The Good Samaritan of Gynarchy X
By Slave Paul
Anyone would have done the same thing, surely?
I was standing outside the office block waiting for my Manageress, Mrs. Brent, to finish her cigarette before we re-entered to finish the hectic afternoon’s work. Just then a very redfaced, young man dashed between us, clutching a woman’s handbag of all things? He was travelling so fast he burst past us, knocking Mrs Brent to the ground and thus scalding herself with the former contents of her coffee cup!
Literally seconds later, a very attractive, young, female police officer could be seen hurtling towards us in hot pursuit! I was already heading towards Mrs. Brent to offer assistance, but dived for cover on seeing the stunning, blonde police officer. She was in such a hurry to apprehend the miscreant that she did not see the loose paving stone! Her boot toe caught the loose pavement edge and sent her flying far into the air! She was heading face first for the concrete! THUD!
Like a good Samaritan, I immediately ran over to help her.
Upon reaching the Officer, she rolled over and stared into my face with a look of confusion and exhaustion.
‘Are you alright, Miss?’ I said.
A heavy panting reply of ‘I think so, what happened?’ was the response.
By now a large crowd had gathered to see what was going on. The two moronic, punk teenager girls that ran the tattoo parlour opposite our building were actually sniggering at the Officer’s misfortune! Being rebels, they had little respect for the law.
The young Officer had now regained some of her composure and was scanning the faces of the crowd. She settled her gaze on the two disrespectful teens and their mocking laughter. This enraged her! For one hopeful moment, I thought that she may actually arrest them; it would have made me quite happy to see them carted off by the Officer as a consolation prize!
This was, however, not what happened. The police girl just focussed back on me, and with a redfaced anger screeched,
‘You're under arrest for obstructing a police officer, and common assault!’
I couldn't believe it! She was so enraged at losing the chase, that she was going to clamp the blame on me!
‘Hold still while I cuff you, so you can’t hurt anyone else today! I hope that your mate enjoys the handbag; it really suited him!’
CLICK CLICK!
I looked to Mrs. Brent for support and confirmation that it was not me that obstructed the young Officer. But Mrs. Brent was still in shock from everything. All she said was that she saw nothing, as she was in too much pain!
I was marched past the now very rowdy teens from the tattoo parlour, around the corner to the police car. The pretty, blonde, police Officer handed me into the booking clerk at the nearby station without saying another word to me. Perhaps she was contemplating what she had done; maybe she felt guilty for lashing out at me by way of compensation for losing her man? I didn't have long to wait for confirmation, or dismissal, of my theory.
The rather butch looking booking clerk obviously loved her front- of-shop job at the Female Police Station. She seemed to get a sense of almost sexual arousal as she focussed on my terrified face and cold sweats! I did not fancy being in this woman’s charge at all! Please speak the truth Miss police lady!
‘Hello, Caroline. This little creep aided a felon in escaping feminine justice, by tripping me to the floor and causing me actual bodily harm! See to it that he is made nice and welcome, would you please?’
What a liar! Surely her feminine pride did not matter this much to her?
‘Leave it to me, Georgina! I have a lovely secure room without a view for this little fellow. All reserved! HA!’
Officer-Miss Georgina then turned to face me (although a little shorter than me, she could stare into my eyes as I was still bent over because of the bloody tight handcuffs behind my back!). She seemed quite proud of herself! I was left alone and shackled in the booking hall of the police station, and the company of the decidedly unfriendly-looking police clerk! Officer Georgina, meanwhile, left to go to the canteen, as her shift was now prematurely over! What had I gotten myself into?
I then realised that I had better acknowledge the scary desk-woman. I slowly turned back to face her, but she was gone? I could immediately feel the warmth of her body pressing against mine from behind! She was so close, I could smell her breath!
‘Right then, lad, we had better get you processed and get those nasty old handcuffs off then! Judging by the terrified look of fear on your gormless face, you have never been arrested or locked up before, right?’
I was so glad to hear that these tight, judicial bracelets were going to be removed, I nearly forgot to answer her polite question.
‘No madam, I have never been in trouble before’.
‘Well, don't worry, I will take GOOD CARE of you during your stay! It will be a pleasure to inform you about every step of the process that is about to begin! HA!’
I was then roughly escorted behind a heavy looking door into a white room with a bench and a desk in it. Miss Caroline (as I was sure I would not be permitted to call her) was again behind me, but now undoing the tight handcuffs! Such relief!
‘Okay, let’s get this over with shall we? Listen up:
1. You will inform me immediately of any contraband items that you may have about your person; a list of these items is on the wall in front of you
2. You will tell me your full name and date of birth
3. You will answer every question with due respect for me, and my position of control over you. Furthermore, you will address every staff member as ‘Madam’
4. You will not resist any part of what is about to happen to you in this building. You have no rights or privileges, and need to get that into your head from the very start
5. A State appointed lawyer will visit you in due course
6. You will submit to a full body search (which I will conduct shortly - and I am very thorough) she smiled at me and patted me on the backside almost lovingly at this point?
7. You will strip off ALL of your clothes and place them on the bench behind you, and stand to attention facing me
I could understand all of the other rules, but the naked bit? Surely she would be leaving for this part? I felt so ashamed to be made to forcibly strip off in front of a woman. Miss Caroline, however, gleefully walked behind the desk and seated herself so that she could focus on my shame! I turned and faced her but tried not to make eye contact. I stood bolt upright as instructed.
