Five A Day – Day Five
Your five portions of footslave-fantasy per day – for seven days on the trot!
Day 5
My experienced, 28 year old, Chinese mistress – miss Yi-Ling – loves to punish and humiliate me, in public, in and around her village.
Thus, whenever she arbitrarily sentences me to a whipping, she makes sure to humiliate me first, by having me crawl around the village's muddy streets on my hands and knees behind her cheap, black, low-top sneakers, creased black anklesocks, and dusty black, half-mast, denim jean-hems, with the following disparaging words written in bright red, felt-tip pen (in Mandarin) on my naked and exposed back:
即將被鞭打 (About to be whipped)
恐懼 (Fear)
被傷害 (To be hurt)
痛苦來這裡 (Pain coming here)
Of course, the red words written on my skin in Chinese lettering are not indelible, and will soon be whipped off and replaced by red stripes (if, indeed, they are not first wiped off by my sweat, engendered by my maleslave fear and trembling at my forthcoming whipping – for I know from previous bitter experience that my mistress Yi-Ling whips hard!), but having my shame and fear writ large on my back for all the other villagers to see and enjoy is truly a nice touch on my cruel mistress's part – don't you think?
When we eventually stop my ignominious tour of the village and arrive at the central whipping post, I fervently kiss my mistress Yi-Ling's muddy, black sneakers and socks all over, in a forlorn attempt to elicit some sweet-feminine, Chinese-girl mercy in her. But my back has already spoken – it is, I fear, about to be whipped and hurt; and pain is coming here!
The Village Whipping Post
Regular customer mistress – 23 year old, slim and svelte, blonde-haired customer-mistress, miss Rebecca (Becky to her friends) – has booked me for a full hour, as she wishes to have ‘the full foot-monty’ i.e.
· She wishes me to kiss-worship the outsides of her black leather, low-heeled, round-toed, laced-up, security-guard-uniform ankleboots, beneath her navy-blue cargo-pant hems
· She then requires me to lickshine said boots so that she can see her pretty reflection in them. However, my tongue must likewise not neglect the undersides of her boots, which require lick-cleansing as well. I must ensure that my tongue seeks out, and extracts, all the little bits of street dust and detritus stuck in her bootsole-treads, which must then end up going down my throat and into my bootdirt-receptacle stomach
· Then I am to gently and respectfully unlace her powerful, black ankleboots, slip them off her thick-grey-cotton-socked feet, and kiss-worship her sweaty, warm bootsocks all over
· Next I am to sniff-nuzzle her socks out loud – focussing in particular on the warm and clammy, reinforced toe-areas
· Next I am to peel off her socks, place them inside the uppers of her temporarily divested boots, and kiss-worship her bare feet – seeking out any ‘tank track’ areas on her bare, white footflesh or ankleflesh caused by her sock-elastic
· Then I must tongue-clean her feet, concentrating my efforts on the toejammy areas in between her toes and beneath her unvarnished toenails, and making damn well sure to lap up, and swallow, any stray bits of grey bootsock-lint
· Then I must tongue-pumice the dead skin from the backs of her chapped heels, ensuring that I soften any areas of female, hard skin with my male-footslave saliva
· Next I must handwash her bare feet properly, in a bowl of lukewarm water
· Then I must blow-dry her wet, freshly washed and mouth-pedicured, bare feet with my slave breath
· Then I must respectfully kiss-worship her bare feet again, before reapplying her sweaty, unwashed socks to those fresh, feminine feet.
· I must then kiss-worship and sniff-nuzzle the stale, sweaty socks again, before re-lacing her heavy, security-guard, black leather uniform ankleboots back onto her socked feet
· Finally I must kiss worship the boots, before drinking her dirty footwater in front of her
Like I said – the full foot-monty! Pathetically, I’m looking forward to it – since miss Rebecca is such a beautiful, young woman, and a delight to serve. And because I know her boyfriend likes it when I pamper his pretty girl’s feet and footwear! He may even come into the booth with her in order to watch me at my humble work!
The Public Foot-Booth
I would dearly love to be watching the athletics – all the track and field events; the running; the discus; the javelin; the long jump; the high jump.
But, even though I am physically present at the Gynarchy Athletics event in the sports stadium, I am forbidden to watch the action on the field, and instead must focus on my 22 year old mistress’s excitable black and red-striped sneakers with their flapping, black laces, and her ever-creasing and flexing, white and red-hooped, tube socks, as she watches the athletics from her privileged, female-official vantage point right next to the track.
For I am not good enough to watch free-human sportswomen; I am fit only to look at sport socks; and a young woman’s sporty socks, at that!
The Spectator by patheticus on GoAnimate
Blonde and beautiful officer-mistress Kirby left school with no academic qualifications. She wasn’t any good at Maths, English, Science, History, Geography, Foreign Languages or Sport.
But she is the consummate professional, and a perfectionist, when it comes to the art of inflicting physical pain on a male prisoner-slave – especially through the application of the female whip. Which is why she is highly liked and respected by her female prison-officer colleagues, and her uniform boots and socks are likewise highly licked and respected by we male prisoner-slaves!
Look at the scene right now, for example – as she is whipping me. Look at us both head on as you stand directly in front of me – at a safe distance from the whip, of course - whilst I am suspended by the wrists from manacles in the punishment-cell ceiling, my body dangling and dancing to the pain of officer-mistress Kirby’s expertly applied whip!
