Transportation
By Slave Paul
Here is another awesome tale of non-crime & punishment in the Gynarchy X, by Slave Paul. So get your reading hats on (or should that be FEET helmets?) and enjoy!
Paul was indeed one of the lucky minority of free males in the extreme world of the Gynarchy X; he was content with his lot!
What more could he want? He had his beloved girlfriend Charlotte - a bubbly fun-loving pretty girl who utterly adored him! A well paid job, so his beloved Charlotte could remain at home all day in the lap of luxury. And a guaranteed, index-linked, Gynarchy X pension that assured him an easy life in this land long after retirement. He was sorted!
Charlotte was also something of a rarity in the modern Gynarchy X. She was utterly besotted with her boyfriend. She doted on him and counted the minutes before he would return home from work each night. She was a true, natural beauty too! She had a porcelain, doll-like complexion and contrasting dark black hair cascading down her face. But the most striking feature of this natural wonder had to be her eyes. They were deep blue, as deep and shimmering as perfectly set sapphires! Her contrasting long eyelashes would flicker as she gazed lovingly at her betrothed.
This level of devotion and fixation tends to create problems in the form of jealousy, however! Little Miss Charlotte was contrastingly green-eyed when it came to matters of her beloved Paul. If she even suspected him of having “more in-depth than necessary relationships” with another woman, it was going to be a night of arguments and bitter feuding! Paul had to be extra careful at work, as he served in an office filled with young, dynamic women! His Manageress, Miss Jones, would frequently call the house telephone number after work to discuss the latest big deal after working hours. This would enrage Charlotte!
Charlotte’s suspicions of Paul’s infidelity were, however, worth putting up with, as she was indeed a wonderful girl! Paul was also highly respected, even for a free-male in his job. The department he was attached to worked closely with the Gynarchy X police and prison authorities, and he had a great deal of powerful contacts that he dealt with on an almost daily basis.
The six months since Charlotte had proposed marriage to Paul had passed by swiftly. (Males are not permitted to propose to women in the Gynarchy X). The summer was now over and the cold winter was setting in. Paul had succeeded in securing a large contract that dealt with the importation of large quantities of low-quality, prison garments for the overcrowded prisons in the ever expanding State. This contract had also secured the bulk purchase of a load of outdated, obsolete restraints of all descriptions from a plethora of non-Gynarchy nations around the world. This thrifty purchase contract would save the Gynarchy Government at least 1.2 million Fems! This shrewd acquisition also gained Paul the admiration of Miss Jones, his boss.
As an act of gratitude, Miss Jones promoted Paul to the chief outsourcing and buying Manager (no male in the Gynarchy X had ever attained the title of manager in any kind of job!). Needless to say, this made his beloved Charlotte even more suspicious of her intended!
Part of Paul’s new job was regular commutes to the Central Criminal Courts of the Gynarchy X State (CCCGXS) to review contracts and purchase orders. As Charlotte would insist on having the car at home, just in case she wanted to go to the shops, Paul had to complete his commute either by public transport or by foot. The public transport system is rather different in the Gynarchy X. It is illegal for males to be seated in the presence of females. If the bus or train is busy, the man must alight immediately or face a fine or custodial sentence!
To save the trouble and humiliation, therefore, Paul would often just resort to walking between the office and the CCCGXS building. One day on the way back from a big meeting at the court building, Paul heard the shrill screams of a young woman in distress! It was coming from a small access road between two large buildings. Paul immediately ran to assist. As he arrived at the scene, he found a young woman being attacked by two masked male assailants! Paul threw his papers to the floor and ran to her assistance! The first man was seen off with a stout blow from behind. The second man was much stronger. He swiped at Paul causing him to trip and fall. The young woman was now frantically fumbling with her mobile phone to call for help. The masked man was closing back in on her!
Paul managed to regain his composure just as the young woman screamed again for help. She frantically pulled, kicked and scratched at the masked attacker! She managed to pull the mask off his face just as he succeeded in kicking her in the thigh which knocked her to the floor with some force! Paul sprinted back to the action and this time delivered a palpable blow to the man’s head, once more from behind! This was successful in frightening the injured assailant away from his victim! As he stumbled away in pain, he shouted back:
‘You disgusting, cheating slut!’
The alleyway was silent now. The young woman was passed out cold on the floor in terror. Paul reached for his case to remove his phone to report the attack to the police and summon medical help. Once he had completed the call to the emergency services, he turned his attention back to the victim. She was indeed quite attractive. She was dressed in a very tight leather one-piece dress with a very deep plunging neck line! High heeled, black shoes and fishnet stockings completed this rather unorthodox ensemble! Perhaps she was a lady of the night, he thought to himself naively? Even if she was, she did not deserve to be treated like this! Paul removed his jacket and covered her shivering body as best he could.
A short while later, the emergency services had arrived to secure the scene and remove the young woman to safety. The police had to question Paul as a matter of routine. The bleached blonde Sergeant at the police station made Paul a cup of coffee and proceeded to question him. After all of the details were recorded, Paul was asked to sign the report. The young Sergeant patted him on the shoulder and congratulated him on saving the young woman’s life! Paul was quite justifiably proud of his actions, but equally nervous of what Charlotte might think!
A couple of minutes later, a junior officer ran into the interview room and said sharply:
‘Sarge, take a look at this!’
The dark haired officer produced a posh-looking smartphone and pressed a button that started a video playback. As the blonde sergeant looked at the small screen, the junior officer turned directly to Paul and sneered in a disdainful, scary glare! Once the short clip had finished the blonde Sergeant looked back up at the supposed hero and sneered in the same way as her colleague!
‘Okay Paul, slight change of plan. We are arresting you on the charge of assault and attempted murder of Miss Jo-Ann Woitech! You do not have to say anything and have no rights whatsoever!’
Paul was quickly woman-handled off to the cells! Paul was left in darkness to ponder what had happened! The next day, a young legal aid worker was admitted to his cell:
‘Hi Paul, my name is Miss Gorder. I will be your legal advisor for this case’
Miss Gorder was a young looking, somewhat naive and inexperienced legal advisor appointed by the State. She was dressed rather dowdily in a frumpy looking, woollen jumper and corduroy trousers. She had yellow cotton socks beneath brown leather moccasins. Her thick rimmed glasses at least portrayed some intelligence!