‘Why did you just take all of your clothes off prisoner? I didn't tell you to do that now, did I?’
‘BUT BUT you just said….’
‘I said - 7. You will strip off ALL of your clothes and place them on the bench behind you, and stand to attention facing me. I didn't say do it now! Never mind, whatever makes you more uncomfortable!’
I was furious at myself for letting her treat me like this! I just had to endure it. She deliberately took a great deal of time over the questioning of me. She was writing down my responses so slowly and diligently, one might be forgiven for assuming that she was practising the art of calligraphy! I remembered all of the rules, and answered with ‘Madam’ at the end of every response, albeit through gritted teeth! At one point she pressed a red buzzer, and moments later a fellow female employee popped her head round the door following a polite knock.
‘Come in Sue, nothing to be embarrassed about!’
A stunning, young, curly redhead entered the room, and immediately smirked at my lack of clothing!
‘Could you please fetch me a uniform for this prisoner, Sue? I have got loads more to do yet’.
I was overjoyed to hear that I was going to receive a uniform!
‘Sure, no problem Caroline! What size does the Gentleman take?’
They both stood for this next part of my humiliation. They gazed long and hard at me, from top to toe, before Miss Caroline retorted,
‘Oh, I think extra small will do, honey! HA!’
Minutes later, Miss Sue reentered the room and placed my new uniform on the bench behind me. She bagged up all of my clothes for evidence and removed them. Before I could get my uniform, we still had one more unpleasant formality to undergo; the strip search!
The rather chubby, tomboyish, gloved fingers of Miss Caroline made slow invasive work of the unnecessary search. She evidently loved her job! Finally, I was released to collect and change into my uniform. I turned and ran for it. All I could see was a very small pair of striped black and white underpants with the word ‘PRISONER’ written on the back in pink? I hastily threw them on, to hide my shame, and turned to ask Miss Caroline a question.
‘Begging your pardon, Madam, but, where is the rest of my uniform, Madam?’
‘You are wearing it, cretin!’ was the curt response.
I was then led away to be secured, as Miss Caroline put it through a beaming smile! She continued her well- rehearsed speech on the way down the corridor to my cell.
‘You have been categorised by me as a high risk prisoner, with a high likelihood of attempted escape. Additionally, taking into account the violent nature of your crime, I am setting a few additional measures in place. As a result of all of this, you are going to be kept in strict restraints for the whole of your stay here until you attend your trial (date to be announced). If you resist, I will use additional methods of ensuring that you co-operate! Now, no talking beyond this point!’
She pointed at the red line that my dragging, bare feet had just passed over. She was such a brutish woman, she could have carried me over her shoulder to the cell! All of this aside, she still called for assistance from Miss Sue.
‘Help me restrain this one, Sue. It is going to be a lot of work! HA!’
Miss Sue was only too pleased to assist!
Miss Caroline had now put me in a restrictive headlock, and Miss Sue was busy unlocking the steel door to my new cell. I was forced into what looked like a broom cupboard. No window, no toilet, no chair. In fact, the only feature in the room was the one light bulb in the very centre of the dull, concrete ceiling, surrounded by a cage. I was forced to the floor by my female captors. My hands were then cuffed behind me.
As promised, Miss Caroline was helpfully explaining each stage of the booking-in process to me.
‘I have locked these hinged cuffs on you with the keyholes pointing away from your hands. If you were to get the key somehow, you still would not be able to get them off! Now for those ankles of yours…’
A box was brought in, and lots of clattering was then heard. A heavy, high-security set of double-locking, leg irons were then clapped shut around each ankle. To make things worse, my legs were then folded up to meet my hands, and a large padlock was then affixed connecting my wrists to my ankles!
‘There, that’s better! This is called a hog-tie position. Nice and secure, isn't it prisoner? Now, I know that I have a nice set of toe cuffs somewhere that will look good on you… ah here we go!...’
CLICK CLICK!
Miss Sue was also busy fumbling with various restraints.
‘Here, prisoner, do me a favour, and grab this rubber ball as tightly as you can, please!’
This seemed an innocent enough request! But suddenly I could feel a leather bag being forced over my clenched hand!
‘These are called fingerless mitts. You are in our care here, so don't need to use your hands! These lock on with a key that will be kept in the safe. Now, hold this ball in your other hand so I can do the same please’.
All I could do was sob quietly as they continued strapping and chaining me up like some kind of escapologist! I just stared at the scuffed, black, boot toe of Miss Sue as she knelt by my head. I could see her toes twitching with joy beneath the thinning, regulation-uniform boots. It took another twenty minutes before Miss Caroline announced that she was happy with my bonds. By the time they were both finished, I was covered in chains and manacles of all kinds; leather belts and straps; harnesses and shackles. I literally could not move!
Miss Caroline stood staring down at me, and placed her polished, black, booted right toe into my face.
‘As you are prohibited from talking in here, how are you going to thank me for preparing you for jail?’
I knew what she meant.
KISS KISS KISS
She was overjoyed!
BANG CLUNK
‘Lights out!’
