Feetslaves’ Lives Volume 4
Even more startling insights into feetslaves’ humble lives!
The master-sir has me in a slave-serum-induced trance, and is hypnotising me to be a better footslave to his beloved wife, 25 year old, slim and svelte, blonde-ponytailed miss Chrystal:
‘Listen only to my voice, dirty slave.
Whenever my pretty and demure, young wife enters your presence, you will feel intolerable fear. Your mouth will become dry, and you will start to tremble and suffer from palpitations.
You will lower your gaze to her feet, and become fixated on them. You will anxiously await her designated foot-signal to start kissing her feet and footwear below the ankle.
As soon as such signal is given – which shall be by the extension of her right foot onto the floor beneath your permanently kneeling face – you shall shower her boot or shoe, or her sock or bare foot, in humble, but feverish, respectful slave-kisses, whilst internally begging her not to hurt you, and to show mercy towards you; for you shall view my wife as an intensely cruel, young woman who loves to ply the whip on your bare, slave back on the merest feminine whim!
You shall then repeat this self-demeaning process on her left foot, just as soon as she presents it to you in turn on the dirty floor beneath your face.
Upon her verbal command to ‘beg’, you shall make a show of verbalising your fears and imploring her out loud for mercy – so that everyone else present may see your fear and distress, and mock you, whilst congratulating your pretty, blonde-haired mistress on her absolute power and authority over you.
Whenever you kiss or lickshine her outer footwear, it will taste exceptionally bitter to you, and you shall therefore grimace involuntarily, thus earning yourself that which you fear most – some agonizing cuts of my wife’s whip!
Similarly, when you kiss and sniff her socks or bare feet, they shall smell nauseatingly tart and vinegary to you – and you shall therefore baulk at their smell, thus earning yourself yet further cuts of the dreaded, female whip!
Whilst you are being whipped, each cut of the brown leather lash shall cause you tenfold the amount of pain you can physically bear, and thus you shall suffer audibly and mightily, crying and begging for mercy from your mistress as you ignominiously writhe and gasp for breath under the shock of the whip-sting. Though you will have been whipped many times before, each new cut will feel ten times deeper, and sharper, than the last!
On completion of your whipping you will collapse at the same bitter-tasting and vinegary-smelling feet you so dishonoured with your disparaging facial expressions and disrespectful hesitation, and now immerse yourself in their bitterness and stink. You shall be a broken slave, completely undone and conquered by the power of my wife’s whip!
Now prepare yourself for her entrance, dry-mouthed slave; for I hear her approaching…’
These are some of the things the former public-footslave – now de-evolved to the role of street-slug slave – sees, tastes, or smells as he slithers on his belly along the dirty streets of the Gynarchy like some giant, luminous-green slug, mouthcleaning the sidewalks on which his female betters stand and walk, and simultaneously scavenging for food:
· A sticky, used condom
· Lots of stale, ingrained chewing gum – gum which, sadly, has lost its flavour on the sidewalk overnight!
· Female cigarette-butts; he knows they are female because:
a) only females are permitted to smoke in public in the Gynarchy; and
b) the butts are lipstick-stained
· An empty beer bottle (but the streetcleaning-slave, like all slaves in the Gynarchy, is teetotal, so the aroma of alcohol does nothing for him)
· A chicken bone (yum!)
· Some pigeon droppings
· A crust of stale, brown bread – rejected even by the defecating pigeons for being too dirty and stale
· Some fresh dog mess
· A vomit stain (he should, by law, clean that up – but even the famished street-mouthcleaner baulks at the smell of stale vomit!)
· An abandoned, pink and white frilly, woman-sized sock! This is a real treat for a former footslave! He carefully tucks it into his pocket, ready to take back to his hole and savour over the course of the next few days, for it must surely still contain at least some sweet feminine footsweat and nourishing, female foot-DNA?
