Footslaves’ Tribulations Volume 1
The everyday trials and tribulations of both private, and public, footslaves.
Scroll down for tribulations in reverse numerical order
10. The Sock-Cubbyhole
9. Lowering the tone
8. Nice work; shame about the whip!
7. The Vicious Gynarchy-Cycle of Pain
6. Heatwave
5. The nightsocks-watchman
4. Sarcastic Happy New Year
3. Beauty Before Age
2. Footslave Fitness Regime
1. Eternally Moulded to her Feet
I can tell I'm going to enjoy serving my new, twenty-something, Korean footmistress – even on the first full day of my enslavement to her – for the following reasons:
- She's inordinately pretty (like most Korean girls)
- She appears to be happily married and sexually satisfied by a real man – her husband (this is such a relief for an impotent footslave like myself, as it means I can concentrate solely on my mistress's soxual needs, rather than her sexual needs – no puns intended!)
- She is wearing a short and flimsy, summer's dress with a nice pair of flat, black leather, fancily-stitched, lace-up, Oxford brogues and plain, white, neatly-folder-over-at-the-cuffs anklesocks
- Her oriental-girl, heel tendons are so shapely and well-defined that there is a natural, nose-sized gap at the back of each of her heels between her soft, Korean heelskin and her white, cotton anklesock (known as 'sock cubbyholes' in the trade!)
- Now all I have to do is humbly persuade her (and her husband) to let me insert my footslave nose into the gap between her sock and her heelflesh at the back of her right heel whenever her shapely, Korean-girl foot is at rest, so that my default footslave-position is to have my nose buried in that white-sock cubbyhole for all to see and laugh at – the Korean girl’s sockslave humbly kneeling with his nose inserted down the back of his mistress's sock!
- But I shan't mind being laughed at by superior free people, for my unworthy slave-nose shall have the honour of simultaneously feeling, and smelling, her bare heelskin and her white, cotton sock; and my unworthy eyes shall have the honour of focusing on her ultra close-up, plain white sock-stitches!
Yes – my nose buried deep inside her sock-cubbyhole will be a fitting demonstration of my enslavement to my new Korean mistress’s flat, black shoes and plain, white socks. I am truly looking forward to it – providing, of course, my mistress and her manly husband kindly agree to my nose being thus cubbyholed!
My normally bubbly and vivacious, outgoing and gregarious, 27 year old, petite and comely, black, personal footmistress Sandra only lowers her tone of voice, in order to sound serious and authoritative, when she is addressing me – her constant footslave-companion. Her ubiquitous, friendly smile suddenly disappears as she enters ‘mistress-mode’, and barks her young-womanly orders down at me, or chides and derides me, often in front of her manly boyfriends, in order to enhance their manliness still further and make them feel special; even in order to turn them on, so that they will be able to pleasure her all the more powerfully!
And that, of course, is at the root of her contempt for me – my inability, both in law and in practice, to ‘pleasure’ her physically; for my mistress Sandra does like a good f**k – even more so than a good shoe or boot licking, which I’m afraid is the most that I can ever hope to do for her!
For that reason, she will often humiliate me even further in the presence of her macho menfriends, by making me praise and bless her male lovers as they prepare to enter her; extol their manliness; admire their magnificent, tumescent, male members above my head as she makes me reach up and apply a condom to their massive weapons of masterful pleasure. I am then, unusually for a lowly footslave, ‘permitted’ (i.e. ordered) to stay and watch at close quarters as the superior, free couple copulate in front of me (rather than just bury my footslave-head in my mistress’s discarded, spike-heeled and pointy-toed, black leather, zip-up, ankleboots and matching sweaty, black anklesocks), as my sadistic mistress Sandra likes me to observe ‘how a real man treats a lady’.
After they’ve done the dirty male/female deed together, I am then humiliatingly required to de-condom the master-sir, and thank him for doing that which I can never do i.e. bring my black mistress to a shuddering orgasm. My mistress Sandra also requires me to invite the magnificent master-sir to stay and whip me, for his ‘extra’ pleasure, though many of them prefer to just pay up and slip away into the night back to their wives, in which case my beloved mistress Sandra will triumphantly whip me herself, before popping out to buy some fresh ‘gear’ with her well-earned cash.
I have to sneaker and sock her before she pops out to see her local sink-estate dealer, of course, and she then leaves me alone in her dingy apartment for a while – smarting, both from the sting of her black-leather whip, and from her righteously disparaging words delivered at me in lowered, authoritative tones:
‘Clean them dirty boots while I is out, flaccid foot-bwoy!’
