Pathetically Pandering to our Female Betters Vol 1
Examples of suitably ingratiating behaviour by humble, male footslaves towards our beloved Female Masters & Betters!
I am a laughing stock. Everyone is laughing at me – specifically because my incredibly pretty, 21 year old, frizzy-blonde-haired mistress Louisa is parading me around the touristy areas of the city on my hands and knees behind her shapely, tan-nylon-stockinged anklebones and smart, navy-blue court shoes beneath her short skirt, whilst I am wearing the home-made, footfool mask she has so ‘lovingly’ put together for me!
It’s how she makes her student-money. Some Gynarchy girls go on the game; or become part-time, prison-galley taskmistresses; or part-time, professional whipmistresses, in order to make ends meet and help pay their female student-fees. But my blonde mistress Louisa prefers just to ‘pimp me out’ on the streets as a Gynarchy laughing-stock, having foreign female tourists pay to have their pictures taken as they stand with their shapely, feminine legs on either side of my kneeling and bowed, footfool head!
Right now my head is trapped between the brown leather kneeboots of a beautiful, thirty-something, Iraqi lady, who is attired in traditional Muslim dress from the waist upwards (headscarf; modest top etc.), but ‘westernised’ from the waist downwards (tight, blue denim jeans tucked into said, spike-heeled, pointy-toed boots!). She is accompanied by an Iraqi manfriend.
The Iraqi-lady, who speaks remarkably good English, is smilingly chatting away to my blonde, 21 year old mistress Louisa, evidently curious to know more about the humiliating and dehumanizing footfool mask I am forced to wear between her kneebooted-legs!
As I said, it is an idiosyncratic footfool-mask, made for me specifically by my inventive and highly-talented, young mistress (well, she is a student of ‘Fashion Design’ at her Female College, so you’d expect her to know what she’s doing when it comes to degradingly adorning her personal footservant’s face!) .
The personalised, footslave-gimp mask consists of:
· Green, garish rubber covering the whole of my head and face (thereby giving me an appropriately ‘sickly’ appearance)
· Bright red, boil-like spots, from which my ingenious mistress hangs a different pair of her sweaty, worn sports-socks every day (although she tends to wear fashionable, finest-denier nylons during the day when we are out and about, she goes for a long jog every morning, and hence never has any difficulty in finding a pair of suitably sweaty girlsocks to hang from my ‘boils’!). Today my face is festooned with two dirty white sports anklesocks, each adorned with thin, pink stripes on the cuffs; but, more importantly, with black sweat-marks on the soles. A truly manky-looking pair of young-womanly socks which it is my burden to carry around with me on my green, garish, rubbery face!
· For that reason, and for that reason alone, the only permanently open aperture in the mask consists of a bright pink, pig-shaped snout with breathing holes located near the ends of the dangling socks which are attached to my artificial cheek-boils – i.e. so that I am forced to breathe in only stinky-sock-infected air as I follow my blonde mistress to shapely, nyloned heel around the central streets of the Gynarchy’s capital, Barbaria.
· The artificial, rubbery ears are bright orange, and camel-shaped, and the mouth is bright blue and turned downwards to make me look permanently sad, regardless of whether or not is zipped-up (as it is now), or unzipped – to enable me to kiss female feet or lickshine female shoes or boots.
· The ‘hair’ consists of literally dozens of little, multicoloured, plasticky, high-heeled shoes – each about a centimetre in diameter – and, according to my mistress Louisa, which represent my oppression by the feet of many, superior women, as I am literally downtrodden by lots of little feminine stilettos! (I can see her point, as can the laughing, female tourists!)
· Finally, as is the tradition with a footfool mask, it is covered in derogatory words designed to emphasise my complete and utter subjugation and obsession with female feet and footwear. My mistress Louisa writes the words on in black, felt-tip pen – so she keeps changing them in accordance with her mood – but at the moment I gather they read: ‘Stinky-Socks Sniffer’; ‘Toe-Jam Eater’; ‘Toenail-Fancier’; & ‘About To Be Whipped’ (Those last set of words are engraved permanently on my green, rubbery mask since I am always either in the process of being whipped, or am about to be whipped, by my mistress Louisa’s, brown leather, bulls-pizzle whip; my mistress Louisa loves to whip me, partly to entertain the tourists, but partly also just because whipping her footslave is her hobby).
