Twelve Good Young Women And True

The question is, is this short story any good? The jury’s out…

To be a juror in the Gynarchy you must be:

• Young (18 - 25)
• Female
• Attractive
• Prejudiced (since the male 'defendant ‘must always be found guilty)
• Capricious, self-centred and merciless, with no sympathy for, or empathy with, their victim (the defendant) whatsoever

The female jurors sit in female judgement high above the male defendant in a semi-circle surrounding the dock, with their pretty feet and footwear stretched out directly in front of his face. The male defendant must kiss the female-jurors' feet 12 times each (six times on each foot) at the beginning of the male show-trial – out of respect for them; then immediately before the female jury retires to 'consider' it's verdict – by way of pleading for their sweet feminine compassion and mercy, but knowing that they will have already decided on his guilt and must merely determine his punishment, which they must recommend to the good, lady judge; and finally, immediately after they have delivered their guilty verdict, and the female judge has handed down the female jury’s recommended sentence  – by way of thanking the female jurors for taking the time to convict and condemn him.

In my case, the pretty female jurors are:

1. A blonde-ponytailed, bank-clerk girl wearing a smart, navy-blue, knee-length skirt, with tan nylon stockings and, appropriately enough, navy-blue 'courts'. Her ankles are quite podgy and there is a faint whiff of nylon-footsweat as I kiss her outstretched, seated feet at my prisoner face-level. I deliberately kiss the creases in her warm nylons around her shapeless anklebones, as I am banking on her support!
2. A slim, dark-haired, seemingly angry (at the sheer inconvenience of having to be here), streetwise girl wearing a black leather miniskirt and chunky-heeled, round-toed, black leather, zip-up ankleboots with pink, fuzzy, ankle-length, towelling socks. Although her rounded boot-toes are deliciously scuffmarked, I focus on kissing her pink, fluffy socktops in a futile effort to elicit any young-streetwise-womanly mercy that may be hiding deep down within her (taking great care, of course, not to let my upper lip stray onto her bare, white legflesh since that would be guaranteed to anger her even further!).
3. A greasy, red-haired ‘skank-mistress’ wearing headphones and listening to rap music throughout the trial, who is wearing scruffy, blue denim, skin-tight jeans tucked into the tops of a pair of beige-brown, calf-length, sheepskin ugg-boots. The broad, rounded toes of her ugg-boots look dirty and smell musty as I kiss them six times each prior to their retiring to consider their verdict, and I don't even know if the beautiful sink-estate skank-mistress is wearing any socks inside her boots, or is shamelessly sweaty-barefoot inside them (I'm guessing it's the latter). I have already overheard her telling her fellow female jurors that she wants a quick conviction as she has a party to go to tonight, so I kiss her grubby and grimy ugg-boots by way of an apology for 'detaining' her, and taking up her valuable female time.
4. A petite and slim, black girl with short, cropped hair, wearing an above-the-knee, black skirt and knee-length, black leather, flat-heeled stretch-boots with decorative, buckled straps around the ankles (almost like a pair of riding boots, but definitely for city wear). This young woman has a particularly smug expression on her pretty, African-Caribbean face as she looks down on me, so I make an extra effort to kiss her all the way up her creased, black bootleather – right up to her knobbly kneecaps (but without touching her skin), even though it’s a pain in my neck!
5. A brown-haired bimbo-mistress who has clearly had both a boob-job, and collagen injected into her fulsome, pink lips. The bimbo-mistress is wearing a pink, polyester miniskirt and matching pink, strappy, stiletto-heeled, plastic sandals on her bare feet. I kiss her pink-varnished, big toenails out of lowly, male-prisoner respect for her female beauty above me. Her feet are sweet-perfumed. I admire, but daren’t touch with my prisoner-mouth, her red heart tattoo on her outer, right anklebone, with the name ‘Brad’ written on it – for I know I am not worthy to kiss a female juror’s ankle-tattoo whilst she is seated in judgement upon me; and especially not an ankle-tattoo with her beloved boyfriend’s name on it.
6. A rightfully holier-than-thou, headscarfed, Malaysian-Muslim girl in tight, black jeans and black, low-top, lace-up, leather sneakers with short, Malaysian-ankleflesh-revealing, pure white, sneaker socks. I yearn to kiss a, no doubt prejudiced against me, pulsating, blue vein on her left anklebone, but instead restrict myself to one penitent sinner-slave lip on her elasticated, sneaker-sock top, and one on her sneaker-leather, out of respect for her judgemental, Muslim girl power and authority over me. ‘Guilty even when innocent’, is the motto of the Female Courts – at least in so far as the Female law relates to male slaves. I mean, how could a male prisoner-accused possibly be innocent when his accuser is female? I’m convinced this stern-faced, sternly-headscarfed, young religious woman is a firm believer in that dictum, and that she is a lost cause when it comes to my trying to footkiss any mercy out of her – but I still try anyway, largely because I’m in love with her sneakers and socks!
7. An equally judgemental, uniformed, Pakistani-girl, court-bailiff mistress who has been drafted onto the jury at short notice owing to the illness (i.e. hangover) and consequent no-show of one of the preappointed jurors. The Pakistani court-bailiff mistress's uniform consists of dark blue, police-uniform slacks over a pair of black-leather, blocky-heeled, lace-up ankleboots with plain black, uniform anklesocks. Unfortunately I can't get my lips onto her delicious, black cotton socktops (set against her smooth, brown ankleflesh) due to her bootcut trouser-hems being in the way, so I must rely on my feverish kisses to her courtroom bootleather to elicit mercy in her court-bailiff, seen-it-all-before persona. Another hopeless cause, I fear, since she earns her living from the Female Law!
8. An 18 year old, blonde-haired, work-experience trainee with aspirations to become a female judge. She is wearing a pair of black leather ballet-flats beneath black, bell-bottom slacks, with matching, plain black, heavily bobbled (through repeated wear and tear) anklesocks. She will be the forewoman of the jury who will announce my guilty verdict and the jury's recommendations for my punishment, so I pay particular, labial respect to her cheap, bobbled, and in places greying and thinning, anklesocks, breathing in the musty aroma of her soft, black leather ballet-flats as I kiss sock. I’m glad that – whatever the outcome of my trial and wherever I am sent down to – this smart and ambitious, young woman will be going nice places, and through my kisses to her ballet-flats and socks I wish her well.
9. At the other end of the career ladder, her 25 year old, blonde-ponytailed mentor – a barrister-mistress and part-time magistrate mistress, wearing a smart, knee-length, grey-pinstriped skirt and black patent leather, spike-heeled, pointy-toed kneeboots on, coincidentally laddered, tan-nylon stockings. Needless to say, the barrister-cum-juror mistress's laddered nylons are out of reach to me (especially as the ladder appears on her fleshy, right thigh), and I must rely on my humble kisses to her accusatory, pointy boot-toes to convey my male-prisoner penitence and contrition to her, in the full knowledge that deep inside those professional boot-toes are the sweaty, reinforced tan-nylon toes of a judgmental, young woman more used to prosecuting male prisoner-slaves such as myself, rather than convicting them. I also have the humbling knowledge that these nylons have been worn before – possibly many times, given the unfortunate ladder in their upper parts!
10. A Japanese tourist-girl who doesn't speak much English, but who has nevertheless been invited in off the streets to pass judgment on me in her black, calf-length leggings and pink and white, velcro-fastened, low-top sneakers and pink sneaker-socks. The rest of her female tour-group are perpetually giggling in the public gallery, very much enjoying the proceedings, and jealous of their lucky compatriot's impromptu jury selection (and foot-kissing session at the penitent mouth of the male prisoner in the dock!)
11. A snooty, higher-caste, bright-coloured-sari-wearing, Indian mistress who looks disparagingly down her nose at me as I blubber for mercy into her strappy, flat, brown leather sandals, again taking great care not to let my mouth stray onto her untouchable, upper-caste, bare brown footskin beneath, for fear of offending her. Fortunately one of the brown straps across her brown sandals is broad and lip-sized. Her toenails are unpainted and contain black ridges of upper-caste toejam underneath. I wish I could extract it with my teeth (toe-jammy bastard that I am!)
12. A solidly-built, fashion-conscious, young black-African woman of Ghanaian origins who is constantly filing her nails and unconcernedly chewing gum, as opposed to listening to the trumped-up evidence against me. This gives me some, minimal hope that it may be a hung jury, for she does not strike me as being a supporter of the forces of law and order in the Gynarchy. Her bright red, flowery-themed, summer's dress is matched by her bright red, stiletto-heeled, peep-toe sandals on bare feet. Needless to say, her red-painted toenails are equally well-filed, but completely out of bounds to my lips, and I so must concentrate on respectfully kissing the red sandal-leather surrounding her perfectly pedicured, if somewhat podgy, black toes. Perhaps surprisingly in such a fastidious and black-beauty-conscious, high-class, young prostitute-woman, her feet smell au naturel, and are perfumed with stale, streetwalking sweat. Respect!

