Female Power Volume 3
Scenes of Absolute Female Power over the Lowly Male Slave
The (only slightly)overweight, glum-faced, but exceptionally pretty, black customer-mistress haughtily takes up her seat in front of and above me in my private footoire-cubicle, looking down at me with utter, young-black-womanly contempt as her pink and white, high-top, laced-up, converse-style sneakers rest on the two metal footrests directly at my humbly-kneeling, face level. I get to see a pleasing slither of finely-stitched, plain grey cotton anklesock-top on each soft, brown ankle beneath her now slightly-raised and frayed, blue denim, jean hems.
'Good afternoon, madam! Welcome to my humble footoire-abode! How may I serve you, madam?'
'Do I look like I want to talk to the likes of you, dirty footoire flunkey? Get a move on with lickshining my sneakers, and shut the f**k up!', she snaps down at me. She then makes a disparaging, and very loud, clicking sound with her tongue and teeth.
I duly 'shut the f**k up', for this surly, young black woman is truly my better for all the following reasons:
- She is female and free, whereas I am male and in bondage
- She is young (mid twenties), whereas I am old (mid fifties)
- She is the future, whereas I am the past
- She is beautiful, whereas I am ugly
- She is clever and academically qualified (all women in the Gynarchy receive an education), whereas I am thick and uneducated (hence I must lick my female betters' dirty shoes for a living!)
- She is fully clothed, whereas I am semi-naked
- She is upright and mobile, whereas I am kneeling and stationery
- She is powerful, whereas I am impotent
- Amongst other things, she has the power to hurt me with the public-use whipping stick, whereas I am incapable of hurting her in any way, or even defending myself from the blows from her punishing stick
- Even her plain grey anklesocks are better than me, and worth more on the open market
As I obediently lick the streetdirt out of her converse sneaker surfaces she pointedly ignores me, turning her superior attention to composing a text message on her mobile phone; a text message to her husband or boyfriend, perhaps:
'Just havin my sneaks shined by a lo-life futslave, hun. C U soon! Luv ya! xx'
Just to put this in context, clearly the only conversation I shall be having with this young lady, textual or otherwise, is by means of my slave-mouth on her street-soiled, converse sneakers, since, in her pretty eyes, I am, quite literally, beneath contempt!
I suck it up – along with the dirt on her sneakers – and ensure that my eyes don't stray above her sublime sockline, out of respect for her and her male partner, whoever and wherever he is!
The 50-something, hardworking, civilian, Indian cleaner-mistress mops the floor around me in the punishment cell, as I lie prostrate over the wooden punishment trestle awaiting my judicial punishment of 30 lashes of the prison cane. I observe her plain, black, suede-leather loafers crease and fold, and catch the occasional glimpse of light grey and red-zigzag-patterned socks beneath her flapping, cleaner-uniform, cargo-pant hems, as she diligently mops the floor around my hanging (with shame) head.
She takes time out of her busy mopping schedule to mock me:
‘When it is being your paintime, prisoner-slave? I am hoping that it will be being soon, and that you will be receiving many lashes, isn’t it?’
I respect her shoes and socks all the more now, because:
a) She does not know, or care, what ‘crime’ I am alleged to have committed
b) Yet she has no doubt of my male guilt (being a firm believer of the justice of the Female Courts)
c) She therefore has absolutely no sympathy for me whatsoever
d) She is not squeamish about observing the infliction of pain on a man
e) Indeed, quite the opposite – she relishes the idea!
She imperiously holds her rounded, right, suede-leather, shoe toe up to my lips, and I kiss it – in full view of her grey and red patterned sock.
I then do the same with her left shoe-toe – deliberately placing my lips on the dustiest part.
Respect, for the sadistic, middle-aged, Indian cleaner-mistress! What an honour it would be to be caned on the bare buttocks by her!
I have the deep joy and humility of knowing that my magnificently potent owner and free master-sir – master Robert sir – has had sexual intercourse with virtually every pretty customer-mistress who visits my privately-run, public shoelick stand!