As I indicated earlier, the Iraqi lady is being particularly inquisitive, politely asking my mistress lots of questions about my humiliating footfool, face-mask as she unsympathetically digs her brown-booted anklebones into my green-rubbery temples for the benefit of her manfriend’s camera (he is standing some feet away holding his camera-phone up towards the happy scene, but appears reluctant to get too close).
So, the sorts of questions the Iraqi tourist-mistress is asking are:
Does the mask ever come off the slave? (No!)
What about his beard underneath? (It is just allowed to grow and fester inside the sweaty, green rubber – which is partly why the slave’s face smells so bad!)
Isn’t the stinky smell more down to the sweaty, black-stained, white socks hanging down from his green, rubber cheeks? (Probably yes!)
Does my mistress not regret being unable to see my facial grimaces of pain when she whips me? (Not really, since his green-rubbery facemask makes him look like he is permanently grimacing, and, in any case, she can always unzip my mouth whilst whipping me if she wishes to hear me cry out with the pain!)
How much did the ugly footfool-mask cost? (Virtually nothing; my mistress Louisa made it all herself using cast-off materials she found in a rubbish tip!)
The Iraqi lady – duly impressed (as well she might be) – heartily congratulates my blonde mistress, before looking down at the miniature-shoe-covered top of my green head, and, hands on hips, making some sarky comments towards me:
‘Ha! Ha! How you are liking it, you the slave? How you are liking having your ugly, green face entrapped between my calves, and feeling the brown leather of my kneeboots digging into your green, rubbery temples? Ha! Ha! Are you not wishing that I would be unzipping the sides of my boots and rubbing the sides of your slimy, green face with my black anklesocks, as you are being nothing more than a ‘stinky-socks sniffer’ for women? Ha! Ha! I think that you are, slave! It is written all over your face! Ha! Ha!’
Even her manfriend relaxes a bit and laughs at the magnificent Muslim mistress’s witty remark, as he switches the phone to ‘video’ mode in order to record his female partner’s mercilessly mocking words!
Because my mouth is currently zipped-up, I cannot answer her back; but, internally, I praise and bless the Iraqi mistress for enjoying my humiliation, as I simultaneously silently praise and bless my sweet, blonde, personal-footmistress Louisa for making such a public fool out of me!
I am reduced to gelatine – a blithering idiot, tongue-fumbling his way in fear and trembling around the scuffmarked, ordinary-everyday pair of block-heeled, round-toed, black leather, zip-up, officewear ankleboots in front of my face, and all because those boots are currently adorning the feet of the terrifyingly beautiful, bespectacled, twenty-two year old, ginger-ponytailed miss Josie from Accounts!
To most people in the office she’s not at all terrifying – just beautiful and lovely; a ‘sweetie’; or a ‘ginger-haired cutie’!
So why does she reduce me to a quivering, stuttering, footslave wreck?
Because she is unpredictable, and pathologically cruel in her exercise of girl power! She will not hesitate to whip a helpless, male slave at her booted feet – like me – for an inappropriate bootlick here; for a nose brushing without permission against the twisted top of a black, cotton bootsock there; for a perceived grimace of instinctive disgust at the strong-smelling, outdoor street-muck and filth stuck to her indoor office-bootsoles; for a perceived lack of gratitude for the foul and bitter taste of her musty-smelling, well-worn, black leather ankleboots; or even for a worshipful tongue inadvertently caught in her ankleboot-zipper.
She will whip, and whip and whip, without warning, and will not flinch from her young-womanly duty to soundly whip an incompetent or disrespectful office shoelick-slave; hence I have come to subliminally associate her cuteness with acute pain and suffering – my acute pain and suffering!
I g...greet her as b...best I can, in my f...faltering, humble s...slavespeak:
'Oh p...pray, m...mistress J...Josie, if it p...pleases y...you, g...goddess m...mistress J...Josie, this s...slave thanks and b...blesses you for honouring him with y...your p...presence t…today, m...mistress, if y...you would be so k...kind and m...merciful to a l...lowly, office f...footslave, m...mistress?'
I don't really want to have to talk to her, since I find her so intimidating; but p...protocol dictates that an office footslave must always g...greet an office mistress, and verbally fawn and flatter towards her, unless he is officially just a dumbass footslave!