She took her seat in the cell and explained that Miss Woitech was pressing charges of assault! She was indeed a “Lady of the night” as Paul had suspected. She was an immigrant from eastern Europe:
‘You see, Paul, it seems that Miss Woitech accidentally activated the camcorder on her smartphone when she was trying to call the Police. The phone clearly shows you as one of the two men attacking her!’
Paul shouted back in anger that he was not guilty! He was only trying to defend her! Miss Gorder simply placed her finger to her lips and instructed him to be calm:
‘SHHH, Paul. I’m not deaf, so please don't shout! The good news is that in view of your current good standing in this town, you have been granted male bail! I am here to take you home!’
At least Paul was going home, for the time being. But he was not looking forward to explaining this one away to Charlotte tonight, for sure!
Once at home, the police removed all his identification papers and travel documents etc. His left ankle was locked into a bracelet that contained a tracking device limiting his movement to the footprint of the house and no further. He was now under house arrest until his trial in two weeks’ time! Paul was now left alone to ponder his pretty Charlotte’s reaction to all of this!
A short while later, Charlotte returned home with the shopping. She just entered the room and ignored her lover! Paul leaped to his feet to assist her with the bags, but she simply pushed by and ignored him!
‘Charlotte, please let me explain. I was trying to help, and she filmed me by accident! You see...’
‘Oh please, Paul, just tell me what you want for dinner? I cannot take any more of your lies, darling! I hope that the authorities teach you a lesson, and that this cures you of your wandering eye!’
This was all that she said for three whole days! Eventually, over a bottle of wine, Charlotte finally opened up a little more:
‘Look, I’m sorry that this has happened to you, but you truly deserve what you get this time! I have warned you about chasing after women, haven't I? I still love you, but you need to be taught a lesson this time! Groping a woman (even if she is a prostitute) is wrong! I blame myself, really. Maybe I should have stopped your promotion, or fitted you with one of those male chastity devices, or something? Let’s hope that a few years breaking rocks in chains fixes you up! Then we can get married like a proper couple!’
Paul was stunned at her demeanour! She did not trust him and she wanted him to be punished! Prison! Chains! What was all of this?
For the remainder of their time at home, Charlotte was quite pleasant towards him! Paul even forgot about his troubles for a while. Every now and then, Charlotte would insist on watching some programme called “Cons under the lash”, which was an ‘inside prison’ type of reality TV programme. Paul couldn't understand why she was so interested in this type of thing, as she had never shown interest in it before. Every ten minutes or so, she would turn to him and say something like:
‘I wonder if they will whip you like that? Will they put you in the stocks? Will you be made to break rocks on a slag heap? What will it be like to be chained up in a dungeon all alone, huh?
Time passed by all too quickly for the couple, and the dreaded trial was now upon them. The night before the trial, the police would be coming to collect Paul and lock him away for the night so he was prepared. As the blonde Sergeant placed a terrified looking Paul under arrest, Charlotte mockingly reported that Paul would take size 12 striped convict shorts! HA!
That night Paul slept alone, heavily restrained in a cold prison bunk assessing what had gone so wrong. Morning was an unwelcome arrival for the terrified prisoner. He was lead up to the court room and brought before the Lady Judge who barely even noticed him. He was secured in the dock under armed guard. His accuser was sat opposite him. In the public gallery, he could just make out the loving face of his partner, Charlotte. Paul pleaded not guilty to all charges!
Miss Gorder, the woefully inexperienced defence brief, set to work in a poor attempt to clear his name. She gave a speech that lasted only five minutes. A short pause was granted as the prosecution got all of their notes together. A tall, distant looking woman in her early forties then stood up in the court room – the prosecution barrister. Her brunette head was laced tightly into a formidable looking bun which sat atop her intimidating female head like a crown of authority.
She folded her arms and faced the jury before taking a deep breath:
‘If it so pleases the court, I will not take up too much of your time, as this is plainly an open and shut case. Will the defendant please answer the following question loudly and clearly: Were you present on the day of the alleged attack, and did you carry out the aforementioned attack on Miss Woitech?’
‘Madam, I can once again report that I was present in the role of defender and, did not carry out the attack!’
‘Madam Judge, Ladies of the Jury, permit me once again to ask the same question in a slightly different way!’
A remote control was produced from her pocket, and a large screen in the corner of the court came on. It showed the full struggle from the perspective of Miss Woitech! Paul’s face was clearly visible, struggling on the camera! His face had angry looking scratch marks on it!
‘So, Paul, one last question; who is that on the screen?’
‘It is me, Madam.’
The court tittered, and whispers could be heard all-round.
‘Thank you, Madam Judge. No further questions!’
‘Ladies of the court, I will call for an adjournment for the Jury to deliberate,’ said the good Lady Judge.
‘All rise…’, the female bailiff instructed the court.
Barely ten minutes were needed, and court was once again in session.
‘Has the Jury reached a decision?’
‘Yes Lady Judge. The Jury finds the defendant guilty of all charges!’
Paul slumped to the floor, but was gripped under the arms and pulled unwillingly back to his feet by the female bailiff.
‘Prisoner in the dock, you are aware that this land is cursed with overcrowded prisons and penal institutions. The last thing we need is more men in prison. I am also aware of your previous good conduct and excellent services rendered to the States of Gynarchy X. I am, however, compelled to impose a custodial sentence upon you in view of the seriousness of the crime, and your total lack of humility or guilt! It is therefore the sentence of this court that you shall be taken from this place and suffer twenty years deportation and hard labour on the island of FEMDOM. You will be worked hard and beaten daily! The Gynarchy X has washed her pretty hands of you! Take him down!’
Paul passed out cold! Charlotte too was devastated!
Paul eventually came round a couple of hours later in a holding cell. He was now completely naked apart from his size 12, striped cotton prison shorts! To his utter astonishment he was not alone! The Lady Judge was standing before him, hands on hips. She looked very different out of her robes and finery, merely clad in a comfortable, if rather tatty looking, tracksuit and sneakers! She was accompanied by a civilian woman. She had thick rimmed glasses and a pale white face that was still rather attractive in a geeky sort of way. Her face was framed with curly, chestnut brown hair. She wore a white lab coat over a woollen pullover, and pleated skirt with woolly tights. Sensible brogues completed the rather-less-than-stylish ensemble. Nonetheless Paul would have gladly traded places with her, given his current lack of modest apparel!
