Diary of a Handyman-Footslave
The follow-up to ‘The Handyman-Footslave’
By Slave Paul
It had now been nearly two years since the ill-fated footfool had been placed under the all controlling charge of Master Maxine. Rather unsurprisingly, Master Maxine saw to it that life as her personal foot-slave was a sombre and miserable existence. The only stipulation (that did not directly relate to her feet) which she made to the slave formerly known as Paul, was that from now on he must record all of his thoughts and feelings in a daily journal. This was not so uncommon in the modern Gynarchy, as good slave journals could sell for real money!
This could be a lucrative form of income for the Mistress (or ‘Master’ in this case).
From the diary of prisoner slave foot-pig:
Following my initial enslavement to the almighty Master Maxine, I was truly made to suffer and repent for my shameful sins against femininity! Over the many months that ensued, many unusual and noteworthy events took place to further humiliate and degrade me. Master Maxine, in all of her great feminine charm and beauty, decreed that I should keep this journal in as detailed a manner as possible (when free of foot-slave duties or restraints). She masterfully proclaimed that if she felt that it was not sufficiently honest and detailed enough, or was found to be lacking in any way, I would be made to suffer in hitherto unimaginable ways! Especially if these oppressed comments and thoughts were disapproving of the Master and her methods used against me, in any way!
As was so often the case, Master Maxine was indeed correct to have me fitted with a shameful rubbery mask. I can honestly report that one can never grow accustomed to its claustrophobic, damp and clammy, rubbery closeness! The tight feeling around my face seems to seal me off from the rest of the world altogether!
I am reliably informed on an almost daily basis, however, that this is not the case for any outsider or bystander who encounters my comical appearance. Master Maxine delights in informing me that the mask serves its purpose well in announcing to the world my lowly status and purpose for existing on this planet.
The added humiliation of having to leave the relatively safe confines of Master Maxine's luxurious home whilst still wearing my rubbery-footfool mask, is palpable. The moment we enter any public space I am subjected to ridicule and foot related comments from the general public. This derision is carelessly hurled from male and female witnesses alike. This serves to bolster Master Maxine’s justifiable self-importance, and makes her tower even further above me in everyone’s estimation. She is the Master and I am the slave! I suppose I should be grateful for my humbling mask for reminding me of my lowly place as a young woman’s personal footslave, but I cannot bring myself to thank it!
Excursions and trips outside the abode of Master Maxine are, however, thankfully rare. My routine hardly varies as Master Maxine has quite rightly surmised that a large part of my penitent punishment should be dull repetition. She opined one evening, while laughing at my pained rubbery expressions as she whipped me on the floor in front of the fireplace:
SLASH… OWW!
‘That is why we use rock-breaking and the treadmill to break down convicts with mindless, pointless tasks you see, prisoner foot-pig?’
SLASH… OWW!
She was quite correct of course. My routine was prescribed by Master Maxine to do just that!
1. 06:00 Follow the Master’s dirty, bare feet to the bathroom and wait outside with her slippers as she showers (sniffing the worn and used insides of the slippers).
2. 06:10 Place the slippers on Master Maxine’s feet and follow her to slippered-heel back to the bedroom.
3. Place myself in the foot-box and close the lid to afford Master Maxine the privacy she deserves whilst she dresses.
4. 06:20 Remove myself from the foot-box, so that I may present the Master with her neatly arranged sock drawer for her to choose which pair of well worn, bobbled, thick woollen-cotton blended black anklesocks she will want me to place on her stunningly beautiful feet that morning.
5. 06:20-06:45 fawn over her feet and socks, and then finally her boots, as Master Maxine prepares to leave for work.
6. I am now given my daily assignment, I will either:
• Be assigned sock and boot cleaning duty until 17:00. This involves constant sniffing, licking and mouth- washing of the plethora of footwear that master Maxine and Miss Jo keep in the house. Any deviation is noted through the many cameras in the house, and punishment is truly severe!
• Be placed in an antique restraint device and left to suffer alone for the day. Master Maxine can use the internet camera that she trains on me to periodically monitor my moans of discomfort and cries of longing to be freed from her inescapable, metal bonds. This enforced, solitary confinement allows the dirty sock levels in the house to be replenished!
7. 17:00-17:30 Freed from sock duty, or restraints, to serve the boots of the returning Master Maxine following her arduous day at work! I must respectfully lick and kiss away all of the dirt and resultant signs of wear from her well-worn, workaday boots. This is all done whilst she sits in her armchair jabbing me in the left nipple with a sharp, pointy stick signalling that I am to lick or kiss harder.
8. 17:30-17:45 With her boots removed, I must use my blue-rubbery nose to seek out the smelliest and dampest areas of her well-worn socks. Experience has taught me that this is always around the ball of her feet and the toe area. It is a perilous job to undertake, as the somewhat unpractically long toenails of my Master Maxine tend to protrude through the thinning sock material somewhat, and this can tickle my real, non-rubber nose underneath my footfool mask and lead to unfortunate sneezes! Needless to say, this would be followed by a stiff whipping session! And all of this is done with Master Maxine pinching my left nipple with her sharp finger nails to signal me to sniff harder!
9. 17:45-18:15 The worst part of the day (for me anyway). Socks off, and bare foot worship! I am now presented with the pasty white, all powerful feet of my precious Master-cum-Mistress. Her contrasting glossy black talons extend a 1/4” past her toe tips! My job now is to remove the large accumulations of, what Master Maxine daintily terms, ‘foot-fuzz’. This is where the rough skin on her feet wears away at the sock material and causes lumps of lint to form and cling to her soles and in between her precious, female toes. I have to use the hallmarked silver tweezers to remove the lint and place it into a sealed plastic bag. The next un-pleasurable job is to deftly scrape away all of Master Maxine’s toe-jam that has accumulated under her long, black lacquered toenails. I am pleased to announce that this noxious compound is also placed in that, now rather full, bag of toe-jam and foot-fuzz, to once again be hermetically sealed shut! What a mercy, not having to consume it like other foot-slaves!
Suddenly and without warning Master Maxine announces ‘Freshening time’ and her left foot is jammed deep into my mouth, her big toenail grazing the roof of my mouth as it enters! The rough underside of her foot-flesh irritates my tongue. Fortunately my unmanly mouth stops my Master’s foot from protruding down my gullet altogether, as my lips grip Maxine’s foot just in time to bring it to a slimy halt before her nail reaches my tonsils! It seems that we are made for each other after all! Master Maxine tends to relent with the picking and poking of my nipples at this point as she drifts off into a pleasurable doze, induced by my slavish foot attention!
