Footslaves’ Trials Volume 3
More trials and tribulations of everyday footslaves.
Scroll down for trials in reverse numerical order
10. A Treadmill Prisoner-Slave’s Pathetic, Unrequited Yearnings
9. Punishment Seen
8. How to avoid being beaten
7. Lengthy Sentence
6. Must Try Harder!
5. Street Furniture
4. Hoots of Derision
3. The Non-Party Animal
2. Honesty is the Best Policy
1. Are You Being All Stiff?
10. A Treadmill Prisoner-Slave’s Pathetic, Unrequited Yearnings I must admit that, all in all, jet-black-haired, plump and comely, prison-officer treadmill-taskmistress Suzannah ('Suzie' to her friends and colleagues) is a very fair and efficient taskmistress – getting the very best out of me, whilst only whipping me to make me stop; go; go faster; or when she's in a foul mood (for example during her time of the month). She doesn't just whip me willy-nilly like some taskmistresses I could mention!
Moreover, her application of the whip to my bare back and shoulders beneath her, is highly efficient, often involving precise overlays designed to maximise the pain, whilst at the same time leaving the rest of my back free for subsequent, possibly less experienced or accurate, treadmill-taskmistresses to open up brand new wounds.
Above all, miss Suzannah whips me without any empathy or pity for my maleslave-suffering; dispassionately, one might say – as befits a professional taskmistress, interested only in the suffering and punitive toil of her prisoner-slave charge.
Her appropriately unkempt, and therefore contemptuous, thick and heavy, black leather, uniform ankleboots and pale grey bootsocks, resting on the treadmill-taskmistress's metal footrest directly in front of my face, also help to 'masculinise' her otherwise dainty, if somewhat podgy, sweet-feminine feet and ankles, and they remind me who's boss, though she's one of those taskmistresses who sadly will not permit me the slavish succour of kissing her soft and scrunched-up socktops, however much pain I am in!
Still, you can't have everything – when you're a lowly and impotent, treadmill prisoner-slave! If you could, I would willingly accompany treadmill-taskmistress Suzannah whenever she goes off duty back to the flat she shares with her manly live-in boyfriend, and be her breathe-in boot and sock slave – sniffing her sweaty, discarded boots and socks (the same boots and socks that have been supervising my hard labour throughout the day) in the corner of the master's bedroom whilst she relaxes and makes love to a much younger and better man than me, all whilst nursing my still-smarting, whip wounds, delivered courtesy of her treadmill-supervisory whip!
As you can tell, I am very much enamoured by treadmill-taskmistress Suzannah, and secretly yearn to be her plump boot and sock lover!
Two lazy slavemen,
Hangin’ from a tree;
One already whipped,
The other about to be.
One industrious mistress,
Full of sadistic glee;
Oiling up her lash,
Enjoying her whipping spree.
This inner-city, back-alleyway, public footslave has learnt, through bitter experience, how not to be beaten – by pandering and fawning to his betters…
The case revolved around whether or not the public footslave was within his rights to kiss his 22 year-old, Japanese customer-mistress on the black kneesock above her ankle level.
Counsel for the Defence, somewhat half-heartedly, argued in mitigation that as the Japanese customer-mistress had merely ordered the slave to kiss her socks, without specifying any particular area of her socks, the slave, being of limited maleslavish intellect, could have had no way of knowing that the customer-mistress meant only the limited area of black sock above her shoeline but below her shapely anklebones.
Counsel for the prosecution argued, however:
· That it didn’t matter what the slave thought, as a customer-mistress is always right (especially a beautiful, Japanese one) – and the fact that she had brought this complaint meant that the slave had clearly misinterpreted his customer-mistress’s orders, and he was therefore prima facie guilty of the crime of male disobedience
· That the mistress, being a non-native speaker of English, would have had a legitimate expectation that a public footslave’s jurisdiction would not extend above her feet and ankles
· That the slave had wantonly kissed his pretty Japanese customer-mistress on the sock above her ankles as he was lasciviously enamoured by the shapeliness of the young, Asian woman’s shapely, Far-Eastern calve-muscles, and had wanted to observe the smoothness of her smooth, bare, oriental-skinned legs above her black cotton, elasticated kneesock-tops and below her skirt (the young woman was invited by the Court to hitch up her kneeskirt and display her bare legs as evidence of her indisputable, oriental leg beauty)
· That the slave should therefore face the severest possible sentence permitted under the Female Law for not just disobeying a foreign-guest customer-mistress, but also for disrespecting her superior femininity by effectively lusting after her legs.