I was left alone to ponder my fate – cold, lonely, and strapped up tighter than I knew was humanly possible! If this had happened in the Gynarchy, it would have all been sorted out with a quick discussion in a nice, civilised manner. Moving to the Gynarchy X may have been a costly mistake! Wages are indeed higher, but so are the consequences of ‘sin’!
…………………………
Three days later I was finally visited by my State appointed defence lawyer. A rather attractive, blonde, short-haired lady entered my cell wearing a pinstriped, business suit and stiletto heels, with tan nylons! I am ashamed to say it, but, even though I was laying on my stomach as a prisoner, I did find her to be extremely attractive! The sort of woman that I would like to ask out on a date (not now obviously).
A chair was supplied for her to use. She placed it in front of my face on the dusty concrete floor. All I could do was either strain my neck up to see her pretty face (that also meant coming perilously close to staring up her skirt) or stare down at her shiny, black, power shoes. In view of my enforced lowly status, and the fact that I needed this woman’s help, I chose the latter!
‘My oh my, they really went to town on you, didn't they? Anyone would think that you had stolen the crown jewels!’
We then set about the business of discussing what had happened, and I told her my version of events. She seemed most sympathetic, and took lots of notes. Towards the end of our session, she bent down to my face level and placed before me a clipboard with a termination of employment form on it!
‘Mrs. Brent has decided that you should lose your job, in view of the fact that you were arrested outside the office building, thus contravening company rules and regulations.’
I was shocked and horrified! This was the only reason I moved to this tin-pot empire, to earn more money! My lawyer then giggled and said that, in view of my bonds, she would not make me sign it (not with my hands anyway). She instead forced a very expensive looking fountain pen into my mouth and made me sign my own dismissal form with my mouth!
When we had finished, she announced that my trial would be in three days’ time, and that she would do whatever she could for me, but I should be prepared for the worst! She stood up and ‘reassured’ me by stating that all of our conversations would be treated in the strictest confidence, and did I need anything? I responded by telling her that I was most grateful to her for all of her efforts, and that my muscles were aching from being so tightly bound for twenty-three hours a day. I asked her, politely, if she could do anything about it?
‘I’m sorry, Paul, that is the regulation, you see? Anyway, it is probably for your own good!’
With that she folded up the chair, and said that she would see me in three days’ time! I reached forward to kiss her on the toe, but she recoiled in disgust!
‘Not these shoes! I only just bought them! Tch!’
BANG CUNK
‘Lights out!’
Barely an hour later, Miss Caroline entered the cell.
For a moment, I had assumed that she was going to release me from my unnecessary bondage. How wrong I was!
‘Obviously you broke the no-talking rule, prisoner, by talking to your lawyer! This will teach you to obey the rules from now on!’
With this latest, cold threat issued, she set out for my face clutching a day-glow, pink ball gag! It was immense! She had to tap it hard with her palm in order to get it into my unwilling mouth!
CLICK!
‘That’s better, Prisoner! Now, eat your dinner up, or there will be a demerit!’
She placed the bowl of prison mush beside me in a steel tray, knowing that it would be impossible for me to consume it!
BANG CUNK
‘Lights out’
Three hours later, I was visited by my accuser!
Officer-Miss Georgina had taken the time to come and visit me!
‘HA! What a fool you look, all chained up! I see that Caroline has not lost her skill!’
She now bent down to my level, and looked around to see if we were alone. Her pretty, uniform boots smelled strongly of polish, as they were so close to my only free facial appendage (my nose). She moved close to my left cheek:
‘I’m sorry about this, Paul, or whatever your name is! I did not mean to arrest you, but I looked so foolish that day, and I just lashed out, you see? Anyway, it will have to be our little secret, as I do not want to admit to anything as I will be just one more arrest away from my commendation! On the plus side, I see that you have been appointed a very good lawyer! She will do her best for you, so everything should sort itself out. Now, I had better be on my way!’
She stood up so fast, she knocked the bowl of foul mush all over her left boot!
‘Argh, you fool!’ she snapped down at me.
She poured the remnants of the unappetising meal all over the back of my head! I knew this meant another demerit from Miss Caroline! This young Officer obviously has an anger management problem!
BANG CUNK
‘Lights out!’
……………………
The big day had finally come!
I would, at last, be given permission to speak and have my say. I was finally released from my terrible bonds. My limbs ached from such tight and prolonged confinement. The gag had to be pulled out of my mouth so forcibly, it nearly pulled me over!
Before we left the cell, Caroline announced that we first had to visit the ‘shackling’ room (much to her apparent delight). This was a large room that housed a plethora of archaic-looking, dungeon-style restraints and manacles. Caroline went straight to her favourite set. A hugely heavy cluster of iron bracelets and chain links the size of curtain rings!
First the neck hoop was snapped shut; then both wrists were surrounded by unforgiving iron loops; and finally both of my ankles. The set must have been designed for a really short man, as I was hunched over!
‘These are called ‘little ease’ shackles; they keep the wearer bent over like that, and cause extreme tiredness over a short period of time. I chose these knowing that you will be standing in them for many hours! This will work off those demerits you earned, prisoner!’
