Gynarchy Games Part One
The Gynarchy Games
By Slave Paul
Part 1 - The Reporter’s Induction
The Gynarchy was gripped in the colourful excitement and fanfare of the International Gynarchy Games!
It was a great honour for this hitherto reclusive and private nation to host such an auspicious event, with athletes coming to the Femdom State from all over the world. Rather unsurprisingly, most of the Gynarchian athletes competing in the games were female! Very few male citizens of the Gynarchy had made the grade, and as the eyes of the world were to be on the showpiece, alpha female class, only those local males at the absolute pinnacle of health and fitness were allowed to participate!
It was all somewhat unusual for the non-Gynarchy, competing nations attending. The outsiders (male and female) were having to adjust to the somewhat unorthodox methods and traditions that the Gynarchy held as standard. Only female television reporters, for example, were allowed to broadcast from inside the amphitheatre, and strict limitations were placed on foreign male athletes and trainers alike!
Following an extremely impressive opening ceremony, the first official Games event was the Gymnastics. The Gynarchy had put forward all of their most promising and highly trained athletes, and, of course, foot-slaves alike, in the hope of securing as many medals as possible and securing a place on the world stage. This was also the time for a pretty, young, fledgling TV reporter to shine.
32 year old Steph had just secured her first assignment with her new company ‘Real World News’. Steph was quite nervous about being given the Gynarchy Games as her first assignment! She would certainly not have been given her new assignment had the ‘no male reporter rule’ not been declared in the amphitheatre! Steph’s senior colleague, Mike, was the stations first choice but, in view of the Gynarchy rules, he had been banished to the news room’s back studios in the grounds outside the amphitheatre.
The Real World News Corporation had also chosen Steph for her appearance. She was known for dressing in bold, feminine colours and was more likely to tease more information from members of the host nation as a result. She had just had her blonde hair cut to a shoulder length bob, and was wearing a bold, pink, one piece dress (off the shoulder). Her face was very attractive, yet stern. She had a firm craggy jaw that presented a very authoritarian set of feminine features; her piercing blue eyes were perfect for spotting a story! Her long shapely legs were finished off in a pair of bright orange, plastic stiletto shoes on bare feet! She was quite distinctive, to say the least!
There she stood, her RWN microphone in trembling hand, awaiting her start signal to begin interviewing a young, dark haired athlete called Marcia:
‘3, 2, 1 and… Hello, and welcome to the first in a series of exciting new insights into the world of our host nation, the Gynarchy. I am here with Gynarchy athlete Marcia, who will be competing in tomorrow’s stunning display of feminine dexterity against the mixed competing nations’ teams. Marcia, please tell us about your beautifully colourful tracksuit and its significance?’
‘Well, Steph, it is mainly pink, blue and red, as with our Gynarchy Sports’ Federation flag. The flag’s six stars represent the six territories that make up today’s modern Gynarchy – namely the mainland (we refer to as the Motherland); Gynarchy X - the newest edition to our empire; and last, but not least, the four tropical paradise islands off the shores of the mainland.’
‘WOW! That looks fantastic! Your entire team looks so well trained! Has it been a long journey for you all to get to this stage?’
‘Yes Steph, we have all been training for five years to get to this stage, and it’s not over yet!’
‘What do you think are the chances of your male competitors from the other nations tomorrow, when up against the Gynarchy athletes?’
‘To be honest Steph, they haven’t got a chance! Females have much more dexterity and discipline than men; we are naturally more suited to this type of event. Men in our country are rightly looked down upon as the second class! Unlike in your country, no doubt, Steph?’
Steph laughed nervously and looked back to the camera…
‘Well, we like to think that people are all equal nowadays Marcia! What do you think about that back in the studio, Mike?’
A nervous laugh was heard over the airwaves as Mike sought to agree with his female presenter-colleague on the front line! Steph decided to move the conversation away to what she thought would be a more light hearted piece to camera; something unusual was just out of shot and she beckoned to the camera to move closer.
‘ Wow! What’s this all about then, Marcia?’
Steph was pointing to a large set of kneeling stocks, with what appeared to be a dummy occupying them!