Throughout the (biased) Female Jury’s deliberations, the prisoner-slave was required to kneel ignominiously in the dock with the offending black kneesocks, still unwashed and unlaundered since the day of the traumatic incident, draped over his shameful head and down the front of his face. Fortunately, he did not have to smell the aroma of his Japanese-girl accuser’s socks for very long, as the Female Jury took only 10 minutes to reach their inevitable decision (as directed by the Female Judge):
Guilty – on all three counts!
The sentencing was indeed harsh:
1) For disobeying a foreign customer-mistress – 100 lashes of the female whip, followed by 25 years in the foothole dungeons
2) For disrespecting a foreign customer-mistress’s femininity – a further 100 lashes, followed by 25 years toiling laboriously on the prison-treadmill
3) For displaying lascivious behaviour towards a foreign customer-mistress, occasioned by her long sock – 250 additional lashes, followed by 25 years hard labour on a prison-galley slaveship
The sentences to be served consecutively!
The good lady Judge was so outraged by the slave’s audacious behaviour in besmirching the good name of the Gynarchy in front of a foreign, female guest, that, despite his evident penitence and pleas for mercy, she further stipulated that the convicted slave be forced to wear a heavy cangue for the rest of his miserable, imprisoned life, thereby physically preventing him from ever raising his neck up off the ground again, or being able to reach a lady’s calf or knee-muscles with his lecherous mouth!
The court cheered.
The lazy slave must try harder! His work just isn’t good enough for his demanding supervisor mistress.
The damned, impudent, lazy corridor-slave!
A funny piece of footslave street-furniture for the passing public to enjoy.
Even the wise old owl hoots its derision at the lowly, forestside footslave as he humbly lickshines female boot.
The guests are having fun at the mistress’s party, but for the household footslave there is work to be done in the basement – under the watchful eye of the household taskmaster-supervisor!
He has his mistress’s dirty, used sneakers to lickshine!
My sweet and kind, 24 year old, sweet-toothed and somewhat portly, brown-haired mistress Karen cannot afford to have me fitted with an electronic concentrator-device, and therefore requires me to report myself to her, if my eyes should ever stray above her sockline onto her bare, upper ankleflesh!
Unfortunately, it happened today when she suddenly reached down, whilst seated in her university lecture hall, in order to scratch her leg above the sock; she unthinkingly pulled down the elasticated top of her black sock above her black leather ankleboot in order to get at her itch, thus confronting me with a sudden glimpse of her soft, bare, feminine-white legskin below her navy-blue trouser hem. Moreover, after she had finished scratching her itchy ankle, she left the top of her black anklesock all twisted and pulled down, so that I was unwillingly afforded a constant view of her smooth, white, lower legskin beneath her slightly raised navy-blue cotton trouser hem throughout the rest of the lecture!
I tried, of course, to avert my footslave eyes, but it was too late – the memory of her brief glimpse of itchy, bare ankle skin, coupled with the ongoing sight of her exposed slither of bare, white legskin above her twisted, black cotton socktop became emblazoned on my brain, and I began to lust.
Ashamed of myself, I duly reported my lasciviousness, as instructed, to my footmistress Karen later that evening, and begged her to punish me. She angrily summoned her husband and requested him to fetch the household whip and to beat me at her boots with 17 harsh strokes of the household beating implement, since, as she herself put it, she ‘could not be assed to beat me herself!’
Throughout my physical punishment I blubbered unmanfully and impotently into her rounded, black leather ankleboot-toes, and begged my master and mistress to forgive me. After the whipping, I was sent to the basement recovery room to ‘think about the error of my ways’ and ‘prepare my verbal apology to the mistress, under pain of another beating if it fails to satisfy her’.
Meanwhile, my master and mistress, aroused by my righteous suffering and punishment, went up to their bedroom to make love, and the master-sir, of course, had free rein over my mistress’s entire, naked body – the lucky man!
Some two hours later, whilst my back was still smarting, the master and mistress came down to the recovery room to gloat over their handiwork, and to listen to my grovelling apology for my wandering footslave-eyes. I humbly kissed my mistress Karen’s now slippered and socked feet – the same sweaty black bootsocks she had been wearing inside her boots earlier in the day – and thanked her for having me disciplined, and the master-sir for carrying out the disciplinary activity on her behalf, whilst humbly begging for the happy, post-coitally satisfied couple’s smug forgiveness.
My mistress, reluctantly, accepted my apologies, but warned me never to take advantage of her ankle-scratching again. I duly promised not to.
