Toejam Concentrate

A fiendish new spin on the ‘concentrator’ device – by slave Paul!

It is safe to say that any free being is highly intelligent compared to me.

As a mere personal foot-slave, I do not need to use my mind, as such, though I am, of course, highly trained to undertake several mundane and humiliating tasks at the sweet behest of my Mistress Arabella.

My Mistress Arabella possesses a higher than average intelligence even compared to the rest of her free female cohorts of the Gynarchy! Furthermore, it would be fair to say that she is a bit of a social outcast, as she does have some unusual interests for a young, Gynarchy lady. She is, for example, very much into amateur metalworking and ironmongery!

She frequently sells her wares to an expensive art shop in the local high street. She seems to spend much of her free time locked in her workshop underneath her opulent looking, Gynarchy apartment. When she is not deep in concentration on some kind of workshop-based project, she is deep into her physics and chemistry lessons at the Young ladies’ College of Central Barbaria (YLCCB). Her mind is never at rest, and she is doubtlessly destined for greatness!

I, on the other hand, am not. It is simply my humble task to follow her to the workshop to heel, and to crawl under her work bench in order to admire her feet all day. When I am not under her workbench, I am under her laboratory table whilst she is attentively listening to a lecture that is, quite literally, over my head!

If she is not in either of these places, she will be in bed. I, needless to say, will be kneeling at the foot of her bed, slowly breathing onto her bare, sleepy feet. My Mistress is certainly what is referred to in foot-slave circles as a ‘perpetuant’ Mistress, requiring constant foot worship and attention!

Mistress Arabella is quite a ‘colourful’ character in other ways too. She wears long, flowing black and white dresses that cover her feet. The hem of her feminine dresses are always dirty as a result of their great length and from being dragged along the dusty streets of the Gynarchy’s towns and cities.

Her most striking feature, though, has to be her hair (not that I am allowed to look at it, of course)! She has shoulder length, straight hair, but it has been dyed a vibrant and highly artificial shade of electric fiery, pinkish red! It shimmers under the lights of the college classroom for all to see!

Her slightly plump frame sports a thick, leather belt around her midriff from which hangs a real leather punishment whip! I can report that, although my Mistress rarely has cause to cut me with the lash, when she does employ its use it is delivered with stinging accuracy, and absolutely no mercy! Her dainty feminine hands are multi-skilled indeed!

Beneath the dirty hem of her flowing, summery frock reside her all-important, masterful feet. My Mistress is quite an oddball when it comes to her footwear. Although she possesses a stunning array of designer boots, socks and sandals, she nearly always wears her favourite pair of dirt-trodden, imprint-marked, pink foam, rubber flip-flops! The ambient temperature of the Gynarchy is very low at the moment, being in the midst of winter! But she seems to enjoy the fact that I must be perpetually kissing the bare feet of my Mistress, with little or no variety in my task!

She sits above me in her lessons and will move her powerful toes in order to make the flip-flop clap erotically against the sole of her naked foot. This serves to gently waft the unmistakable odour of feminine foot towards my gormless, kneeling, male face and up my enslaved nostrils, for safe ‘disposal’!

To go with her colourful, pink character, she frequently has me paint her precious toenails with a lush shade of pink varnish. At least six coats, per nail, per session! It is just one of the small, repetitive, humble duties that I must perform on a regular basis. I have to admit that even with my imposed humility towards every free person in the Gynarchy, I am immensely proud of the appearance of my Mistress’s feet; they seem to dazzle as they move.

It could also be the fact that I am forbidden to look at anything else, on pain of the whip!

The only regular activity that does not have me paying direct homage to her beautiful feet is when I am ordered to lick the blackened imprints from her feet out of her pink flip-flops whilst she is bathing herself, and I cannot accompany her for obvious reasons of feminine modesty into the bathroom!

I am also quite a lucky foot-slave! I happen to know, from overhearing Mistress Arabella talking on the phone to one of her few friends, that she would dearly love to have me fitted with one of those dreaded, electrical ‘concentrator’ devices! The merest thought of being fitted with one of those hideous and insanely conceived contraptions terrifies me! The more modern, deluxe models can even train the wearer’s mind to only dream about a woman’s feet during his sleep. Even the sanctuary of sleep is thus invaded by foot-slavery in the modern, hi-tech Gynarchy!

