Pathetically Pandering to our Female Betters Vol 3
Further examples of suitably ingratiating behaviour by humble, male footslaves towards our beloved Female Masters & Betters!
The ginger-haired, petite and shapely office-mistress is visiting the showroom of ‘Footrests-R-Us’ in order to try picking out a personal footrest for her office desk.
Needless to say it will be a human footrest (well, a sub-human footrest, at any rate since it will consist of a human, male slave!)
She is walking around the showroom trying out the various ‘headrests’ – a particular style of human-footrest which involves the mistress resting one of her feet on the side of a male slave’s upturned cheek, whilst her other foot rests on the floor in front of his face. It is considered one of the most comfortable and unobtrusive styles of footrest for a young woman to have underneath her desk whilst she is working on her computer.
The ginger-haired office mistress, who looks to be in her early thirties, may even be a manageress of some sort, as she is smartly attired in her black-pinstriped office suit, comprising a jacket and knee-length skirt over a frilly, white blouse; dark nylon tights; and a pleasing pair of single-strapped, chunky-heeled, black leather, mary-jane style shoes.
What is particularly pleasing to the trial-footrest slave currently lying underneath her potential-customer feet, is the fact that her matt-black mary-janes have a fetching rim of shiny, patent-black leather along the insteps and toe areas – adding a unique touch of black patent leather class to the otherwise ordinary-looking , everyday, female-office shoes. The shininess of the shoe-rims also contrasts nicely with the opaque blackness of her nylon tights!
For his part, the trial showroom-footrest would dearly love to be purchased by the sweet and kind-looking, ginger-haired office mistress. He could think of a lot worse places to spend his time than down at her chunky, mary-jane heels beneath her office desk.
But, for her part, the redheaded mistress is not so sure! She calls over a salesman:
‘Yes, madam, how may I help you?’
‘I’m not quite sure if this footrest’s face really fits my foot?’ she explains.
The salesman – ever eager for his sales commission – moves to reassure the diffident, ginger-haired customer-mistress that this particular male model’s face is a perfect fit for madame’s right shoe:
‘Oh, but his face compliments your shoe most wonderfully, madame! See how when you dig your heel into the side of his upturned chin, the dirty sole of your shoe-toe just covers his temple area? And meanwhile your left shoe dominates the whole of his vision as it rests on the floor in front of his face. Really, madame, it appears to be a perfect fit! Is it not comfortable for you, madame?’
The lady flexes her right footmuscles as her dainty, mary-janed foot rests on the human-footrest’s upturned left cheek – simultaneously causing the muscles in her dark-nylon-stockinged, left anklebone to flex, thereby providing the mesmerised, and by now completely enamoured, (sub)human footrest with a nylon-stockinged floorshow of subliminal, rippling and cascading creases and folds in her opaque, black nylon tight-material!
Oh how he is willing the salesman’s patter to succeed, so that he can feel the pitter-patter of this young office-manageress’s dainty feet on the side of his face every working day, and be witness to her dark-nylon-anklebone creases on a regular basis!
But the young lady, it seems, is still not convinced. The footrest’s face just doesn’t fit! And if your face doesn’t fit – you won’t get the job!
That’s the way of the Gynarchy!
She stands up, and moves on – to the next footrest on show; hastily followed, I might add, by an increasingly anxious and desperate salesman!
The rejected footrest knows that whatever happens now – whether or not the young lady purchases another footrest in the showroom this afternoon – he himself shall be sorely whipped; and all because his face didn’t fit her semi-shiny shoe!
Damn!
The twenty-something, petite and slender, fit-looking, Asian girl may have gotten glammed up for her twenty-something boyfriend, in her stylish, light grey baseball-cap (worn rebelliously backwards, of course!); her light grey T shirt; her matching, light grey, unbuttoned jersey; and her equally slovenly-worn, grey and white striped, below-the-knee skirt which she has somehow managed to put on with a revealing slit up the front!
But so far as her footwear is concerned – she appears to have made no effort at all! A pair of grubby-white, high-top, lace-up, converse sneakers, with the tongues slovenly turned down at the front to reveal a scrunched-up pair of latticed-stitched, grubby-white anklesocks – socks which would probably be at least calf-length, if not knee-length, if they were pulled up nice and tidily on her pockmarked, lower legs!
But, I sense that the sock-and-sneaker slovenliness is all part of her sultry, seductive appearance – designed to attract her boyfriend! Either that, or she just likes imposing her slutty, scuzzy, casual footwear on my public-shoelick face!
I suppose, to give her her due, she is ordering me to ‘lickshine’ her dirty sneakers i.e. to spruce them up a bit; so she is not totally without a sense of young-womanly concern and shame about the unkempt state of her footwear!
