Little Problems
Slave Paul has been working hard to bring us this epic tale of a mini footslave! A brand new theme for ‘Footslave Stories’!
Enjoy (and please provide him with your feedback!)
Little Problems
By Slave Paul
I suppose I should have been considered lucky, really; for someone as shy and unassuming as me to be sentenced to life as a footslave should have been ideal. The rest of my life as a nameless, anonymous non-entity. At least nobody would be wondering what ever became of me. No embarrassing prison visits from one time friends and acquaintances.
Things are never that simple, though!
I humbly accepted the sentence of the female court with no false hopes of a reprieve. I knew that the Gynarchy X had a zero tolerance policy when it comes to non payment of parking fines in the capital city! What I was not expecting, however, was the “special treatment” I was to be awarded due to my seemingly appropriate past-life job. I was a physiotherapist before my conviction. The courts therefore decided that my past skills would be well suited to massaging women’s feet in my future convict-life.
As a result, I was placed in the custody of Madame Dupont and her highly skilled staff! This was an elite, slave-training college on the outskirts of the city. Only the very richest females could afford to send their slaves to this prestigious training academy! I was truly being spoiled (or so I thought).
As the months progressed, I came to realise that the high discipline instilled in new slaves at the college was maintained by even higher and more stringent rules and regulations. The most minor of infractions was mercilessly dealt with in full view of all staff for maximum humiliation! All new slaves here knew the true meaning of pain! We were also instructed by the very best female beauticians in the land on how to care for female feet and footwear. We even had sessions with renowned shoemakers and cobblers to ensure that we could take proper care of different foot attire! Specialists in feminine hosiery were called in to aid our intensive study of all things related to the female foot! All of this knowledge was crammed into our stupid, maleslave heads inside of two years.
On completion of the course, we could fetch at least ten times the amount a normal, two-a-penny footslave could at auction! This type of slave-auction was normally reserved for the elite females of the land. Discerning young women that cared for their bragging rights and would always endeavor to work in the sentence ‘I have a footslave that was trained at the Dupont Academy you know!’ into their casual conversations with their peers
On the day of my auction, I was eyed up by many a young powerful female! One in particular was seemingly keen on me. I was sure that, in between furtive (and illegal) glimpses at her face, I knew her from somewhere? That’s it! She was the girl off the television!
The girl in question was actually Miss Jessi. She was a truly beautiful, young woman, with shoulder length, chestnut hair and pleasingly petit feminine features. She was a glamour model turned actress on the popular female drama series “Over men we soar” In which, men are always the butt of the joke!
This made me doubly nervous because, as I said before, I was an unassuming, and hopefully anonymous for the rest of my life, footslave. I did not want any celebrity status in my life (it was the last thing I wanted in fact)!
The auction started and finished very quickly indeed. I was now the unwilling property of the budding, young Gynarchy X actress, Miss Jessi! All of the cameras filming the event turned on me as my new Footmistress approached! Miss Jessi was wearing tight blue jeans over her shapely legs that tapered down to her bare heels. She was wearing high-heeled, black chisel toed shoes with diamonds around the top! Quite the most expensive shoes I have ever seen!
‘Slave, I now own you. You are my property and have no rights. Your life will be served at my feet until I dispense with you! You will now begin your bondage to me by kissing my shoes and demonstrating my total power over you! You will only refer to me as Goddess Mistress Jessica! Now get on with it!’
Well that was it, my somewhat curt introduction to my new, powerful, pint-sized Mistress was over; all I had to do now was ‘sign’ my new contract by kissing her expensive looking shoes! As my lips touched her shiny, leather toe, the press cameras ignited into a frenzy! I was not enjoying my new sub-celebrity status at all! My new Mistress was, however, lapping up all of the attention!
As the weeks turned to months, I correctly surmised that my unwilling propulsion into minor stardom would have some unwanted side-effects. Goddess Mistress Jessica and I were invited to open shopping centres (with her cutting the ribbon as I kissed the thousands of female feet that entered over the newly opened threshold).
Goddess Mistress Jessica was also regularly invited onto female chat shows and quizzes (again with me as the literal butt of all the witty banter and jokes). One pretty young blonde female quiz Mistress asked the panel the question ‘Which cheese originated from the southern-most parts of the Gynarchy Empire and is exclusively enjoyed by men?’ The female panel actually seemed confused by this seemingly innocuous question. As the time-out buzzer sounded, the Quiz Mistress passed the question over to me kneeling at my comedy floor-buzzer next to my Mistress’s ballet flat covered feet.