It took us nearly ten minutes to climb the steps up to the female court room! The fetters weighed 48 pounds (and three ounces according to the ever helpful, and all knowing, Miss Caroline). Once I was in the centre of the court, I looked up and could see a cluster of giggling, female faces mocking my semi-naked, shackled appearance! I was so ashamed!
The pretty, yet stern-looking, black female lady Judge was already in attendance!
‘Thanks for finally joining us, Prisoner in the dock!’
A loud laugh went out through the court. Like it was my fault! These chains are to blame, not me!
Before the formal proceedings started, my lawyer - the pretty blonde - still wearing the same power suit she was wearing three days previously, came over to whisper in my ear.
‘Show ultra respect; she is renowned for being utterly merciless! We couldn't have got a worse Judge, Paul! If we screw up, the best we can hope for is life in the slave mines, with hard labour!’
‘The best? If that is the best option, what the hell is the worst?’
‘SILENCE IN COURT!’
The proceedings lasted for several hours. I was in a cold, dizzy, sweat of pain thanks to Miss Caroline’s ‘jewellery’ that I was forcibly modelling! Before the female jury were sent away to deliberate, following a very fiery summing up by the prosecution and the defence, the Good Lady Judge summed up by saying:
‘Ladies, let us not forget, this is a man’s word against a loyal, hardworking, female Officer of the Law. I hope that this will be one of the key aspects for your discussion/decision making!’
The court was adjourned. I strained to look at my brief; she just stood there with a big smile on her pretty face, and raised both thumbs, as if all was well. I was terrified!
A mere ten minutes later the court was once again in session. A rather unsurprising verdict of “Guilty of all charges” was read out by the Forewoman of the Jury. The Good Lady Judge smiled, and lowered her glasses to see over the tops. Staring down from upon high, she pondered how best to deliver the devastating sentence to the broken, shackled prisoner.
‘This is the part of the job that I really used to enjoy. Sadly, the State has recently changed the sentencing rules, so this is your lucky day, prisoner! My sentence would have been an indefinite custodial one! 25 years in the foot-hole dungeons; five years in the stocks; 75 years on the treadmill; and all sentences to be served with you wearing the heaviest cangue the Female State can supply! Sadly, however, I am limited to a non-custodial sentence, in view of your previous good behavior, and the written letter asking for clemency from your previous employer, Mrs. Brent!’
So, Mrs. Brent did come through for me, after all? What a lovely lady!
‘It is therefore the decision of this court to be lenient in pronouncing sentence on the convict!’
Boos and hissing could be heard from the public galleries! My lawyer had done it! Maybe I could ask her out for a meal, after all of this was over?
‘Prisoner in the dock, it is my decision that you shall be taken from this place, and suffer the ignominy of life as a personal foot-slave! The sentence is for life, in view of the seriousness of the crime. I further add the following stipulations to your sentence:
• That you be placed with a Mistress of MY choosing, capable of severely disciplining you as a foot-slave
• That you receive 50 lashes of the cat-o-nine tailed whip, in public, prior to beginning your foot servitude
• That, on a suitable date following this court-hearing, you are made to attend the police station where you were arrested, and bless and thank Officer Mistress Georgina for taking the time and effort to apprehend you and place you in this miserable existence for the rest of your life
• That your time as a foot-slave be as miserable, unpleasant and uncomfortable as possible!
I was left winded and speechless! Maybe the underground slave-mines would have been better! My brief came over to pat me on the back and ‘congratulate’ me on getting off so lightly! I wanted to slap her in the face, but the shackles prevented it! She then placed a small slip of paper into my prison underpants.
‘It’s the bill for my services rendered; maybe you will be lucky and your new Mistress will want you to kiss her stilettos, just like the ones you wanted to kiss on my feet? Take care, Paul. I mean, SLAVE!’
I was dragged away to the cells screaming in protest! All Miss Caroline could say was:
‘You will have to be fitted out with a new set of clothes, now as you are no longer a prisoner with any status; you are just a slave!’
My new uniform, it transpired, was a plain pair of cotton shorts in flimsy white thinning material, with the word FOOT-SLAVE printed on the back in bold pink once again!
………………………..
A week later I was still recovering from a very public flogging! The whipping frame was erected close to my former place of work, for maximum embarrassment in line with the Judge’s sentencing. This meant that the two punk girls from the tattoo parlour were able to attend my public shame, and join in with the festivities! How they loved fingering my whip wounds in the three hours I was left hanging in the frame, following the flogging. They even waited for me to be cut down, knowing that I would have to kiss their block-heeled, platform-soled, black leather, goth boots! I was in hell! I was spat at all of the way back to the jail. The town truly despised me now, as I was a convicted foot-slave. At last I was secured back in my cold lonely cell. All I had to do now was hope that I would get a nice Mistress!
Three prospective Mistresses had been brought to see me in my cell. All of them were vetted by the Good lady Judge as being sufficiently cruel and malevolent to take on such a violent slave-criminal! All three had thus far turned me down! Perhaps I am going to have to stay in prison after all then? That would be preferable to life as a shameful foot-slave, for sure!
The next day brought the fourth prospective Mistress. A very attractive, yet plump, girl in her late twenties or early thirties, wearing tight, unflattering, black lycra leggings, and a blue denim shirt. She had dirty-blonde tresses that reached down to her shoulders, and framed the pleasant face that held the warm smile that lit up my dingy cell! On her all- important feet, she was wearing bright yellow ballet pumps, and crumpled-up, grey ankle socks! Surely the Judge was mistaken? This beautiful, young woman was not capable of harming a fly, let alone a foot-slave like me?