· A pair of white, low top sneakers and fetching white, anklelength sports socks with red-striped tops, belonging to the feet of a sporty-looking, Asian girl who is seated at the bus-stop with her pet bull-terrier. Sadly, he must not touch her living, breathing sneakers and socks with his slug-mouth, and must instead just respectfully and unobtrusively lick around them, for he is no longer considered worthy enough, or evolved enough, to kiss or lick female sneakers or socks per se (hence the aforementioned, abandoned female sock is such a sinful, secretive find for him!)
· An empty drinks carton
· A sweet wrapper with the words ‘I Luv You’ written on it – though the young woman who carelessly threw the used sweet-wrapper away clearly doesn’t love him, else she would have left the sweet inside!
· A soggy, used tissue – with what appears to be both lipstick and snot on it. Mmm… nutritious!
· A white pill; he dare not touch this as it might be some sort of happy pill which gets him high! And slaves are not permitted to be high in the Gynarchy; they must always remain low
· Some greenery – weeds, no doubt; but a street-mouthcleaner must always eat up his greens
· A crushed stag-beetle – again, a bit crunchy, but nutritious!
· A used panty liner
· A fresh pool of spit (could be male, but ought, by law, to be female)
· Mud – glorious mud; and lots of it, thankfully; for it is his staple diet. Without it, he would starve!
So there you have it – a street-slug slave’s everyday delights; sadly, no longer enjoyed off the bottoms of young women’s shoes and boots, but at least he still gets to lick around them!
She likes her slave to tremble,
She likes her slave to quake.
She likes her slave to blubber,
She likes her slave to ache.
She likes to have the power,
She likes to wield the whip.
She likes to slash the buttocks,
She likes to cut the hip.
And what she likes she gets,
For she is female, fair and free.
And what he fears he gets,
For he must yield on bended knee.
In the beating barn the farmer’s 22 year old daughter is minded to beat the farmyard slave…
The stunningly beautiful, Pakistani-Muslim girl with the bright, red lipstick – wearing a thick, black anorak; black Hijab; modest, black, knee-length skirt; black opaque tights; and well-used, black leather ballet-flats with sparkly-black sequins on the rounded, now somewhat misshapen toes – is seated on the train lost in her own little world, listening to Pakistani pop-music through the earphones on her private MP3 Player.
Meanwhile the on-board, complimentary footslave is kneeling silently and reverentially beneath her seat, likewise lost in his own little world as he dutifully stares at the creases and folds in her thick, black tights around her shapely, Pakistani-girl anklebones. He is so in awe of her tights, he doesn’t even get distracted by the sparkles at the front of her flat ballet-shoes as they catch the light. He prefers to remain in the dark – admiring tights.
What the shafts of light do reveal, however, are the occasional train-dust particles stuck to her tights; he admires those dust particles very much!
The plump, white girl is nevertheless very pretty as she plonks herself down on the raised shoelick-chair of power above me – her heavy, laced-up, blocky-heeled, black leather, hobnailed boots coming to rest beneath her navy-blue-uniform, security-guard-mistress, trouser hems on the two respective, metal footplates in front of my perma-kneeling face.
She hitches up her trouser-hems just high enough to:
a) Expose her ankle-length, boot tops to me (for lickshining, along with the rest of her dusty workboots)
b) Expose her navy-blue-uniform, twisted cotton, sock tops to me (set against the pleasing backdrop of her smooth, bare, white, lower calf-flesh)
Sadly, I only catch a fleeting glimpse of her navy-blue socks on my way down to her black boot-toes, but I know that I shall get to see them again, once my tongue has wormed its way back up to her upper bootrims – so that is enough to incentivize me to do a thoroughly good job on her boots!
In the meantime, in between my bootlicks, I endeavour to ingratiate myself to the pleasingly plump and strong customer-mistress, by verbally wooing and flattering her (some mistresses just suit being fat – and she’s one of them! Small talk with a large woman – it often pays footslave dividends, such as an invitation to nuzzle sock after I’ve finished bootlicking, in my humble experience; so I give it a go!)
‘Oh pray, pretty mistress; if it pleases you pretty mistress; might this slave ask how the beautiful mistress’s day has been, mistress?’