‘Well, slave, for a chance to gain ten points, Which cheese originated from the southern-most parts of the Gynarchy Empire and is exclusively enjoyed by men?’
‘Begging your pardon, oh omniscient Quiz Mistress, but this footslave thinks that the answer may be foot-cheese, Mistress?
‘Correct! Well done, slave! Now, you have ten points, but we all know that you can’t keep them, so we will convert your points into lashes at the male house of corrections! HA!’
Yes, life was never boring as Goddess Mistress Jessica’s footslave. I got to move in some very influential circles. I was actually present during the popular female news debate programme when my Mistress started a petition to bring back public slave branding! I was even publicly tattooed across the forehead with the humiliating word ‘FEET’ by the lady Mayoress of the town!
My only non-celebrity aspect of life was when Goddess Mistress Jessica’s half sister, Mistress Eve, would turn up on set. She was a very plain, yet natural, beauty. She never wore make-up or fancy clothes (unlike my Mistress Jessica Madam). In fact, I had never seen Mistress Eve in a different outfit! She always wore a plain, white T shirt, with tatty blue jeans, and the same off-white canvas deck shoes on bare feet! She had dark brown eyes and pouting lips with a deep set of long brown tresses cascading down her shoulders. I really liked it when she was around. She was so unassuming (a bit like me, before I was sentenced to this wretched existence that is!).
‘Hey slave, how’s it hangin’?
Such informality as she stood there with her fingers twirling her hair in an almost playful manner.
‘Begging your Pardon, Mistress Eve Madam, this humble foot serf is indeed well, though impotent and limp, Madam, as befits a slave, and it is most pleased to see that the Mistress herself is looking so well, and dare this slave say it, so full of sweet feminine charm, Madam?’
I know this is overstepping the line a bit, but Mistress Eve seemed to like this transgression of footslave humility.
‘Oh, you silly thing! I wish you were my slave, but I cannot afford one. I would love to have someone who appreciated me as much as you do, even if you are only a limpdicked, convicted slave of women’s feet!’
The only frustrating thing was that Mistress Eve never wanted me to actually attend to her feet. All we ever shared together was a momentary pleasantry, just before we were rudely interrupted as my demandingly abrupt Goddess Mistress Jessica would invariably burst into the room. The two half sisters never really got along terribly well with each other. There was always some degree of half-sibling rivalry between them. One had the world at her feet (my Mistress Jessica) and the other looked as though she had walked all over the world (in those same damned, cheap shoes)!
‘Oh! What do you want, Eve?’
‘That’s a fine way to greet your sister, isn't it, Jessi?’
‘Half sister! Come on, Eve, I’m in a hurry! Do you mind if I have my make-up done while we talk?’
‘No, that’s fine! Carry on.’
As all of this rather cold exchange was taking place between the two girls, Goddess Mistress Jessica was placing me into her specially commissioned “dressing stocks”. These were hand-made by craftswomen out of solid oak, and had blindingly bright and hot, halogen spotlights fitted into the upper crossbeam. The holes for my hands were oversized to the extent that I could place my arms through to my elbows. What a useless set of stocks one might think? Stocks that allow the movement of the occupant’s arms! Well, Goddess Mistress Jessica had these openings cut deliberately large so that I could dress her feet as she reclined in a soft chair!
My wrists were secured in handcuffs attached to the wood of the pillory. I could not retract my wrists through the holes because of the locking bracelets. The large diameter allowed me sufficient movement to remove and place socks and other hosiery; paint toenails; massage tired, sweaty feet and so on…
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The neck hole was cut deliberately on the small side though!
As the burning spotlights illuminated my Mistress’s pretty, size five feet, I heard the frosty conversation continue above me.
‘Well, go on Eve, what is it this time?’
‘I was wondering if you could just give me a few Fems until the weekend? My rent is due, you see, and the bailiffs are due to come on Saturday if I don't have the full amount handy, so…
‘What a surprise! More money! Where will it end, Eve? There’s a few hundred in my bag. Take that for now and I will add it to what you already owe me!’
As Mistress Eve took the money, I inadvertently sneezed as the dust from the wooden floor was stirred up. This caused a small tear in my Mistress Jessica’s hosiery as I pulled her nylon pop-socks off her feet!
