Five A Day – Day Seven
Your five portions of footslave-fantasy per day – for seven days on the trot!
Day 7
The gang of freemale master sirs are punching me and kicking me as I languish in the back-alleyway kneeling-stocks.
And rightly so – for I am a ‘traitor’ to the male sex, having surrendered myself and my male dignity to the service of female feet:
‘Girls’ sock-lover… sock-queer… ladyboot-lickspittle… female-foot flunkey…’
These are just some of the disparaging remarks they make towards me, as they rightfully beat me up. They then drunkenly pay a nearby street-prostitute to walk through a pool of muddy rainwater in her pointy-toed and spike-heeled, black leather ankleboots, and to then wipe her dirty bootsoles all over my male-bruised and battered face.
How everyone laughs at me as I wince to the painful feel of the beautiful, if somewhat skanky, female prostitute’s muddy bootsole-leather on my confined face. The prostitute then willingly walks off with them, having agreed a fee for their further, freemale business, leaving me to contemplate my maleslave celibacy and impotence in the dark and lonely alleyway – with not just my footslave ego bruised, but also my lips swollen, and my face smeared in an unknown prostitute’s dirty bootmud.
No wonder they had all laughed at me as they left; I’m just a bruised and battered, back-alleyway laughing stock!
Addendum:
Later that same evening a passing Female Police officer, who was patrolling the area, asked me what had happened to my face? I explained that I had had my face judiciously kicked in by a gang of drunken freemales, and that a female prostitute had then smeared mud from the sole of her streetwalker’s boot into my facial wounds, in order to add insult to injury. The female cop just laughed, and said I deserved it, as I was just a slave. No crime had been committed, and I was lucky that she wasn’t booking me for wasting her precious, Female-Police time, since she had better things to do than stand around chatting to the local, lowlife, public footservant in the stocks.
I thanked the blonde-ponytailed officer-mistress for her professional lack of concern by humbly kissing the thick, reinforced, black leather, toe areas of her police-patrolwoman ankleboots beneath her navy-blue-uniform, trouser hems (even though it pained my heavily swollen lips to do so). As I kissed her boots, I imagined that she must be wearing plain, black socks inside those heavy boots, and that they too are creasing up with laughter at me as she stretches forth each female police-officer boot in turn for kiss-worshipping by my gang-battered mouth.
I then listened to her continuing blonde-girl laughter, and street-patrolling bootsteps, echoing down my back-alleyway as she continued her way on her unsympathetic, female beat, whilst the earlier taunts of the superior freemales echoed through my embondaged brain:
‘Girls’ sock-lover… sock-queer… ladyboot-lickspittle… female-foot flunkey…’
Like my city-centre, footslave-prisoner colleague above, I often get my face kicked in by the passing public. It goes with the inner city territory, and I do wish he would just quit moaning about it!
Though I must admit, I very much prefer it when my face is kicked in by a girlgang! We have one such girlgang in my area – the majority of whom are ethnic Chinese – who call themselves the ‘Lacy-Soxers’, because they all wear the same black cotton anklesocks with lacy, white cuffs atop their ubiquitous, scuffmarked and street-soiled, black leather, lace-up, DM-style, ankle-length, bovver boots!
I find that the soft, frilly lace in their upper bootsocks actually soothes my wounds as they kick me in the face, as it brushes against my existing bruises. The frilliness of the socks also reminds me that I am being beaten up by a bunch of girls, and adds to my primeval sense of maleslave impotence and shame.
There are many trophy-photos on female, social-networking sites of my bruised and battered, male face next to a pair of feminine-frilly, black and white bootsocks and black leather bovver-boots, for, in my humble experience, female gang-members love to show off their prowess with the boot; the ‘Lacy-Soxers’ certainly do!
And rightly so – for I deserve to be female-boot battered, being a criminal footslave who is being righteously punished in a set of back-alleyway, kneeling stocks. I just hope my bruised and bloodied, ugly, male face doesn’t inadvertently sully the pure white lace of my oriental female-betters’ beautiful, feminine socks!
I’m sure it’s just a trick of the light!
As the latenight, young student customer-mistress has me lickshine her pale blue, low-top, lace up sneakers, the street-corner lamp which illuminates my city-centre, public-shoelick stand seems to suggest that her left, scrunched-up anklesock (the one still waiting to be observed close-up and personal by me on my wooden footblock) is a pale pink, whereas the ‘matching’, scrunched-up sock on the ankle I am currently attending to is most definitely a bright red.
Surely this sartorially-casual, black-leather-miniskirted young woman would not have been out for a night on the town in mismatched socks?!
But no – as she switches her inebriated feet beneath me, I observe that the second sock is indeed pink; and not only that – the stitching is a whole different style (vertical, rather than horizontal!)
What does it matter, dirty lowlife slave? I hear you ask. Your job is to lickshine the superior, young woman’s sneakers even if she is wearing mismatched socks! Get on with your work!
You are quite right, of course! I apologise! It is none of my business if this dirty-stop-out, student mistress is colour-blind, or, perhaps even making a deliberate sock-fashion statement. I should just be grateful to her for taking the female time to utilise my public, sneaker-licking services, and for gracing my face with her superior, scrunched up anklesocks – mismatched or otherwise!
My mistress Modesty absolutely forbids me to:
· Look her in the bare feet or ankles
· Touch her bare skin
· Even think about her above the kneecaps
She says that’s because I’m just a dirty, male slave, and that consequently I make her Black-African skin crawl.
Therefore, I am under strict orders to merely bury my nose in her freshly discarded, unfresh, black leather ankleboots and black cotton bootsocks in the corner of her dingy bedsit-squat, whilst she ‘entertains’ another middle-aged, freemale punter on her well-used bedspread! Furthermore, I am to sniff her sweaty boots and socks audibly, so that her ‘freemale houseguest will be stimulated to get a hard-on, and finish his business quickly’.
I am truly honoured to be of such sock-sniffing, sexual service to my mistress Modesty, whom I very much admire – albeit at a respectful distance from her bed!
This privately-owned, public footservant certainly isn’t his own boss. All the time he must endeavour to satisfy his customer-mistresses at his public shoelick-stand, and thus please his owner and master…
Pleasing the Master Sir by patheticus on GoAnimate