Later that evening, after the master-sir had left the house for the start of his nightshift as a security guard watchman, and whilst I was kneeling by the end of the sofa gently massaging my fat mistress Karen’s still stinky-black-socked feet, I humbly made a proposal to her – that, in order to avoid a repeat of the unpleasant incident this morning, I be permitted in future to re-straighten and pull up her socktop immediately after she has finished subliminally scratching her itchy anklebone (always keeping my gaze fixed firmly down on her sock whilst I do so, of course), so that at least her lower leg skin would then remain covered up as far as her trouser-hem after her scratching activity, thereby removing any ongoing temptation from me to lust after her beautiful, soft, bare, lower legflesh? I acknowledged to my plump mistress that I would still, in all probability, require to be punished for the unavoidable, initial glimpse of her bare, itchy ankle as she actually scratched it, but hopefully my punishment-beating would not need to be quite so severe in future, as it would only be a transient and fleeting glimpse of superior, mistressly skin?
My fat mistress Karen magnanimously agreed to all this, and then told me to shut up and get on with my sock-massaging, as she was trying to watch her favourite TV programme.
It just goes to show that honesty is the best policy – in a slave!
The young, Indian cleaner-mistress, 20 user old miss Niranjana, is mocking me as she mops the floor around my ornamental-footkissing head in the office-ladies' restroom, having just returned from her well-earned, two week break to India with her husband.
She is mocking me because she knows that, throughout her two-week holiday, I have continued to work hard – kissing the dirty, germ-laden footwear of my female betters as they exit the restroom – and that I shall forever be required to work and to kiss feet, without any breaks or holidays, since, unlike her, I am just a slave; unpaid; unloved; and unentitled to any annual leave or rest periods, since I have absolutely no human rights!
In particular, as she rests indolently on her idle mop, she is mocking my neck-stiffness, since I am permanently confined in an inner wall of the restroom, with only my neck projecting outwards at ankle level, that I may kiss-worship the feet of those office ladies who deign to stand in front of me – like her – and with only very limited movement in my neck (to prevent me from staring up at a lady's legs, though, in miss Niranjana's case, all I would get to see would be her skin-tight, blue denim jeans above her soft and shapely, bare brown anklebones!)
Her mocking, Indian-accent words echo around the empty restroom cubicles, as I strain my permanently sore neck forwards in order to pay homage to her arrogantly outstretched, right foot beneath my lowly, projecting face:
'Ha! Ha! Are you being all stiff, slave? Is your neck being all stiff and sore? Ha! Ha! I am being nice and relaxed, isn't it, for I am just back from having a nice holiday with my husband in India, while all the time you have been kissing ladies’ dirty shoes and boots in this stinky hellhole! Ha! Ha! I am being much better and freer than you, isn't it?'
They are all rhetorical questions, of course; she does not require me to verbally answer her – just to respectfully kiss her feet (and in any case I am forbidden to speak to my betters, being a mere ornamental-footkissing slave – a piece of office-restroom furniture, so to not speak!). But, what I would like to say to Indian cleaner-mistress Niranjana if I were permitted to talk is:
· Yes, I am indeed stiff, goddess cleaner-mistress Niranjana madam – but not just in my neck muscles, mistress!
· The very welcome, but humbling, sight, and musty smell, of your plain, black leather, loafer shoe, and short, below-the-ankle, angular, multicoloured, stripy sneaker-sock – after these two long weeks of absence from me – is making me stiff in places you cannot see, most respected, young Indian mistress-madam, especially as your wantonly short sock is now contemptuously creased beneath my face, thanks to the imperiously outstretched positioning of your dainty, Indian-girl foot as I kiss your musty and scuffmarked, rounded, black leather shoetoe
· Your mercilessly mocking tone only adds to my shameful, secretive tumescence – a tumescence which, I hasten to add, I shall be totally unable to sate, since my arms and hands are cruelly chained to my sides behind this wall; but then, you probably know that!
· Oh pray Indian-goddess cleaner-mistress Niranjana, please forgive my furtive, but unseemly, lust for everyday, common-or-garden, black leather loafer-shoes and ultra-short, multicoloured anklesocks, but, set against the beautiful backdrop of your soft, brown, Indian-lady ankleskin, and beneath your anklelength, blue-denim jean hems, they drive me wild with unrequited, maleslave desire! You must understand, pretty Indian mistress, that your bare brown ankleskin is pretty much the only naked, female flesh I ever get to see – since most of the office ladies either wear courts with nylons, or ankleboots and trousers (when, in the latter case, the best I can usually hope for is a furtive glimpse of black or navy-blue, elasticated socktop); so please don't judge my stiffness too harshly, young madam!
· I have genuinely missed your shoes and socks, madam – even though I must maintain a stiff upper-lip, and kiss your musty-smelling and bitter-tasting shoetoes with appropriate, formal, footslavish decorum. For I am, sadly, not worthy to be your husband or your lover, madam; I am merely fit to be your sexually-frustrated, ornamental-footkissing slave. No wonder your short, stripy, anklebone-revealing anklesocks are creasing up with laughter at me as I tongue-grovel over your scuffmarked, rounded shoetoes!