‘Yes, mistress Sandra madam. At once, goddess-mistress Sandra madam!’
I crawl over to her spike-heeled ‘f**k me’ boots, and ready them for her next freemale conquest by lickshining them with my flaccid footslave-tongue!
I love my job as a sink-estate public footservant – especially at times like this!
The eccentrically dressed, dreadlock-haired, black girl is wearing a brightly-coloured, flowery cotton, knee-length summer’s dress – and thick, bright yellow, synthetic moonboots, with yellow drawstrings at the tops; even though it is a swelteringly hot day!
Her bare feet (for I’ll bet she isn’t wearing any socks in there) must be well and truly steaming inside her winterwear moonboots in the middle of summer! But she doesn’t give a damn about that – she looks cool, and she knows it; a quirky style-aficionado – having her ‘summertime moonboots’ lickshined by the lowly, public footservant!
How publicly humiliating for me – to be subjected to such inappropriate, barefoot-hiding, shapeless, summertime-synthetic footwear when I should, by rights, be enjoying her pedicured, bare, black feet in open-toed sandals!
I’m loving it!
I’m loving her!
It’s just a shame about the accompanying, brown leather whip! The sartorially-eccentric, black girl seems as fond of her real-leather whip as she is of her synthetic moonboots, and I find myself worshipping her yellow moonboots in a goodly amount of unsolicited whip-pain, as the brown leather, cowhide- lash rains down mercilessly on my moonboot parade, distracting me from my humbling task in mouth!
She has no need to whip me – since I fully respect her synthetic moonboots, and praise and bless them for making such an unusual appearance in the middle of summer. But then, this pretty girl is clearly unhinged; unpredictable; feisty; a law unto herself! So, she can, and will, whip me all she wants whilst I tongue-attend to her oversized, winter-summer footwear; and there’s nothing I can do about it!
Be that as it may, I’m still over the moon that she stopped by in her large, brightly-coloured, synthetic boots; despite the pain and degradation she enjoys inflicting on me! She’s a nice piece of work – and I respect and admire her for that.
I look forward to servicing her sandals and bare, black feet in the wintertime!
I am a public footservant who is caught up in the so-called ‘Vicious Gynarchy-cycle of pain’.
It began when my first, somewhat tetchy, twenty-something, beautifully slim and dark-haired, customer-mistress of the day – regular, mixed-race customer-mistress Alison – falsely accused me of curtness and abruptness towards her on my local sink-estate, public shoelick-stand.
That’s because, when summarily ordered by her to nuzzle the sides of her black anklesocks above her dusty, black, low-cut, lace-up, sneaker rims following her early-morning jog, I had merely responded with a:
‘Yes, mistress. At once, mistress.’
instead of the requisite (in her eyes):
‘Yes, beautiful goddess-mistress Alison mistress! As it pleases you, most beautiful and respected goddess customer-mistress Alison! Truly it will be an honour for me to nuzzle the sides and uppers of your most exquisitely beautiful and warm, plain black running-anklesocks so soon after your run, oh esteemed customer-mistress Alison, and whilst they are still on your feet and ankles, mistress. Please beat me if I fail to please you, most beautiful, mixed-race mistress Alison madam!’
Furthermore, she accused me of ‘balking’ at my task-in-nose – a serious accusation by any customer-mistress towards her local, sink-estate, public footservant, and one for which she could report me to the local Female Police and have me publicly flogged in the middle of the desolate, sink-estate square!
Instead, petulant and overly sensitive customer-mistress Alison mercifully chose to whip me herself across my bare back and shoulders, with the public-use whipping stick which hangs ever-ominously on the wall of the estate behind and above my perma-chained, kneeling and bowed head – leaving my publicly exposed, back and shoulders suitably smarting, striped, and red-raw.
All of which means, of course, that my next customer-mistress, just a few moments later – thirty-something, black goddess-mistress Millicent who, as per usual, is utilising my boot-licking services on her way into the nearby dole office where she works as a counter-clerk – feels an obligation to not only enquire as to the reasons for my self-evidently fresh punishment stripes (for which I am obliged, by law, to ‘fess up’, as if guilty as charged), but to add to it with her own stripes, since she feels compelled to show mistressly solidarity with her allegedly slighted, sink-estate friend, neighbour, and regular dole-office client, miss Alison; this despite the fact that the currently in-work miss Millicent herself has no complaints of her own about the humility and respect I show towards her black leather, chunky-heeled, zip-up ankleboots, as I dutifully lickshine the early-morning, sink-estate dust out of their inner-city, street-soiled surfaces!