So there they are – the feet of twelve of my female betters; all genuine, towering paragons of female virtue sitting in judgment over me; twelve good young women and true!

Sadly, but predictably, for all my fervent feet-kissing, they still find me guilty as charged; unanimously. And the black leather ballet-flats and bobbled, black anklesocks of the 18 year old, jury-forewoman, work-experience trainee gleefully recommend to the female judge that I be publicly whipped in the town square with 75 lashes, before being condemned to life imprisonment with hard labour in the underground slave-mines. And all for allegedly stealing a female, dirty sock in the laundry-room where I worked (though the laundry customer-mistress concerned subsequently found the missing sock in the bottom of her dirty-laundry basket back home; still it’s the thought that I might have stolen a sock that counts!)

The good lady judge – a 30-something, jet-black-haired, Latina lady wearing a smart, grey, businesslike trouser-suit and black leather loafers with sobering, black socks – concurs with the female jury, and smilingly thanks them for their time. As do I – in my case by kissing all the female jurors’ feet again (after I have kissed the Latina lady judge’s plain black loafers and socks 12 times, of course); though I kiss the twelve good young-lady jurors’ feet more quickly this time, as I’m sure they all have much better things to do with their precious, free-female time than hang around a dingy, female courtroom having their dirty feet kissed by a freshly condemned, male prisoner-slave!

Certainly, the speed with which they reached their verdict (one minute) suggests they all have better things to do!

If they want to stay and gloat, they are welcome to witness my public whipping in the town square immediately outside the courtroom. Or even to come and visit me in the slave mines; they will know exactly where to find me – since they effectively put me there!

‘Bailiff, take him down!’

The Pakistani juror-girl steps out of the jury box and resumes her normal role as the court bailiff, leading me to black-booted heel down the ignominious, wooden stairs of the dock towards the waiting, wooden whipping-post outside in the square…