The Lady Judge was also present, dressed rather more informally than at our last meeting! The podgy girl smiled even wider as she patted me on the head and said:
‘Aww, this little boy is perfect for me! We will have such fun together!’
I was actually delighted! Please pick me, Mistress (whatever your name is)! The Judge was also delighted (which once again, filled me with dread. If she was happy, I was sure to be miserable).
‘I am so glad, Shelly! I think you will be able to give this slave the discipline that he sorely needs! HA!’
Papers all signed, I was now the foot-slave property of Mistress Shelly!
………………………………
My new Mistress lived some considerable distance from the police station. This gave me ample time to contemplate Mistress Shelly, and ponder her seemingly lovely demeanour. Little did this foot-dunce know, this young woman had a reputation for cruelty that was viewed as outrageous even in the Gynarchy X!
Once we finally arrived, I was escorted (still very courteously) into her house. She seated herself in her opulent living room and placed her feet directly in front of my kneeling face.
‘I’m afraid I’m tired now, slave, so we don't have time for the full pep talk tonight! I will have to just make do with some sock massaging before bedtime, please!’
I quickly placed a loving, and respectful, audible kiss on each of the plastic, yellow toes of her ballet flats, before gently removing them. This revealed a disgusting pair of crumpled-up, grey, worn, tired old ankle socks. The smell was quite breathtaking! The pungent aroma engulfing my kneeling nose was so tart and vinegary, that one could use it to sharpen pencils!
‘Sorry, slave, I do suffer from foot sweat, but that is something that you have simply got to adjust to! Just a socked-foot massage for tonight, please’.
I was still deeply impressed with her manners and respect. That was twice she had said ‘please’ tonight, and she had almost apologised for her total lack of feminine foot hygiene!
I started to massage her portly, grey-socked feet as hard as I could, in order to create a good, footslavish impression. I could feel, through the thinning toe ends, that her nails were a bit long and uneven in places hence the fraying of the grey sock-material. If the smell of a girl’s sweaty feet was the worst that I could expect, I was one lucky slave!
The dark parts of her socks (mainly around the toe areas) were the sweatiest. They reeked to high heaven! I was afraid that my hands would still stink long after the massage, but one can hardly ask for permission to wash one’s hands after massaging his new pretty Mistress’s manky, old socks!
After some twenty minutes, Mistress Shelly could hardly keep her eyes open. She told me to cease, and place her shoes back on her feet, which I did following many more respectful foot-kisses. Mistress Shelly then stated that, until she was convinced that I could be trusted, I would be sleeping in her shoe cupboard, handcuffed to the railings. Again, this was hardly my lifetime’s ambition, but in view of the possible alternatives, I was delighted!
I was backed into the small, and rather crowded, shoe cupboard. A modern-style set of handcuffs were hanging from the overhead rail. Mistress Shelly gently closed the ratchet bracelet around my left wrist ensuring that it was not too tight. Then she patted me on the head, and wished me a good night before closing and padlocking the door shut for the night. I had little option but to breathe in the heady stench emanating from her many different outer foot coverings.
‘Lights out!’
My first night locked in my Mistress’s shoe cupboard passed swiftly. For the first time in nearly a month I could relax. One pair of measly handcuffs was nothing to moan about. And it was not her fault that she had feet that smelled like an explosion in an Edam Cheese factory! I wonder what else is in store for me… ZZZZ
…………………………………
My first day of full foot-slavery had arrived. I was released from the shoe cupboard at 6AM. I was greeted by my pretty and portly Mistress, wearing the exact same clothes she was wearing the previous night (and those same manky grey socks too!).
‘Morning, slave! Hope you slept well, because we have lots to do today! I have to get you to the medical centre for your jab, and then it’s off to the slave accessory park in the main town!’
Jab? Maybe it was some kind of inoculation to keep me healthy?
A short while later we arrived at the local medical centre. I was treated more like a dog than a patient. I was weighed, so the correct amount of drug could be prescribed. Then we were off into the treatment room. Without further consultation, the young, female doctor swabbed the nape of my neck and injected a large quantity of some kind of greenish liquid. Moments later I felt dizzy, almost sick with worry, and an extreme depression washed over me like a tidal wave of sorrow! I could smell the disinfectant on the floor so clearly, it made my eyes water! More worryingly, I could smell the Mistress’s feet from here now (even though she was outside the treatment room)! Furthermore, I could only see in tunnel vision, and thus panic set in.
I immediately informed the young lady doctor that I was having some kind of allergic reaction to the drug! I described the symptoms to her in haste. She merely laughed at me, and calmly stated that this was the correct effect that any slave serum should have!
‘Slave serum?’
‘Yes, it makes your sense of smell more acute for foot-worship purposes, as well as filling you with shame and terror and bouts of uncontrollable depression! Every now and then you will experience an agonising set of muscle cramps too, but don't worry - that is normal. The tunnel vision is because you only need to focus on Mistress Shelly’s feet from now on, get it? It’s a good thing she has booked up a monthly booster for the next ten years, isn't it slave? My, she must have a soft spot for you! Now get out of my surgery, you waste of space!’