And so it goes on – angry, female stripes added to angry, female stripes on my mangled male back and shoulders, as each subsequent customer-mistress to my public shoelick-stand feels likewise obliged to demonstrate customer-mistressly solidarity with the previous inflictor of punitive pain on my submissive and spineless, spinal column.
I am thus ignominiously, and innocently, caught up in the vicious Gynarchy-cycle of pain – ignominiously, because my pain is so public; innocently, because I had genuinely intended no disrespect in the first place to my first customer-mistress of the day, the unemployed, jogger-mistress Alison with her black socks; I had merely been a bit tired and groggy following yet another night of fitful sleep out in the open of the sink-estate wasteland, being urinated on by stray dogs marking out their territory, and slapped and kicked by equally feral, sink-estate girlgang members who didn’t appear to have any homes to go to during the wee small hours of the morning!
But, I’m not seeking to make pathetic excuses; I know I must accept my public pain and admonishment with humility and resignation, as befits a lowly, public footservant. I’m just seeking to explain the reasons to you for my humiliatingly striped back, and hoping against hope that I can make amends to customer-mistress Alison tomorrow morning when she jogs by me again, by this time fervently and penitently kissing her dusty, black-sneakered feet and socks, thereby earning her sweet-young-womanly compassion and forgiveness, and that of her female sink-estate neighbours, in a desperate, and admittedly male-selfish, attempt to break out of this current, vicious Gynarchy-cycle of fully justified, female-inflicted pain, in which I now find myself!
Until the next month’s painful cycle begins!
Another Dissatisfied Customer by patheticus on GoAnimate
I know we must be experiencing a heatwave outside my windowless, dungeon cell – not just because it is even more hot and stifling down here than it usually is; but because my pretty treadmill-supervisor mistresses have all dispensed with their prison-officer uniform, black leather ankleboots (or occasionally ballet-flats) and black socks, and replaced them with various types of civilian sandals on their suntanned, bare feet which rest dominantly on the treadmill-supervisors’ metal footplate directly in front of my sweating face.
The prison governess must have temporarily relaxed the uniform rules, in view of the intense heat both outside, and inside, the underground male prison!
Needless to say, there are no concessions for me – the treadmill-prisoner – in the stifling heat; I am expected to work every bit as hard, and every bit as long, on the heavy, wooden treadmill below ground; and, besides, my poor and ugly, male feet are always bared and shot-to-pieces with skelfs and cuts anyway – so rough is the treadmill wood! The rest of my ‘uniform’ consists of a pair of grubby-white, prisoner-slave shorts, and a stripy-red back, courtesy of the treadmill-supervisors’ whip!
And there is no getting rid of my red shirt!
But, my extra suffering aside, it is a great honour and a privilege for me to view the bare flesh of my pretty, young guards – even if only their naked, foot flesh. It’s a stinky feetwave caused by the stifling heatwave, if you like! And such feetwave sights are truly a revelation for me:
· The soft, delicate brown skin, and sheer shapeliness, of my Indian supervisor-mistress miss Lakshmi’s, pedicured feet (i.e. purple toenail-painted) – normally hidden in plain black ballet-flats and socks
· The still disconcertingly pasty-whiteness of fat and blubbery officer-mistress Tania’s podgy feet, with her unkempt, unpainted and chipped toenails, and the lines of stinky, sticky black toejam underneath; I can also see the ribbed sock-tracks where the elasticated tops of her black bootsocks have been digging into her upper ankle-flesh inside her ankleboots over the previous winter months!
· The dry, hard skin and chapped heels of tall and athletic, African-Caribbean officer-mistress Shaniqua – her flaky, white-chapped heels such a contrast to the softness of the two-tone, light and dark brown hues of her pretty (if quite large) soles and insteps – again, normally hidden deep inside black, uniform ankleboot and sock
· The two cute little, black moles on the side of petite and comely, demurely headscarfed, Pakistani officer-mistress Iffat’s dainty, left instep – both perfect kissing distances apart for a weary treadmill-footslave’s dry and parched lips, if only she would let me! I shall have all the more respect for her black ballet-flats and socks from now on (even though they are not official uniform-issue), knowing as I now do that they cover and protect those two little black foot-moles
· The prominent bunions and misshapen, wonky toes of the normally high-heeled-ankleboot-wearing, but today, like all the others, flat-open-toed-sandal-wearing, fat, black West-African supervisor-mistress, miss Olufemi. Again, I am hoping against hope to get permission to kiss those dry-looking bunions in the raw, as they are normally only detectable as lumps underneath her socks (miss Olufemi does suffer for her natural love of high-heels, and so will often unzip and kick off her non-uniform-compliant, black patent leather, spike-heeled ankleboots during her treadmill-supervising shifts, in order to ease the pressure on her poor bunions, thereby simultaneously giving me full and unrestricted mouth-access to her bunion-covering, black bootsocks!)