The informally-dressed Lady Judge now spoke again in a concomitantly less formal tone:
‘Glad you could join us, convict! This is Miss Brompton. She is a doctor at the Femina One Young Ladies’ College of Science. She is also the younger sister of the celebrated Professor Brompton, whom you may recall in that tiny male mind of yours was the brilliant inventor of the new design of adjustable prison pillory? She also wrote five books on prison reform, and has dedicated her life to improving the Gynarchy X!’
Why was she telling Paul all of this useless trivia? The young doctor Brompton just stood and examined the prisoner in silence. She made some notes on a clip board as she eyed him up. The Judge went on to say:
‘You see, Paul, we genuinely have a crisis in this empire of ours. Even the thought of being placed into a set of adjustable, kneeling stocks for four or five years holds no deterrent factor for the male lawbreaking scum of this world! We need another method of deterring crime. I am prepared to secretly offer you the chance to drastically reduce your sentence if you are willing to voluntarily undergo an experiment commissioned by young Dr Brompton here. This will, of course, be done in secret, as we do not want the public knowing about this leniency!’
The young doctor spoke for the first time:
‘I think he would be most suitable, Madam. Can I ask him a few questions first?’
‘By all means’ my dear. He is just a convict now, and has no rights other than to suffer! HA!’
‘Okay, convict, please answer the following questions truthfully:
1. Have you ever been to prison before?
2. Have you ever been a footslave to women?
3. Do you enjoy being around, or enjoy the sight of, female feet or footwear?
4. What is your current threshold of pain, with ‘1’ being low resistance, and ‘10’ being high resistance?’
Paul answered the questions in a shaky voice:
‘1. I have never been to prison before, Madam
2. I am happy to report that I have never been a footslave before, Madam
3. I much prefer the company of women in a non-submissive form, and have no interest in female
Feet, Madam
4. I would say that I have an above average tolerance of pain, Madam. Perhaps a ‘7’ or ‘8’?’
‘Excellent!’
The young scientist was most impressed!
The Judge went on to explain:
‘Alright, convict. In that case I will give you a one-off chance at getting your life back, but it will be your choice whether to do the twenty years hard labour and deportation, or my reduced sentence offer! I offer you a reduction of sentence to two years! You will also be made a trustee and have extra rations! You will also be able to defer some punishments to other convicts! All you have to do is sign up to this experiment, Well, what do you say?’
A two year sentence was too good to be true!
‘Yes, Madam Judge. I accept. Thank you!’
Paul couldn't care less what the experiment was, as long as he only had to do two years of it instead of two decades! Charlotte would be delighted too!
The next hour was spent filling in inch-thick permission forms for the experiments to begin. Paul was issued slightly thicker cotton shorts, with a pink stripe around each thigh denoting his rank as a trustee of the labour camp! It did strike him as ironically cruel that he had previously secured the low price for these rag-like, prison garments, and now he would be the one wearing them for two years!
The next humiliation was having his new leg irons riveted on. The iron hoops were closed around each bare ankle, and heavy, mushroom-shaped, soft iron rivets were inserted into the holes joining each half together and hammered over, closing them for the next 24 months! As a trustee, he was allowed an extra link of chain, making a total of 14 hefty links between the ankles. The central link had a chain extending unto an iron ring that he held in his hand. The purpose of this would be explained later, he was told.
Now came the bit that all new prisoners dreaded. The shameful march through the port side of town to the waiting transportation ship! Paul was ordered to march two abreast in the column of shabby-looking convicts. He was the only one with proud pink stripes on his shorts, though! Then he espied his beloved Charlotte in the crowd as they got closer to the boat.
‘I will be waiting for you, Paul! Hope they are not too mean to you, honey!’
Onboard the prison hulk, the men were secured to the below-deck railings with a chain that passed through the large iron rings at the end of the leg irons. The voyage was quite rough. Paul was removed from the cramped quarters on more than one occasion to be examined by the young Dr Brompton prior to their arrival. She had packed her life aboard the ship for this experiment of hers! It must be highly important?
The ship finally docked on the infamous prison-island of FEMDOM. The prisoners and cargo were unloaded hastily, as it was considered a security risk having the ship alongside for too long. The convicts were all assembled in the blistering tropical heat of the jungle.
The parade ground of the labour camp was quite large. The sand-covered square housed the Gynarchy X flag fluttering overhead, and a rather foreboding whipping frame set into the ground next to three sets of kneeling stocks and two sets of ‘sitting duck stocks’. The guards all wore identical uniforms of dark blue shirts gathered tightly at the waist; matching dark blue, uniform trousers with a yellow stripe to denote rank; and black, pull on, leather, flat heeled calf or ankle boots. The ensemble was completed with a smart looking Sam Browne belt in glossy black leather with a shoulder strap supporting the weight of a small gun holster on the right-hand-side. On the opposite side hung the dreaded wrist shackles and punishment strap! Again, ironically these out-of-date obsolete wrist shackles are the same ones that Paul was able to secure for a bargain price in his previous life!
Most of the female guards were oriental or local island inhabitants who had secured a lucrative job as a labour camp prison guard Mistress. A small number of the guards appeared to be Westerners. All of them had glum emotionless faces that were slightly obscured by the blacked out sun glasses that served to further dehumanise them.
The head guard – one of the few westerners - now mounted the podium. She had her blonde tresses flowing free in the breeze. She also had a red stripe on her trousers highlighting her importance. She began a well-rehearsed speech to the crowd. It was the usual sort of prison pep talk regarding rules and consequences. Suddenly the speech took on a more improvised tone as she went on describing how the only law here was female guards’ law:
‘I cannot over-stipulate how strongly I feel about this. Life here is not fair. It's not meant to be! We are in charge, and you are the dominated. You do not have to agree with our rules; you simply have to follow them. I think maybe a demonstration of our female power will better serve to assist with your understanding of this!’