Do you see how my male face is contorted in pain, misery and anguish from the sting of her whip. She has just delivered my 13th lash (of a total of 20), and is standing at precisely the right whipping distance behind me, her own face studied and unmoved by my cries of pain and pleadings for mercy as she surveys the latest damage she has so expertly caused to my back, and the rapidly reddening weal.
Her pretty face is not, you will note, full of hatred for me; nor does it even despise me. It is entirely neutral, as she considers – unhurriedly and dispassionately – where and when to apply the next whip-cut, so as to maximise my poor-prisoner pain.
Her boots and socks, meanwhile, are positioned so as to give her dainty, female feet good purchase on the dusty, stone floor of the punishment cell whilst she wields the five-foot-long, single-tailed, black leather punishment whip, and I don’t know if you can just make out the tiny slither of thick, grey bootsock above her right ankleboot-rim, caused by her left, navy-blue-uniform, cargo-pant hem getting inadvertently stuck in the upper of her black leather, low-heeled, reinforced-toed, laced-up ankleboot (sartorial elegance, even in uniform, is another of officer-mistress Kirby’s many failings!)?
Sartorially inelegant or not, officer-mistress Kirby looks the business as she readies herself for the next stinging blow to my back, and my maleslave confidence:
Swish…Swish…Crack!
AIIIIEEEEEE!
Did you see how she swung the whip twice behind her dainty, right shoulder before bringing it slashing down at the speed of sound onto my bare back? And, hopefully, you caught a glimpse of even more grey sock on her shapely, right ankle as she stretched forward her right leg in order to apply extra force to the latest, whistling whip-cut?
Aieee, she chose well in her positioning of this latest stripe – directly below a previous cut, and wrapped ignominiously around my lower ribcage. She sure knows my male-prisoner body well, and its most sensitive-to-pain areas!
She watches me writhe uncontrollably as she deftly unfurls the whip from my back, and flicks it in the stale, punishment-cell air in order to divest it of any loose, flayed, prisoner-slave skin or sinew – ready for the next stroke.
But – all in good time. First she waits for the waves of cascading pain to flow throughout my female-whip-weakened, male body and up to my tiny, male brain, using my paintime to re-catch her sweet feminine breath and strength, before readying herself to deliver the next, agonising stroke to my vulnerable, suspended torso – her upper, grey bootsock once again reduced to a mere slither beneath her blue cargo-pant hem as she stands back momentarily and admires her feminine handiwork on my bare back.
She won’t come onto me again until she is good and ready – for officer-mistress Kirby is a pain-perfectionist, and knows exactly how to prolong a punished prisoner’s paintime!
My pretty, 20 year old, sockmistress Melanie has sentenced me to 4 hours with my head buried in her dirty-sock basket!
That may not sound like a particularly harsh, household punishment, but, believe me – my mistress Melanie’s unwashed-socks basket is not somewhere that any human head should ever be forced to dwell in; the stale, sweaty stench can be quite unbearable – plus, of course, one has the ignominy of having one’s face surrounded by dirty, feminine socks!
Sometimes she requires me to lie with my head face-upwards through the side-aperture in her sock-laundry basket, primarily so that others can see and enjoy my grimacing and shame as they look down at me with her stinky, used socks surrounding my forlorn, footslave face. Such an ignominious position also, of course, allows my punishment-witnesses to chuck other pairs of my mistress’s dirty socks down onto my upturned face. Needless to say, my mistress Melanie provides her friends and associates with disposable gloves, so that their free-person hands do not become contaminated with her sock sweat (she doesn’t give a damn about my face becoming smelly-sock contaminated, since I’m just a dirty sockslave!)
On other occasions, such as today, she has me lie prostrate on my stomach with my head facing downwards inside her sock-basket. The ‘advantage’ of punishing me this way is that I am forced to inhale more of her sweaty sockstink, and her visitors can still drop socks onto the back of my head! Furthermore, should she or they wish to whip me whilst I suffer the stench of her sweaty socks, my back is, of course, fully exposed and at their mistressly or masterful mercy!
Yes – 4 hours with my head buried deep in a pile of dirty, female-worn socks! It is a cruel and unusual punishment – but one which, I must confess, I fully deserve, having turned my nose up at the frilly, yellow anklesocks of my mistress’s best friend, miss Emily. By that I mean that I endeavoured, without permission, to raise my nose to the frilly upper of mistress Emily’s bright yellow anklesock – purely so that I could feel its lacy ticklishness on my sockslave nose – rather than focussing my nose on the outer side of miss Emily’s sock on her prominent anklebone, like I had been ordered to do by my mistress Melanie.
Having so blatantly disobeyed her and embarrassed her, in her own home, in front of her best-friend and houseguest, it was inevitable that I would be punished by being banished to the dirty-sock basket!
And right now, miss Emily, on my mistress Melanie’s invitation, is in the process of taking off her pink sneakers and yellow socks so that she can chuck the latter down onto the back of my head whilst I sniff a particularly grimy pair of my mistress Melanie’s stinky, white sports socks – worn all day yesterday, including to the gym!
So – with stinky white sock up my nose, and frilly yellow sock on the back of my head, I think it’s fair to say that I am being well and truly made to suffer in an appropriate manner for my earlier sock-disobedience, even if said disobedience was born from a sincere sockslavish desire to respectfully nose lacy, female, yellow sock on a shapely, feminine, white ankle.
Oh the smell! The stink!
Swish…Crack!
Aiiieee… the whip!