· And then, of course, there are the smells of the naked, female footflesh – unfiltered by sock; sometimes delicately tart; sometimes extremely vinegary with sweat; sometimes sweet-perfumed. It all depends, I suppose, on how sensitive or otherwise the treadmill supervisor-mistress is to my footslave-prisoner feelings; and perhaps how bashful she is about her feet, even in front of a slave!
· One treadmill supervisor-mistress – strict Muslim-mistress Aliyah, the Arabic officer-mistress – is, perhaps predictably, so bashful about baring her feet in public in front of a dirty prisoner-footslave, that she has (unlike her Muslim, Pakistani colleague, miss Iffat), elected not to dispense with her winter footwear whilst working down here in the prison in the height of summer, despite the stifling heat. Indeed, I hear her explaining to a somewhat bemused miss Iffat that she has specifically changed out of her bare feet and sandals, and into her uniform ankleboots and socks, following her arrival for her shift down here in the treadmill dungeon, as her bare feet and sandals are ‘only for the delectation of her beloved husband’. Such barefoot-propriety and chasteness in a beautiful, young, Muslim-Arab, officer-mistress! I truly have to admire her moral rectitude, even if I don’t get to admire her naked footflesh, as I do with all her other female colleagues!
Yes, officer-mistress Aliyah is the only one to have realised that baring her feet before my face on the treadmill-supervisor’s footplate would give me a cheap, if smelly, thrill – something I don’t deserve, being a convicted prisoner-slave. To her pretty, Arabian mind, year-round black, feminine, ankleboots and socks is all I deserve to see, and kiss, and worship, as I toil away laboriously on my underground, dungeon-treadmill.
Why should I get to share in the more relaxed mores of a Gynarchy summer? Am I not here to be punished and humiliated – whatever the weather outside? And whatever the state of my pretty officer-mistresses’ bare feet which should, in miss Aliyah’s view, be strictly hidden inside their uniform boots and socks, as an added punishment to my lifetime of toil and suffering on the heavy treadmill? She disapproves even of her Pakistani colleague’s ballet-flats and socks – they are too kind to me, in her opinion, as they reveal more of a Muslim-lady’s sock than a dirty prisoner-slave deserves to see!
She’s quite right, of course – and, of all the feet positioned in front of me today on the face-level footplate of the treadmill, hers are still the ones I treat with the most prisoner-slavish admiration and respect, if only because her bare feet remain a complete, boot-and-sock-veiled mystery to me.
Like she says – I am not her husband; I’m her dirty prisoner-slave – heatwave or no heatwave!
I’m afraid I’m not much company for her during her lonely night shift!
Part-time, office security-guard mistress – 20 year old, Indian overseas student, miss Charita – is seated demurely, as per usual, at her night-time, security desk, watching a DVD movie on her personal laptop. She’s supposed to be watching the security CCTV screens in front of her, but who can blame her? Nothing ever happens on them; and, like I said, I’m certainly not much in the way of stimulating company for her, being chained up at her feet beneath the desk; so she needs to occupy her time somehow!
I, of course, being the female-office security guard’s night-watchslave, have no such option to neglect my duties underneath the desk at her feet; I must watch her socks and study them, and admire them, throughout the night – as befits a nightsocks-watchman.
Fortunately for me, you see, miss Charita doesn’t just break the rules when it comes to watching DVDs at work; she is feisty and rebellious against uniformity in other ways too! She has casually kicked off her great big, clod-hopping, security-guard-uniform, black leather, lace-up, hobnailed ankleboots (designed to kick an intruder’s face in), and replaced them with her, presumably much more comfortable, and certainly much more girly and soft, black leather ballet-flats! So, I have a relatively clear view of her equally girly, pink and black cotton, short anklesocks beneath her security-guard, navy-blue-uniform, trouser hems. I can thus watch her socks creasing and folding on her feet and ankles all night as she subliminally flexes and twists her sweet Indian-female foot-muscles directly in front of my ankle-level, kneeling face, or subconsciously taps her feet in time with the joyous music on the Bollywood film she is watching above me.