10. 18:15-18:20 the favourite part of my day! Miss Jo returns home! Although this angel of a girl broke my heart when she announced, all of that time ago, that she was aware that it was me under this evil mask, she still fills my world with light and joy (for five minutes anyway). Master Maxine’s ‘NO NO-SOCK’ rule governing Miss Jo’s feet is one of the most humiliating and frustrating parts of my existence! I am now permitted to fawn over her ballet flat-clad feet for a while and, if she decrees, I may even remove her shoes and sniff or kiss her grey cotton ankle socks beneath the hems of her pin-stripe power suit! But the delicate smell of Miss Jo’s gentle feminine feet is a real hardship to endure knowing that it will never amount to anything more than her socked feet!
Once the five minutes are up, the deep booming voice of Maxine shouts through from the kitchen:
‘Enough! Send him to work on the insides of my boots; dinner will be ready soon, Jo!’
I stare lovingly at Miss Jo’s feet while I sniff audibly at the insides of Master Maxine’s boots. Every now and then I am aware of miss Jo looking over her newspaper at me, and catching me gawping at her sock clad feet. Occasionally she will mutter a comment in her wonderfully loving and gentle voice:
‘Silly boy Pauley! It’s meant to be a punishment, remember? You are a prisoner being punished for committing a crime! You are not here to get what you want! HA!’
I hate it when she deliberately uses my old name! She knows it embarrass me!
The nights hardly ever change! It always ends with me licking Master Maxine’s feet and keeping this diary in between her trips to the ladies room! The night ends for me when I am tightly tucked up in my upright stocks that are cunningly formed into the structure of the aptly named foot of Maxine’s bed. I must now stare adoringly at the soles of the feet that put me here this open jail in the first place until 06:00, when the whole dreary pattern of my slave-life begins anew!
I remember my first excursion from this private hell-hole quite vividly, as it was a stark contrast to my normal, everyday, oppressive existence. Following my initial handover into slavery, the final paperwork listing my sentence had to be forwarded on to Master Maxine once it was made official. The original sentence read:
Upon you're passing the exams laid out in law, you are to be sold to a private mistress, whereupon you will be punished as seen fit by your new owner and undergo regular confinement in the public kneeling stocks!
We had to wait for three weeks to find out exactly what the good lady Judge meant by ‘regular confinement’. The official letter finally arrived by courier on Saturday morning. The Lady Judge had decided that, in view of the seriousness of my crime, my soon-to-be common trips to the town kneeling stocks were to be completed on the final two days of every month, and must last no less than 48 hours of continual confinement without a break!
Master Maxine was delighted with this news! I, however, was not quite so jubilant! Surely I would not be left alone in the stocks for two whole days?
The day finally came round. Maxine could not contain her excitement. Unfortunately for me, the last two days of that particular month were Saturday and Sunday! The town square would be full of people all coming to witness my VERY public shame!
I was roughly escorted By Maxine to the police station in the next town. It is rather ironic that if she had successfully passed her exams, this would have been the station that she worked out of as a fully fledged Police Officer, and not a second rate security Officer where she met and arrested me (I will be justifiably whipped for writing that sentence!)
I was introduced to a rather harsh sounding, German Officer with a long, blonde ponytail:
‘Ah, so zis is ze slave zat ve vill be locking in de stocks zen, yah?’
She bent down to my cowering, kneeling position and dubiously tried to maintain authoritative composure despite my hideously comic features. She produced a laminated placard displaying my crimes and my sentence for all to see, while I languish in the hated wooden pillory!
‘Ve have laminated it, as it vil obviously be getting a lot of use, yah?’
Now it was off to the stocks! I was dragged by Master Maxine with a heavy length of rusty chain around my neck to the stocks! I arrived with my female captors in the town square, and was rather aptly cast in the ominous looming shadow of the wooden frame of shame! Master Maxine’s hands were trembling with anticipation; mine were shaking uncontrollably with fear!
The nameless (to me anyway) Germanic Officer was busy affixing my placard of shameful crimes to the post adjacent to my pillory:
‘OKAY BOY! Ve is ready for you now; kommen Sie here!’
The heavy pillory crossbeam was lifted aloft with a real effort by the Officer. Master Maxine offered to assist, but was halted as only officials may operate this particular pillory! I placed my neck in the large central cut-out. Being a pillory virgin, I was unaware of the correct etiquette in this situation. Do I place my own wrists in the smaller semicircles in line with my neck, or does the guard do it for me?
‘Putten ze hand in, sklave!’
CLUNK! The stocks were closed tightly around me with no further warning!
Master Maxine was truly delighted! She took countless photographs of me to mark the occasion for future reminiscences. After only five minutes I was feeling the discomfort setting in. I simply had to get at least one arm free to protect myself should the need arise! No such luck. Maxine, meanwhile, was loving the panicked expression on my comical, rubbery face.
Ten minutes passed by, and the women in my life decided to leave me! I had to stop myself from shouting:
‘NO! Please don't leave me here alone, Master!’
I felt so alone and unprotected! It seemed that every office and shop front in the square was looking out on my location! Worse still, the shopping centre was starting to burst into life. People were flooding in from all around! Fortunately for me, everyone was busy, so paid me little heed! Things quietened down a little when the offices opened for Saturday working hours. This busy town never rests. At lunch time, however, my luck changed for the worse! People started filing out of the offices and shops to buy lunch and go for a walk! They now had more time to stop and study the fool in the stocks; me!
Men would just pass me by, and spit or pass rude comments about my ‘gimp’ mask, or my being a ‘foot-pervert’! (As though I have a choice!) Some men would deliberately walk behind me so that they could display their masculinity by harshly kicking my unprotected hind quarters as my face would contort and jut out momentarily from the stocks. The shock was worst of all, as you can see nothing behind you while locked in the stocks!
Meanwhile women were busy taking pictures and reading my crimes aloud from the placard above me. Some of them stopped to have their stilettos kissed, or courts tongue-shined, before they returned to work. All this, and I was not even a quarter of the way through my first session in the lowly wood of shame!
Oh, if only Miss Jo were to come and comfort me in my hour of need!
The first night in the stocks brought little relief. It was rather disconcerting to see just how many strange characters roam around the streets at night! One such character came to visit me in my wooden prison at around 2AM! She was a rather portly Goth girl wearing a black velvet coat and high, wedge-heeled, black leather, lace up, thigh length boots. She never said a word! She simply grinned down at me and placed her boots forward for homage! I can report that it took some real effort to kiss all of that rough-grained boot leather!
