of rivets and a downturned lip. The side of the helmet had a section that unlocked and a removable access panel. The guard helpfully explained that this was for ‘stuffing the helmet with the socks donated by the free, female public and guards alike’.
With no further explanation given, the mask was quickly closed around the captive male prisoner’s head and a loud click was heard at the back, presumably a padlock. The guard mistress then turned her back to collect a few items from the box on the floor. This gave Paul time to rub his hands over the back of the steel mask to find the lock. To his utter horror no lock was to be found! Guard mistress X had fastened the mask with a pop rivet! It would not be coming off in a hurry, that was for sure!
‘Right prisoner, let’s get stuffing shall we?’
The Sock Mask
With that, she produced a sealed, polythene bag full of worn, dirty socks of all sizes, shapes and materials, and proceeded to stuff them into the mask from the access plate at the side!
She stuffed the smelly old socks in so tightly that the pressure on his head was intense! She had to force the access cover shut in order to lock it!
‘There, that’s better! You look like some kind of robotic, sock fetishist! The hotter you get, the smellier it should get in there! I hope that you enjoy the smell of festering socks, prisoner, as they will be a feature, or should that be FEETURE, of your next five years of penal servitude HA! Now kiss my boots, and get your head in through that hatch so I can leave you to suffer’.
Two very smelly days later the hatch finally opened again! A familiar, friendly pair of boots moved into view!
Kirsty!
He thrust his head out and tried to look up at her face, but the heavy, iron mask prevented it as the neck-piece kept his neck rigidly straight.
She knelt down to console him as best she could:
‘Oh, I am so sorry that this has happened! I did not plan for this, I promise you! How are you feeling?’
‘HOW AM I FEELING?! I am in agony; my face smells of putrid socks; I have been whipped, gagged chained, humiliated, punished, dominated, and sentenced to five years for a crime I did not commit! Now my head has been locked into some kind of medieval, torture apparatus and stuffed with women’s old, sweaty socks; and you ask me how I feel? Of all the stupid questions! I WANT TO GET OUT! GET ME OUT OF HERE NOW, KIRSTY! HELP!’
With this latest tirade over, Kirsty stood bolt upright with fear, pressed his iron covered face back into its cell, and shut the door! She was not used to being spoken to like that! ‘How dare he, I will make him pay for that!’
The rage-filled prisoner lay on the stone floor unable to move, temporarily paralysed in view of what had just happened. He had expected Kirsty to put things right and get him out of here! He must have been thinking these crippling thoughts all night, as the dawn chorus of female guards’ feet came marching down the corridor. He heard the locks being undone on the door and prepared for the hatch to be opened.
To his utter surprise, the whole cell door opened! Maybe Kirsty had put things right after all!
There stood Kirsty, with her hands on her hips, looking down at him:
‘Move, prisoner 1122556. I’m putting you to work on the prison galley! If you work extra hard, I will give you a little treat later on when you get back. Now get crawling!’
He just knelt there, looking up at her; still waiting for the words he had been longing to hear, but they did not come.
Prison Galley taskmistress Joanna had now marched up to the stationary guard and prisoner to see what the delay was:
‘Why do you delay? You should have started two minutes ago! You are a feeble looking wimp of a man, aren’t you? I can see why Miss Kirsty recommended you as a crew member on our happy little ship, Ha!’
So, this too was Kirsty’s idea!
Mistress Joanna was a scary sight to behold. She was HUGE! A mane of reddish brown curls surrounded her plump, rounded face and came down to her shoulders. She wore some kind of chamois leather dress with a heavy leather shoulder strap that had a hefty looking whip attached to its base. Her tree trunk like legs were bound up with a set of thin, light brown, leather straps that ran down to her sandal clad feet. The dress was sleeveless to allow its occupant sufficient freedom when wielding the whip with all her strength! The whole ensemble made her look like some kind of extra from a roman gladiator film!
He would have actually laughed had he not just remembered that he now looks like a cross between the man in the iron mask and some kind of robotic sock fetishist! How ironic that he, a self-avowed hater of feminine sock-stink, should be forced to wear an iron mask filled with sweaty, female socks.
He’s the man in the irony mask!
‘MOVE, YOU CRETIN!’