I think what really freaks me out about her, though, as she sits female-triumphantly on the office-corridor shoelick throne of power above me, quietly revelling in my nervousness whilst I kneel with my humbly-bowed head over her ginger-girl, black leather anklebooted feet, is the fact that she looks so sweet in her smart, dark-grey-pinstriped, office trouser-suit; like butter wouldn’t melt in her ordinarily smiling, thin-lipped mouth! She even sounds incredibly sweet and unthreatening (to most people) with her customarily kind words, and her softly-spoken and very feminine, young-womanly voice.
But when she reaches for that thin and wiry, communal-use, office whip, and lowers her normally high-pitched tone in order to authoritatively deliver her boot-licking orders down at me from on high – I cringe in yet further abject fear and footslavish self-pity; for I know the fires of sweet feminine hell are about to be, unsmilingly, unleashed across my bare, maleslave back!
My poor, middle-aged back shall soon be turned to jelly – to match the rest of my pathetically weak footslave-persona; reduced to a stinging jelly by a 22 year old girl, who is some 22 years my junior; who looks like she wouldn’t hurt a fly; but who sure as hell knows how to crush the confidence of an aging footslave-jellyfish!
'Lickshine my office boots, slave. And remember, the tops of my socks may be close to your face, but the office whip is never far from your back!'
That's her way of whip-warning me not to inadvertently brush my nose or face against her black, office socktops below the bootcut hems of her grey-pinstriped, female office trousers, whilst I am lickshining the upper rims of her black leather ankleboots, however stinky and inviting her socks may look, crumpled as they customarily are around her shapely, pinky-white anklebones. Mistress J...Josie is particularly hot on things like that!
'Y...yes, m...mistress J...Josie; I mean n...no, m...mistress J...Josie; p...please don't b...beat me, m...mistress!'
My sweet and kind, but incredibly self-centred personal footmistress – 28 year old, blonde goddess-mistress Natalie – has informed me that she is going to whip me so that my back blends in with her red and white stripy anklesocks inside her plain, white leather ballet-flats!
She could, of course, just change her socks to pure white to match my unwhipped back, but she thinks that red and white striped socks, and a red and white striped footslave, are much more of a fashion statement.
And she's right!
So whipped I shall be!
This morning I am due to appear before 30 year old, brunette-haired, prison-governess mistress Cassandra – the most powerful young woman in the prison – for sentencing for insubordination.
I have already decided that – whatever she is wearing on her feet in her prison-governess's office – I shall kiss them with humility and contrition, because I am afraid of her (even though she is 20 years my junior) and wish to make a good impression on her footwear and do my best to elicit the sweet, but often elusive, young-womanly mercy and compassion in her!
As it is the height of winter outside, I'm hoping that she is wearing her chunky-heeled, dark brown leather, zip-up ankleboots, black bootcut trousers and black socks – for those would be a suitably sombre boot, sock and trouser-hem combination for me to have to worshipfully cup and kiss, with my trembling male prisoner-slave hands, on such a sombre occasion; especially if they are dirt and mud stained from the damp streets outside.
I'll let you know later what she is actually wearing on her all-powerful, female feet – if I am still in a fit state to talk after my sentencing and summary punishment!
…………………………………………………………………………….
Result! Goddess prison-governess mistress Cassandra was indeed wearing her black cotton, bootcut trousers – but with a delightful pair of shiny, navy-blue patent leather, chunky-heeled, single-strapped, mary-jane style shoes which showed off not only the black uppers of her black anklesocks, but even the very top of a pale blue triangular-logo along the middle of her socked instep on her right foot as she stood masterfully behind me and beat the living daylights out of my poor, prisoner behind with her whippy, prison-governess punishment cane!
It was worth all the pain just to see her black and blue socks so close up and personal whilst she was beating my personal behind black and blue (and red!). Note to self: must be insubordinate more often, but not until my current cane-weals have healed on my truly tenderized buttocks!