I know that because, after I have finished licking the young lady’s boots or shoes, the master-sir (who routinely supervises my public shoelicking on his behest) tells me so – and often describes to me in great detail what I am missing. He describes the softness of their skin; the firmness of their breasts; the lusciousness of their lips; and the succulence of their vaginas – all in intimate and very personal detail!
I then have to think of those things the next time I am respectfully lickshining the young woman’s outer footwear, and of how my master has ‘had’ her, whilst I am pathetically hoping for a mere glimpse of her inner bootsocks (especially if they are argyle-patterned) and/or her smooth, bare ankleskin (especially if its brown or mixed-race) – which is the most intimate part of a superior customer-mistress’s body that I shall ever get to see! I also like to think about how I am licking the boots, and staring at the argyle-patterned socktops, of a beautiful, young, mixed-race woman who, unlike me, is not a virgin; who is sexually active; and who is better than me.
I am equally filled to overflowing with admiration and respect for my almighty master-sir – that he could woo and win over such a charming young woman, even though he is almost as old and as ugly as me!
The difference is, of course, that he is a free man, and wealthy (his personal wealth being built on my hard labour)– whereas I am just a poor slave, without a penny to my name. That’s why these beautiful, young women find him attractive, and me repulsive; that – and his ability to cut me down to size at their feet with his mighty, black leather, bulls-pizzle whip!
Yes – master Robert sir is the sexual stud, and I am but the shoelicking slave. I bow down before him in awe and wonderment, and make sure to lick his many ‘girlfriends’’ dirty shoes and boots pristine clean, so that they will be pleased and impressed by the public, footwear-cleaning service he offers, and will therefore want to sleep with him all the more!
Young women’s dirty boots and sweaty socks represent my only contact with the opposite sex – and rightly so, since I am not worthy to look at them above the ankle!
Here is a typical conversation with one of my master-sir's charmingly naive, 20-something, regular female customers, as I am lickshining her black leather, blocky-heeled, round-toed, student-girl, zip-ankleboots and admiring her pink and grey, argyle-patterned bootsock-tops whilst she is seated regally above me on the pubic shoelick stand owned and run by my magnificent (but temporarily absent) master-sir:
‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be open today, an’ that, slave? What with it being a Bank Holiday, an’ that?’
‘Oh pray, pretty mistress. If it pleases you, pretty mistress. This slave’s shoelick-stand is always open for business, madam, and never closes. You are most welcome to utilise the humble bootlicking services of this dirty bootslave at any time, day or night, madam!’
‘What, you mean like, even in the middle of the night, after I has been out clubbing, an’ that?’
‘Oh yes, mistress! Whensoever it pleases you, mistress.’
‘And even if you is sleeping?’
‘Oh yes, pretty mistress. You must just kick me in the face with your dirty boot-toe in order to wake me up, madam! It is your right, madam!’
‘Where is your handsome master today, slave?’
‘My magnificent master-sir has the day off today, madam – as he is a much better man than me, if you will be so kind and understanding, pretty madam?’
‘Your back looks very sore and red, slave! How often does your master whip you?’
‘Most every day, miss.’
‘And why does he have to whip you, dirty slave? Are you, like, disobedient towards him, or somefing?’
‘Oh pray, miss, if it pleases you miss, my master must whip me every day simply because I am a slave, miss. It’s the law, miss. But my master also oftentimes whips me because I have failed to please one of his pretty customer-mistresses, such as yourself madam.’
‘So, would he whip you for me, an’ that, if I told him I wasn't happy with your tonguework on my boots, or somefing?’
‘Oh yes, miss! Please don't have me beaten, miss!’ (I lick harder on her dirty, exterior bootleather).
‘I fancy your master, slave. How can I make him like me, and wanna shag me, an’ that?’
‘Oh pray, pretty mistress, if it pleases you, pretty mistress, my humble advice would be that you just be yourself, pretty mistress. You are a highly desirable young woman, miss, and you are perfect, if I may be so bold towards you, madam?’
‘Yes, I am perfect, aren't I? But tell me, what kind of sexy things does your master like? What turns your master on, slave?’
‘Oh pray, mistress, if you will forgive me, pretty, mixed-race miss, I am not really a party to my master's sexual preferences, miss, since I am forbidden to ever leave my post here in his public shoelick-stand, miss. But I do know that my magnificent, heterosexual master-sir likes very much to perform cunnilingus on his girlfriends, back in his apartment, miss.’