Once she felt suitably empowered, she reached into her velvet coat pocket and produced a long, thin whip! She began to unfurl it and walk behind my kneeling, confined-in-wood torso!
‘Begging your pardon, oh powerful Goth Mistress, but this humble and fearful slave is not here to be whipped! Its punishment is simply to languish in the dreaded stocks, if it so pleases you most respected and…
AAAAOW AAAAOW!
At last dawn’s early light on day two came round!
My violated back was indeed very sore! It was made all the more painful as the early sunlight started to burn down for a second consecutive day of wood-based torment and confinement! At least it was Sunday. The town’s offices would be closed today so there would not be so many people to revel in my public torment!
A short while later all of the shopping centres started to open. Many young ladies started to fill the square in pursuit of a bargain and to spend some of their hard-earned cash. Many a young woman would take the time to peruse my freshly laid-on. Gothic whip marks, and enquire as to the reason for my just and harsh punishment! Whenever I would summon up enough energy to offer up a suitably humble and obsequious response, my parched lips would part to form the first word just as the enquiring young ladies foot (shoed, un-shoed, socked, or bare) would be forced between them with no warning! It seemed that nobody wanted to hear my tales of woe regarding my mysterious, Goth female whip-mistress!
My luck actually, and very welcomely, changed for the better when, beyond all hope, Miss Jo was espied walking in my direction. Salvation at last! She stood just in front of me with her hands on her hips and tutted at my whip-marked back. She was yet to say anything. She mounted my pillory and sat astride my confined head with one leg on either side of my droopy, yellow rubber ears. Her legs were so close I could feel her giving off warmth (and love). She opened a small plastic box and took out some sandwiches and began to eat.
Finally she drew breath to speak.
‘So, how was the first night then, Pauleyo? Comfortable was it? Who did you upset in order to get those angry, red stripes put across your back then?’
‘Begging you pardon, oh delightful Miss Jo, but, thy humble slave can report that his first day and night in the pillory was most uncomfortable, and remains so, if it so pleases you? It has indeed been a most harrowing experience thus far, Miss Jo, and this slave longs for freedom! The stripes were applied to the slave’s back last night by a mystery Goth Mistress, who offered no explanation for her harsh scourging, if it so pleases you Miss Jo?’
‘Oh you are so funny, Paul! HA! It’s meant to be a punishment, remember? I should imagine that the stocks are indeed somewhat uncomfortable after a while, but I suppose they are meant to be, hey? I mean, you wouldn't be locked in them if the Female Courts hadn’t decided you deserved it, now, would you?’
‘No, Miss Jo. You are, as always, quite right, Miss.’
‘You should have just asked the mystery whipper to stop, silly boy! You are here to be pilloried; not whipped! By the way, what do you think of my new shoes and socks, Paul?...’
Miss Jo was wearing a stunning pair of red stiletto heels over a brand new pair of frilly, white lace, ankle socks! Truly irresistible! This was a stark contrast to the usual grey cotton socks under black ballet flat shoes!
‘…Maxine will not let me wear these around you, as she says that you may get pleasure from seeing them! I must admit that these high-heel shoes are killing my feet at the moment, though! I am looking forward to getting home and soaking my unsocked feet in a bowl of warm water! Pity you can’t help in that respect; but rules are rules!’
Miss Jo then dismounted my stocks and crouched down to my lowly level, mimicking my pilloried limbs by drawing her own wrists up in line with her beautiful face, and said sweetly through her blonde hair that had now dropped down:
‘This is all for your own good! See you tomorrow, when you will be able to sniff my socks for five minutes, if you are good that is! Take care you silly sausage!’
‘PLEASE DON’T GO, MISS JO!’
‘Hey! Look at this gimp in the stocks, Sasha! Get your camera and gym socks out of your bag!...’
Here we go again…
My first sojourn in the public pillory was indeed a humiliating and terrifying experience. It did, however, serve to break up the monotony of being confined to the house for sock-sniffing duties and tending Master Maxine’s precious and demanding feet! It was indeed a stressful job caring for those long toenails of hers.
One fateful afternoon she accidentally, and ironically, caught the big toenail on her right foot as she kicked me in the head for not picking all of the foot-fuzz out from between her toes. It was ironic because she broke the nail on the word nail clippings that she had plastered on my mask! It was also ironic because she thought that hanging me upside down in irons would be an ironic punishment (I had little choice but to agree).
Life changed little over the coming year. I will not lie and say that I no longer feared the stocks at the end of every month, but they no longer prey on my mind in the weeks preceding my regular pillory appointments! Indeed, life was quite dull and oppressive (as indeed it should have been, for, as my Mistress Jo is forever pointing out, I was being punished! It was either this, or life in the foot-hole dungeons!)
I recall one rather unusual, and what I thought was going to be exciting, afternoon some five months into the first year of my sentence.
Master Maxine suddenly announced that it was pedicure time! This was no surprise; she would often wait for Miss Jo to be around the house before she would order me to tend to her bare feet. This was to further humiliate and degrade me in the eyes of my former object of desire! Master Maxine had to admit that even she was having trouble walking in her boots, with nails as long as she presently had. She had me use the silver, hallmarked clippers to gently clip the talons down to a manageable 1/4” past her toe-tips. It was then my job to file away at the rough skin on the soles of her feet, and collect all of the shavings and nail clippings into the now rather full plastic bag that was kept under the arm chair.
Following no less than six applications of glossy black lacquer, she made a startling announcement!
‘I think that Miss Jo would benefit from a pedicure tonight slave! What do you think?’
OH JOY!
‘Yes, Master Maxine! Indeed! This humble, filthy slave hears and will obey, Master!’
I made my way over to Miss Jo, who was just smiling down at me while twirling her blonde locks above me. I kissed her workaday, black courts and slowly slipped her shoes off her grey, cotton-sock-clad feet. This was finally it! I would be seeing, touching and even smelling her perfectly formed, feminine bare, yes bare, toes in just a few seconds!
Suddenly Master Maxine jumped up from her seat and made her way towards me:
‘OOPS! I nearly forgot to do these up, slave! Sorry! HA!’
With that she roughly pulled both zippers shut over my eyes. I was now effectively blind! How cruel can this girl possibly get?
‘You had better feel your way round Miss Jo’s feet gently, or I will place you in my new set of torture implements tonight, slave!’