My face is behind a grille, to stop me from lunging with my mouth at her socks! I’m not employed as a sock-kisser or nuzzler, you see; merely as an observer and admirer of the female sock on the female foot. It’s actually my punishment – handed down by the female courts – for attempting to ogle, and for daydreaming about, my former personal footmistress’s naked, upper body whilst she showered one day!
Her husband, my master-sir, caught me perversely peeping through the bathroom door when I should have been worshipping his beautiful wife’s discarded, black anklesocks, as per her explicit orders, in the adjacent master-bedroom, and so the good lady judge, understandably, wanted to make sure that my punishment should fit my crime. She therefore sentenced me to a ‘lifetime of sockwatching beneath a boring, office desk’, with the added frisson of my having to work exclusively during the night-time instead of the daytime. The immensely clever, good lady judge decreed that I must become a nocturnal footslave, who ‘would thus learn to appreciate the beauty and excitement in a lady’s socks during the night-time, and subsequently come to daydream about them – rather than daydream about a lady’s forbidden, bare flesh above her ankles and calves!’
As further decreed by the cruelly efficient, female court, constant electric shocks keep me painfully awake at night, so there is literally no rest for the wicked except during my official, daytime sleeping hours of between 09:00 and 17:00, during which time the pain is automatically switched off. I am then, at 17:00 hrs sharp, ignominiously fed my daily ration of tasteless slave-mush through the bars of my face-grille by one of the pretty, mocking, African cleaning-ladies, in readiness for the start of night-time security-guard mistress Charita’s shift which begins at 20:00 hrs.
Needless to say, I don’t sleep all the time during the day when the electric shock-therapy is switched off, particularly since I have no pillow on which to rest my weary head – just the harsh, dirty floor! But I nevertheless always dread waking up early, since there is literally nothing to see beneath the desk during daylight hours! No-one uses the desk, and no office feet appear in front of my grille, until the arrival of my African feeders, and so I get terribly bored and lonely if I can’t sleep during my designated ‘rest’ hours.
Still, that’s undoubtedly meant to be another feature of my punishment – daytime boredom, punctuated by the night-time watching of socks – all designed, as the good lady judge had intended, to make me fully appreciate a lady’s socks much more than I evidently used to!
I am also fitted with a ‘slave-silencer’ (a gag with a hole in it through which I must suck my slave-mush through a straw), so it is an intensely silent existence, in addition to a contemplative one, beneath the female, night security-guard’s desk. No wonder goddess student-mistress Charita totally ignores me during her long night shift, and brings in movies to watch instead; she can’t see me in the gloom; or hear me; or feel me (since I’m not allowed to touch her boots, feet or socks); or feel for me.
If you listen carefully, however, you may just be able to hear me surreptitiously sniffing miss Charita’s socks on her feet beneath the desk – for I have grown to love the smell of stinky, feminine sock; my only comfort in nightlife!
Miss Charita is, in any case, vaguely aware of my existence at her feet – because her employers have told her about me. But don’t be under any illusions that she has kicked off her heavy, sock-hiding boots for my benefit, despite her pretty, Indian name! She is not being ‘charitable’, as such! Sure, she may not be a deliberately cruel, young woman, but her fondness for switching her heavy, hobnailed security-guard boots for much more dainty ballet-flats is purely because she likes her daintily-socked feet to be able to breathe at night, and her pretty, Indian feet feel much more comfortable in ballet-flats!
Some of her female, security-guard colleagues callously leave their heavy, hobnailed boots on all night, leaving me with just a thin slither of elasticated cotton sock-top to observe and admire above their upper ankleboot-rims. Now that’s cruelty, for my pathetic mind now lives for female sock!
I mentioned, in passing, that Indian miss Charita’s socks weren’t all black, but had splashes of bright pink on them; that’s because they have pink, reinforced toe and heel areas. And since miss Charita has a pleasing penchant for sitting with her ballet-flated feet resting on the floor and turned in towards one another at the rounded toes, her shapely, socked heels are often in the habit of popping out of the backs of her ballet-flats, giving me the opportunity to count her pink heel-stitches throughout the night (though I have to start all over again whenever her socks subliminally move!)
It’s how I spend my time; some free people count sheep at night, to try to get to sleep. I count pink sock-stitches in a beautiful Indian student-girl’s socks, in order to stay awake; awake, alert, and appreciative of sock – as my sentence dictates. Miss Charita’s pink sock-heels are, pathetically, the pink highlights of my miserable existence down here behind the ‘nightsock-watchman’s grille’!