She suddenly jumped down into the crowd and pulled out one male convict by the hand. She turned him to face the crowd:
‘I have selected this convict because I do not care for his fat, ugly face! Convict, I hereby sentence you to five days in the kneeling stocks! Got anything to say, chubby?’
‘No, Mistress Guard,’ came the coy reply.
‘NOTHING AT ALL?’
‘Oh… erm… thank you, Mistress Guard?’
‘MMM… That’s better! A bit of gratitude costs nothing. Well, don't let me detain you (HA! If you will pardon the pun?)’
The chubby convict dropped his chain to the floor as he was dragged away by an oriental guard to be locked into the stocks for five whole days, just because the guard Captain said so! It was all so cruel and unfair!
Now came Paul’s turn for special attention:
‘Ah, I see that you are the new trustee? You had better get your arse over to hut 9, as Dr Brompton is in haste to get started with the experiment! You are excused work duty today, trustee. MOVE!’
Paul stumbled in his shackles towards hut no. 9 as quickly as he could. He passed the sobbing chubby convict in the stocks, and felt quite sorry for him!
Once Paul had arrived at the designated hut he was ordered in. Dr Brompton had finished setting all of her equipment up at last.
‘Ah, there you are! I’ve been waiting for you; take a seat, convict!’
It was obvious to see which was to be his seat. One of the chairs she pointed to was a nice, padded, wing back chair. Next to that was a wooden interrogation chair, with straps and metal hoops attached for the wrists and ankles. Paul instantly turned and sat in the latter seat. He dropped his iron hoop and chain connected to his irons to the floor, and obligingly placed his wrists into the currently slack metal hoops. He wanted to appear helpful and keep this girl happy at all costs!
For her part Dr Brompton was impressed with the already submissive attitude of the convict. She was eager to proceed, and set about tightening all of the restraints around the chair. Paul was now totally helpless and immobile. The young woman then set about explaining the rationale behind her experiment. She was obviously excited about the project. Paul assumed, correctly, that she had planned this next set of rhetorical questions:
Question: What are we to do with all of the male, layabout convicts currently languishing in the numerous prisons back home?
Answer: Re-train them to do something useful once they have been convicted.
Question: What should they be re-trained as, and how?
Answer: Footslaves, and with the aid of my new ‘Fundamental Education Evolution Training’ device, or ‘FEET’ helmet for short!
She then hastily presented the aforementioned device that closely resembled an old, leather flying helmet! It was mounted on a white mannequin head. Although leather, it was laced with steel wire and mesh to make it more strong and durable. One would also correctly deduce, harder to remove!
‘This device will be locked onto your head and connect to your brain through the thousands of tiny receptors built into the inner surfaces. These will monitor all of your thoughts, and record them in a daily log for me to examine at the end of each week. The helmet-goggles will partially obscure all non-foot related objects from your field of vision, and will learn your eye movements and non-preferences. Those non-preferences will then be highlighted by a yellow outline to further draw your attention to them. For example; if you do not like bobbled sock material, the helmet will highlight it for you and make you acutely aware of it!
Also, your smell receptors will in effect be turned off! From now on, all you will be able to smell is women’s boots, shoes, socks and of course, feet! The helmet is designed to make you feel ill-at-ease when out of direct contact with women’s feet. It will only relent when you are focussed on some aspect of female feet or footwear! It is not designed to make foot slavery enjoyable, quite the opposite! But it will, I hope, make you fully useful to womenkind by transforming you into a lowly footslave!’
Paul was terrified!
‘Please, Mistress no! I did not agree to that! Don't put it on me, I beg of you!’
‘QUIET! You technically belong to me, now, you dirty convict! Now, keep still! I need to shave your head!’
Dr Brompton Junior then set about cropping off all of Paul’s hair in a rather rough and hasty manner. She could not wait to begin her experiment!
This done, the helmet was then drawn over Paul’s unwilling head and secured in place with a padlock. The goggles/visor were the first item to encircle his head, so the helmet, in effect, locked them over his eyes. Next came a buzzing sound as the receptors started to invade the privacy of his convicted mind! Dr Brompton connected the leads of her fiendish invention to the computer readout and began checking the readings and deciphering his thoughts. All of this technology was working, as she was now reading his experiences first hand:
As the pretty doctor pulled the helmet over my head, a claustrophobic fear set in! I felt totally helpless and I would appear to be doomed to my fate!
Dr Brompton spun around from the computer screen to face the confined prisoner.
‘So, you think I am pretty do you, prisoner? Ha! I do not think you are pretty! And, by the way, you ARE doomed to your fate!’
She can obviously read all of my thoughts so I had better…
‘I am so glad that you have no interest in the feet of women, convict. You are the perfect subject for conversion! Let’s try a little first hand (or should that be, first foot) experiment.’
She produces a pretty flower and orders me to sniff deeply at the petals. This seems innocent enough so I sniff deeply. To my terror, NOTHING! No smell at all!
‘Good! That seems to be in order, now let’s see…’
Miss Brompton now bends down to remove her black brogue from her foot and bring it to my nose!
‘Sniff it, loser!’
I take one small, shallow sniff of the shoe interior and immediately feel as though someone had punched me in the nose! My nasal receptors are literally dancing! She glances at the computer read out and laughs before shouting:
‘NEVER refer to me in your thoughts as she again! Just ‘Miss’ or ‘Doctor Brompton!’
The lovely Dr Brompton then brings her thick, woolly-tight-covered toes up to my nose and wiggles them to liberate their sweaty aroma! This is an astounding smell! Also, the visor works to detect the sights I do not like, and highlight them for me with nasty little annotations like “Smells worst here” and “Long toes will have more smell clamped between them”. Everything that is not closely associated with her feet is partially obscured from my vision. I can see it, but I am not focussed or interested in it. It is hard to explain! Hard and terrifying!
‘Good! I’m glad that you are terrified, convict!’
Doctor Brompton withdraws her foot and places her shoe back on it.
‘Now, the other thing my invention does is act as a pain receptor amplifier! If I turn it all back off CLICK (the buzzing sound stopped), and fit this to your chair….’
Dr Brompton then clamps a weird looking device with a sharp metal probe attached to the centre on a crank. It is all at my chest level? She winds the device in so that the stainless steel point is touching my left nipple!