I was so near, yet so far! I had to imagine what those ten tiny toes looked like, as I gently felt my way around them, counting ten clicks with the clippers and gently filing the nail-tips smooth. Once again I had to collect Miss Jo’s foot leavings up, and place them, still blind, into the bag, and seal it tightly. Only when I had placed the same sweaty, damp, grey socks back on her feet were the eye-slits on my rubbery mask finally reopened!
What an anticlimax! What a total control freak of a bitch of a Master/Mistress Master Maxine is!
Another five months of oppressive foot servitude, degradation and humiliation passed off my sentence agonisingly slowly. A plethora of sweaty, black, torn, bobbly socks and torture implements had graced my downtrodden personage. The punishment was working; I hated myself for my crimes, and yearned to turn back the clock to stop myself from owning that male pride literature! If only I had given in to Master Maxine’s request for one night out!
Time had rolled on so slowly for me in this state of despair and sorrow that I had not realised that National FEM-PRIDE day was once again upon us! FEM-PRIDE day was a celebration of all things to do with female dominance. Needless to say, Master Maxine, as a staunch supporter of female rule and male oppression, was looking forward to the joyous day with great anticipation. She had me paint her nails six times in preparation for the annual event. All females show support on this day by wearing a pair of pink flip flops to work, and by taking their foot-slaves with them to show off. Master Maxine was delighted as this would be her first year with a foot-slave of her very own to kneel at her side. She had treated herself to a new pair of flip flops just for the event!
I was dragged to work with the rather strangely dressed Master Maxine early the next day. She was dressed in her full uniform of matching black tunic and trousers and leather accessories. This included the very same black leather handcuff pouch that held the fetters that were first placed on my wrists, making me her prisoner! She looked rather comical wearing this smart uniform with a vibrant and incongruous pair of pink flip flops! If she had to catch any criminals today, she would have to hope that the male criminal could not run too fast!
It was quite embarrassing to be kneeling on the wooden floor that I was once responsible for polishing as a handyman. Worse still, I had to look forlornly down at that floor and stare at the long, black painted toenails of my fabulous foot-mistress Maxine!
The offices started to fill up. Out of the corner of my eye, I could just see Miss Jo approaching! She would doubtless be wearing her own pink flip flops to show support for FEM-PRIDE day! I would at last see her bare feet; maybe today will not be so bad after all, then?
As she got closer, and came up the three steps to our level in the lobby, my heart sank as I saw that she was wearing her usual grey anklesocks inside her flip flops! She looked a bit strange like this, and was struggling to keep them on her feet as a result!
Master Maxine said in her deep booming voice so all could hear:
‘Miss Jo will remove her socks out of your site, former office-block handyman!’
Shout a little louder, why don't you?
But even further embarrassment was headed my way - Mrs Stephens, my former Manageress! She was the one that sacked me for possessing illegal, male materials, and who sent for the female police to have me arrested!
She was wearing her pin-stripe power suit with pretty matching skirt. This was rather un-fetchingly finished off with a pair of luminous pink flip flops, just like her other female colleagues! She marched up to Master Maxine to greet her, and her intriguing-looking, rubbery faced foot-slave!
‘Morning Max, how are you? Is this who I think it is?’
‘Oh, yes it is Ma’am! I had his ugly face masked, in view of the humiliation he caused you by being caught with that male filth in his locker! HA!’
‘Oh well, it sure suits him! I think someone owes my toes a few kisses, don't they, slave-prisoner?’
I was then made to shower her well-proportioned, feminine toes with fevered kisses by way of a feeble apology. At this point I noticed Mrs Stephens’ own personal foot-slave. He was kneeling on the floor just like me. Unlike me, however, he was not masked, and had retained his white slave shorts; not like my embarrassing pinky-red shorts!
Amazingly, he spoke without leave:
‘Please pardon this humble and pointless, petty creep of an insignificant slave Ma’am, but it would like to praise Security Officer Mistress Maxine on having such beautiful feet Ma’am!’
Obviously he was a professional foot-slave, unlike me - a mere pressed prisoner; an unwilling volunteer into the world of foot-slavery!
Master Maxine was stunned by his comments, and did not rebuke him for calling her Mistress Maxine! Her ego boost was brimming over with female pride, as well it should be on this auspicious day!
Every couple of hours Master Maxine would stoop to my level when nobody was around and say:
‘Just think, slave. Miss Jo is just through there, all barefoot in her lovely, pink flip flops; and you can’t see! HA!’
I was just left to stare at Master Maxine’s all-too familiar feet!
The next noteworthy event in this so-called life of mine, did not take place until my 24th trip to the pillory!
Yes, it was now two whole years since I had been placed in this mask, and the oppressive care of Master Maxine! I was growing quite accustomed to being locked in my pillory now. The harsh, Germanic Officer had long been promoted, and the efficiently-silent, chubby, brunette Officer who had replaced her was not one to waste time where her job was concerned. She could have me out of my neck chain and into the stocks in eight-seconds flat! The original placard displaying my shame had a few new nail holes in it as it had been fitted to the beam above me so many times now.
Today was the 24th time I would be confined here! Master Maxine was even more excited than usual for some reason? Could it be that she was gripped with excitement from the Gynarchy Games that had opened the night before? Or was it something else?
As we approached the podium of shame, I was stunned to find that my pillory was gone! Two wooden stakes could be seen protruding from the rough concrete. They had been caulked into the ground many years ago with molten lead. But the wooden beams had been cut clean through and the pillory was gone!
In its place stood something covered over in a pink blanket? A large crowd had assembled and several reporters were here to photograph the event. The town Governess was even present! The lady Governess stepped forward and addressed the crowd with her arm around Master Maxine:
‘Ladies, we are here today to celebrate the arrival of our new “sitting duck stocks”...’
A loud cheer went out.
‘…Miss Maxine campaigned tirelessly for the funds to have the Gynarchy Games memorial stocks placed here to celebrate our Female State’s triumphs! I hereby declare the official town sitting duck stocks open! Now let’s close them quickly! HA!’
I was seized by my chubby guard who opened the beam of the stocks. No place for my neck could be found. I was positioned instead in a painfully seated position with my wrists and ankles in line as the beam was closed roughly. The Governess had her photo taken officially locking the padlock for the first time! I was immediately in discomfort. The holes for my ankles were deliberately cut small so that I would be forced to arch my back in order to keep my wrists from straining too much. This meant that my face was positioned just over the cross beam that had a shelf machined into it.