But she really could have made more of an effort in the first place – straighten those sneaker-tongues and pull up those rolled-down socks, for starters! However, such amendments to her footwear-clothing do not appear to be on the agenda – I am merely ordered by her, in her cute, oriental accent – to lickshine the surfaces of her street-soiled sneakers, in front of, and below, her grinning, similarly-aged, similarly baseball-capped, Asian boyfriend. I am her public, slovenly-sneaker-and-sock slave, and must respect her oriental-girl, designer, footwear-floozieness, and do as I’m told.
For, ultimately, I am worth less than her unkempt sneakers and socks!
The superior master-sir to the inferior, public footslave: ‘Yo slave, what does you tink to me bitch’s long, black kneesocks while you is lickshinin’ she dirty, black ankleboots, man?’
The inferior, public footslave to the superior master-sir: ‘Oh pray master-sir, if it pleases you, master-sir; this slave is truly humbled by the pretty, black mistress’s tall, black kneesocks on her smooth, black legs as they tower over him, most magnificent and respected master-sir!’
The superior master-sir to the inferior, public footslave: ‘Hja! Hja! Too right, bwoy! An’ don’t you forgit it! You is lower than she socks bwoy! Hja! Hja! What a loser! Hja! Hja!’
The inferior, public footslave to the superior master-sir: ‘Yes, master-sir! Indeed, master-sir!’
The supremely superior, pretty, black mistress-madam to the slightly less superior master-sir: ‘Hja! Hja! Make him kiss me socks, Diron honey! Make him show some respect for me socks, an’ that!’
The slightly less superior master-sir to the supremely superior, pretty, black mistress-madam: ‘Hja! Hja! Sho thing, honey!...Yo footbwoy! You heard me ho – kiss she on the sock, bwoy! Kiss she on the ankle, an’ lower yoh gaze while you is kissin’ she on the sock, foh you isn’t worthy to be lookin’ at she above the ankle, bwoy! You dig?’
The inferior, public footslave to both the slightly less superior master-sir and the supremely superior, pretty, black mistress-madam: ‘Yes, master-sir! Yes, mistress-madam! At once, master and mistress! Please don’t beat me, masters!’
My new, twenty-something mistress looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth – nerdy; mousey; bespectacled; with brown, shoulder-length hair; wearing a black scarf and beige brown cardigan over a brown and red speckled, modestly knee-length dress, and flat brown loafers with creased, beige brown anklesocks.
Furthermore, one of her anklesocks is distinctly lower than the other.
But just listen to her introductory speech to me:
‘Slave, you will remain on your hands and knees in my presence at all times and look only at my shoes and socks. You will accompany me to heel wherever I go, and shall never look away from my shoes and socks. When I give you the order to worship my shoes and socks, you will kiss them all over, and you will not stop kissing them until I tell you to. Similarly, when I order you to take off my brown loafer shoes and sniff my brown socks, you will sniff them out loud, and you will not stop sniffing them until I tell you to. This applies whether or not we are in public or in private. You will wash all of my dirty socks in your mouth, and lickshine all of my dirty shoes and boots. You will not speak unless spoken to, and every day you will be whipped. Do I make myself clear, slave?’
‘Y…yes, nerdy mistress! As it p…pleases you, n…nerdy m…mistress!’
I should explain that calling a mistress ‘nerdy’ in the Gynarchy is considered a compliment, since nerdy girls always do well in this society. In fact, they are often referred to as ‘nerd-do-wells’!
What an honour to be the servant of such a dominant, nerd-do-well mistress!
The pastor’s daughter – 23 year old, blonde-ponytailed miss Abigail – likes to wear revealing tops; a blue denim miniskirt; low-heeled, black, lace-up, knee-high leather boots; and thick, black, ribbed, woolly kneesocks inside her long boots.
She also likes to shove her boots in my face, and to make me nose the very tops of her ribbed, black kneesocks above her black leather bootrims, since I am the family footslave.
She also likes having me whipped – though her father won’t let her whip me herself, as he thinks such things are much too unladylike (much to her young-womanly annoyance!)
Sometimes the feisty and faithless miss Abigail gets one of her boyfriends to whip me – in the woods, whilst I am kneeling on the forest floor with my head trapped between her booted calf-muscles. After the whipping, she insists that I kiss her mudstained boots and socks, and praise and bless both her and her boyfriend for whipping me so ‘nicely’ in the woods.
She likes it when I sob into her boots, and wash her dirty, woollen socktops with my frightened tears. For she knows she is innately better than me, and glories in her female power over me – even though she likes to come across as all submissive and coy to her manly boyfriends.
I know her better than that, though. And I know that, in an ideal world, she would have me as her permanent, personal boot and sock servant, and would whip me herself every day – here in the woods near her home. There is nothing she would like more than to string me up to a whipping tree and whip my bare back red, ragged raw whilst she is wearing her whipping boots and socks!