Swish crack!
A searing, sharp pain went through his whole body; he had been whipped for the very first time in his life!
He was dragged away to the drudgery of the prison galley in the basement. When the door opened he could see through the barred eye-holes on his mask that at least ten other prisoners were already under way on the stationary craft! The men sat either side of a central walkway that the taskmistress could pace along to ensure that the rowers were doing their best!
Paul was sat on a rough, wooden bench behind his oar which was just a wooden pole attached to an adjustable ratchet mechanism. Mistress Joanna encircled his wrists with heavy, rusty slave manacles fixed by a heavy chain to the oar beam. She made an adjustment to the mechanism and jumped up out of his pit to unfurl her whip. She kicked his nose with her strap covered toes and whipped his back hard to signal the beginning of his penitence!
It took all of his strength to move the beam one set (forward and back). Once it was moving it wasn’t too bad. It was incredibly monotonous and laborious. The counter on the ratchet moved on every time he completed one rowing action.
This torture went on for hours. To his surprise, taskmistress Joanna left him alone! She was actually impressed with his efforts so far! The only encouragement he got was when she lowered the ladle to his lips for him to drink every hour. She stood back up and tapped the blackboard above his position with the ladle and said:
‘That will be no problem for you, 1122556 Ha!’
He looked through the haze of sock sweat in his mask to see the number on the board. It read:
Prisoner No: 1122556. 2500 sets before 16:00.
He had only just completed his 412th set!
Later on in the day, Miss Kirsty marched into the galley area and made her way across the walkway. Mistress Joanna was busy whipping one of the other prisoners senseless and did not see her arriving. Kirsty knelt down and smiled! She loved to see men being treated like this. She loved the smell of toil and sweat, and the sound of the cries as the whip crashed down on the victim.
Paul thought that he was safe to grimace at her through the mask, as it prevented anyone from seeing his facial expression. It appears that yet again he was quite wrong:
‘THIS ONE JUST SPAT AT MY BOOTS, JOANNA!’
The chubby, pale complexion of taskmistress Joanna turned a fiery red! She was stomping down the walkway to his pit with an expression of rage on her face! The whip was already draped over her naked shoulder in preparation.
First she started kicking his un-protected nose that seemed to jut out from the iron face mask hard and fast; he could not protect it as his arms were restrained. Then came the whipping:
‘ENOUGH! PLEASE STOP! I CANNOT TAKE ANOTHER!’
The girls laughed as the now very sweaty Joanna kept laying on yet more punishing lashes! Her hair was all matted up with sweat as she kept on beating away at the innocent victim! Once she was finally satisfied, she drew herself up to her full height and rubbed the numbers from his board. She replaced them with a new figure that read:
Prisoner No: 1122556. 5000 sets before 15:00.
To make things worse, Miss Kirsty had secretly adjusted the ratchet mechanism to increase the resistance yet further! This would be impossible!
Miraculously, several gruelling hours later, he had actually completed the thankless task with ten minutes to spare! Taskmistress Joanna was so impressed with him, she let him kiss her sandals 100 times each before kicking his nose again!
Paul was carried back to his cell as he was unable to walk. The door was hastily shut tight and he was left on the floor shivering in a pool of sweat. He simply lay there wondering what Kirsty meant by a ‘little treat later today’?
Eventually the cell door hatch opened and Paul could see a chair leg outside. He cautiously extended his head out of the hatch to see what was happening. Kirsty manoeuvred the chair into position and carelessly dropped herself into it:
‘Well, I must say that you exceeded my expectations, Mr Prisoner! You took to that very well indeed! I have booked you into another session next week. Taskmistress Joanna was disappointed, as she wanted you back tomorrow, as she said you were a joy to behold! Anyway, time for your treat!’ Kirsty lifted her leg and pulled at the soft, leather boot from the heel. It dropped to the dusty floor following a whoosh sound as it came off her foot:
‘You get to sniff my socks today as a treat!’
Her socks were all wrinkled up and obviously damp with perspiration. She had even gone so far as to put on a joke pair of socks just for him! They were black and white stripes, just like the ones on his uniform shorts!
How very funny, he thought to himself!