Fortunately for me, however, the cost of these devices is around 2,000 Fems! Far too much for my modest, impecunious Mistress to be able to afford! She makes enough from her student loan and steel artwork to pay for the impressive surroundings that she has grown to love, and little else.

The only other expense that my beloved Mistress would allow herself was her annual subscription to “Young female mind magazine”. This was very much a magazine for elite, young, bright females with an interest in science and female invention.

In the few moments of rest that Mistress Arabella would allow herself, she would sit and speed-read through the articles that were of particular interest to her. Fortunately for her (and rather unfortunately for me) one such article caught her young and inquiring, female mind and suddenly sent her feminine, creative juices into overdrive! The article was entitled ‘Build your own slave concentrator device!’

She immediately set about writing out a list of the suggested components, and sent off for the plans and electrical schematics and so on. For the young perpetuant foot-mistress in your life, there is nothing as desirable as a foot-slave concentrator! Mistress Arabella even threw a sickie at college for the next three days in order to progress the project! Her work consumed her, and she would work on late into the night, with me trying to keep my eyes on her dizzyingly fast, foot movements as she fractiously invented, built, and modified her way to perfection!

On the Saturday morning, she leapt out of bed and headed straight for the workshop. She left so fast that she had to return to collect her trusty old flip-flops!

This confounded concentrator device was taking up her every waking moment. She would delight in asking my opinion as to how many additional transistors should be used in place of the recommended maximum of three? Every time I would draw breath to offer some kind of humble response, I was thwarted with some comment like:

‘Oh, what do you know, ignorant slave? Let’s say six; that should increase the pain output tenfold HA!’

Finally, the electrical components were all assembled. Mistress Arabella now had to manufacture the apparatus that would fit it all to my head. All modern concentrators are tiny chips that contain all the necessary electronics. They can either be fitted subcutaneously, or into some kind of compact headband. Even my beloved Mistress’s omniscient hyper-intelligence was insufficient to suitably minimise the apparatus enough to fit into a stamp sized chip! My custom-built concentrator would be an altogether much more bulky, handmade affair!

From time to time she would suddenly withdraw her pretty feet from my gaze and join me under the workbench. The smell from her un-brushed teeth was quite strong, as she would proclaim loudly and directly into my humble face the measurements she was taking of my slave head:

‘Fourteen and a half inches; let’s say fourteen. Hey, nice and tight for you, Mister?’

Strictly speaking, I would have preferred it if Miss Arabella had rounded up her measurements, rather than rounded them down to increase my suffering!

She took lots of time slowly bending and forming the metal straps that would eventually encircle my head, and carry the power supply and electrodes and all of the other paraphernalia that was beyond my humble, slave contemplation! Every now and then the workshop would erupt into a bright blue, dazzling light that would force me to momentarily lose sight of my Mistress’s precious feet! The welding went on above me, fusing the metal bands together and following the expertly, miserly measurements of my all-powerful Mistress-metalworker.

I was suddenly handed a small, metal spatula and a metal dish from on high. Miss Arabella barked sharply from her towering position above me:

‘Use it to gently scrape away my toejam while I’m working and put it in the dish, you pathetic excuse for a male slave!’

Eating my mistress’s toejam was not an unusual job for me. Indeed, miss Arabella would often take great delight in making me consume the unholy compound whenever sufficient quantities had built up underneath her dirty toenails. But I quite liked it too – since it helped line my otherwise perpetually empty stomach!

The dish and spatula were new, however! It was soon quite full, but her order to tuck in had not yet come? What was my mistress playing at?

Only after seven more painstaking hours had elapsed, did Mistress Arabella finally announce that all was finished, and I was at last permitted to take my fill of stinky and sticky, sweet feminine toejam! I enthusiastically engorged it – for, though toejam is very much an acquired taste, I had very much come to acquire it over the years!

My stomach may have been lined, but my heart was nevertheless heavy, as I assumed that I would never again be able to furtively glimpse at my Mistress’s pretty, feminine features (other than her feet), thanks to her fiendish new, homemade concentrator-device!