‘You idiot! You cretin! What a fool you are!’ WHAK!
Goddess Mistress Jessica set about smacking me across the face mercilessly. She was truly a furious female force to be reckoned with!
‘You will be punished tonight for sure, slave scum!’
Goddess Mistress Jessica placed her own shoes on her feet as she hastily headed off for the next film shoot. She obviously did not trust my un-skilled hands enough, at present! She left in such a hurry that she forgot (deliberately) to switch off the lights on my ‘dressing stocks’, or to release me!
Mistress Eve pulled up a chair in front of my stocks and smirked at my predicament:
‘Ha, she truly is a handful (or in your case a foot full) isn't she, slave?’
Fortunately for me, this was a rhetorical question that required no answer! She seated herself in front of me.
‘Yuck! Look at these shoes; they are filthy, aren't they slave?’
I was stunned that she had only just noticed, but then, to be fair, the light from my stocks was highlighting the utter filth on them!
‘I bet you couldn't make these white again, slave!’
Without thinking, and with ill-deserved confidence, I almost shouted:
‘YES I COULD!’
My impetuous answer was even lacking in the required ‘Mistress’ at the end.
Mistress Eve seemed somewhat taken aback:
‘Well! You do feel comfortable in front of me, don't you, boy? I think I will have to teach you a lesson!’
I was devastated! I had ruined my only semi-normal relationship with a woman by being so foolish and forthright! Now she sounded all frightening and intimidating towards me, rather like her half sister! I was for it now, surely?
‘I think that you should be made to untie my shoes and lick the insides clean, slave! HA!’
I was stunned! She was still kindhearted about it all! Although she obviously wanted to take me down peg-or two by making me devour the foot dirt inside those grimy, less than glamorous, foot coverings!
I untied the grubby, white laces with my semi-free hands and pulled the sweaty canvas shoes off her dainty, soft bare feet. Well-proportioned, feminine feet – wholly natural, in the sense that she had not painted her toenails and that I could see the scourge of the female sock-dodger (namely toe jam!)
The blackened imprints of her feet were almost branded into the soles! Nonetheless, I attempted to live up to my never before defeated record, and started licking the shoe linings clean. This made her laugh loudly! She was still enjoying my humiliation, but more as a joke; almost as a friend (not like when Goddess Mistress Jessica does it)
‘Well, slave, I can see that you were true to your word; the stains are almost gone! I don't suppose you fancy your chances on the outsides, do you?’
Without answering, I immediately turned my skillful tongue to the task of licking the dirt off the outside surfaces of the cheap and nasty, deck shoes. An hour later, and all was nearly pristine-white again. At least the tart and musty smell of Mistress Eve’s sweaty feet was a little less intense on the outsides of her shoes!
‘I must admit, slave, I can see why you are so cocksure of yourself! Good job! Well done. I was going to buy a new pair of deck shoes with this money my sister Jessi has just given me, but will just have to spend it all on wine now! HA!’
So, Mistress Eve had conned her sister out of two hundred fems, and me out of the chance of seeing her wearing some new shoes! What a clever little minx, I thought (privately). She seemed to know what I was thinking, however, as she lent down with one of her now saliva-sodden, but almost clean, deck shoes in her hand and gently tapped me on the head with it.
‘I should have made you lick my feet clean before these go back on!’
I needed no further encouragement! I set about licking clean the dirty soles of her pretty, natural-looking, soft white feet. This caused spasms of joyful laughter to erupt from her!
‘Oh this is wonderful, slave! I do wish you were mine!’
I had to bite her big toe to stop myself from replying: I wish I was yours too, Mistress Eve!
When she was satisfied (which took some time) she got up off the chair in front of me and placed her canvas shoes back on her feet. She then patted me on the head with her bare hand and cooed:
‘Thank you for that, slave, I really enjoyed it! Sorry you will be suffering later on tonight; I will think of you as I wiggle my nice, clean toes in these nice, clean shoes as I down a few glasses of wine on my sister’s account! HA!’
What a woman!
I then turned my own thoughts to my impending punishment. Goddess Mistress Jessica was no run-of-the-mill, whip mistress. She much preferred longer, and more devious, methods of punishment. She truly was a vicious little vixen at heart! She had lots of money to spend on little toys to further humiliate and degrade her slave. They were also designed to make my life painful and miserable in every way!