‘Now all you have to do is to tell me when you cannot take any more of this torture!’
She winds the device in slowly. I can feel the point as it starts to stab at my sensitive area! The device has incremental readings on it telling her how far it has travelled. She can use this data to assess how sensitive I am. I eventually let out a mad scream at 2 & 1/8 inches.
‘We will take that to mean, would you mind stopping there please, Dr Brompton? Shall we, convict?’
Now came the second experiment with the device switched on. This time I screamed at a mere 1 & 1/4 inches travel. It was a fiendish device. Much worse than the concentrator devices I had read about in one of my beloved Charlotte’s magazines!
‘I am glad you think so, prisoner! It is much more complex than a mere concentrator device and has taken me ten years to develop! Don't think about your beloved Charlotte anymore, as I don't want your feelings for her filling my data log. She is probably shacked up with a real man by now anyway!’
This woman looks so pretty but she is so incredibly cruel! Why? Perhaps she…
‘Enough, you lame brain! How many more times have I got to tell you to never refer to me as she or her in your thoughts? And the reason I am so ,cruel’, as you put it, is that I hate male convicts! Especially when they are convicted of woman beating! Therefore it will be my pleasure to see to it that you suffer for my science. You have no privacy as you are a convict, get it? Not even the privacy of your own thoughts belong to you anymore, thanks to the FEET helmet! Now, start acting and thinking like a slave, or else! If it were up to me, you would be kept naked in a ball and chain and sleep in the stocks every night!’
She, I mean the good Dr Brompton, took a few moments to calm herself down as she was clearly angered at my foolishness!
Now the good lady doctor set about explaining that I was to be given a professional Task Mistress to watch over me. I was assigned hard labour by the courts and as I had this special device fitted, which required special supervision.
I was now introduced to Task Mistress Joanna. I think she had a pretty well rounded face and pleasant features. I think that she was dressed the same way as all of the other guards except her uniform was much bigger. And, finally, I know that she was wearing a pair of well used, black leather, flat heeled ankle boots with elasticated black gusset and pull on hoops at the rear. I would estimate a size six and a half, and that these boots have seen some thirty or so coats of polish over the years. (I now notice little else other than feet it would seem!)
Task Mistress Joanna had been instructed to allow me unrestricted access to her feet and footwear to ensure that my new apparatus is allowed to recondition my mind to all forms of female foot slavery! As night was rapidly approaching, I was too late to join the work party up the road. I was finally released from the restrictive grip of the chair and unplugged from the data logger. I was told to pick up my chain and follow Task Mistress Joanna to my hut.
We passed by the unnamed chubby convict in the kneeling stocks. He had been here for a mere five hours now and was sobbing uncontrollably with the pain and neck spasms! He only had another four and three quarter days to go!
We entered the accommodation hut for my work section. The wooden benches were just large enough for one man to occupy each of them. The foot of each bunk was crossed by a thick chain that was designed to be pulled through our iron hoops attached to these riveted convict irons, to secure us to the beds at night so we did not need to be guarded. I was shown around by my own, personal Task Mistress. Most Mistresses supervise five convicts, so I was truly special it would seem!
Task Mistress Joanna announced that she wanted to “throw me in at the deep end, so-to-speak, and see if I sank or swam”. I had no idea what she meant, but simply followed to heel as ordered. I was escorted to her personal cabin in the guards’ hut area! A much more comfortable section with soft carpet and air conditioning! I was so relieved to be out of the heat, I nearly forgot why we were here!
‘Okay, con, I have been saving these up for you since the beginning of this week. I managed, with difficulty, to lower myself into the bath while keeping my feet outside the water, so they are nice and strong for you. Why not try them out for yourself and see what you think?’
She then extended her ankle-booted feet below my face.
This sounded like a question, but I was sure it was an order! I was intently focussed on her booted feet in front of me on the carpeted floor. I felt myself leaning forward to kiss her boot toes! I don't know why I did this, it just felt like the right thing to do? I kissed each boot in turn and then pulled them off. This brought to my unwilling attention a pair of crumpled up, slightly damaged, cotton socks in a black colour, with other more contrasting colours. The contrasting colours were artificially added by my helpful visor seeking out areas of disgust for me, and making me focus on them to increase my suffering!
I was told to remove her ringing-damp-with-sweat socks and then to pick off all of the sock lint from her feet as they had been in those socks for four whole days now! I had to pick at the sock lint for ten minutes or so until the visor settled on some more interesting points for me to focus in on! The smell was astoundingly bad! Tart and sour. Mistress Joanna was a large girl so more prone to sweating in this tropical heat. The visor pointed out her long big toenails that protruded beyond the tips of her toes! The mask also suggested where the most smelly areas would be, and all of the areas that would require smoothing over with my convicted tongue! At least she had painted her toenails red, so I had something else to focus on other than the stench!
The areas not associated directly with her feet were now showing up in greyscale so I had no interest in them! I had to be careful about becoming obsessed with girls’ feet!
This truly was awful! I hated women’s smelly feet, I felt so depressed, and more importantly oppressed. I was a semi-naked, chained, masked fool of women’s feet, doomed to suffer for the next two years in this tropical hell-hole! I had to remain strong, and resist this fiendish device and its “re-education efforts” (I have just realised that all of that rebellious, misplaced thought will be recorded in my data logger for the pretty Dr Brompton to read at the end of this week. Oh hell!)
The first week passed off my two year sentence painfully slowly. The hard labour we were all subjected to was the construction of a luxury, female-only hotel about four miles from the labour camp. We were marched there and back every day under the lash. My main job was to transport cement from the silo to the other workers to be processed. This is viewed as an easy job because of my high status as a trustee prisoner. As a result of my special treatment, I was not popular with my fellow prisoners!
I felt totally alone (a feeling that was amplified by the FEET helmet). My only moments of temporary rest from the depression came when I was allowed to focus on Task Mistress Joanna’s boots. She would deliberately remain out of view to let the misery cut deep. Worse still, I was actually almost happy to see her sweaty, bobbled socks in the evening! Happiness would turn to ambivalent ecstasy and simultaneous disgust as I peeled off her cold sweaty socks to sniff and lick her clammy, bare feet! The FEET helmet was clearly working, despite my futile efforts to resist it! The depression returned in droves as I was ordered to place fresh socks on her feet and escorted back to the slave hut for the night!