‘Shut the f*** up, and get on with your work, f***ing dirty slave!’
Suitably rebuked by the foul-mouthed fat girl, I shut up and lick boot.
I still get to see, if not nuzzle, her stretched and twisted, navy blue sock-tops, though! So I’m still internally happy
They are another version of the kneeling stocks – the so-called ‘seating stocks’, in which the maleslave-miscreant is confined on his behind, seated directly on the dirty ground with both his feet and arms incarcerated in ignominious wood, and with his back painfully bent bare and no doubt freshly bloodied by the female whip!
This being a Femdom Foot-Fetish State there is, of course, one additional little twist to the cruel, public-shame contraption – a groove on the top of the wooden crossbeam in which a lady may place her dainty, feminine foot for kissing, directly below the slave’s bowed-down face. Agonisingly, when ordered to do so, he must bend his whipped (or soon-to-be-whipped-again) back even more, so that his male mouth may make contact with the feminine footwear now resting in the wooden groove just inches below his forlorn face – since not to show such footkissing respect would most assuredly prolong his painful sojourn in the stocks by several days, and no doubt earn him yet more stinging stripes.
See how his confined wrists almost cradle the lady’s shoe or boot in a would-be, worshipful caress – a caress of powerlessness and helplessness as he bends his aching back in the superior female’s foot-presence. He sobs as he kisses foot – for this is no comfort-seat he is sitting in; it is a seat of shame and suffering; of mockery and taunts; of fear and muscle-trembling; of public humiliation. The paralyzed prisoner-slave would much rather stand – or even kneel –in his painful, punishment pillory. For he is well and truly at the mercy of all and sundry who choose to stop by him, and relish in his cramped, sedentary confinement. He is, in effect, a sitting duck!
Quack!
Yes – the seating stocks are no soft option for the recalcitrant footslave!
Regular customer-mistress miss Emma is a highly sophisticated, young woman – tall; slim; mousey-haired; bespectacled; clever. She is a teacher by profession, and she cleverly wears a pair of low-heeled, strappy mary-janes whenever she visits my stand-up, public shoelick stall on her way home from work, I think for two main reasons:
1) To taunt me with the sexy sight of her plain, black anklesocks inside her shoes and beneath her black-pinstriped, trousersuit hems
2) To make it more difficult for me to lickshine her shoes without touching her socks – for she has made it abundantly clear to me they she is a very sensitive young lady, and that she cannot tolerate the feel of a public footslave's dirty mouth brushing against her socks whilst he lickshines her outer shoeleather!
She could, of course, in that case, simply wear shoes or boots that completely covered her socks. That would surely be the decent thing to do? But, like I said, miss Emma is much too clever and sophisticated a young lady to make a public shoelick's life any easier! She wants to teach me self-restraint, by making me suffer the indignity of having to lick around her black, trouser-wear cotton anklesocks – socks surely saturated in her feminine foot-DNA by the time she comes to visit me of a workday afternoon – as I focus my tongue on the dirt and dust sullying her demure, outer, mary-jane shoeleather, carefully dragging it along the leather, buckled shoe-strap running across the middle of her socked foot.
Fortunately for me, her singleton shoe strap is quite broad, and therefore tongue-width, so I really have no excuse for straying onto forbidden sock.
On the one occasion I carelessly did brush my tongue against her black sock, she quite rightly reported me to the Female Authorities and had me publicly whipped in the town square at her feet – 2,500 lashes over a four day period, with each lash accompanied by a penitent kiss to her rounded, mary-jane shoetoe.
At night, in between my daily floggings, semi-inebriated, free-spirited partygoers and nightclubbers (male and female) would gather around me as I knelt in the whipping stocks, and ask me what my crime was. When I explained to them that I was guilty of the heinous crime of unauthorised sock-licking of a superior customer-mistress’s black socks, they poured beer and wine all over my whip-wounds, to make them smart all the more, before enquiring of me whether I thought I had now learnt my lesson, thanks to the off-duty teacher mistress, and would behave with much more decorum and propriety when tongueshining a superior lady’s shoes in future? (or drunken words to that effect!)