And so I just carry on silently doing what I do best – watching socks and suffering shocks; and my sentence (though it will never be over, as it is a lifetime sentence) has already worked, just as the intelligent, lady judge had predicted. I now no longer dream of naked, mistressly bodies during the daytime; instead I dream of miss Charita’s socks, and wonder what colour the reinforced toe and heel areas will be on her next night shift above me?
The pervert in me has been well and truly tamed!
Nightsocks-Watchman by patheticus on GoAnimate
It’s approaching midnight on New Year’s Eve and the fireworks are already lighting up the sky as the female and freemale populace of the Gynarchy, despite the drizzle and the rain, celebrate the imminent arrival of the New Year.
I, however, am left cold and damp and alone kneeling at my public shoelick stand overlooking the harbour.
Or, as it turns out, not completely alone – for one kind-hearted young woman has secretively slipped away from the party to come and wish me a happy new year!
She is one of my regular customers – Chinese waitress-mistress Li Fong, who works in one of the nearby Chinese restaurants in Chinatown. But she hasn’t brought me any takeaway food, not even slops, to fill my perennially empty belly; and certainly not fortune cookies!
No – all she brings to my solitary party are her dirty and rain-splashed, black, laced-up sneakers and bobbled and creased, navy-blue anklesocks beneath her black and white, waitress-uniform, tracksuit bottoms; together with a healthy dose of sarcasm:
‘Ha! Ha! Happy new year, Slave! I wish you lick many dirty sneakers; sniff many stinky sock! Ha! Ha! You a slave! You always be a slave! Ha! Ha!’
I praise and bless miss Li Fong for taking the time out to sarcastically wish me a happy new year, and to mock me. I can only hope she continues to visit me with her plain, black sneakers and bobbled, navy-blue anklesocks throughout the forthcoming year, for I am in no position to go visit her, even though she works and lives just around the corner!
Happy New Year! by patheticus on GoAnimate
I must have been employed as a public-shoelick at this suburban railway station since before she was born! But still, this twenty-something, arrogant and sassy, young black woman, with short, dyed ginger hair, treats me like the dirt that I am beneath her regular-commuter feet.
She can’t even be bothered to talk to me, as I lickshine her businesslike, chunky-heeled, black leather ankleboots beneath her smart, black cotton, bootcut trouser-hems. Instead, she is gabbling away to someone on her mobile phone high above me, as she subconsciously and routinely has me lick the everyday grind out of her highly-prized, black girl bootleather.
She sounds like a no-nonsense sort of girl who knows her own mind as she witters away on the phone – so I daren’t even attempt to raise her black trouser-hem with my nose in an effort to nuzzle her black anklesock inside her boot (I’m assuming she is wearing black, business-girl socks inside those boots?) for fear of offending her and invoking her righteous, young-womanly wrath.
And I do fear her. But I likewise wish she would reciprocate by showing me at least a modicum of young-womanly respect – given that I am clearly old enough to be her father, though I am much too lowly and impotent (not to mention white!) to have actually begotten her!
But she is such a typical, arrogant, young Gynarchy woman – respectful, no doubt, of her real parents, yes; but certainly no respecter of elderly male slaves like me! She expects a public footslave to just get on with his degrading task of lickshining her successful, commuter-girl, office boots. After all, it’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? Isn’t that what the sign says next to me on the platform?
Yes, black miss, indeed it does! And you are quite right, of course, black miss – in the Gynarchy of Barbaria, female beauty always comes before maleslave age. And you are truly beautiful, haughty and arrogant, young black mistress; just like your pretty, chunky-heeled, black leather ankleboots whose streetdirt I am now avidly consuming.
Oh how I wish I knew your name – even though you clearly have no interest in knowing mine; for you simply turn and walk away when I’m finished!
Ignored by patheticus on GoAnimate
My beautifully fat and lazy Indian mistress – goddess-mistress Devasree – is concerned that I am putting on superfluous weight, which, she says, is unbecoming in a supposedly scrawny and malnourished footslave!
She points out that she has her highly-prized reputation as an indolent and cruel footmistress, who never lifts a finger to help herself (other than to help herself to more food), to uphold, and she is therefore instituting a new ‘footslave fitness regime’ for me, to help me shed the pounds; a regime based on what she calls ‘work and the whip’:
· From now on my already meagre rations will be reduced to just half a bowl of tasteless, unappetising, and unnutritional slave-mush per day; she states she may even ‘poison’ my meagre meals with her warm footsweat, dirty toenails and sticky toejam, in an attempt to make me ill, and thus further diminish my weight.