One of the worst aspects for me, however, was the punishments. Standard punishment is a stinging barrage of cutting lashes from the whip. I was spared this on most occasions, as I was a trustee. I was actually made to select a man from the hut to take my punishment for not making my daily two-ton quota of cement! This was a terrible experience. We were ordered to witness the innocent, exhausted convict being strapped to the whipping post and receive my 20 lashes! Worse still, I was simply not interested! I was intently focussed on the whip-Mistress’s booted, oriental feet straining to and fro as she delivered the horrid lash to my unfortunate fall-guy’s back!
The end of the week was supposed to be a day of rest (for me anyway). While the other convicts were marched off into the steamy jungle once again, I was escorted to my ‘comfy’ restraint chair to be monitored again by Dr Brompton. I was unaware that my fellow inmates were having to complete my share of work in addition to theirs! I was not going to win the convict of the year award, for sure (if such a thing existed, of course)!
Dr Brompton was pleased to see me! She plugged my helmet in for re-charge and began to download the week’s activity into the data logger. One of the first things she noticed was the terrible remark I made at the beginning of the week!
‘This truly was awful! I hated women’s smelly feet, I felt so depressed and more importantly oppressed. I was a semi-naked, chained, masked fool of women’s feet, doomed to suffer for the next two years in this tropical hell-hole! I had to remain strong, and resist this fiendish device and its “re-education efforts” (I have just realised that all of that rebellious, misplaced thought will be recorded in my data logger for the pretty Dr Brompton to read at the end of this week. Oh hell!)’
‘Well well, convict! I see that we still have spirit, then? I will have to mark you down for punishment for this! You are still in the early stages of learning, but I want to see improvements, or else! I am going to turn up the ill-at-ease and depression stimulators, and give you a high dose of slave serum to break you down for a couple of weeks. I did want a drug free re-education, but can see that you are a little too stubborn for that’.
Dr Brompton then proceeded to inject the yellow slave-serum into my left captive arm! The room span for a moment as the potent drug invaded my convicted body. I was even more restricted in sight. Tunnel vision with pin-point focus of feet thanks to the visor was now my only perspective! I could also swear that I could smell Miss Brompton’s now rather tatty looking, woollen tights from here!
Six hours later and the helmet had charged fully. I was sentenced to one night in the stocks as a punishment for defiance, and denied access to Task Mistress Joanna’s feet for the night! I was locked into the same set of low-lying, kneeling stocks as the chubby prisoner who had been released from them just two days ago! I, however, was experiencing my confinement with a system filled with painful slave serum, and a helmet that made me feel physically sick as I could not see or touch a woman’s boots or feet! The oriental guard-Mistress closed the lock and made her departure from the rear so as not to afford me a glimpse of her booted feet, and thus any respite!
An hour or so later, the convict workforce returned, looking particularly exhausted! They were allowed one hour of “free” time to move round the barbed wire compound in their leg irons. Some of the men started playing card games, while others played catch (all in silence). Another convict was placed beside me in the “sitting duck stocks”. He had been given four hours for not eating all of his gruel while breaking rocks!
The female guards left for their compound to escape the heat and humidity. One watch Mistress was left in the guard tower clutching a rifle. Some of the men that were not occupied with the games, began closing in on me! They made an excuse of their close proximity by giving the convict adjacent to me in the stocks some water and bread. The crowd grew larger! One man gave me a sharp tap on the head, another attempted a quick kick of my ribs (difficult when one is wearing leg irons). This was to be my unofficial payback for allowing them to take my punishments!
The lead convict grabbed a handful of sand and forced it into my mouth and kept his hand there to gag me as the others set about a harsh beating! Those behind the stocks tried to use their iron ankle bracelets as points to jab my feet and calves! I was utterly helpless and alone! The male mob eventually disbanded.
Four hours later, while the others were on lock down, the oriental guard-Mistress returned to release my neighbour from the “sitting duck stocks”. I was quite glad to be rid of him, as all he did was moan in pain, and inform me that, as he was captive at my last beating, he would be first in line for the next one!
The next day brought some relief! I was released from the stocks and immediately presented with the polished, black leather ankle boots of Task Mistress Joanna! She gave me some water to wash away the remnants of my sand-gag and enquired after my bruises and cuts. I reported that I had fallen on my way to the stocks, and that it was not important, Mistress! She laughed loudly and said:
‘Well, I hope it does not affect your work, convict, as I want you to shift three tons today. We need to get the underpinning finished this month! Swish crack MOVE!’
As the months went by, I was finally allowed to be taken off the weekly dose of slave serum. My thoughts were nearly always of women’s feet or footwear: how do they feel to the touch? How do they smell? Will she let me taste them? Is she wearing socks inside her boots? I wonder what colour she has painted her toenails?
Dr Brompton was delighted with the progress of the experiment! She still had just over one year to go before she could announce to the scientific community that it was a complete success! Then came disaster (for her anyway). The luxury hotel was opened early as the Gynarchy X Government thought that women would pay a discounted rate to visit the incomplete hotel just to watch the male convicts suffering in the heat under the lash as the construction work continued! They were, as always, quite correct!
Tickets to the one completed wing of the hotel sold out overnight! Miss Charlotte had managed to bag herself a ticket to the hotel in a hope of glimpsing her beloved Paul!
I had now been moved onto the paving section of the work gang. This entailed lifting half-ton slabs of cut granite into place and shaping them with crude hand tools as the eager whip-mistresses encouraged the labourers! This was proving very popular amongst the female population. People were even commenting that the hotel should never be finished, as it was so enjoyable to watch the chained convicts labouring for their benefit under the threat of the lash!
Two days into her holiday, Miss Charlotte got her wish! My chain gang were posted to work around the pool area to finish the stone supports for the diving board. Miss Charlotte was out in the early morning sun looking as stunning as ever! She was quite plump for her frame but was a true natural beauty.
I had no idea that my princess was laying in the sun some five feet from me! Task Mistress Joanna ordered me to collect a trowel from the tool bin and I replied:
‘Yes Mistress Joanna, at once!’