As it transpired, the shelf was to accommodate the shoes and feet of the many young ladies that would be sure to visit the new monument! The lady Governess was happy to volunteer to have her shoes kissed by me (the first ever victim of the town sitting duck stocks). Her right leg was thus ceremoniously outstretched and her brown court shoe was triumphantly placed just under my masked lips for kissing. I could hear the camera flashes erupting into life as my green, rubbery lips made contact with the expensive, brown shoeleather material. The strain of having to move further forward in the brand new wooden bonds caused me even more discomfort, and something in my back went CLICK!
OOOW!
I was, sadly, not left to suffer alone that day, as the opening of the new stocks had attracted a lot of attention from the townsfolk. I lost count of the number of female shoes, boots, sandals and trainers I had to kiss that day! So many feet! Worse still, the sitting duck stocks were immeasurably more uncomfortable than the good old kneeling stocks. I felt like begging the chubby, Female-Police Officer for just a few hours rest in the old pillory!
To add to my misery, Master Maxine had kindly donated some of her surplus torture wares, deposited in a wooden bucket chained to each end of the sitting stocks. A small sign read:
Please help yourself to these donated implements of judicial torture for use on the prisoner in the stocks, as you see fit!
The evening finally rolled round and the town square at last emptied of people. I was left alone in painful sorrow to suffer my plight and sit out my inaugural sentence in the sitting duck stocks.
A short while into my solitude, I was suddenly struck across the face with considerable force! A greasy-haired man, and two similarly dressed young women hanging from either of the man’s arms, came into focus through the pain. The curly blonde on the man’s left pulled him closer to her bubble gum chomping, ruby red lips and said quite calmly:
‘Make him scream for us, Geno!’
The evil-looking man threw his cigarette to the floor and set out for me with a cruel smile on his face! He made straight for the wooden bucket on my left and proceeded to roughly turf out its contents onto the hard, concrete floor. He selected a pair of Master Maxine’s reproduction medieval torture tongs! These were used in the olden days to torture victims by being heated red hot and clamping parts of the body between them! Fortunately we now live in modern times; I only hope he knows that!
He moved the tongs towards my left foot that was trapped in full view of the visitors! I knew what he was going to do! I flailed in the stocks violently, trying not to afford him access to any part of my unprotected feet! This went on for some time and I was getting worn out. Suddenly a sharp pain was felt; he had grasped my foot with the sharp iron tongs! He used both arms to crush tightly and
AAAHHHGHH!
The two women laughed loudly! The man proceeded to crush away mercilessly and without comment! He finally relented and threw the once prized possession of my gracious Master Maxine far down the street in manly triumph! As he returned to the loving embrace of his two girlfriends (whom I had now surmised, must be ladies of the night) he lit another cigarette and hatched a further plan.
‘Hey Susie, why don't you make that foot-gimp sniff and then suck on the black stripes of your knee socks? Ha!’
‘Okay Geno! For sure!’
The lady on the right, who had long, dark, straight hair, made her way towards me. Both girls were wearing black leather skirts and waistcoats, with white frilly blouses. The only major difference was the socks they were each wearing. The dark-haired girl (Mistress Susie) was wearing black and white striped, knee high cotton socks with black stilettos. The girl on the left, with long, blonde, curly hair, was wearing red and white striped, knee high cotton socks and red stilettos!
The black and white sock girl approached. She used my confined hands to gently remove her black stiletto shoes and then proceeded to manoeuvre her long, slender, sock-clad toes under my blue, rubbery snout. The smell was musty and a little cheesy, but nothing like the smell of my own Master Maxine’s perfect feet! With no further warning, my lips were parted with her skilful, socked toes and in went the whole of her right foot. The man then shouted at me:
‘Suck only the black parts of my girl’s sock, you gimp!’
I must be honest that I had no idea what colour of stripe I was sucking on, as, with a young woman’s entire, socked foot deep inside your mouth, it is somewhat difficult to differentiate! The taste was no clue either! All was salty, musty dampness! After a while her foot was withdrawn and Mistress Susie returned to her loving man who helped steady her as she refitted her shiny black, stiletto shoe.
‘Your turn now, Becky!’
‘Whatever you say, Geno!’
The aforementioned Mistress Becky then set out for me, still blowing bubbles with her gum. Her slightly chubbier, red and white striped calf muscles seemed to flex with anticipation. She finally reached me and once again used my hands to remove her shiny-red, stiletto shoe from her right foot. Once off, I could see that her socks were in an altogether worse condition. The toe of her sock was made up from a red band but, her big toenail was protruding through a small tear! She had pink varnished toenails, from what I could see! Also the white stripe next to the red toe of the sock was rather sweat stained (to call it white would be generous!)
She proceeded to use her chubby-socked toes to wriggle more of the stench up my snout! Furthermore, she skilfully used her protruding pink toenail to tickle my real nose under the fake rubber one, in order to induce an almighty sneeze!
OWW, MY BACK!
‘Ha! Silly slave! Open wide!’
The red and white, socked foot entered my mouth violently; she gouged the side of my cheek with her sharp toenail which served to humiliate me further! A tart, vinegary taste was the result this time! Utterly disgusting! At least I have grown accustomed to the smell and taste of my Master Maxine’s feet by now. But this was revolting!
The man, and his dark-haired naiad companion, were laughing intensely now!
‘Okay Becky! Come back over here, babe!’ shouted the masterful man-sir.
Mistress Becky was rather reluctant to remove her foot from my mouth. I suspect it was the nearest thing her feet have come to a bath for some considerable time! The man was now reunited with his two girls and, literally looking down on me, said:
‘So, could you detect a difference in taste, gimp-boy? Do the black stripes of Susie taste like blackcurrants? And did the red stripes of my Becky taste like sweet strawberries? Ha!’
‘Begging your pardon, most magnificent Master Sir, but this humble foot-gimp can report that both of your beautiful female cohorts’ feet tasted like ripe cheese, if it so pleases you, oh great and good Master Sir?’
The man looked thrilled!
‘Yeah, I knew they would! Come on babes, were off to paint the town red!’
He punched the air several times and flung his cigarette at me as they departed with no further comments.
What a night!
The next day I awoke in a cold sweat of aching pain. I thought that this was the day I was to be released, but the soul destroying realisation suddenly hit me that I still had one whole, back-aching day and night to sit in these awful stocks! The torment was relentless!
Finally I could see salvation marching my way in the shape of Miss Jo, bless her! Sadly, however, she was not alone! Master Maxine was following closely behind, and following her was a man carrying a heavy box, and a pretty, blonde lady who was rather brightly and outlandishly dressed? Miss Jo was wearing her new, pure white, rubber tennis shoes on virgin-white, frilly cotton, lace anklesocks! Pure joy, and just what I needed to make the pain subside in my aching back! Master Maxine was wearing her usual guard-Officer’s uniform, and looking as solemn and stern as ever!