· I am to kiss her feet 7 times a day, 700 times on each occasion, whilst doing press-ups. Thus she will be seated with her fat, Indian-lady feet stretched languorously out on the floor before her in their brown leather sandals beneath my prostrate face whilst I perform 700 foot-kissing press-ups.
· I am to be whipped 7 times a day, 10 lashes on each occasion (which may, or may not, immediately follow my press-up sessions, depending on her whim) making a daily total of 70 harsh, stinging lashes to my bare back and ribs. Goddess-mistress Devasree opines that this too will, inevitably, help me to lose weight as I sweat off much of my surplus fat (plus, of course, I shall be losing a goodly amount of skin thanks to the abrasion of the whip!). If such regular beatings make me ill – so much the better as, again, that will help me to lose weight! Incidentally, she won’t have to exert herself by wielding the whip across my sweating, bare back; her 20 year old, currently underemployed daughter, slim and svelte miss Naina, will kindly do all the whipping on her mother’s behalf whilst wearing her practical, flat-heeled, student-girl, plain white sneakers (in order to get good purchase for her pretty feet on the ground whilst whipping me).
· When not required to follow, or kiss, or attend to my mistress Devasree’s feet, I am to work the treadmill in her basement, under the strict supervision of her daughter, whom she will pay pocket-money to watch over and whip me from the treadmill-supervisor’s chair in front of and above me. This is meant to be a punishment treadmill, but goddess-mistress Devasree is just as happy for me to use it in order to lose weight in front of her daughter’s supervisory, sneakered feet. It means that, other than my ‘downtime’ kneeling by the side of my fat mistress Devasree’s bare, sandalled feet, I shall have no downtime, but shall always be required to work – and hard, physical labour at that, as she will instruct her beloved daughter to ratchet the treadmill to its heaviest drive, requiring all my whip-inspired, footslave energy to even move it by one wearisome, wooden notch!
· Thus my only respite from constant hunger, sweat, pain and toil shall be when I sleep – and, even then, I shall not be totally immune from all 4 such sensations, for my mistress Devasree gleefully assures me that I shall go to my basement-dungeon cell (next to the treadmill) hungry every night; with my mouth stopped by her daughter miss Naina’s sweaty, white sneaker-socks (worn inside her plain, white sneakers whilst whipping me and supervising me on the treadmill); and with a smarting back from the aforementioned whippings delivered to me by her delightful daughter, together with aching neck muscles from my 4900 footkiss press-ups at her own, middle-aged, bare and sandalled feet; as well, of course, as my overall bodily agony from my laborious and monotonous toil on the basement punishment-treadmill!
I am, of course, very grateful to my beautiful mistress Devasree, and her equally beautiful daughter, for their kind attention to, and concern for, my footslave health, and can only kneel and watch in awe and admiration as my mistress Devasree herself grows lazier and lazier, and fatter and fatter, with each passing, female day!
Fighting The Footslave-Flab by patheticus on GoAnimate
After twenty long years of continuous, personal foot-servitude to my tall and slim, blonde-haired mistress Olga, my rubbery footfool-mask is now indelibly moulded onto my maleslave-face. It could not even be surgically removed – even if they tried!
It is a part of me. It is me!
- Its foundation is a garish, rubbery pink, to make me look like a weak and effeminate, overly-painted, maleslavish foot-whore – something to be denigrated and despised by polite society
- It contains her actual foot-imprints, which she posed for when the rubber mask was being moulded. Needless to say, these serve as an excellent repository for my footmistress Olga to rest her weary feet in when she is using me as a human foot-rest.
- It also includes several large, beige-coloured, rubbery, verruca-type warts to make it look as though my mistress Olga's verrucae have been ignominiously spread from her pasty-white, bare feet onto my pink footfoolish-face, through intimate contact.
- Furthermore, various rubbery, sickly-green patches on my shamefully pink-rubbery cheeks make it look like my mistress's fungal nail infections have also been spread onto my face!
- The combined effect is to make my footslave-face look not just walked-over, and lived in, by my mistress’s feet, but also hideously wart-laden and fungal-infected through overly-close contact with those superior feet, so that fine, upstanding, free people will take an instant dislike to me, and regard me as an utterly repulsive, disease-ridden footslave.
- Plus, of course, my rubbery-masked wartiness and facial ugliness makes my Russian mistress Olga's own contrastingly natural-feminine, facial beauty seem all the greater!