Charlotte immediately recognised my voice and spun herself round on the sunbed!
‘Hi Paul, it’s me!’
I was stunned that I recognised her voice! I shuffled over to her in my irons. I could just make out her pretty features through the greyed out visor! I was not supposed to be interested in her pretty face anymore, as my mind was being re-trained by the horrid helmet!
‘Wow! You've lost weight, Mister!’
She patted me on my flat stomach for the first time in nine months.
‘I love your shorts! HA! Fancy a dip? OOH! I told you they would put you in chains, didn't I Paul? What’s it feel like? WOW! What’s the deal with that new hat thing, then?’
So many questions! I had to start by answering her as slowly and quietly as I could, so as not to attract attention.
All of a sudden I could feel the presence of Task Mistress Joanna behind me.
‘Excuse me, Miss, but is this convict bothering you?’
‘Oh no, Madam. This is my fiancé (or will be when he gets out). You don't mind if we have a chat. do you?’
‘Sorry Miss, it’s forbidden for him to speak to free women like you. I will have him placed in the stocks tonight for straying from his duties, as a punishment!’
‘Oh no, please, I am sorry! I did not know your rules, Miss!’
Charlotte fluttered her long eyelashes at the hardened guard-Mistress to no avail.
‘Convict! You know where your gaze should be directed. Make it so!’
I immediately lowered my gaze to Charlotte’s feet. She was wearing strappy’ barefoot sandals. Her feet were milky white’ with contrasting black toenails neatly filed. She had such pretty feet (not that I had ever noticed before now).
‘Hey Mister, I’m up here! I wore this tight black bikini just for your benefit you know!’
I was tempted to look up my fiancée’s more than ample bosom (how I had missed that) but I was simply not interested! Not interested in my Charlotte’s breasts - impossible!
I’m sorry, Miss, but the convict is only allowed to look at females’ feet, as part of its diminished sentence. The “hat”, as you referred to it, is on the secret list, so I cannot discuss it with you. Suffice to say that it is training his mind to behave more appropriately towards free women of the Gynarchy! Now you must excuse us as I need to place this disobedient prisoner in the stocks!’
Charlotte bent down to pat me on the head.
‘I like the idea of you being more appropriately behaved towards women! Sorry if I got you into trouble, Paul. I see that they have got stocks to lock you in here, then? I told you they would have, just like in the TV programme, remember?’
I dare not answer her!
‘Well, I had better leave you to it, my dear. I’m off home tomorrow, so will see you again in just over a year when you are free. Don't worry, I promise to wait for you, Paul darling!’
I was so glad to hear that Charlotte was going to be there for me when I got out of this hell, that I almost forgot that I was being led back to the stocks for punishment!
Dr Brompton was furious at my end of week data logging session! She immediately put me on a higher dose of slave serum! She also announced that the MK2 version of her FEET helmet would incorporate an amnesia device to block the memory of the wearer’s previous existence! Fortunately for me, I was the unwilling wearer of the prototype MK1 version, and the thought of my Charlotte was all that was keeping me sane!
It took another two months to get me ‘Back on track’ as Dr Brompton put it. My time at the labour camp wore on. Finally I was at month 24 of my sentence. Dr Brompton was busy collating all of the data from the experiment. She had forgotten to remove me from the restraint chair on more than one occasion, so I just suffered in silence.
Finally the last day came! Dr Brompton switched off the helmet for the last time. She undid the locks and started the half-hour-long process of removing it from my now matted hair that had grown beneath. The helmet had only been removed twice for service work, and to have my hair shaved off, in two whole years, so as not to interfere with the receptors!
I was free again!
Dr Brompton let out a satisfied smirk when my eyes, even though free of the influence of the training device, immediately dropped to the floor level so I could view her sensible walking brogues pacing around the laboratory! I was taken to the blacksmith to have my irons struck off and my civilian clothes were returned to me! I was escorted to the waiting ship and conveyed back to the mainland at long last. I was now just hours from the loving embrace of my Charlotte!
Walking still took some time to get used to. I was still stumbling along with a restricted gait as my brain had grown accustomed to living in leg irons for two years. All of that would soon be a distant memory!
PHEEW! That bus conductress has pretty shoes! I bet she has no socks on inside those things…. STOP! I must stop thinking like this! Almost home…
I was finally reunited with my beloved Charlotte again! Two years of forced separation were quickly put asunder in a loving hug followed by some things that only a couple should share!
Weeks went by, and life began returning to normal as we discussed our forthcoming wedding. I, however, noticed some changes in myself. In the evenings, when Charlotte was asleep on the couch, I would pull her sleeping, fluffy pink, ankle sock-clad feet onto my lap and slowly massage them. This made me feel very contented?
One evening when Charlotte was asleep barefoot on the couch, I crawled across the floor so that I could gently sniff them as they dangled over the edge of the sofa! What was I becoming? I had to stop this!
Things came to a head one evening when Charlotte caught me going through the laundry bin so that I could steal a few sniffs of her worn, tatty old running socks! She was not amused to say the least! We had a long discussion about what had happened to me in prison. She began by saying that she sympathised with me but that she did not want a submissive slave for a husband and that I was to snap out of it, or else! She then ripped open her pyjama top to reveal her wonderful, voluptuous breasts encased in a black lace transparent bra! My face lit up, but immediately fell to the ground so that I could catch a glimpse of her sexy, well formed, feminine toes in all of their naked glory! I began to salivate at the prospect of being married to those in a few months’ time!
Charlotte noticed, and was not furious! Two days later the whole world came crashing down on me! She had caught me licking the insides of her ballet flats that she always wore barefoot! I could not resist the dirty, ingrained, mucky foot prints within. They bore the precious toe marks of my beloved! “What had happened to me” (I thought through a few moments of lucid logic).
Charlotte could stand this no more. She called the Gynarchy X psychiatric unit! They came straight over to assess me in our living room! As a precaution, I was strapped into an unforgiving straight jacket! This was so humiliating listening to Charlotte describe my shameful behaviour to strangers, as I rolled around on the floor trying to right myself!