Later that night, as my Mistress Jessica inserted a jaw breakingly large ball-gag into my mouth, and fastened it, I cracked an internal smile at the thought of her half sister, Mistress Eve, getting all merry at Mistress Jessica’s expense. Indeed, I myself was so merry with this thought that I had not seen that Mistress Jessica had produced my most hated of all of her ‘toys’ from the closet! A device she called ‘the crippler’!
This was a close fitting set of steel, interlocking bars that forced me into a crouched position at the foot of her bed. I would be in agony the whole night through! All I could do was concentrate on her pretty, sleeping, bare feet as I suffered the crippling spasms and cramps of the cruelly designed, dungeon device! Only tonight, I would be imagining Mistress Eve’s somewhat inebriated feet coming out from her cleaner than usual shoes! I would have the last laugh! OOOW the cramp is setting in!
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More time passed by. I was, sadly, never that close to Mistress Eve again, as my Goddess Mistress Jessica suspected that she was playing free and loose with her precious money. The pair were never that close anyway.
I was subjected to many humiliating acts in public. Indeed, I was quite a sub-celebrity myself! I was frequently involved in photo-shoots under the feet of Mistress Jessica in one way or another. I would even be asked to sign the feet or shoes of some female admirers (of my Mistress Jessica!). Who could have imagined such a thing? A mere slave – becoming a semi-celebrity!
All good things must come to an end however.
Goddess Mistress Jessica was beginning to tire of my constant presence. She wanted a younger, more attractive model as she would look more dominating as she ‘towered’ (at five foot nothing) over the younger, fitter slave that she craved!
First, though, she had to get rid of me. She was quite honest about it:
‘I have just grown so repulsed by your grotesque appearance that I want rid of you, you little cretin!’
I was rather foolishly hoping that she may “gift” to Mistress Eve! One morning, however, I got my answer. Mistress Eve was in the opulent home of Goddess Mistress Jessica. Maybe my wish had come true, after all?
But three pairs of female feet could now be seen in front of the kneeling fool on the floor. The familiar, diamond-encrusted, black, high-heeled shoes of my current Mistress Jessica; the tatty and now hole-ridden, grubby-white deck shoes of her half sister, Mistress Eve; and what looked like a pair of female-police uniform boots?
‘Is this the one, Miss Jessi?’
‘Yes, this is the one, Officer!’
‘Slave, you have been accused of committing acts of sexual indecency with your Mistress’s white and pink striped anklesock. You are hereby found guilty of said crime, as we have a witness who saw the act!’
Who on earth could they produce to bear out this fictitious nonsense?
Mistress Eve stepped forward, and confirmed that she had seen the sexually explicit act, and would confirm this in court!
So, the two half sisters were finally united in one common cause – their hatred towards a male slave!
I was taken to a show trial that was watched by thousands. Interviewers queued outside my tiny cell to ask me questions on what made me supposedly ‘degrade’ the female sock in such a depraved way?
I was at a loss for words – not least because I didn’t do it! I had a terrible feeling that I knew what was coming to me next!
Days later, I had my theory confirmed.
‘Prisoner in the dock, I hereby sentence you to life in the foothole dungeons. I further decree that, as a lasting symbol of the hatred that you have incurred from the outraged, female populace of this great land, you be fitted into a welded, metal cangue of immense weight!’
I was justifiably worried about the outcome of the trial. In one respect, I was glad that I was no longer a celebrity. I would eventually be forgotten about in the foothole dungeons beneath the court. I did not fancy the idea of a heavy metal cangue though!
This was hastily sourced from a nearby Blacksmith and welded about my neck for evermore. The only way to remove this symbol of female oppression was to decapitate the wearer! I was in no hurry to have it removed as a result!
There I was, safely secured in the below ground, boxlike cell for evermore (or so it would seem, as this tale has yet another, cruel twist).
Nearly two more years have now passed by (agonisingly slowly, I might add). I was eventually granted my wish of anonymity. Initially, my imprisonment in the foothole dungeons actually lead to much unwanted attention. So many young women wanted to be able to brag to their friends that they had forced the one-time personal footslave of the TV star Miss Jessi to kiss their feet! I was not enjoying this regular attention.
Eventually, however, after a couple of months or so, the regular prison-visitors stopped. They were replaced with regular prison-tormentresses! Sadistic, young women who get pleasure out of adding to the misery of the imprisoned, male convict!