The master-sir is pleased with me. He has informed me that his pretty, young, blonde wife believes she has built up a good rapport with me – her personal footservant – by which he means:
· That I always show his wife proper, non-sexual respect – by remaining on my hands and knees at all times in the household, and lowering my head over her feet, so that I can only ever look her in the foot, as befits a common, household footslave;
· By my habit of worshipfully cupping each of her feet in turn (whether they are shod or bare) as I respectfully kiss them;
· By my not lusting after her fit and lithe body, as other men (including himself) constantly do, but by my slavish devotion towards her feet and footwear alone, including her dirty socks and nylons, and her dirty boots and shoes;
· By being an efficient pedicurist, and getting to know how to, gently, remove the dry, hard skin from the backs of his pretty, blonde wife’s heels, as well as the dark, sticky toejam from underneath her toenails (and by disposing of said dead-skin and toejam in an appropriately discreet manner i.e. by swallowing it);
· By becoming an expert in her shoes and socks, and by getting to know his wife’s likes and dislikes when it comes to the outer adornment of her freshly pedicured feet;
· By my fear of her, and her female whip, and my consequent diligence when it comes to obeying her commands;
· By my unquestioning submission to her every young-womanly whim, and my slavish pandering to her every feminine fancy.
The master-sir goes on to inform me that, although I have done nothing wrong and both he and his wife are very pleased by my slavish attitude and loyal performance, he is still going to have to whip me, as a reminder of his continuing superiority over me in the household, as, unlike me, he has not just his wife’s approval, but also her love and respect.
He has, in short, much more than just a good working relationship, or a ‘good rapport’, with his wife; he is her man, and (again, unlike me) satisfies her sexually, thereby making him her favourite.
The master-sir kindly explains that by whipping me, he will be enhancing his machismo still further in the eyes of his pretty wife, and that the sight of my whipped and subdued slave-back will excite her and make her lust for him all the more, as he is clearly the one with the upper whiphand!
I humbly thank the master-sir for his kind words of encouragement and support, and assure him that anything I can do – including suffering under the whip – that will enhance his freemale masculinity in front of the mistress-madam, will be an honour and a privilege for me, since I am just an impotent footslave, and not worthy to think of his wife in terms other than her sox.
The master-sir laughs at me, pulls out the whip, and beats me mercilessly across my cringing, naked back.
With each cut of the whip the master-sir reminds me of my place:
‘Crack!...You’re a just a damned, dirty slave!... Crack!...My wife and I own you!... Crack!...We are both your betters!...Crack!... Even my wife’s socks are your betters!...Crack!... I am your master!… Crack!... And my beautiful wife is your mistress!... Crack!...’
(I don’t think the master-sir quite appreciated the unintended double-entendre contained in that last whip-accompanied pronouncement!)
His blonde wife – alerted by the booming sound of her husband’s masterful voice, the sharp crack of the whip, and the whining fuss of my unmanly cries – comes rushing into the room; laughs at the happy sight of her domineering husband disciplining the pathetic, household footslave; and then promptly proceeds to snog him over my fustigated back, before inviting him to make immediate love to her up in the master-bedroom (even though it’s only 4 o’clock in the afternoon!).
As she leaves me alone, wallowing breathlessly in pain in the centre of their living-room-cum-whipping-room – she knowingly kicks off her soft, black leather, fur-lined house-slippers from her bare, white feet, for me to sniff and kiss downstairs whilst she leads her husband up the stairs to their joint boudoir.
Yes – the master-sir is perfectly correct; I have built up a good rapport with his wife, my footmistress. She even leaves me her sweaty, smelly house-slippers to sniff in the living-room whilst she is making mad, passionate love to him upstairs, inspired by the fresh whip-marks he has carved onto my permanently cowed back.
I am glad to be in service to them both!
You want to know how cold it is?
It’s so cold that even my warm-hearted, twenty-something, Turkish mistress Şadan’s burgundy-coloured, fuzzy and bobbled, thick woollen anklesocks – normally warm to the public-footslave lips as she wears them on her shapely, Turkish-girl feet inside her musty-smelling, black leather ballet-flats, and below the elasticated hems of her ankle-length, black woolly leggings – are actually cold on my mouth!
That’s how cold it is!
Brrrr!
No wonder miss Şadan hastily orders me to warm up her ankles – by breathing on the backs of her burgundy socks!
I like them – the shy, diffident, almost apologetic customer-footmistresses at my public-footlick stand who are seemingly quite embarrassed at having to impose their dirty shoes or boots on my tongue (though not embarrassed enough to refrain completely from doing so – for where’s the fun in that?!)