I was feeling awful; the serum was so evil! I had never felt so low as I crawled behind my new Mistress. She was, at last it seemed, coming out of her shell, and not in a good way! The world seemed a more frightening and lonely place following my injection. I was so ashamed and depressed, all I could think about was women’s feet. How do they look? How do they smell? How do they taste? Are they wearing socks inside those boots?
Next we found ourselves in the ‘Foot-slave accessories’ store. A jubilant lady Manager, dressed in her company uniform, burst forth to meet Mistress Shelly.
‘Welcome back, Madam! This must be the new one you were telling us about?’
‘Yes, this is it alright! He is a real creep, found guilty of attacking a female police officer and foiling the arrest of a dangerous criminal! I want him to suffer mightily for that!’
‘Excellent, Madam! Have you got any specific ideas?’
‘Oh yes! I want one of those….’
The two ladies walked off, talking amongst themselves.
A while later they returned. Mistress Shelly was now sockless inside her yellow flats?
‘Where have they gone, slave? You will find out soon enough! HA!’
Then came the moment that every foot-slave dreads! They produced the horrid foot-fool mask! A disgusting black rubbery mask that was festooned with horrid words in bold white capital letters! Normally only a couple of words were used, but this was a mask that must have cost a fortune, as it contained so many humiliating words. Words like:
FEET, TOENAIL CLIPPINGS, FOOT FILINGS, STINK, SHAME, CHEESE, TOES, HEEL, BALL, ANKLE, PAIN, SHAME, SNIFF, SORROW, PRISONER OF GIRLS’ FEET, CHAINED, DESPISED, GIMP, FOOT-FOOL.
The forehead of the mask was the worst part. In large pink letters (bigger than all of the others) it said:
HI! MY NAME IS SLAVE-TOEJAM!
Evidently my new name! The mask was pretty standard apart from the excessive use of words. It had the usual snout attachment, and a zippable, downturned mouth (not really necessary, as the slave serum was working very well at the moment at making me feel depressed!). The only somewhat unusual addition was the ears. I had found her favourite pair of loathsome, sweaty grey socks! Both sewn onto the side of my new head!
‘Time for a fitting, I think? HA!’
I was thrust into a clamping neck hoop. The mask was thrust so quickly over my head, I did not get a chance to wipe away the tears! Then came the heat gun. Shrinking the material down so it fit like a second, permanent, rubbery skin to my face! All shiny and glossy; a real head turner of a mask! Mistress Shelly was delighted.
‘What do ya think, Toejam? Is it a comfy fit?’
The pair just laughed at me! I was not released from the clamp at this stage, however. Next came some kind of metal head cage?
‘This is our new, deluxe, concentrator device! It comes with permanent, metal blinkers welded onto the sides of the eyes. The top section (that is shaped like a comedy crown, and has colourful toenail clippings fixed like precious jewels around the outer rim) also houses a bell to announce your presence and shame! The hammer of the bell is a bronze, female boot kicking the bell from the inside! I will rivet this onto your head so it will never come off again! Now hold still!’
The weighty head cage was slammed shut around my head. I could hear the riveting tool pumping away!
SNAP!
All was secured in place. For a moment I thought she had put it on the wrong way round, or something, as two jagged spikes were digging into my temples! The I realised that this was deliberate! These were the mind sensing probes! I had forgotten, with all of the shock and pain that this was one of those horrible ‘concentrators’!
All was pain and stench now. My mind was pierced, and my new smelly-sock ears were dangling close to my nose - my new, green rubbery nose!
‘Ooh, your new hat really suits you, slave Toejam! HA!’
A beaming Mistress Shelly was obviously delighted with the fit. Still, I was not released from the iron neck hoop? The shop assistant was staggering back with some heavy metal apparatus.
‘Right, Mr Toejam, this is a slave collar. They are all the rage at the moment. Aren't you a lucky boy?’
The collar was made from heavy, cast iron with sharp unfinished edges, and had four long spikes projecting out from it at equal distances. Each spike had some kind of clamping device and receptacle attached to it? Once again, I was not consulted about the new necklace, it was just closed tightly around my neck and riveted shut from behind. I accurately deduced that this was not going to be a mere temporary adornment!
Surely we were finished now?
‘Right, Miss Shelly, would you like to fit this? Or shall I?’
Whatever this was, Mistress Shelly backed well away for the next part!
Suddenly, and rather roughly, my slave shorts were pulled down! A cold spiked hoop was placed around my male shame (as it is commonly referred to here in the Gynarchies) and locked shut. Fortunately my shorts were raised on completion. I was finally freed from the metal neck hoop! I was shocked as my head went crashing down to the floor! The combined weight from all of the metal work around my head and neck was dumbfounding!
Mistress Shelly then announced that, following a trip to the forge at the end of the road, we would finally be returning home! I could not wait to get back home and out of the public gaze! The bell rang loudly as we slowly passed down the street attracting much unwanted (for me) attention. Mistress Shelly was ecstatic, however. She loved witnessing my enforced, public shame and misery! While crossing the road I experienced the first of many slave-serum-induced muscular cramps, just as the lady doctor had described. This attracted even more attention, as I fell to the concrete wailing in abject agony!
