Tricks of the Trade

A non-Gynarchy Femdom story – set in the real world!

Life was poor.

I was a 50 year old, unemployed, white male, lodging with a wealthy Indian lady – 40 year old Mrs Gupta – and her husband. I had no family of my own, and was celibate – being ugly and with no prospects.

I basically spent my time cleaning the house whilst my Indian landlady and her husband went out to work and play, and also cooked them the occasional meal – just to help earn my keep, and to demonstrate my gratitude for the boxroom I had been allocated in their home. After all, they didn’t have to take me in!

I couldn’t afford to go out much myself, due to my meagre income consisting solely of unemployment benefit, most of which went on my rented room in the Gupta’s household.

Then my dull life looked like brightening up somewhat when Mrs Gupta’s 19 year old niece suddenly arrived from India to undertake a course in ‘Film Studies’ at the local film institute. I was told she had aspirations on becoming a young-female film director (though, as soon as I saw how dark and beautiful she was, I couldn’t help feeling she could easily make a career for herself in front of the camera, should she so wish to!)

Miss Divya, as she was known, was, of course allocated the opulent and vacant guest room – the room I was not considered worthy of residing in, being a mere non-familial lodger; but I didn’t resent her that little luxury; she was, after all, a beautiful guest from a foreign land!

I even (since I had nothing better to do with my time) helped miss Divya to unpack; so much luggage – and so many things; particularly pairs of shoes and boots; literally hundreds of them! It reminded me of just how wealthy this respectable, middle-class, Indian family were. I’m guessing middle-class, but upper-caste?

Anyway, my heart leapt a beat a few days later when miss Divya, who seemed to be a very pleasant and friendly young lady, unexpectedly invited me to appear as a bit-part actor in a movie project she was shooting at ‘home’ as part of her film-studies course. It seems that each student was given camera equipment to make a short film of their own, which would then be shown to her fellow students at the institute, and marked as part of her coursework. And I was going to be in it – albeit as an ‘unpaid extra’!

As it turned out, my role was actually more pivotal than I had first anticipated, as I was to play the role of the ‘butler’ in a film entitled ‘The Butler’! I was thus acting in the title role! Well, you can imagine my thrill and excitement – at first!

Doubts began to set in, however, when miss Divya presented me with my ‘butler’s’ outfit, which consisted of a mere raggedy loincloth!

‘Shouldn’t I be dressed in a liveried uniform or a suit if I am to play the role of a butler?’ I asked miss Divya in all white-middle-aged innocence.

‘Ha! Ha! Don’t be silly, Brian – you are to be an Indian butler in this film – and in India our butlers only wear loincloths! It’s so hot, you see? Ha! Ha!’

I accepted this dubious explanation without question – and felt somewhat foolish for even having queried my humble outfit!

Which is why, I suppose, I didn’t like to query why the ‘butler’, in the opening scene of the short homemade-movie, had to kneel down and kiss-greet the feet of his ‘mistress’, played by the divine miss Divya herself, as she entered the room! I had never been that close to another human-being’s feet before – let alone the sneakered and socked feet of a beautiful, dark-haired, young, 19 year old Indian woman (that was something else I didn’t dare to query – why, if the movie was set in India, the young mistress of the house was wearing western jeans and sneakers, whereas only the ‘butler’ was dressed in a traditional servant’s loincloth?)

But, no matter, I found the whole experience of kissing a beautiful, young, ‘westernised’ Indian woman’s outstretched, sneakered feet (presented to me imperiously one after the other) quite revealing:

· I noticed the musty smell of the outsides of the white leather, low-top, laced-up sneakers

· I noticed the little imperfections – specks of dirt and dust and the like – on the seemingly pristine sneakers (only someone whose face was ultra-close to the sneakers would have noticed such dirt; not even the wearer herself was probably aware of it. It was, if you like, a servant’s eye view!)

· I was intrigued by the pattern in the stitching of her plain, white cotton anklesocks – and how some of the stitching was vertical, whereas other lines of stitching were horizontal

· I was downright mesmerised by the way miss Divya’s anklesocks creased and folded around her shapely, outstretched, Indian-girl anklebones in reaction to my servile kisses to her dusty, white sneaker-toes

I actually felt quite demeaned by the whole experience of kissing this young woman’s dirty sneakers in the face of her socks (and in the presence of her aunt and uncle who were watching from the side-lines) – but remembered that it was only acting for her student movie-project. I wasn’t really her obsequious butler-servant!

Mrs Gupta and her husband were seemingly delighted with my performance on camera at their niece’s feet in the opening shot of the movie. They cheered and clapped their hands, embracing and congratulating her (the camera, incidentally, was on a fixed tripod, but expertly set up and positioned beforehand by the actress-directress of the film, miss Divya herself!)

I too was very impressed by her – albeit from my lowly position on my hands and knees, and with the rubbery-leathery taste of her white sneakers still lingering on my lips!

It was only when we switched to scene 2, and Mrs Gupta and her husband were, rather roughly, securing me to a stage-prop consisting of a metal whipping-frame in their secluded back yard, that I began to have really serious doubts as to what was going on – particularly when Mrs Gupta produced another ‘prop’ consisting of a fearsome-looking, single-tailed, black leather, cowhide whip, which she ostentatiously swished and cracked in the fresh air behind me!

From my newly restrained position on the upright whipping-frame, I nervously looked round and asked my whip-wielding, Indian landlady:

‘Erm… Mrs Gupta, how exactly does miss Divya intend to show the whip-marks on my back?’