I humbly assured my late-night tormentors and tormentresses that I had indeed learnt my lesson, and would ensure never to mouth-touch a lady’s socks again without her explicit female authority, since I now realised, thanks to the biting sting of the instructive whip, that a lady’s socks were much too good for me! One or two of the drunken mistresses promptly put my weaselly, whip-inspired words to the test – by hitching up their frayed, denim jean-hems and having me kiss their sneakers or ankleboot-tops without touching their socks.
One young lady even drunkenly shoved her frilly-white-anklesocked and red-stiletto-clad foot beneath my confined face in order to fully test my resolve! But, despite the fact that she was unsteady on her feet, and her regally extended foot was wobbling precariously on its high-heeled axis whilst I lickshined her red patent leather shoe, my careful and respectful mouth did not touch her frilly, white anklesock! I even made sure my forehead did not brush against the lacy frill of her sock, for fear of failing her breathless test!
And I’m pleased to say I have never inadvertently touched unauthorised sock with my lowly lips ever again, since that fateful day I gave unapproved lip to customer-mistress Emma’s black cotton, mary-jane socks. So yes, I reckon I was taught a valuable lesson – and by a truly excellent teacher indeed!
Whenever 24 year old, Asian, office-goddess mistress Sunita enters my, already kneeling, presence, I must demonstrate to all and sundry my servile fear and respect for her young-womanly power and authority over me by bowing my already lowly, bald, male head to the floor, and by awaiting the presentation of her black leather ballet-flated foot and matching black sock for kissing on the ground beneath my office-footslave face.
I must then kiss the rounded toe of her outstretched office-foot with a clean, crisp kiss (whilst admiring her full-length, black anklesock), and await the withdrawal of her foot and its subsequent replacement with her other similarly ballet-flated and socked foot for identical homage to be paid to it too.
Yet again, I admire soft, feminine, black office anklesock inside the soft, musty-smelling, officewear, black leather ballet-flat, and overtly display the body-language of the male cringer – of a man terrified by natural, young-Asian-womanly power and authority over him; of her ability to hurt him, and to cut him raw with the whip; of her innate female superiority over him, as a beauteous, feminine creature standing astride a lowly, male beast.
I flinch unmanfully as she unhooks her brown leather, office cowhide-whip from her belt, and cravenly beg for female mercy, whilst feverishly showering her soft black, officewear shoes and socks in frantic footkisses. She laughs at me; and pities me… and whips me!
Swish…Crack!
Hard between the shoulderblades!
It stings mightily! Now I weep uncontrollably into her socks, and pray for another one – for it is deemed impolite of a chastened, male slave not to beseech his female whipper to lay another one on him! Miss Sunita smilingly obliges.
Swish…Crack!
I cry out in pain, amongst my cries of despair. I am broken – but still I must beg for another one!
‘Oh pray, miss Sunita! Oh do, mistress!’
She readies herself to oblige me. Meanwhile her work colleagues, freemale and female, gather around to offer her their applause and support, and to urge her not to spare me. Even her black socks, in whom I had sought solace, are seemingly now creased up with laughter at me, above her black ballet-flat rims and below her grey-pinstriped, tailored, office trouser-hems. Nevertheless, I persist in seeking to woo, and win over, her slave-mocking socks by feverishly kissing them; and crying into them.
But they remain unmoved… until, that is, goddess-mistress Sunita brings the office whip slashing down onto my bare back and shoulders once more!
Swish…Crack!
‘Ha! Ha! Bully for you, Suni darling!’ an excitable male voice cries out. ‘Give him all you’ve got, girl!’
I am offended on her behalf – miss Sunita is not a bully! Nor a ‘girl’! She’s an Asian goddess, with a whip; and young woman with absolute power over another, lesser human-being – me! Furthermore, she has every right to publicly exercise that sweet-young-womanly, absolute power over the blubbering and ineffectual, communal office footslave.
No wonder everyone admires her – Asian beauty taming the male beast!
The office feetslave needs to learn some manners…