But she can’t – because she is the pastor’s, supposedly sweet and demure, daughter, and therefore is constrained by convention.
More’s the pity!
The tall, twenty-something black girl with the cut-off, denim hotpants; long bare legs; white, slip on plimsolls; and matching, white, ruffled anklesocks is, herself, completely unruffled!
She graciously sits herself down in front of the kneeling stocks in which I am publicly confined; stretches out her legs in front of me, crossing her white-socked feet over at the ankles directly beneath my helpless and powerless face; and deftly takes out her Tupperware lunchbox from her neighbouring carrier bag – placing it on her sumptuous lap before undoing the lid and taking out the first of her cheesy-smelling sandwiches.
Or is that the cheesy aroma of her socks, for she has deftly kicked off her plimsolls beneath my kneeling face.
She has clearly come to stay a while – to gloat over my misfortune and suffering in the stocks, even though she doesn’t know me from Adam! To her, I am merely a representative of inferior manhood, trussed up and impotent in the stocks; which is what she likes.
Her ruffled, white anklesocks crease and fold subliminally around the yellowy, exposed toe-areas directly below my confined-in-wood face as she tucks in to her tasty morsels above me.
She then breaks her silence by, rather rudely, barking a female order down at me with her pretty mouth full:
‘Slave, kiss my socks!’
I respond, of course, very politely, with an empty mouth – and an empty stomach, since I haven’t eaten for three days!
‘Yes, black mistress. At once, black mistress!’
This is going to hurt; I’m going to have to strain my neck even further forwards and downwards if my parched and dry lips are to reach even the ruffled tops of her succulent, grubby-white anklesocks – and this young black woman isn’t showing any signs of wanting to help me by gently raising her feet a few inches up off the dirty ground, thereby bringing them closer to my face.
Quite the opposite, in fact; I suspect she is enjoying watching my pain – a pain born of the need to obey her haughty and degrading, cheesy sock-kissing order!
But to her evident chagrin, I succeed in fulfilling her demeaning demand – for I deeply want to kiss her socktops, as a symbol of my prisoner-penitent admiration and respect for her, the cruel young gloater-woman whose idea of a fun day out is to picnic, alone, in front of a helpless prisoner-slave in the stocks, whilst tormenting him with her long, bare legs and short socks.
Oh, if only my mouth could reach the reinforced, sweaty toe-areas!
She now appears to be somewhat ruffled, for she had been hoping for an excuse to beat me with the nearby public whipping-stick – to beat me for failing to reach her socks with my lips! But I was never going to fail in such a painful and difficult task. For I am, you see, a natural sock-submissive, and therefore completely unruffled by the would-be cruelty of her ruffled, white anklesocks!
She still picks up the whipping stick and beats me anyway, of course – for ruffling her feathers!
Chubby, black, cornrow-haired, African-Caribbean office-mistress Sandra warned me – as she took up her high seat in the office-corridor shoelick-seat of female power in front of me – that, just because she had come in for an office training course, and was therefore dressed in a 'smart casual' outfit consisting of a pair of navy-blue Chinos; matching navy-blue, laced-up, canvas deck-shoes; and plain black anklesocks (as opposed to her usual office garb of a black-pinstriped, knee-length skirt; dark nylons; and low-heeled, black leather courts), it didn't mean I could be more 'casual' or relaxed when it came to my intricate tonguework on her footwear! She still expected me to do a good job of sprucing up her shoes and socks – and she kindly reinforced that message by casually whacking me across my bare shoulder blade with the communal-use, office whipping stick.
Boy, did that smart!
Goddess-mistress Sandra then proceeded to direct my tonguework on her unusually casual footwear by pointing with the threatening end of the same whipping stick to those specific areas of her deck-shoes and socks she wanted my tongue to attend to – namely:
- The white-rubbery, ridged insteps of her otherwise navy-blue, soft canvas deck shoes – which she said I needed to lick hard in order to extract all the ingrained streetdirt
- The blue canvas uppers, which again, she pointed out, were dirt and dust traps
- The white plastic eyelets which her grubby-white laces ran through (she wanted the tiny eyelets 'shined', as she put it)
- The grubby-white laces themselves, which she wanted ‘sucked clean and bright!’
- The bobbled areas of her creased, black cotton anklesocks, which she wanted debobbled, and divested of any foreign bits of fluff and/or hairs (but she stressed that she wanted the creases to remain in place! She didn't want to look overly smart!)
All the while, the whipping stick was alternating between pointing out the areas of her fat black-girl, casual footwear that she wished me to attend to, and gently, but threateningly, tapping on my still smarting, freshly whipped shoulder blade, lest I start to slack!