However, my prayers for leniency were answered (albeit only temporarily) as Mistress Arabella went on to say:

‘Well, not quite finished! First we have to paint the damn thing! What colour do you think, slave boy?’

Without even pretending to wait for my feeble suggestions, Miss Arabella produced three tins of high gloss, hard wearing, luminous pink spray paint! Unfortunately for her, the paint required a further 24 hours drying time under a heat lamp! We had nothing to do but return to the apartment for the night. Tomorrow would be another day!

I did not sleep well that night, knowing what awaited me in the workshop the following morning! Meanwhile, the comical apparatus lay innocuously on the bench under a heat lamp as the fumes from the toxic gloss-paint evaporated into the air, along with my hopes of a reprieve! As I knelt over Mistress Arabella’s sleeping feet, I glanced at the digital clock to check on the night’s progress. Miss Arabella had set the clock for 06:00 sharp; only one hour of freedom left!

---

The alarm sounded my doom at dawn’s early light! Miss Arabella tore away frantically at the covers, kicking me “accidentally” in the face. She literally could not get out of bed fast enough! It was as though all of her Christmases had come at once!

Miss Arabella threw on her clothes as I greeted her flip-flop-clad feet as per usual, and, again as per usual, humbly thanked them for reporting my made-up crimes to the Female Police and thus enslaving me. From there on it was all a blur.

We found ourselves in the workshop of a ‘mad scientist’. Miss Arabella fetched the dreaded concentrator from its position under the drying lamp. For the first time I was presented with the cruel contraption in all of its luminous, pink glory!

Heavy metal straps were bent into rings that would closely match the contours of my face and head. A miniature, satellite receiver dish was positioned precariously on the top of the apparatus, for sending and receiving instructions and signals from my Mistress. The eyes had magnifying lenses fitted. It would be impossible to see anything that was not in close range! My Mistress opined that she might not be able to effectively track my gaze as with more commercial, concentrator devices. This was a neat and inexpensive solution – from now on all I will be able to see is her precious feet in stunning, close-up glory; everything else would be obscured, and out of focus!

How clever – and yet basically cruel!

She had fitted the sides of the concentrator with high definition, ear muffs that were encased in metal. I would be effectively deaf to all but my precious and dominating Mistress Arabella! The back of the head cage housed the large and heavy, battery pack that would require nightly charging. I would be plugged into the mains on a nightly basis!

The sides of the cage also had recessed, collet clamps that seemed to serve no purpose? Mistress Arabella then went on to explain, however, another rather ingenious addition to my new facial apparatus – the toejam-collecting dish!

‘This is my personal favourite, slave! This little container, that looks like an old snuff box, can be attached above your lips and directly under the nose, and will be loaded with my old, sweaty toejam which you will diligently scrape out from beneath my stinky toenails using the spatula I gave you yesterday! Whenever the mood takes me, I can press a button on my remote control, and the box will heat up, releasing a noxious aroma of my stale toejam up your enslaved, nasal passage! Isn’t that fantastic?’

Quoth the slave rather forlornly:

‘Yes, Mistress!’

I wondered internally, though, if I would still be permitted to eat my Mistress’s stale, toejam accumulations from time to time; or whether I would just be compelled to smell them from now on?!

‘Now, it’s fitting time! Hold still, boy!’

The mass of formed, pink metal banding and electrical wiring enclosed itself around my head. The whole device was held rigid with a solitary, high security padlock. I could see and hear nothing at present, and began to panic with a deep sense of claustrophobia! The facial cage was very tight fitting indeed!

My head was then pushed towards Mistress Arabella’s feet and all became amazingly clear at last! It was such a relief to be able to see again! My other deprived sense was suddenly, and rather roughly, assaulted as the hearing amplifiers were turned on, and the sound of Miss Arabella’s shrill and dominating voice filled my ugly, vacant, newly-caged, slave head:

‘Right! It fits well! Now we have got to calibrate it; follow me to heel, slave!’

She plugged something into the controls on the back of the concentrator, and wired it back to an oscilloscope:

‘Now, I want you to concentrate on my feet slave boy! Concentrate on every single skin cell down to the microscopic level; I want you to imagine how those feet smell and taste. Imagine how they will feel in your mouth as I force them into your imprisoned face; concentrate with all your pathetic, slave being. Understand?’