- Everyone, incidentally, sympathises with my personal footmistress for the unfortunate condition of her feet – but they encourage her not to flinch from imposing her bare feet upon me, and from having me regularly ‘treat’ them by mouth, since they hold me responsible for her unfortunate foot-flaws. In particular, they say, I must be made to soften her verrucae with my tongue, and scrape out her fungal toenail-infection with my teeth – before swallowing it. I must also be made to thoroughly clean her socks of dead footskin and other detritus – by vigorously mouthwashing them. And I am frequently beaten across the back by angry freemales for ‘allowing’ my pretty mistress’s feet to become so unwholesome, when it is actually her sweaty-footed lifestyle which leads to the problems – her habit of jogging through the woods in damp, wet sneakers and socks, for example!
- But, returning to my mask of shame, it further contains a bright red, rubbery letter 'S' in the middle of the shamefully-pink forehead, to make me look painfully branded as a slave
- On the back it actually includes the © sign together with the words 'Slave for life. Lawfully-owned, human property of Mistress Olga'
- On the front, it also contains the words 'whipped'; downtrodden; 'downcast'; 'boots'; 'trainers'; 'socks'; 'stink'; ‘verrucae’; ‘fungus’; and 'toenails' – in between the beige-rubbery footwarts and garishly green fungal patches – just to spell out my humiliation and degradation to everyone. The deliberately deprecating words amount to a humiliating summary of my unenviable footslave-lifestyle at my blessed mistress Olga's stinky, warped feet, literally writ large for everyone to see all over my shamefully pink-rubbery face!
- It has wonky, black-rubbery eyes, made to look deliberately swollen, tearful, battered and bruised
- It has a blue-rubbery, pig-shaped snout, ideal for sniffing socks – which can be easily attached to the outsides of the wide, round nostrils, and thus hang degradingly down from my nose like cotton bogeys as I crawl along behind my mistress to heel; ‘sock-snout’, they call me!
- The mouth on the mask is red and white striped, thick-rubbery-lipped, and deliberately sad-looking and downturned – lest anyone think I actually enjoy being the fungal-footslave of my warty-footed, young(ish) mistress (though now in her forties, my mistress Olga is a good twenty years my junior, and therefore still seems young to me!)
- The mask is heavily weighted on the inside with lead, in order to help weigh my face down, and thereby keep my gaze dutifully focused on my mistress's feet, footwarts and/or footwear at all times. It is, quite literally, a pain in the neck! Indeed, I haven't been able to raise my neck and gaze upon my mistress Olga's naturally pretty, wart-free, white-Russian face in the twenty years since my mask was first fitted onto me at her 21st birthday party! I have even been unable to look at her above the knee! But, on the plus side, I do get to see her flawed, bare white feet a lot!
I have actually, over the years, grown to appreciate my garish-pink, rubbery footfool-mask – warts & all – as it sums up my pathetic, footslavish personality to a tee. So you could say that I have grown attached to it! Just as I have grown attached to my lovely mistress Olga's bare, white feet – warts; stink; socks & all!
My mistress has kindly agreed that I can be buried in my mask when I die – with a pair of her unwashed, grubby-white anklesocks hanging from the nostrils in the blue-rubbery, footpig snout! The rubbery footfool-mask (unlike the socks) is, apparently, non bio-degradable, so when my unmarked slave-grave is eventually dug up for redevelopment at some point and time in the distant, female future, the female archaeologists shall be able to readily identify both my mistress’s name, which is, of course, written on the back, and my purpose in life, which is written on the front, i.e. to be her whipped; downtrodden; downcast; boot-shining; trainer-licking; sock-sniffing; footstink-inhaling; verruca-sucking; and fungal-toenail-eating, personal footservant!
They will also, no doubt, deduce my mistress’s actual foot-size (from her foot imprints on the front of the mask) and that she suffered from both verrucae and from fungal-nail infections, thanks to the rubbery, beige-coloured verrucae and green rubbery fungus decoratively adorning the outside of my eternally pink-rubbery face!
My grimacing, rubbery-masked skull shall then be put on ignominious display in the Gynarchy Footslave-Museum (with a new pair of dirty, white, feminine anklesocks attached to the nostrils to replace the long-since corroded original, white socks of my mistress Olga) for successive generations of females, and their freemale partners, to witness, laugh at and enjoy.
A fitting end for a weak and feeble footservant from the dim and distant 21st century, I think you’ll agree?