‘Well you wanted to know how it felt to be ordered to smell my socks as a prisoner, didn’t you? Please feel free to make notes and tell me about it at a later date for future reference!’
The humiliation was almost too much for him to bear. The stench from her moist socks was overpowering. She must have been wearing them for days on end!
This act of submission went on for an hour or so. Kirsty looked round the empty prison corridor to check that they were alone and then bent down to remove her right sock! This done, she then thrust her bare, unpainted toes into his gawping mouth!
‘Suck em clean, convict! That’s right, you are my prisoner now and totally in my power; how pathetic!’
Technically speaking he was now the prisoner of 15,000 free women of the Gynarchy State, but he thought better than to correct her. At least he was starting to learn how things should be done around here!
Eventually she slipped the boots onto her bare feet and stood up. Paul thought that this was strange as she still had her socks in her hands? Kirsty was fumbling with the keys on her leather belt. She bent down and dropped the secondary hatch around his head. This had a cut out that fitted tightly around his neck preventing the prisoner from withdrawing into the relative safety of the cell. She then proceeded to open the access plate on the side of the mask and forcefully stuffed her own foul smelling socks into the mask!
Yet more humiliation! How much can one wrongly accused man take?
The primary hatch was once again closed tight for the night and the new smell of Miss Kirsty’s socks continued to assault his olfactory senses throughout the night.
The next day rolled round and the hatch was opened by another guard. It must have been Kirsty’s day off? The newly introduced Guard, Mistress Rebecca, explained (after having her boots kissed) that Kirsty was meeting new housemates to take your place as you will be staying with us for some time yet, ha!
‘Now hold still while I shut the secondary hatch around your neck. We have a coach load of visitors coming to see the prison today! I am sure they will want to see your sock mask. It’s hilarious!’
If it’s so hilarious, why don’t you wear one? he thought rebelliously to himself!
Mistress Rebecca marched off down the corridor to open the next cell. Paul could now see all of the other prisoners in the wing for the first time! He was the only one in a sock mask! Everyone else was looking quite normal apart from one other poor, oppressed man who was wearing a permanent, rubbery, footfool mask! Paul could just make out the words on the mask that read:
I love eating women’s toejam, and my life sentence in this prison is just great!
How humiliating for him!
Sometime later the visitors arrived and were escorted by the governess, no less! Several of the pretty, young women stopped to gawp at the wrongly imprisoned man’s metallic headgear!
They all moved slowly on down the corridor examining each convict and his sentence except for one beautiful, young, blonde girl. She was about thirty years old and had a very shapely figure. She was wearing extremely tight leggings and a pink cotton top that just covered her breasts! Paul had not seen so much womanly figure since his incarceration (apart from Taskmistress Joanna that is)!
The curious, blonde-haired visitor crouched down to his level and spoke to him in a lovely plummy, English accent. She sounded so posh that she could easily be mistaken for royalty!
‘So, do tell, what did you have to do to get yourself into this unholy predicament then?’
‘Begging your pardon, Ma’am, but I am innocent of the crime that I am accused of!’
‘Oh, how funny, the other chappy said the same thing! I like your headgear! It makes you look like a robot who has a sock fetish! Haw HAW! I am afraid that I am not wearing any socks, as you can see’.
She was wearing very comfy (extremely well used) yellow ballet flats on her bare, white, pasty feet.
‘If I remove my shoes, would you be kind enough to clean the insides for me, as they seem to whiff a bit at the moment? If I had known that you were such a sock fan, I would have brought you my old gym socks!’
The mystery blonde girl then removed her shoe from her right foot and sat in the chair helpfully provided by a nearby guard. The shoe was a light colour inside but had a heavy staining of sweat, and her toe prints were clearly visible. It took quite some time to get the insides clean, but even Paul was impressed with the result!
The visitor was about to refit her shoes when Mistress Rebecca shouted from the other end of the corridor:
‘Excuse me, Miss, but your feet will be dirty from the concrete floor! You should get the convict to clean your feet first!’
‘Oh what a jolly good idea! Terribly sorry, Mr Convict man, but I have to agree with your guard friend there. Would you be a dear and just spruce them up for me?’
He had no choice; her feet were filthy! She had thick lines of toejam under her chipped, red-varnish-covered toenails.