As I began following Miss Arabella’s clear orders, she began dialling in on the brainwaves that I was emitting. The device was being calibrated to deliver its agonising jolts of pain, if my brainwaves suddenly altered. To remain free of pain all, I had to do was devote every ounce of my waking consciousness to the study of her Goddess-like feet; simple, really – just like me!

Over the coming three hours, Mistress Arabella tweaked and fine-tuned the device until she was happy with the main function! The leads were now removed from the back of the apparatus. I was in a cold sweat from having to concentrate so intensely on Miss Arabella’s feet; it really was that exhausting!

Now came the fearful sentence:

‘Time to turn this baby on and crank it up to the max, slavey-wavey! Ready?’

My beloved Mistress did love to twist and mutilate the odd, mixed metaphor when excitement was building! I can remember one such occasion where she…

‘ARRGH! THE PAIN! MAKE IT STOP! ARGHHH!’

‘You had better start thinking about my lovely feet, little slave! It is switched on now, you know? HA!’

‘ARRGH! NOOO! PLEASEEE MISTRESS! IT MUST BE FFFFAULTY! THE PPPPAIN IS UNBEARABLE, MISTRESS! ARRGH!’

‘You numbskull! Just focus through the pain! Look at the tips of those lovely, feminine toes, and the pain should fade away! I set the timer to five seconds, so you have to repent, and focus hard!’

Every pain receptor in my body was on overload! Mistress Arabella was even, momentarily, worried about my wellbeing, but that soon passed as I continued to writhe in abject agony at her feet! I was so overcome by the device’s nasty bite, that I could not right myself! I could not regain composure and focus on her salvation-yielding feet!

This continued for some three long, agonizing minutes! Eventually Mistress Arabella relented and, through tears of laughter, deactivated the hate-filled contraption! I slumped back to the ground – limp, and in a cold sweat of exhaustion!

She unsympathetically grabbed hold of one of the metal straps on the facial helmet and pulled my limp, pained face close to her left bare foot:

‘Now start concentrating, you filthy slave! Are my feet so displeasing to look at?’

‘NO! NO, MISTRESS!’

‘Good! Well, in that case get ready for round two, and START CONCENTRATING!’

‘BBBut Mistress…’

Click!

I was acutely aware that my every thought was once again being monitored!

I therefore focused hard on her beautiful feet this time, and was rewarded with merely a dull ache in my forehead. Miss Arabella assured me that all of the pain can be removed if I achieve the level of concentration that I displayed earlier, before it was switched on! I could not exert that level of concentration all of the time; surely?!

As I began to panic, the pain grew worse:

‘ARRGH!’

‘Tch! Here we go again! How many more times, lamebrain? Don’t think about anything else! Just my feet, and it will get better; get it? I am not turning it off again, you hear? You will just have to learn to get along with my little invention, as it will be a part of you from now on; just as you will be a part of my feet from now on, okay?’

---

That first day under the malign influence of the handmade concentrator-device passed agonisingly slowly for me! Every time I needed to make a movement, the device would start a dull ache in my head. The mere brain activity needed to move my slave hands was enough to detract from my intense foot meditations, and I was duly punished by the unforgiving machine!

Miss Arabella was delighted with the results! I was technically blinded to all but her feet, her voice and her will! Every time I started to relax, a jolt of searing pain was unleashed! I was having to retrain my mind to focus solely on her precious, life-giving feet! I knew for a fact that this concentrator device was set far too high regarding the pain output! Normal slave concentrators are unpleasant, but not this debilitating!

Mercifully it was rapidly approaching bed time! I followed my Mistress’s feet into the bedroom and prepared her feet for bed. I was left to intently focus on her discarded flip-flops whilst she showered. This was met with sharp pains as the mere outer foot-coverings were no longer important enough to preoccupy my brain, according to the concentrator!

As I was being prepared for sleep, Mistress Arabella plugged two heavy cables into the sockets on the back of the head cage. A green light started to flash, indicating that the trickle charge was underway.