The man said nothing and just proceeded to unpack the box on the floor nearby. It transpired that the heavy object was a TV camera! I felt sure that I had seen the short-haired, blonde lady somewhere before too? That’s it! She was on the television a couple of nights ago as I was massaging Master Maxine’s feet with my face; I could just make out the Gynarchy Games opening ceremony on the TV through the gaps in Maxine’s long toes that seemed to act as bars over my eyes, as if securing me in a prison cell made from her feet!
Miss Jo said nothing and sat on a nearby bench as all of the film paraphernalia was unpacked. Master Maxine was busy holding discussions with the TV presenter. They suddenly agreed on the best way to proceed and confirmed that they were ready with a quick recap.
The blonde presenter said:
‘Okay Max. You do your piece to camera when I introduce you, and Fred will zoom in close to your man in the stocks when you present it to him’.
Present what? What was I going to be filmed receiving from my Master/Mistress?
3.2.1… And… Hi there! This is Steph reporting for RWN outside the town square in Femina One. We’re here today to see Miss Maxine present her personal foot-slave prisoner with an anniversary gift celebrating their second year of being footslave and Footmistress! Slave Paul was found guilty of possessing male-pride literature in his locker, and was skilfully arrested by Maxine who kindly took him on as part of his life sentence as a personal foot-slave. As part of his sentence, he must undergo regular periods of confinement in the stocks, which is precisely where we are today! Over to you, Maxine!’
The camera zoomed in on Master Maxine:
‘Well, slave, as you know it is now two years to the day when you were sentenced to be my foot-slave for life, and I have baked you a little present to celebrate this auspicious occasion!’
Master Maxine then opened the carrier bag that she was clutching, and produced the biggest and tastiest looking pie I had ever seen in my life! It must have been twelve inches in diameter. The sumptuous golden pastry had the word “HUMBLE” baked into it, doubtless as some kind of joke! My Master Maxine was an expert cook! What a treat, a whole pie to enjoy!
Master Maxine cut into the pie and removed approximately one eighth of it to serve to me. I don't know what I was expecting to see by way of a filling, but this was a creamy, greenish colour with black bits! Some kind of fruit perhaps?
Master Maxine helpfully explained…
‘In case you are wondering at home what my recipe is for humble pie, it’s 3 ounces of foot fuzz (mostly black from me, and a little grey donated from Miss Jo); 2 ounces of thick, sticky toe-jam; 6 ounces of toenail- clippings blended into small chunks (and some held back for texture and garnish on top); 2 fluid ounces of foot sweat from Miss Jo’s gym socks (that was hard to collect!). The ‘sauce’ is made from a little flour mixed in with powdered foot filings from both our feet, and some salt and vinegar topped off with old, green, slave mush. The ‘base’ consists of some good old Gynarchy bread – namely, bread that has been lining the insides of my workday boots, with some toe-jam rolled in for extra flavour. The whole thing is baked for 40 minutes and then allowed to go cold and congeal on a windowsill. In totality, the humble pie has been two years in the making! HA!’
I was stunned! I would doubtlessly be returning home to an empty, plastic zip-seal bag now devoid of foot offerings, under the arm chair!
This degrading moment, in full view of the public, and heaven only knows how many viewers on the other end of that camera, was to be the most humiliating and humbling experience of my life to date! I was about to be fed a loathsome pie made up from ingredients fit only for the dustbin! Second rate foot offerings from my two Mistresses was about to be force fed to me, as my suffering continued in this evil, sitting duck set of stocks!
The first humble-pie piece was thrust into my rather less than keen mouth. I began to chew, but decided that I would not breathe through my nose so as to lessen the effectiveness of my sense of taste. Fortunately, this approach of controlling my breathing and concentration took away some of the vile taste. Unfortunately, it would not take away the feel of the pie in my mouth. It was horrendous! The sharp jags of Master Maxine’s nail clippings prodded my tongue and got stuck between my teeth!
I had to try and focus on something more pleasant. Miss Jo was sat on a nearby bench adjacent to my stocks, in order to watch my public feeding-time and humiliation. She was wearing her shiny, white, brand new, lace up tennis shoes on pure white, frilly-lace ankle socks! This was just what I needed to take the sting out of this pie! I focussed hard on Miss Jo’s pretty feet.
Miss Jo tracked my gaze to her tennis shoed, right foot and immediately removed it from my line of vision by crossing her legs under the bench and positioning her handbag in front of them!
‘Silly Pauley! Remember what I said? You're a prisoner being punished! TUTT, TUTT! Concentrate hard on the “humble pie” that your Master spent so long preparing for you!’
The harsh, but fair, words from my beloved Miss Jo broke my disrespectful concentration! I suddenly took the full force of the evil pie-taste in my mouth! I began to gag and retch uncontrollably. I knew if I was actually sick on camera I would be due a far worse punishment, so I managed to regain control!
The blonde reporter, Mistress Steph, looked on in disgust as she desperately tried to come up with some supposedly probing questions for Master Maxine. I, sadly, could not answer for myself, as it is rude to talk with your mouth full of humble pie!
‘So, Miss Maxine, do you think he is enjoying your lovely baking efforts?’
‘HA!I hope not! Otherwise I have failed, Steph!... Open wide for the second slice, slave!’
I chewed and chewed my way through the second slice of vile, foot-flavoured pie! I was only a quarter of the way through it! This was worse than being locked in a hundred pillories all at once! Please let it end soon!
Approximately one hour later I had finished my ‘dinner’. The cameraman packed away his equipment and commented that this would be a best seller of an idea on slave-tube (the slave channel on the Gynarchy internet). Mistress Steph merely shook Maxine’s hand and thanked her for allowing her anniversary to be filmed!
Miss Jo got up and came over to pat me on the head:
‘Ooh, your shoulder muscles are rock hard, Paul! You must be really uncomfortable in those sitting stocks? Never mind, you will be at home tomorrow, and I have saved all of my dirty socks for you! See ya!’
She always knew how to cheer me up! Master Maxine just bent down and stared blankly into my rubbery face:
‘I hope that you feel full up now, slave? HA! I had better zip that mouth of yours shut, as we would not want any of that nice humble pie to get out of your slave stomach now, would we?
‘Hmmpfh, Masphfer Mapffhine!’