‘Oh, this is our foot-slave/mascot, Steph! Have you never seen a foot-slave before?’
Steph looked nervously back at the camera, and then moved down to join Marcia on the floor by the kneeling slave.
‘We use him to lick off the excess rosin-powder resin from our feet, following a routine. He also tends our feet when we are not competing or warming up in preparation; we have many uses for our foot-slave mascot, Steph!’
‘So why is he being punished in this pillory, Marcia? What has he done to warrant such confinement, and why is he wearing that ridiculous mask?’
The camera moved in for a close-up on the slave’s masked face.
‘He is not being punished as such, Steph! We have just finished with him for the day, and do not want him getting under foot (if you will pardon the pun) so we’ve locked him in the kneeling stocks until tomorrow morning. I will let the fool explain about the mask, if you want to ask it more detailed questions?’
Steph moved the microphone closer to the dummy-like slave’s lips, and she pressed home her questions:
‘UHHUM, So, Mr Slave, what’s the deal with the rubbery mask, if you don’t mind my asking?’
‘Begging your pardon, most powerful and colourful Mistress Reporter, but this humble slave wishes to inform you that it was fortunate enough to pass the rigorous foot-slave training courses and selection processes in order to become a top-grade foot-slave! Only three other slaves made the grade, and it is truly an honour to be able to serve at such an auspicious event as the Gynarchy International Games, Madam! My most powerful mistress-competitors and government saw fit to have my hideous, male-slave features permanently covered with this colourful, rubbery mask. It is fixed permanently, using some kind of heat treatment process beyond my humble, male comprehension. The mask carries the glorious colours of the Gynarchy Federation flag, and this slave could not be more proud to wear them on its ugly, male face for all to see!’
Steph was frankly stunned at the obsequious and sycophantic response from the defeated male slave in the pillory! She paused in momentary shock at all of these revelations! But, ever the professional reporter, she, of course, had to continue broadcasting. She pressed on with her questioning, knowing that the viewers at home would want to know more, even if she did not!
‘So, Mr Slave, doesn’t it hurt being locked in the stocks? Doesn’t that mask thing feel unbearably hot in this weather? Can it really never be removed?’
‘In strict order of asking, oh powerful and colourful Mistress Reporter, the stocks do hurt after an hour or so. But this humble slave is used to periods of at least ten hours in the kneeling stocks, with no respite; it is a just confinement, meted out by one’s female masters for a good reason, Mistress Reporter, if it so pleases you? Also, this humble slave can report that the humbling mask in which one is permanently cocooned is truly stifling in this warm, summer weather, oh powerful Mistress Reporter; and rightly so! This lowly foot-slave has also been informed by its many Mistresses that the mask bearing the glorious colours of the Gynarchy Federation flag is indelibly moulded to the ugly slave’s facial contours underneath, and that even a skilled surgeon would fail in any attempt at removing it. It has been reported to this lowly creature that the mask’s permanence is a blessing to all free persons, as it effectively hides the slave’s repulsive, unmanly features beneath, if it so pleases you Mistress Reporter?’
Steph was not so sure that it did please her! The idea of a permanent, rubber mask was so cruel, it made her feel sick!
‘And what about those demeaning words written on the mask, slave?’
She pointed to the one inch high, black letters spelling out the following:
FEET, STENCH, TOE-NAILS, PAIN, FEAR, and.., yuck, TOE-JAM!
‘These are all words that the Gynarchy Games’ Council thought would sum up the existence of this lowly slave for all the world to see, if it pleases you Mistress?’
Steph had to stand up from her crouching position with the microphone; she could take no more of the sycophantic ramblings of the outwardly willing foot-servant. She knew that he was doubtlessly hiding some inner turmoil!