The lead investigator announced that this situation could only have one outcome that would benefit everyone! She whispered into Charlotte’s ear, and she nodded in approval at the suggestion! Charlotte was then handed a leaflet and read it. She proclaimed that this was the best option, and that Paul should be taken away at once for his own sake!
Charlotte walked over to me in my crouched position and started talking to me in a low tone:
‘Paul my dear, this simply isn't going to work, is it? What they did to you in prison was monstrous, and I know it is not your fault. But what can I do? I need a real man in my life; not some queer foot-fancier, understand? The Psychiatric team have suggested that you will never be the same again, and will therefore never be happy unless in the presence of a woman’s feet. I cannot give that to you, so will do the next best thing for you!’
Charlotte then took the leaflet in her hands and read it out loud to me:
‘Wanted; one life-long footslave. Must have no ideas of freedom and be totally oppressed and pathetic. Must be resigned to a harsh, oppressive regime of total and constant foot domination and worship to a beautiful young, blonde mistress of comely figure. The successful applicant will be forced into wearing a heavy wooden cangue and will become my personal, perpetuant footslave!
I think this is the best option for you, as you are so servile now. Nobody has ever lasted for this woman but, we all think that you would be perfect for each other! I will just have to marry your assistant, Brad. Don't worry though, I still love you, and know that it is not your fault! Goodbye, Paul!
I was dragged out of my own house kicking and screaming in front of all of the neighbours!
The next day I found myself kneeling, terrified, on the floor of my new Foot Mistress. Her name was Georgie (to her friends, but I would refer to her as ‘Goddess Mistress Georgina’, if ever permitted to speak). Goddess Mistress Georgina opined that it was highly unlikely that I would ever be able to speak, as I was required to be constantly kissing her feet, whether they be booted, socked or bare.
‘You see, slave, I have such pretty feet, that I like to show them off to everyone! Your job will be to keep them presentable, and constantly be kissing them, sniffing them, blowing warm air on them while I sleep, and generally worshipping and venerating them every minute of your life! Failure to do this will result in the strictest and cruellest punishments imaginable, I can assure you of that my boy! Now, let’s get this antique cangue locked around that scrawny neck of yours, and get started!’
My Goddess Mistress Georgina set out for me, clutching the heavy wooden cangue. It swung shut around my throat and was locked in place forevermore! One strange addition was immediately obvious. The front of the cangue had a large, iron hoop attached to a light weight chain which lead to a polished, rounded antique leg iron? Why so fancy? Surely not for my benefit? I was used to rough, rusty iron links and fetters.
‘I see that the shackle has grabbed your attention, slave? It is for me to wear! I will be attaching you to my ankle when we are out in public! You will be attached to my feet from now in one way or another until the day you die, understood?’
I was stunned by all of this, but terrified into a shaking response of:
‘Yes thank you, Goddess Mistress Georgina! You truly have the feet of a Goddess, and thy humble servant will treasure being in their presence forevermore! Please punish this despicable, vile creature if it ever displeases you, Goddess Mistress Georgina! It begs of you to be allowed to serve you as you truly deserve, Mistress!’
Even I was stunned at the obsequious, self-loathing comments that rolled off my tongue! I was obviously well converted to life as a footslave!
Goddess Mistress Georgina was also impressed at my lowly status! She had a comely, rounded face with brownish-blonde curls (not that I could see them now thanks to the cangue keeping me doubled over). Her feet were just visible through her nylons, and were indeed well-proportioned. Her toes were a little chubby, but descended neatly in length order down to her little toe that tapered in completing the pointed, almost perfect, diamond shape of her precious feet!
The first experience of my new enslavement to Goddess Mistress Georgina was to be quite intense. She had decreed that I was to remove her nylons post haste, and begin with some naked toe kissing! My heart raced at the prospect! She was wearing pink nail polish which was most alluring. I did not need my erstwhile helpful slave helmet to tell me where the smelly areas of her feet would be. I knew from the close study of girls’ feet where these areas were by default now!
‘Right, slave! You seem to be good at this? In fact, better than I thought!’
I was ordered to firstly, and carefully, close the silver ankle cuff tightly around Mistress Georgina’s bare ankle as she lay coiled up on the couch. I was now connected to her left ankle, and ordered to follow her, kissing her bare heels as she made her way to the shoe cupboard.
‘Slave, delve in and fetch my tan leather flip-flops, and place them on my feet!’
I found the footwear in question, and immediately took deep sniffs of the foot and toe prints that had been worn in by her robust, feminine frame! I kissed the inner surfaces of each before placing them on her feet. I suddenly jerked in terror that I may have broken a rule by kissing and smelling her shoes without permission! To my relief, Mistress Georgina was actually most impressed!
‘Now let’s take you out for a spin to see my friends down at the coffee bar!’
With that, we were off to meet her friends!
 |
Goddess Mistress Georgina was a pleasure for me to serve! She had very pretty feet, and a good taste in feminine footwear for me to get used to! She never had cause to use the crueller than imaginable punishments on me that she had planned! A few strokes of the whip to show off to her friends were all she needed!
I was rarely taken off her ankle (i.e. unchained from her) as she loved the feeling that I was attached to her feet in some way! The only time she did take me off was when she would go out to do some gardening or yard work. She would use this time to lock me into the shoe cupboard and have me lickshine the menagerie of footwear that she was not wearing. Strangely, she would wear no footwear at all when gardening! This was to ensure that any passers-by could clearly see her feet and ensure that her soles were getting nice and dirty! This, of course, meant only one thing - I was on footlick duty tonight (lucky me!).
I was well and truly converted to this new way of life!
Dr Brompton made enquiries as to my current whereabouts, as part of the small print of the original contract was that I was to have several follow-up interviews to see how the FEET helmet had altered my personality and attitude to women. It was plain to see that the ‘Brompton Project’ was a complete success! She had now completed the MK2 version of the dreaded contraption with the memory blocker built in. The prison and correction authorities were so impressed with the function of the unit that Brad (my one-time junior and now successor) was instructed to order sixty of the units for trial on prisoners throughout the land.
The aforementioned Brad also married my one time beloved Miss Charlotte, and they were very happy together. I, meanwhile, was legally the footslave property of Goddess Mistress Georgina, and we too were happy!
Even in the Gynarchy X happy endings are not just fairytales, it would seem!