Once inside the forge, I was fitted with the heaviest ball and chain that could be found. It was just like the ones used on chaingangs of old.
I was devastated! The ‘bracelet’ was permanently riveted in place around my right ankle, as decreed by my new mistress. I had assumed that we were all finished now, and that would be departing for home (not breaking any speed limits with my new ball and chain accessory in tow!). Once again I was wrong. The town Blacksmith also doubled as the local wood worker. He then produced a box for Mistress Shelly to open. The box was hastily ripped to pieces to reveal a fiendish looking, four-inch-thick, oak cangue! NO!
The cangue had a metal strap running around the whole of the outer edge. This contained the hinge at one site and a staple at the other, hopefully for a padlock? Hopes of a removable cangue (like the one depicted above) were, however, dashed when the Blacksmith threw another rivet into the brazier, and fetched his riveting hammer once more. Mistress Shelly was delighted with his skilled handiwork. He had skilfully carved out my new name, and filled the furrows with luminous pink wood stain! All according to Mistress Shelly’s designs.
The rivet was now glowing, so Mistress Shelly decided that she would have a go at fitting me into it! The Blacksmith laughed and just said:
‘Why not, lass? Hit it as hard as you can!’
The heavy collar was closed round my neck below the slave collar.
‘Keep still, Toejam! I don't want to smash your head in! Not yet, anyway! HA!’
BANG BANG BANG
My head and neck must have an added weight of nearly 50 pounds now? I was now wearing:
• A hideous, evil foot-fool mask
• A slave neck collar
• A concentrator/King of the foot-slaves, crown-head, cage thing
• A something or other around my male appendage
• A heavy Ball and chain
• A heavy wooden cangue
• And I had a system full of slave serum!
…………………………………..
Finally we arrived home!
The tears of shame had finally dried up. Now came the tears of pain! The terrible devices were already cutting deep into my feeble pain threshold. Mistress Shelly decided that now was the perfect time to turn on the dreaded concentrator device! I had forgotten that it was a concentrator as well as just an agonising head cage and loud bell! She was then going to subject me to her bare, freshly liberated from plastic, ballet flat feet as a test of my footslave-stamina! Here come the tears of stink!
CLICK!
A dull humming could be heard. I was aware that my every thought was now somehow being monitored. Mistress Shelly was a little disappointed, as she had expected me to shriek with agony when the fiendish concentrator device was activated! Sadly for her, I was too busy concentrating on her feet. The mere thought of having to worship them made my head reel! And the amplified sense of smell was going to be a killer!
Then came the order:
‘WORSHIP MY FEET!’
My bell rang loudly, as I kissed the toes of her shoes before removing them. The bell was sounding my impending doom! The shoes came off with a whoosh sound. Her pretty feet were glistening in sweat. As I had suspected the previous night, her toenails were rather long and unkempt. What I had not suspected, was that this, like everything else my controlling Mistress had done to me, had all been planned in advance!
The smell was intense! I simply cannot understand how something injected into my neck can make my nasal receptors come alive and more responsive to female foot-cheese! I had to think of something else to get my mind off the stench!
OOOOW!
The concentrator cut in with no mercy! The pain in my brain! It certainly did work, after all! I was forced to think only of her smelly, bacteria-laden, cheesy feet with no respite!
Talking of cheese, that was my next aspect of humiliation.
‘Toejam (I hated that humiliating disgusting name), you may now mouth-trim my toenails BUT DO NOT SWALLOW THEM!’
Don't worry! I had no intention of eating them! I had no option but to insert her left, big toe in between my teeth, and clamp them against the offending nail. The last image I had of her feet were with big thick lines of my namesake, toejam, lodged underneath the jagged nails; one of them, the same big toenail that was now scraping the inside of the roof of my mouth. A series of loud clicks was produced as my teeth started to nibble on the cheesy, feminine toenail!
Miss Shelly’s left big toe was sharply removed from my mouth, and was replaced by her hand in front of my masked face. She was beckoning to me, like a teacher that wanted a child to spit his chewing gum out in class! I spat the nail trimming into her waiting hand, and we repeated the process a further nine times. On completion, Mistress Shelly rose from her seat of power and went out of sight. This caused me excruciating pain from the concentrator device, that made her laugh loudly. What is it they say about the concentrator device? Absence makes the brain grow fonder! We were both still getting used to the contraption!
She was busy putting the nail clippings into the glass container suspended from one of the neck prongs of my new slave collar! What a disgusting advertisement of my lowly existence! A pot of a girl’s toenail clippings suspended from my necklace-of-shame for all to see!
‘Ooh, I know! I will give you these too!’
She then decided to fit both of her rancid, yellow, ballet flats to two of the other prongs!
‘We will have to think of something nice to hang from the fourth prong another day, Toejam!’
This produced an awful sense of off-balance in me, as the fourth prong was currently unweighted, and thus caused me more unnatural, neck tension!
That night was spent licking, sucking, and sniffing away what I had been informed was seven days of unfettered, feminine foot dirt! I could not wait to go back to my little shoe cupboard for some solitude, and a rest from this new, harsh and oppressive foot-regime!