As with all females, she was correct! Paul (for that was the masked footfool’s name) was in agony in these awful stocks! The pain was already biting hard today. He secretly hated the mask; it was so shameful to be hidden away. It totally dehumanised him. As he looked out through the masked eye-slits, leaning on his wooden windowsill beneath the ongoing interview, he replayed the events of his recent life. These were the responses that he really wanted to issue to the inquisitive, foreign interviewer-Mistress:
‘I was indeed happy and proud to be chosen for the Gynarchy Games! I was, however, furious when the bitches decided, in their female omniscience, that it would be a good idea to mask all elite foot-slaves participating in the games! The girl that fitted my mask had me all to herself for hours of private mockery and foot worship, before she affixed the official Gynarchy-Games, foot-fool mask! The heat-gun pulled the rubber material tight over my features, as she stared through my cruel eye-slits, smiling and murmuring that hers were the last female feet that my ugly, unmasked slave-face would ever be gracing again!
And the stocks ARE a punishment, despite what that anorexic, sport-obsessed, harlot-Mistress Marcia says! How many people can you name in history that have been rewarded with a lengthy stay in the stocks? All minor infractions in the Gynarchy are punished with periods in the stocks! It is supposed to be a humiliating, torturous event, not a reward for coming out on top of one’s game at the foot-slave academy!
The words on my hideous mask are so humiliating! The evil girl that chose them, from a list prescribed by the council, couldn’t care less that I may be wearing this mask for another fifty years after these Games! At least all of us so-called ‘slave-elite’ had to wear the identical, official Gynarchy Games foot-fool mask; it wasn’t just me! The only slight perk in this job was watching the under-pillory monitor. I was actually allowed a slave-cam view of the beams and other apparatus. I could see my many Athlete-Mistresses’ feet as they pointed their long slender toes towards victory in the gymnastics! I was allowed to watch their rosin-powdered soles scrunch and flex into the lowly slave-view camera, knowing that in a few minutes time it was going to be my job to mouth-wash those dusty soles! Occasionally, I was rewarded with a glimpse of the female athletes’ pretty facial features as they did summersaults and walked on their hands! I was supposed to only look at their feet, of course!...’
Meanwhile, above the self-reminiscing foot-slave, the two women were drawing the interview to a close.
‘You know, Steph, it is customary for all females in the Gynarchy to have their feet kissed by a slave! Do you want to give it a try?’
‘Oh no; really; I couldn’t! I mean, my feet are all hot and smelly in these plastic, orangey stilettoes, Marcia!’
A nervous laughter followed, as Steph raised her hand to her ear as some supervisor shouted through the earpiece:
“GET ON WITH IT, DO NOT INSULT OUR HOSTS! AND IT’LL BE GREAT TELLY!”
Steph looked on nervously and stammered:
‘Oh go on then! Why not?’
Marcia aided Steph in bringing her plastic, high gloss, orange-stiletto-clad, left foot up to the foot-slave’s parched and dry lips. He leaned forward in his wooden prison to pay homage to her outlandish footwear, in what was undoubtedly the most widely televised foot-kiss thus far in history!
A loud kiss was planted on the toe of the stiletto-shoe!
‘Maybe he would like a shot at your bare foot, Steph?’
‘Oh no! We don’t need to!…
Steph’s shoe was wrenched from her foot with absolutely no finesse by Miss Marcia. The blonde reporter looked so embarrassed!
Paul was now presented with a pretty, well-proportioned, white-female foot with glossy, vibrant, orange-lacquered toenails!
‘SQUARE ON THE NAIL, SLAVE!’ shouted Marcia.
A second loud kiss ensued from the masked slave in the stocks. The cheap, plastic material of Steph’s shoes was not ideal in this hot weather. Her feet were drenched in sweat!
Steph pulled her foot back, and the camera returned to her face height. She could be seen awkwardly regaining her balance and composure as she re-inserted her naked foot into its sweaty shoe! The male anchor-man shouted on the radio link:
‘DON’T GO GETTING ANY IDEAS, STEPH! WHAT HAPPENS IN THE AMPHITHEATRE STAYS IN THE AMPHITHEATRE! HA!’
Steph looked nervously into the camera, and said as calmly as she could:
‘This is Steph, reporting from the Gynarchy Amphitheatre for RWN, back to the studio.’
(Dare she admit that she really enjoyed the footslavish attention she had just received?)
End of part one…
Reporter's Induction by patheticus on GoAnimate