‘I beg your pardon? What do you mean, Brian?’

‘Well, I mean – obviously she can’t actually whip me with that thing! Ha! Ha!...’

‘Why ever not?’

I was stunned by Mrs Gupta’s rather silly question:

‘Well…haha…I mean, that whip would rip my back apart if your niece actually struck me with it!’

Mrs Gupta giggled, and moved up close to my face on the frame – so close that I could smell the remains of her lunch on her breath:

‘Dear, stupid, unemployed man – you still don’t get it, do you? This is not, contrary to what you may have been lead to believe, mere playacting! You really are miss Divya’s slave – and she really is damn well going to whip you! You see, before she agreed to come over here and stay with us, my niece insisted on two things: a personal footservant; and a whip.

The whip was easy to get – we just ordered one over the internet on my husband’s credit card and it arrived the following day. But getting my niece a personal footservant in this God-forsaken country was always going to be much more problematical! Until, that is, my husband had the bright idea of using you as miss Divya’s servant! Ha! Ha!

It turned out to be the perfect solution! After all – you are unemployed; you have no family of your own; and no-one will miss you if you are confined to this house under whip and key at my niece’s feet! Ha! Ha! And your weekly giro check can go straight to paying towards miss Divya’s student fees – for that much is true; she is studying film at the Institute; and she is required to make this short film as part of her coursework.

But you are also her slave; and you are about to be whipped by her – for real; just as you have recently been required to kiss her dirty sneakers – for real! Ha! Ha!’

I could not believe my imprisoned ears! I desperately tried to struggle at my bonds, but the knots tied by Mrs Gupta and her husband were also very much for real!

Meanwhile, miss Divya had finished repositioning the camera for the ‘slave-butler whipping scene’, and her aunt gleefully handed the whip over to her, for the cinematic chastisement of the butler-slave to begin:

Swish…Crack!

PAIN…

Fortunately I had a non-speaking part in this amateur film, for words failed me as the almighty sting of the black leather whip truly took my breath away, along with a strip of raw skin around my naked, writhing torso! I couldn’t even cry out with the PAIN…so great was the PAIN!

And there was plenty more where that came from… 17 strokes in all (or, at least, until I lost both consciousness and count!)

………………………

The next day I began my new life as student-girl miss Divya’s personal, housebound footslave.

I was never allowed out of the house (except to be whipped in the back yard), and spent the vast majority of my time in her bedroom. I was even required to sleep on the floor by the end of her bed, in case she needed a foot-rub in the middle of the night!

My regular duties involved:

· Washing her bare feet before she showered of a morning

· Socking and booting (or sneakering) her of a morning as she got dressed for college

· Kneeling admiringly by her ankles as she then breakfasted with her aunt and uncle

· Lickshining her remaining collection of boots and shoes in her shoe-cupboard, and suckwashing her dirty socks, whilst she attended college during the daytime

· Greet-kissing her boots or sneakers when she returned from college in the late afternoon (rather as her ‘butler’ had been required to do in the opening shot of her amateur movie)

· De-booting or de-sneakering her, and then massaging her sweaty-socked feet whilst she deservedly rested them up on the edge of the sofa after her hard day of film-study at the college

· Meekly observing her socked feet as she subsequently dined with her aunt and uncle at the dinner table (all the while hoping and praying for some tidbits or leftovers from her plate, since this wealthy Indian family were not prepared to spend any money on food for the footservant)

· Washing and re-socking her feet if she was going out for a date in the evening with one of her student boyfriends

· Sniffing and kissing her subsequently discarded, evening-time socks in the corner of her bedroom whilst she made love to her lucky boyfriend after their hot date (I should explain that Mrs Gupta and her husband are very liberal when it comes to their niece’s behaviour under their roof!)

· Kneel-sleeping by the foot of her bed again whilst she sleeps in the arms of her manly, young boyfriend, in case she wakes up and needs another relaxing, brown-foot rub during the night.

I must say, I have learnt a lot through being a housebound footslave.

I have learnt to:

· Respect my masters and betters (both male and female)

· Kiss young women’s feet with humility and resignation – not just my mistress Divya’s feet, but also those of her fellow, female college-students when they come round for tea

· Admire their socks, and in particular the varying viscosities in female socks, dependent upon the narrowness of the stitching (I quickly discovered, for example, that the narrower the stitching, the more feminine foot-moisture is retained within the sock material, thus making for a smellier sock – the only exception being thick-stitched, heavy woollen socks inside heavy, enclosed leather ankleboots, which retain even more smelly moisture; I discovered all this whilst humbly massaging the various young women’s socked feet!)

· Fear the sting of the black leather whip on my back

· Study my own young mistress’s feet and footwear in intimate detail, since I am responsible for their well-being and upkeep

And, I’m pleased to say, my young mistress Divya subsequently passed her Film Degree with first class honours! It seems the college authorities were particularly impressed by the ‘special effects’ in her homemade movie. How on earth, for example, did she manage to achieve such realistic whip-marks on the ‘butler’s’ back – and on such a low budget?

She just laughed, and vowed never to reveal the tricks of her trade!

As for me, I expect I would have won an Oscar for my ‘acting’ abilities – and, in particular, my excellent pain reactions to the whip – had her student-girl movie been eligible for an Academy Award! But it wasn’t, and I didn’t.

Life was now poor and painful!