An hour later, and even that small hope was dashed! Mistress Shelly had yet another surprise for me! The aptly named ‘foot of her bed’ was actually a set of stocks, into which I would be placed EVERY night in order to concentrate on her smelly, bare feet! My misery was set to continue forever, it would seem!
………………………….
Months later, and things were still as oppressive! Every now and then Mistress Shelly would bring her friend Genevieve around, and make me sniff her socked feet. This was pure torture, as the brown haired, blue eyed Mistress Genevieve had even smellier feet than my Mistress (if that were possible!). It actually hurt my nostrils as the stink forced its way through my olfactory sensors. It was like a pencil being thrust up one’s nose that was wrapped in glass paper!
My only moment of solace came a week later. I was ordered to attend the police station and pay homage to Miss Georgina for arresting me and getting me sentenced to life as a foot-slave (as per the Good lady Judge’s cruel, sentencing stipulations!)
I was actually happy to see Officer Mistress Georgina! My Mistress Shelly had to leave the room and leave me alone with the pretty, young, and recently promoted Officer! She laughed at my contorted appearance, and knelt in front of me to read aloud the humiliating words festooned all over the rubbery, footfool mask.
I had hoped that, seeing me like this, would make her feel sufficient guilt for her to own up to her ‘mistake’! But all she said was:
‘I hope you enjoy smelly girl-feet, Toejam? I understand that they are something of an acquired taste? Never mind, you have the rest of your life to acquire it! HA! Now, kiss my boots one hundred times each!’
I did as I was ordered. As I kissed female police-Officer boot, I noticed her taking a picture on her phone. I was able to notice this, as I was now overdue for my slave-serum, booster shot, and my peripheral vision was returning slowly.
She murmured:
‘I wish you were my slave, huhh? I would love to see that masculine body of yours stretched on the rack, or better still oiled and ready for the whip!’
Needless to say, I still despised her, but this sensual imagination of hers was getting me thinking (now that the concentrator was switched off). My male shame was becoming excited too…
ARRGH! The pain!
My manhood was suddenly thwarted by extreme pain! It seems that the bracelet that the lady in the shop had fitted was some kind of male, chastity device! Even that small mercy had been removed from my life and placed under the control of my Mistresses!
Needless to say, Miss Caroline, the station booking clerk, heartily approved of my strict, foot obsessed bondage, and took many photographs for her own records. I ignored the vindictive comments of Miss Caroline, and looked past her to the laughing Officer-Mistress Georgina. I actually started to wonder if her feet smelled as bad as those of my personal foot-Mistress, Miss Shelly? Did Officer Mistress Georgina wear socks inside those heavy, police-uniform boots? If so, what colour were they? Just think, I thought all of these pathetic, footslavish thoughts without the slave serum being present in my system! Maybe I was ‘acquiring the taste’!
………………………….
Later that night, I was taken back to the medical centre for my overdue monthly booster shot. The second the vile compound entered my body, a violent cramp ensued, much to the merriment of the female medical staff!
‘Good news, Toejam! The new serum has boosted olfactory sensitivity by 45%!’
Oh Lord! 45% more sensitivity, and now that I was wearing my Mistress’s tatty old, yellow ballet flats on my slave collar, she had taken to wearing chunky, block-heeled, square-toed, black leather, knee high, pull-on boots ‘to produce an even more acrid foot atmosphere’, as she charmingly put it! (Incidentally, Mistress Shelly never did add the fourth item of footwear to my collar; she accurately deduced that it would be more painful just to leave the imbalance in place!)
Back at home that evening, my new slave serum was put to the test again. Mistress Shelly had asked her friend Miss Genevieve round for a wine and cheese party (foot cheese)! As they grew steadily more inebriated, I was ordered to remove the brown, chisel-toed, ankle boots of Miss Genevieve. I was then presented with a pair of pale pink, ankle socks that hit me like a punch in the nose! I nearly lost consciousness! I was actually relieved when the order to remove Mistress Shelly’s boots came, as this meant that I was not going to have to sniff Miss Genevieve’s feet, just yet!
I had to pull hard at the tight-fitting boots of my beloved Mistress Shelly. Once off, I could see that she was wearing the most inappropriate type of sock possible for use with this boot. A pair of off-white, tiny, trainer socks that just covered her ankles! They were so short and flimsy, the one on her right foot was hanging on by a thread, as the action of removing those heavy boots had wrenched them down her precious feet! She knew that my new foot-obsessed mind would find this very annoying!
As usual, she had chosen these socks deliberately. Being so short, they would have even more concentrated foot-stink present, and they were ringing damp with sweat! In addition to this, it transpired that she had previously allowed my monthly booster of slave serum to lapse, as she wanted to wait for the new version with the additional smell booster to come on to the market!
That night I suffered like no other foot-slave has suffered in history! I felt sure that I had consumed enough toejam to fill a mixing bowl, enough heady foot air to fill a hot air balloon, and enough toenail clippings to make my stomach burst (as the glass receptacle was now full to the brim on my neck collar!)
I swear, will never help anyone ever again!
A Gynarchy Police Officer Mistress preparing to pillory a male miscreant
Now she has another prisoner-slave securely confined in the stocks in his dark and dingy cell. See how he is forced to look at her superior boots. Thank you, Police Officer Mistress, for all you are doing to uphold Law and Order in the Glorious Gynarchy of Barbaria!