All I had to do now was to make it through the night in the stocks. As the day drew to a close, a group of neer-do-wells in the form of a female gang gathered around my stocks. They sat down on the floor around me and began playing games on their smartphones. The head girl, wearing an all black tracksuit and black trainers, closed in on my confined position. Her pock-marked, gum-chewing face was just inches from my artificial rubbery face! I had to endure the full smell of her rather potent breath as my mouth was still firmly zipped shut, and I could only breathe through my nose.
Her curly, frizzy, red locks swayed in the breeze:
‘His mouth is zipped up, innit? I bet I can still make it scream, though!’
With that very loud announcement over, she used the lit end of her cigarette to burn the sole of my right foot that was clamped between the wooden planks tightly! Even through my equally tightly, zipped-up mouth a loud scream emanated, much to the approval of the head girl!
‘I think we has found our slave, girls? Back in a mo!’
What did she mean? The others seemed to ignore her and kept playing with their phones. A couple of them photographed me a few times but nothing else. A short while later the redheaded Mistress returned, brandishing a set of hefty bolt croppers! She pressed the hard, cold steel against the sole of my foot and callously enquired:
‘Which toe does ya want lopped off, slave?’
One of her cohorts then disappeared behind me and zipped my eye-slits shut! A loud snap could be heard moments later and the stocks shook in their mountings! A sound of metal falling on concrete signalled to me that they had cut off the padlock to the stocks! I was free…ish!
I was then dragged away blind and mute to some abandoned warehouse. It was apparently the headquarters/den of the girl gang. My eyes were unzipped and I could at last see my surroundings. The redheaded girl was once again in full view. She roughly opened my secured mouth-zip and I could breathe properly at last.
‘Kiss my sneakers, rubbery faced gimp, innit? Thank me for rescuing you, and all of that! Like, show your gratitude or something, yeah?’
I had little choice but to ply her black-trainer-clad feet with thankful kisses. I was truly glad to be out of those horrid sitting stocks, but I was now effectively a criminal on the run! Master Maxine would be furious! I kissed like mad at the very musty smelling, black trainer-shoes of my new, hitherto nameless, Mistress. I was so scared!
At dawn the next day I awoke in the abandoned warehouse. My mouth was padlocked shut, presumably so I could not shout for help. My left ankle was chained to a ring in the concrete floor to stop me running away. I could see through the haze of dust that the warehouse was full of stolen merchandise of all kinds! This would be a real find for any Female Police Officer!
It was three hours before the gang returned following a hard night’s breaking and entering! My nameless, redhaired Mistress looked exhausted! They began unpacking their stolen wares. My new Mistress kindly opened my mouth and allowed me to drink from a bucket that was used to collect rainwater from the leaking roof.
‘Hey girls! I have just thought of a good game we can play with the slave - Sniff out the non-thief!’
Mistress redhead went on to explain that my mouth would be zipped shut again, and that I would be made to smell the socked feet of all of the girls in a line. The idea was to use me as some type of bloodhound to see if I could detect who was the one girl that did not participate in last night’s thieving spree! Ooh what fun, I thought sarcastically!
My redheaded Mistress was the first to be examined. I removed her nasty, black trainers to find an equally shabby pair of extremely moist, thin and worn, black cotton ankle socks. I did not need to get too close to tell that those were the feet of a criminal Mistress. They reeked of adrenaline-fuelled hijinks!
Girl No2 was somewhat different. She was a long-black-haired girl with stick-on eyelashes and menacing- looking, two inch long, finger talons painted black! She just chewed her gum as I deftly removed her white tennis shoes. I had thought that she was barefoot as I could see no socks. As the shoes came off, however, I could see her rucked up, secret trainer socks. They were formerly white, and showed signs of wear. The smell was tart and vinegary; I surmised she was no innocent party to all of this!
Girl No3 was altogether different again. She was the only one that seemed bothered by what I was made to do. She looked on nervously through her bleached blonde tresses as I pulled her black leather ankle boots off. A pair of pink cotton ankle socks were found clinging to her dainty feet. They had cartoon characters woven into the material. I moved my snout in to commence investigations. They smelled musty but quite pleasant. I think I had made my choice; it was Mistress No3 that was the innocent party!
Mistresses 4-6 were all obviously guilty; even the joker girl (No5) that deliberately removed her socks so I had to smell her naked, cheesy toes, in an attempt to send me off the sock-scent so to speak!
My mouth was unzipped and I was made to point out the guilty girls. Each of the correctly identified criminal girls then whipped my back three times for denouncing them. The innocent party (Mistress Michelle) was the newest member of the gang and had not yet been allowed to accompany the gang on nocturnal activities. The triumphant redhead jokingly asked Mistress Michelle to put her boots back on and ‘take her new sniffer-dog outside’ so that he could use the toilet! I suppose that I could join the female police force as a sort of sock-sniffer dog (I felt I was sure to be involved with the police in some way or other in the near future!)
Mistress Michelle brought me back inside after I had relieved myself doggy-style, and re-attached the chain around my ankle. The gang then said that I was going to be alone all night as they had work to do! My mouth was once again secured. After all was quiet, I started to mess with the chain around my ankle. I noticed that it was a lot more loose than the head girl would leave it. The mercifully inept Mistress Michelle had left it too loose! I slipped it over my foot and made for the back door. All I had to do now was to get back to Mistress Maxine’s house; somehow?
Fortunately it was getting dark so the sight of a masked foot slave-prisoner crawling along the pavements did not frighten too many people. Suddenly I espied a female Police Officer! This was it! I could ask her for help in getting back to my Mistress! I went straight towards her and tapped her on the boot and said:
‘Excuse me, Officer Mistress, but this slave is lost’
Well, that is what I meant to say, but what actually came out was a rather loud ‘MMMMWF IMMMNNNM UMMMPPFH’. I had forgotten about the zipped up mouth!
The Officer shrieked and reached for her truncheon wailing:
‘RUNAWAY SLAVE! HELP! HELP!’
I finally came round in a cell with an almighty headache! She had battered me unconscious, with fear. I suppose it was understandable, in view of my horrid appearance! Master Maxine came to collect me. She looked, as I had predicted, furious. Worse still, she could not question me, as the lock on my mouth was not hers! She had to arrange for someone to cut the lock off, just so I could explain my plight!
Several days later, following multiple fawning apologies and foot-licking sessions, I was allowed to return to my ‘normal’ life. Master Maxine delighted in showing me her advanced copy of the film of me eating the awful humble pie she had made for me! I was rather mercifully dealt with by the Police too! I was only found guilty of escaping from the stocks; damage to two Gynarchy padlocks; and frightening a female Police Officer in the course of her duty. I was sentenced to 25 lashes in the town square. All in all, not too harsh a sentence, I thought!