My head was then thrust towards two metal prongs that were jutting out from the foot of the bed? I had wondered what these sudden editions to my Foot-Princess’s bed were, earlier this week. All was now made clear; the two prongs locked into the internal locking-collets on my concentrator, effectively locking my head in position over her feet for the entire night! Everything was so well thought out!

As my Mistress dreamed sweet dreams, I was left to ponder her feet. I did notice that, at around three in the morning, the device started to ‘hum’. It was as if the power charge had stepped up! I had a theory, so I gagged myself with the Mistress’s bed sheet so as to stop my agonised screams if my theory was wrong!

Slowly I relaxed my concentration-level on her bare, and slightly dirty, feet. To my utter amazement no pain was discharged from the evil device! Maybe it is inactive during this phase? I immediately decided that I could contort my right arm enough to reach the red lead and unplug it! An uncharged concentrator can’t harm me, after all! All I would have to do was to reconnect the plug before Miss Arabella awoke the next day!

Just a bit more… Success!

To my utter dread a loud siren sound was emitted from my slave-concentrator! Mistress Arabella woke angrily from her peaceful slumber and stood with her hands on her hips! I know what is coming now!

My Mistress stood waving her finger at me as if I were an errant child:

‘Tut tut! I thought you might try that sort of thing, slavey-wavey! That is why I built in the alarm. Only I can disconnect the charge, you fool!’

She then disappeared from sight to collect the lead that I had thrown in shock clear across the room, from the loud noise.

Click!

‘There! All back to normal, and back on charge! Hands behind back please, slavey-wavey!’

A pair of tight-fitting handcuffs were swiftly applied to stop my wayward hands from wandering again in the night! My fate was still sealed, it would seem!

---

The next day Miss Arabella took me with her to the college. She was now behind on her coursework, and would doubtless be told off for non-attendance.

However, once the course-tutor, Miss Saunders, saw what Arabella had been up to, she laughed raucously!

‘Oh well, I see that you have been busy, my dear? I will give you some extra credit this term!’

The lesson did not progress so well for me. I was the main point of interest, as several girls circled the kneeling footslave to see what the fuss was all about! I, of course, was completely oblivious to all of this unwanted attention. All I could hear was Miss Arabella replying to questions that I had not heard, and all I could see was her pretty, bare feet in her pink flip-flops in stunning clarity! I knew that it would be my job to remove the accumulated day’s filth from those flip-flops and feet tonight, for sure!

Suddenly Miss Arabella’s foot twitched and I heard her say:

‘Yeah, why not give it a try then, Shelly?’

Give what a try?

All too quickly I was made aware of another female foot-presence coming into focus! A black ballet-flat-clad foot, with a bright green and black striped kneesock! Wow! I can see the individual stitches in the sock, and the small scuff on the side of the shoe! I wonder if she will require me to….

‘ARGHH!’

Miss Arabella could then be heard laughing at my agony, saying:

‘Ha! Well, it seems that he has only got eyes for my feet, then, Shelly? Sorry! HA! Never mind; would you like to press this button? It makes the box I fitted on hi….’

Silence ensued! Miss Arabella had severed the audio link, leaving me deaf temporarily. A short time later I was aware of a sensation of warmth on my top lip. It seemed that, as some kind of consolation prise, Miss Arabella had allowed her friend Shelly to activate the vaporiser under my nose. It did not take long for an all-too-familiar, noxious, nasal assault to begin – the aroma of my Mistress Arabella’s sweaty, stale toejam, scraped from her toenails over several days!

It made me feel hungry!

But no freedom from the noxious smell was possible. I was not (yet) permitted to eat the sticky, lumpy poison. I simply had to stare out through my tear-filled eyes, being caused by the strong, distilled essence of feminine footsweaty-toejam. The only benefit was that the concentrator registered my intense concentration on my Mistress’s very personal toejam-odour, and was ‘rewarding’ me with a pain-free head (except for the crushing steel bands, all a ¼” too short!).

I suppose it was quite a fair, amateur concentrator-device, really; on reflection. For it provides me with my mistress’s beloved, homemade toejam to smell today; and hopefully to eat tomorrow – right below my nose and in my face; toejam concentrate!

The End