It was a similar process for her white, office colleague – blonde-ponytailed miss Kirsty – who was also, evidently, on the same training course, and therefore dressed in an unusually casual pair of tight-fitting, blue-denim jeans and white socks inside a smart-looking pair of pointy-toed, spike-heeled, beige-brown, patent leather, zip-up ankleboots with little, purely decorative, padlocks on the sides; such a pleasing contrast to her normally boring, plain black, sock-hiding, office Ugg boots tucked inside black polyester, office trouser-suit hems! (I wonder if miss Kirsty normally wears such sexy, white anklesocks inside her misshapen, black sheepskin, trouser-covered Ugg boots? I've always assumed she went sockless to work!)
Finally, I was approached by petite and slender, deliciously dark-haired, softly-spoken, Indian office-mistress Padma, and her office boyfriend – master Darren sir – who loudly insisted that I 'shine up' miss Padma's already shiny-looking, black snakeskin, square-toed and chunky-heeled, low-cut ankleboots still further, beneath her black cotton, bootcut, trouser-hems.
These were the same low-cut ankleboots and black cotton trousers that miss Padma always wears to work, but today she was wearing a casual, brightly-coloured, pink and red, stripy top (instead of her usual, much more sober, plain black cotton jacket and white blouse), and pink cotton anklesocks inside her boots, instead of the usual black socks.
I must say it was nice, for a change, to see how these three young office ladies dress casually, and to serve them in their casual foot-attire for a change – as opposed to having to serve them in their normal, everyday, office footwear – and, in the case of miss Padma in particular, to serve her in front of her equally casually-dressed, office boyfriend; to see how she dresses to please him, rather than her employers!
Yes, smart-casual, feminine footwear is an unusual and fascinating experience for the office-corridor, shoelick-slave's unworthy tongue to have to attend to. The office whipping stick still smarts just the same, however!
I am lying, face down, on the punishment bench in the office punishment room, my head hanging over the shiny, low-ankle-cut, chunky-heeled, black snakeskin boots of office-mistress Padma, whose black cotton, bootcut trouser-hems are sufficiently raised to reveal the twisted tops of her ubiquitous, black, office anklesocks.
Meanwhile, her office boyfriend – master Darren sir – is standing behind me, and beating my trussed-up, unprotected, bare feet with a thin and whippy rattan cane!
He is punishing me for allegedly lusting after his girlfriend's pink bootsocks the other day!
The falaka is pure agony, as the pain sweeps through my entire, prostrate, maleslave body from the soles of my feet to the tip of my brain, via my liver and kidneys!
But at least I have the comfort of knowing that sweet and kind, office-mistress Padma's delicate, Indian-girl feet are well-protected inside her boots and socks in front of my screaming, repentant face!
'Harder!' she urges her boyfriend on, her black socktops creasing even further inside her shiny, black snakeskin, low-ankle boots with mounting delight and excitement at my feverish suffering at her dainty, Indian-girl feet.
I like fat, blonde, lazy, thirty-something office-mistress Gemma.
I like her because:
· She suits her chubby, round, blonde-framed face
· She is so fat and lazy, that she will arrogantly summon me – the office footslave – over from my default position in the corner of the office, on my hands and knees, and will then hitch up her fat, black cotton trouser-hem in order to shove her equally fat, black leather, zip-up ankleboot into my face and order me to straighten her twisted, red and white cotton socktop with my slave-nose. She even, laughingly, refers to me as her ‘office sock-skivvy’! (I presume she has another sock-skivvy at home!)
· Her ankleboot is permanently scuffmarked and scuzzy, and could do with a good tongueshining, but she will not let me touch it – only her sock. That shows enormous, mistressly disrespect for me – the sock and boot slave: to deny me the opportunity to service her outer, leather footwear when it is just crying out for my footslavish attention!
Yes, I like chubby, blonde goddess-mistress Gemma, and her dismissive attitude towards me – her personal sock-skivvy!
Chubby, blonde goddess-mistress Gemma has excelled herself today!
In full public view of her laughing and jeering, female office colleagues she decided to ‘marry’ me to one of her ubiquitous, red and white bootsocks.
She summoned me over to her desk; made me kneel in front of her; ordered me to unzip her right, chunky-heeled and scuffmark-toed, black leather ankleboot from her foot; and then to pull off her red and white, anklelength bootsock and lay it on the office floor next to her bare, sock-tanktracked foot.
She then conducted the demeaning ceremony, making me take my marriage vows towards her right sock:
‘Sock skivvy, wilt thou take this sock to be thy wedded wife? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour her and sniff her; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?’
‘I will, mistress Gemma.’
How the ‘congregation’ roared with laughter, as miss Gemma then declared to me:
‘Slave, you may kiss the bride!’