‘Cunni...what?’
‘Cunnilingus, miss. It means that he likes to pleasure beautiful, young women like yourself down below – with his tongue, if you will forgive my crudity, miss?’
‘Oh I see! You mean, he likes to eat pussy, an’ that? Good – coz I like havin’ my pussy licked! Oh, I'm getting all juicy and horny just thinking about it, an’ that! Ha! Ha!’
‘Yes miss, as it pleases you, miss!’
'When is your master gonna be back, slave?'
'Tomorrow, miss.'
'Well, listen up, slave – coz here's what we're gonna do. I'll come back here tomorrow and order you to lickshine my dirty boots again, an’ that. I'll make sure the outsides of my boots are all mingin', yeah? I'll also tell you to make sure your ugly, slave nose doesn't touch my socks while you is lickshinin' the tops of my ankleboots, an’ that – but I wants you to 'aksidentally' brush your nose against the top of my sock while you is lickin' my boot, so that I can have your master whip you, an’ that! That'll make me feel all horny, though, and get your master all fired up, an’ that, so that he'll want to, like, f**k me, an’ that? What does you say, slave?'
'Yes mistress. I will obey you, mistress. The smart of my mighty master's whip on my poor back will be worth it, miss, if it means you will be successful in your goal of seducing the master sir for your own libidinous pleasure, beautiful mistress!'
‘Shut up now, slave, and carry on lickshinin’ my boots! I wants you to get rid of all those scuffmarks on the sides, an’ that!’
‘Yes miss.’
‘And don't touch my socks!’
‘No miss.’
I am in a bit of a quandary now. Is this meant to be a test run for tomorrow? Or am I genuinely forbidden to nose the sweet customer-mistress's pink and grey, argyle-patterned socktop this afternoon? I decide to abstain from unauthorised sock-nuzzling – since the master-sir is not present, and thus any 'accidental' nosing of this young woman's socktop would therefore be purely opportunistic on my part, and would defeat the whole object of deliberately riling the master-sir in front of her, so that he will whip me etc.
The pink triangle of sock, however, set against the backdrop of grey, chequered cotton and soft, brown legskin is so appealing! I just hope the libidinous, young mistress-madam wears the same socks inside her boots tomorrow, for I have my eye on that soft, pink triangle!
The black customer-mistress’s feet are killing her inside her heavy, laced-up, security-guard boots.
So she sits down on the public bootlick-chair in front of me; unties her boots; pulls them off her shapely ankles; and then stretches out her sweaty, black-socked, security-guard-girl feet onto my face, where she rubs them up and down my slavish, facial features.
The smell is awful – and I can feel her stale foot-moisture coming off the surfaces of her socks and onto my face! I can also see the greyish discolouration in her socks where the sweat has washed away some of the black dye.
I am dying to sniff her socks out loud – as a show of respect for this beautiful, black, security-guard mistress and her tired, sweaty feet. But she won’t give me the order – and so I must merely remain kneeling (on my cobblestoned kneepads) and allow my face to be used as a human sockwipe!
Blonde security-guard mistress Sarah-Marie is such a goddess (in her own estimation) that we office-corridor footslaves are only permitted to touch her reinforced, rounded, black leather boot-toes with our fingertips – always in a worshipful and respectful way, of course! It seems even our footslave-mouths are not worthy to lickshine the dirt off her superior, black leather ankleboots (unlike the dirty boots of her female colleagues)!
I, for one, am not complaining! Though I truly salivate at the mere sight of her boots beneath her smart, navy-blue-uniform, security-guard, cargo-pant hems, and yearn to pay my labial respects to them and to taste where they have been, somehow being permitted merely to feel her boots through my sensitive fingertips makes her bootwear all the more alluring – and her sweaty, black-socked feet inside her boots all the more unattainable; and thus desirable!
I furtively smell and lick my fingers after they have adoringly touched blonde-ponytailed, officer-mistress Sarah-Marie’s thick, rounded boot-toes, in the hope of inhaling and tasting some of her lingering bootleather on them; her boot-DNA – the boot-DNA of my infinite, female better!