Master Maxine, however, was not at all impressed by the lenient sentence handed out against me. She announced one evening, as I was licking her toenails:
‘I will make you regret your crimes, slave! I have decided to have you fitted with one of those custom-built slave cangues! That will make you think twice before trying to escape! And I have gone for one of those fancy new ones, with an internal permanent lock, so you will not be able to cut your way out of it! HA! It also comes with a tracking device too!’
Two weeks later I was hoist up tightly in the public whipping frame. As this was a small town, nearly everyone had assembled to watch my public flogging. It was almost like a town fete; not a public whipping! People were playing games on the grass; eating picnics; and listening to live band music!
Master Maxine and Miss Jo were sat closely to me, eating a meal that had been prepared for them by the grateful town’s restaurants in view of the extra trade they had brought them that fine, sunny afternoon!
I was left hanging in the whipping frame for some ten minutes to allow the suspense time to set in. Miss Jo suddenly made her way over to me. I had never been so close to her face before; she was so pretty!
‘Hi Paul’ (I wish she did not call me that). ‘I know that you will soon be suffering great pain! If you think Maxine is good with the whip, I’m afraid that you are in for a nasty surprise! Mistress Lucinda is an experienced whip handler. She has been chosen for today in view of your serious crimes. I know that you will be scared, and dreading the imminent pain but (here comes some comforting words I think) you are meant to be suffering, remember? If you were not such a bad person you would not be getting whipped today, would you? Just try to take it like a man, if you can, and maybe I will let you lick my red stilettos when you get back home, okay?’
‘As you decree, Miss Jo; thy humble prisoner will do his best!’
I suppose they were not comforting words but they were as ever, true ones. I would very much like to lick, and secretly sniff, her shoes, so I had better ‘take it like a man’ and try to impress her!
The crowd started to cheer, as I presume Mistress Lucinda had made her appearance. I, unfortunately, never got to see my whipper, as I was trussed up on the metal frame. A loud practice whip-crack broke the sound barrier on the floor next to me!
‘Are we all ready? Prisoner in the frame, you have been sentenced to 25 lashes by a female court. I will make each one sharp and true!
‘ONE!’
SWISH CRACK!
‘OOOW!’
I could not help myself; I just had to scream unmanfully! I saw Miss Jo turning away in disgust at my lack of manliness!
‘TWO!’
SWISH CRACK!
‘OOOOW!’
How much more of this could I take?
Mercifully at stroke number five, an intermission was called. I was to be given ten minutes’ rest after each set containing five lashes! This gave the crowd time to inspect the handiwork of my whip-Mistress. Master Maxine made an unwanted appearance to check the quality of the whip strokes. She held a selection of tasty looking food tantalisingly close to my face:
‘MMM! You don't know what you are missing, slave! Hope you are hungry? I have cooked you a little surprise by way of a treat when we get back home! HA!’
Actually, I had no appetite at all!
‘SET TWO, LASH ONE!’
SWISH CRACK!
Finally, lash 25 was laid on my flame red back. I was mercifully released from the frame, and allowed to crawl back to Master Maxine’s boots whilst she and Miss Jo finished their free food!
We then made our way home (me still in intense pain). When we arrived home I was treated to some strengthening soup. I did not know what to make of this kind gesture from Master Maxine, it was so out of keeping with her normal, dominating demeanour. The soup did not taste very nice anyway! Master Maxine delighted in informing me:
‘HA! Fool, its foot soup! Grated foot-scrapings and toe-jam boiled up with some foot-fuzz! I had to go to a pedicurist to collect the ingredients, as you cleared out my foot-slave larder with that lovely pie I made for you earlier! At least the foot-fuzz is all mine! HA!’
Worse still, my new, heavy wooden cangue had arrived. It was custom built and had lights fitted to highlight the humiliating rubbery mask I had to wear for the rest of my days. To add insult to injury, the cangue could speak! If I moved too quickly, it would turn on a recording of Master Maxine saying:
‘WARNING! WARNING! FOOT-SLAVE PRISONER; TOE-JAM; NAIL CLIPPINGS; FEAR; PAIN; SOCKS; STOCKS; WHIP; PATHETIC!’
Master Maxine wasted no time in clapping it shut around my scrawny neck. It had an internal locking mechanism that required both Master Maxine and Miss Jo to apply enough joint force to snap the two halves together permanently. It must have weighed twenty pounds or more! The pressure on my already aching shoulders was intense. As Miss Jo helpfully commented, it was meant to be a burdensome necklace, and I deserved to wear it for all to see!
As the weeks passed by, I was once again secured in the sitting duck stocks (now with a heavier padlock) and my new ‘wooden necklace of shame’ as it was affectionately termed. The added discomfort of the cangue made life even more depressing. Miss Jo was not finding the loud’ overbearing cangue much fun either! She could not stand it when I made the thing go off!
One ill-fated day, she grabbed me by the wooden neck collar and violently shook me in it. Screaming loudly, she barked:
‘STOP I’VE HAD ENOUGH! STOP MAKING THAT RACKET!!! You are supposed to be the one suffering; not me, Paul! I’m not the guilty one!’
Technically she was guilty of aiding Master Maxine in getting me falsely arrested in the first place, but I was feeling so sorry for her right now with those tearful eyes; she had clearly reached her limits of endurance, and that was my fault. Miss Jo could not take it any longer! She packed her bags and left the house never to return. She told Master Maxine that she had rented a small apartment in the next town, and that she could no longer take the sound of that annoying cangue!
The very next night Master Maxine and I were the only occupants in the now rather empty-feeling house. She was seated in her favourite armchair. I was seated, uncomfortably, on the hard wooden floor secured in the steel bars of Master Maxine’s cravat-torture device while she rubbed her cold, dirty, bare foot over my captive face!
‘I bet you really wish that you just took me out for that meal now, don't you Paul? What a loser! At least we have got rid of that Miss Jo now, and it’s just us two; forever! By the way, don't write things down if you don't want me to read them; I was never going to let Jo’s feet upstage mine; that’s why she had to go, and Mr Cangue has helped no end in getting rid of your only comfort in life, leaving you totally at my beck and call!’
With that, she kicked my cangue, causing it to burst into life:
‘WARNING! WARNING! FOOT-SLAVE PRISONER; TOE-JAM; NAIL CLIPPINGS; FEAR; PAIN; SOCKS; STOCKS; WHIP; PATHETIC!’
‘Ha, ha, ha! Pathetic!’
Oh what misery! If only I had just given in to her in the first place!