In particular, I seemed to attract the unwanted attention of the fearsome Miss Lara. She was a curly-dark-haired, buxom young woman with a taste for spike-heeled, pointy-toed, black zip up kneeboots. She loved teasing me with the prospect of sniffing, and then licking, her socks on her pretty feet if I could only guess what colour of socks she was wearing inside her boots. Rather unsurprisingly, I never guessed correctly, despite naming all of the colour variants in the rainbow!
Each wrong guess earned me another session of facial torture. Fortunately, the only saving grace of the foothole dungeon is that one’s body is securely locked out of harm’s way (no whipping for me ever again)! Miss Lara instead took it upon herself to discipline me by using her sharp, jagged toenail cuttings which she brought in a bag to jab and stab at my lips, ears and nose. She would fake excitement as my feeble guessing game (guess the sock colour) was supposedly ‘getting warmer’. But this just meant that she would casually drop the clippings one by one into my mush bowl, ready for my one evening meal!
Even the toenail-tormentress Miss Lara eventually forgot about me and moved on to the next newly-incarcerated prisoner. (I was furious one day when, out of sight, I heard the shrill voice of Miss Lara shout: ‘That’s right! You got it, they are orange, prisoner! Well, I must remove my boots for you and let you get to work, as a reward!’)
I know that orange was always my third guess of the day, whenever she deigned to visit me! But she never wore orange socks in my day!
Nobody comes to visit me now. I am just let out through my head hatch for one hour a day as I am deemed too ugly to be on show when free women come to visit the dungeons. I am regretting my wish now; my wish just to be left alone!
A month later, and something very unusual happened. I was shocked to have the head hatch sharply opened (for the second time in one day!)
‘Show yourself prisoner’.
I slowly pushed my head through the hatch, and the secondary hatch that looked like a mouse hole was clapped shut, rendering it impossible for me to retract my head into the safety of my cell.
‘Yes, that’s the one alright! My God, he has aged badly though hasn't he?! Right, will the five thousand still swing the deal?’
I was stunned to see a very attractive, young blonde woman, wearing a tight pair of black jeans, black trainers and black ankle socks. She was talking serious money (but what for)?
The women left me alone for a while and then returned with keys and transport chains. For the first time in two years and one month, the lock to my cell was opened! I had been illegally purchased by a mystery Mistress! Rumours of illegal slave purchases from the foothole dungeons are rife in the Gynarchy X at the moment. Ex-celebrity footslaves still have some value it would seem. Anyway, I was quite pleased. I know that I had gotten what I wished for (solitude and anonymity) but anything would now be better than this living death! I was so relieved to be free from the foot hell-hole under the court room!
I was hastily chained up, and had a black, cotton sack thrust over my head in case someone recognised me. I was then bundled into a waiting van and driven off at speed to my new, and very illegal, life!
Hours later I was kneeling in the very private house of my new Mistress Sophie. I knelt perfectly still, staring at her trainer-clad feet. I wanted to shower them with kisses for freeing me from my living hell, but managed to resist the temptation! In the background, I could hear my previous Mistress’s voice! It was unmistakably the shrill tones of Goddess Mistress Jessica!
Mistress Sophie laughed and commented:
‘Don't worry, you idiot! It’s just the television; your old Mistress is a real high flyer now, ever since she made you disappear that is! HA!’
Mistress Sophie went on to explain:
‘Basically, I have always wanted my own footslave, but not in the sense that you are imagining now in your stupid, male mind! I want something that has never been done before; I want to achieve the “unachievable”, and you will be a pivotal part of my grand plan, slave! I am not someone to be trifled with, as you will soon see, and I am going to break you! Make no mistake about it! But, I promise that you will be something that this world has never really seen before – a popular, well-loved, male slave! HA!’
What a strange thing to say?
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It took months to get to know my somewhat icy and aloof, new Mistress Sophie. I spent my nights locked in a small slave cage in her wine cellar. Very little actual foot worship ever seemed to take place. She was, indeed, quite an oddball Mistress!
My day time was spent as all slaves would want; in bed! I mean ‘bed’ in the lowest possible sense. I literally spent nearly every day, of every week, lying on my back on a steel platform, chained tightly down. Most slaves would kill for this, but, when one is wearing a welded, iron cangue about one’s scrawny neck, laying on one’s back is no easy feat (certainly if comfort is something that you have grown accustomed to in any way)!