My master-sir has developed a novel way of gauging his female customers’ satisfaction with my performance on their footwear at my public shoelick-stand.
All they have to do is write down a ‘smiley’ on a piece of paper:
J Happy face for content with my services
L Glum face for not content
The latter of which my master-sir will respond to with an angry face:
K
His anger being directed at me!
Leading, inevitably, to my sobbing face, under the sting of the whip:
:’(
My master and mistress haven’t just cobbled together my public bootlick-stand in any old place! They have deliberately chosen a cobblestoned backstreet, so that my knees well and truly ache as I kneel, day and night, lickshining the female public’s footwear…
Cobbled Together by patheticus on GoAnimate
Whenever the redheaded, chavvy officer-mistress Charlotte (‘Charlie’ to her friends and colleagues) enters your dank and dingy cell, you need to crawl over on your hands and knees and start kissing her scuffmarked and dusty, outstretched, black leather boot-toe, and nuzzling her cream-coloured bootsock-top if it’s at all visible beneath her navy-blue-uniform, cargo-pant hem, out of timid, prisoner-slavish respect for her.
You must verbally fawn to her also, praising her for taking the female time to visit you in your dirty cell – and just hope and pray that she hasn’t come to beat you with the prison whipping-stick, which she is perfectly at liberty to do, being a young woman of somewhat limited intelligence and education, but unbridled female authority!
It is also her time of the month.
Never look at her above the sock when she deigns to enter your cell, and never take her dyed-redheaded chaviness for granted. For she is your infinite better – a chav-goddess – fully deserving of your maleslave respect and admiration. Even that scrunched-up and bobbled, sweaty, cream-coloured bootsock is better and higher than you – and don’t you forget it!
So humbly offer to straighten her warm sock – with your trembling, male fingers; and imagine what it would be like to have your respect and admiration for her reciprocated – like a free male; not the inferior, powerless, whipped prisoner-male that you actually are!
She wants me, but she can’t have me – because I am just a slave. She can’t even have me as her personal footservant – because my owner, master-sir Thomas, won’t sell me to her.
And so instead she visits me at my public shoelick stand every day, to scornfully show me what I am missing – quite literally, as she invariably takes off her boots or shoes in the privacy of the footbooth, and rubs her socksweat directly into my kneeling face.
I am, thus, permanently saturated in the beautiful, 20-something, dark-haired, bespectacled, oriental girl’s sweaty-sock DNA, and am familiar with every nook and cranny of her intimate socks, even though I am just her no-hope, public footservant!
She despises me for not being available to her as her lover – for my innate inability to raise my head above her heels whilst she remains head over heels in love with me! But, to be honest, I don’t know what she sees in me – a middle-aged, privately owned, male footslave with no prospects and no freedom, whose back is permanently scarred by his master’s whip. She must be some sort of oriental pervert, to be attracted to a pathetic sub-man like me!
But I am nevertheless flattered to have the beautiful, female pervert’s sock juices all over my oppressed and downcast face – and to be permitted to lickshine the everyday street dirt and grime off the outer surfaces of her many different shoes and boots, thus earning my master-sir a living. If only all my customer-mistresses were that enamoured by me, that they visited me on a daily basis come rain, shine, or high water! Then I could earn my magnificent master-sir a truly comfortable living – and avoid the critical sting of his whip!
The oriental miss also spits on me everytime she leaves; a gesture of her simultaneous, perverted sexual frustration and young-womanly contempt for me – the unattainable, socksweat-drenched footslave whom, in another life, in another world, she would have married. Her snotty spittle slides down my face, like an involuntary tear from my right tear-duct, clearing the way for tomorrow’s fresh, oriental-girl socksweat. Plus she leaves a comment in the complaints box – demanding that I be whipped for impertinence and disobedience (hell hath no fury like a beautiful, young, oriental woman scorned!)
How quickly love turns to hate – though not on my humble part!
It’s a sterile environment, down in the female-office basement, where I – the sterile and impotent office-footslave – am forbidden to speak, but must merely obey female orders to lick boot or sniff sock.
Even the janitor laughs at me in my impotence…
Sterile by patheticus on GoAnimate