This task took some time to complete. Several of the visitors had returned to take pictures on their phones to put on the internet, no doubt!
Eventually the mystery visitor lady placed her beloved shoes on her feet and got up to leave:
‘Thanks awfully for your time, Mr Convict. You did a jolly good job! I would simply love to have you for my first footslave, but you see I cannot wait five years, you know? What a pity, I hope that you learn your lesson, by the way, for whatever crime you committed! Well, bye for now, my lad!’
With that, she placed a mark on the board above the door to denote ten lashes of the punishment cane on Saturday!
‘Oh, sorry, that’s for not confessing your sins, and saying you were innocent! Look on the bright side, my man, I gave your neighbour 20! Ta ta!’
Two days later he received his ten lashes! What a strange girl she was. He would have actually liked being her footslave!
Not that he can control his own destiny anymore!
Wednesday came round all too quickly, and he was once again put to work on the prison galley under the watchful eye of Miss Joanna!
On the Thursday, Miss Kirsty came back to the prison and opened the hatch to announce that she had got her new housemate, and that she had given all of Paul’s belongings away as a gift! She also announced that Paul had got a package from someone!
What a surprise he thought!
Miss Kirsty opened the packet that contained a sealed, plastic bag and a note. The letter was read to him by his guard:
‘To the nameless prisoner who so ably and effectively cleaned my bare feet and old shoes, please find enclosed a pair of my oldest, running-shoe socks for your collection. I hope that they make your time pass more swiftly. Personally I cannot see what you sock chaps find so damned interesting about footwear, but I feel happier that these are going to a good home and know that you will enjoy them! Very kind regards, Lady Isobel Cole-Fordham.’
Click went the padlock on the sock mask once again. Oh the misery! Miss Kirsty struggled to get the lock back in due to the involuntary laughter at his latest misfortune!
‘What an unlucky dote you are Ha!’
Another day was agonisingly slowly crossed off his sentence. The door to his cell was suddenly unlocked and a familiar person with a friendly face came into view.
It was Jenny!
Although she was a close friend of Kirsty, she was surely duty bound to see that things were put right?
‘Jenny! It’s me! It’s me! Get me out of this mess, please! Kirsty has gone mad, I tell you!’
The only reply that came was:
‘I know it’s you, silly boy! I am here on official business to review your sentence! Now calm down!’
His heart was racing; salvation at last!
He set about explaining all of the events leading up to this present moment.
But Jenny’s response was darkly ominous:
‘Oh dear! I am afraid that you just failed our little test; you told me all about Kirsty’s game!’
Just then Kirsty came round from behind the door with an evil look on her face! Jenny went on to say:
‘I see you cannot be relied upon to complete this minor sentence without causing trouble for my best friend? Oh well, in that case I have no choice but to extend your sentence to include more hard labour and another thirty years!’
‘NOOO please!’
‘Hey Jenny, can’t you change the sentence round so he spends one day resting and six days on the prison galley?’
‘Oh simplicity itself Kirsty, a tick here and a mark there, all done! And I am sure that Miss Joanna will be delighted to be seeing so much more of you! I have also recommended that your sock mask is removed…’, said Jenny.
Oh the joy of small mercies, he thought!
Kirsty was not too impressed with this latest amendment to his sentence:
‘Are you sure about that, Jenny? I do not want to see his ugly face ever again!’
Jenny smiled and replied:
‘If you had not interrupted me, I would have been able to continue by saying, removed and modified! I have recommended that his face is smeared in toejam from all of the guards at this institution (myself included) and the mask be re-fitted and welded on this time, with the following words painted onto it:
I love eating women’s toejam, and my life sentence in this prison is just great!
The young women erupted into laughter once more!
‘Oh and by the way, criminal, Jenny is the new housemate that took your place. I knew you would never move out of that house and I could not stand your sickening company anymore! Now you can spend the rest of your days rowing a fake boat to a destination that can never be reached, 100ft under the ground, away from the gaze of decent people and wearing a permanent, smelly-sock facemask, whilst being whipped by a sadistic, female torturer with a pathological hatred of men! Now do you think that you have a good understanding of what it is to be a prisoner for real? What a fool! HA!’