I was, of course, forbidden to speak whilst in this makeshift laboratory. As the days went by, and Mistress Sophie tinkered with expensive looking equipment, she would mutter to herself, or ask me rhetorical questions, like ‘They won’t be laughing at me when the proton condenser actually polarises the electron field, will they slave? HA!’
Eventually I was able to piece together a story that seemed to fit. Mistress Sophie was, and still is, a very clever young lady. She had been in some kind of think tank sponsored by the female government. I remember reading in a physics magazine (I was interested in science before I became a criminal) that a government funded project was making advances in the field of matter transmition! ‘Teleportation’ is the more commonly used term for this hitherto unproven field of scientific experimentation. The female think tank was obviously dissolved when the project was abandoned.
Mistress Sophie, however, seems to have taken the whole project upon herself, or something like that anyway?
The theory of teleportation is quite simple, really. The object is broken down into pure energy and transmitted to a remote location for re-assembly! At least, it sounds simple, but the energy and computing power needed to achieve this feat is still science fiction. However, Mistress Sophie eventually admitted to me, over a particularly fraught hissy fit in the lab, that she knew that matter transmition was not yet possible. She was not interested in this field anymore, anyway!
So why was I strapped down under this contraption then?
Mistress Sophie was quite normal in some respects, she liked to unwind after a hard day’s computing in the punishment room. I would nightly be strapped to a large whipping frame and she would set about beating my back with a riding crop!
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This seemed quite normal (if a little callous, as I had done nothing to merit this merciless beating, in my humble opinion). The only unusual thing about it, was that Mistress Sophie insisted on dressing up in her so-called “whipping outfit” for the session! The whipping outfit consisted of tight-fitting, red lycra leggings, and a tight-laced, trimmed bra. Her hair was also tied back out of harm’s way, and she was barefoot to ensure good ground purchase! It was quite a sight to see such an attractive young woman dressed so revealingly! She deliberately stood in front of the whipping frame so that I could see her before she went behind to begin my punishment!
She loved the fact that I, a supposedly impotent slave, was visibly getting aroused before she began beating me!
This sinister cycle was always repeated: 06:00 chained to the lab table all day until 18:00, when it was off to the punishment room for SWISH CRACK! until 19:30, to be locked into my cage for the night, only for the ritual to begin all over again the following day!
Then, one day everything changed for the worst! Mistress Sophie finally divulged the true nature of her experiment to me:
‘The project was not a complete failure, you see, slave. We managed to get a partial dematerialization, but the machine broke down and the rose petal that we were trying to transmit rematerialized, but at only one-twentieth its original size! Just imagine being one-TWENTIETH of your size, slave! Well, hopefully we won’t have to imagine it for too long, eh? I am nearly ready to begin now!’
‘Oh pray Mistress! No, please! I don't want any part of that! Please whip me; beat me; anything you want, Goddess Mistress Sophie! But not that!’
Mistress Sophie emotionlessly shoved a huge gag into my mouth, and buckled it into position.
‘Quiet, you moron! It has to be tonight as the storm warnings are out! I have extended the lightning conductors in readiness. You see, the only way I can get enough power to complete the experiment is to store up a lighting strike in a huge capacitor! This will then discharge into the plasma coil and the energy will then be emitted from the array over your body. It is quite simple really, I am going to convert most of your body mass into pure energy; or in terms you would understand numbskull, I’m going to shrink you!’
I was terrified! Worse still was the anticipation, as we had no control over the experiment. We were waiting on a lighting strike that may never come!
It looked as though I was going to get a reprieve as, at midnight, Mistress Sophie was about ready to give up.
Then, all of the sudden it happened! There was a rumble of thunder and ZZZZAAAAP
The laboratory lit up in a bright arc of light! The emitter array over my restrained body started to make a terrible shrieking noise, and it felt as though I was on fire! Everything went white as my body felt as though it was being erased from existence.
Two seconds later, and it was all over. I was shaking with fear and energy. But for once, I had no pain in my neck. I raised my hands (now free from the shackles) to my neck. For the first time in two and a half years my neck was free of my dreaded, metal cangue!
That was it, I must be dead then? Some life that was!
Then I looked up. Still lying on its back was the cangue. It was about twenty feet high! Next to it was my ball gag, again it must have been eight feet in diameter! As my eyes grew accustomed to the light all became clear. The horrid experiment was a complete success! I stood barely one and three quarter inches tall!
‘HA! Success! I knew it would work!’
The sound of a giantess rang out in my ears as Mistress Sophie jumped for joy!
I felt her blow-lamp-temperature breath come howling towards me as she asked:
‘How are you liking it so far, mini-slave?’
I was so terrified of what she might do to me that I turned and ran! She simply grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and dropped me back onto the table.
‘I knew you would try to run, so I have got something for you!’
She produced a model sized (to her anyway) ball and chain. It had two rings attached to a ‘hefty’ chain. She slid the rings over my ankles and pressed them closed with a set of modelling players! I was trapped again!
‘Just one more thing, slave, I have prepared this for you before we go any further’….
Mistress Sophie then produced a match box that contained what must be the world’s smallest foot fool mask! She thrust it over my head and heated it with a fan heater to shrink it still further! It was now sealed on!
I passed out with all of the shock. When I came to, I was wearing a permanent, rubbery glow in the dark yellow and green mask. On the front was the simple word ‘FEET’, and on the reverse was the word ‘TOES’ in opposing bold colours. Mistress Sophie opined that, as I was to be spending so much of my life from now on in between her toes and socks, I needed my new ‘glow-in-the-dark face’. It would also deter my running away, as I was nice and easy to spot now!
So, there I was – presented with the biggest feet in the world! She had removed her running shoes and pink and white ankle socks for me (as I was simply not able to now) and placed her huge feet on the floor in front of me! Her long, black-lacquered foot talons projecting from her big toes would now go half way round my waist, if she trimmed one off that is!
‘Well, we had better get started, hadn't we slave? HA!’
The stench was indescribable! The heat from her feet was like a giant radiator! How do you worship something that large? I was now so small I could hide in the gaps underneath her toes (not that I wanted to!). Forgetting my ball and chain, I stumbled forward and began kissing her big toes. Would she even feel it?
I pressed my hands in as hard as I could, trying to massage the outer edges of her left big toe. It was like trying to rub your hands against deep-ridged cardboard! The tough skin was a real hardship to get to grips with! I had a feeling that this is how my life would be spent from now on.
Mistress Sophie was very much enjoying her success in cutting me down to size. She only had one problem, one small problem; how best to secure me for the night?
‘Ah, I’ve got it! In you get slave!’
I was ushered into one of the hastily discarded, pink and white striped, still sweat-moistened ankle socks! The top end was tied shut with string and I was then taken to the bedroom to be fitted to the footboard of the bed by means of a drawing pin! I was sealed into a world of sock stench!
Most slaves experience smelly socks at one time or other, but imagine being sealed into one! I was literally surrounded by the sock. Gravity forced me into the sweatiest toe areas of the hosiery! Worse still, Mistress Sophie would occasionally kick me, to check I was still there and still breathing! She was too excited to sleep!
The next day started as the last one had finished. I got no sleep in my sock prison. I was awoken by my still barefoot Mistress, the mad professor Sophie. She turfed me out of the sweaty sock and onto the bedroom floor, and then set out towards me with her HUGE feet! I thought she was going to trample me!
Instead, she skillfully picked me up by pinching me between her smaller toes on her left foot! I was trapped between the smelliest part of a woman’s foot!
Mistress Sophie eventually went public with her invention and became famous throughout the Gynarchy X. I was propelled into newfound stardom too, as the world’s smallest footslave! Female fantasists wrote stories about me, and paid small fortunes to privately humiliate me with their feet!
Skilled model makers were hired to build me a set of stocks made from balsa wood, and a cage made from wire was built for me so I had no privacy whatsoever. Some uncomfortable joke furniture was even made for me out of toenail clippings donated by female visitors, and I was exhibited in a footslave doll’s house!
There, I was routinely ordered to use my hands as spatulas and remove plate sized lumps of sweaty sticky toe jam from underneath women’s toenails. Needless to say, a scale-sized plate was provided for me to sit at my toenail table and eat my meal with toenail cutlery!
I was now the laughing stock in the balsa wood stocks in a doll’s house. A real tiny fool of a man!
My droopy rubber ears said it all, really. I was truly oppressed and humiliated to the maximum extent, and doomed to a life between female toes, inside women’s socks and shoes, and living in a doll’s house.
Oh for the safety of the foothole dungeon!