Take the young, tall, black woman in the smart-casual, cream-coloured, ankle-length dress and black leather, blocky-heeled, round-toed, zip-up ankleboots with black anklesocks, who is currently summoning up the courage to utilise my city-centre, public bootlicking-services; she is clearly ashamed both at the muddy state of her boots, and her need to have me lickshine them for her:
‘Hi slave! Sorry, but would you mind lickshining my dirty boots for me? I’m afraid I stepped in some mud yesterday, and it’s still stuck to the lower sides of my black leather ankleboots. I need you to lick it off for me, please, as I’m on my way to meet my boyfriend, and I can’t have him seeing me like this in dirty boots, can I? Ha! Ha! Oh, and just one other thing – don’t touch my black socks!’
‘Yes mistress; no mistress; at once mistress!’
Such a sweet young black woman! She is politeness personified! She doesn’t owe me an explanation! Her boots are dirty – and I am a public, dirty-boot cleaner. Therefore she has every, female right to use me to lickshine her boots for the benefit of her freemale boyfriend!
And if she wishes to protect her black cotton bootsock-tops from my wandering slave-tongue, she has every right to do that too!
I only wish that all my customer-mistresses were this polite and considerate when they walk up to my bootlick-block! Most of them would merely bark down their orders at me, and expect my immediate compliance:
‘Dirty slave, lickshine the filth off my boots! And don’t touch my socks!’
Of course, more often than not the customer-mistress’s male partner will be with her, and if she is inclined to be shy and submissive, she will be more than happy to let her masculine boyfriend do all the ordering about for her:
‘Hey you down there – the public footslave! Lickshine my girlfriend’s dirty boots – and be snappy about it! We’re on a hot date, and I don’t want you wasting any of our time!’
‘Yes master-sir! At once master-sir!’
Even if he’s a short-ass, I must be suitably polite and respectful towards him; after all, his machismo is at stake in front of his pretty girlfriend, and he’s still a much bigger and better man than I’ll ever be!
Small Man Syndrome by patheticus on GoAnimate
9. She gets the jock; while I get her sock! She’s in love with him! Why wouldn’t she be? He’s the college jock!
I’m just her down-at-heel, personal footslave – so she despises me. I’m not complaining though! Whilst my 22 year old, blonde-airhead, personal footmistress Josephine is actively snogging the college jock on the baseball pitch, I get to kneel next to her grey cotton kneesocks and matching grey sneakers beneath her cut-off, navy-blue and red-striped tracksuit bottoms, and admire the developing creases in her tall sock around her shapely, right anklebone as she dreamily, and subconsciously, lifts her lower, right leg up into the air behind her, immersed in her jock’s manly, lustful embrace!
Her grey kneesock and sneaker is hovering in the baseball-pitch air right in front of my humbly kneeling and bowed face!
She gets the jock, while I get her sock; you can’t say any fairer than that!
We male, public footslaves can be very naughty, and we have developed a whole new set of slang words to describe our customer-mistresses’ footwear preferences – all of which are used only amongst ourselves, of course, since many of them could be seen as derogatory (though I would argue, in our footslavish defence, that they merely show our obsession with our female betters’ feet and footwear!)
Take just one aspect of female footwear, for example – the humble sock. A customer-mistress might be variously described as:
A Sockgirl (a girl who likes wearing socks)
Sock-Lite (meaning her socks are too light or short, in our humble, footslave opinion)
Sock-Heavy (meaning she is swearing too much sock – maybe two or more pairs at once, because her feet are cold!)
Sockless (self-explanatory)
A Sock-Slut (this can mean either a girl who is wearing slutty, over the knee or thigh-length socks; or a young woman who is wearing any kind of socks in a slovenly fashion down around her ankles – especially slouch socks!)
A Sock-Babe (a girl who looks beautiful in her socks)
A Sock-Goddess (a more respectful term for the same phenomenon; this could even be used to address the mistress!)
A ‘Nice bit of sock’ (as opposed to ‘A nice bit of skirt’!)
A Sock-Minger (a young woman who looks unattractive – even in socks! This is very rare, of course!)
Sockable (a young woman whose personal appearance could be improved by the addition of a pair of sweet, feminine socks)
‘In need of some sockification’ (much the same as above)
A Socktopper (a girl whose socks are deliberately showing at the tops of her ankle or knee boots)
A Sock-Pull (a girl who likes her socks to be fully pulled-up – often the opposite of a ‘sock-slut’, although she could still, possibly, be considered a sock-slut with fully pulled-up, thigh-high socks, depending on your lowly point of view!)
A Sock-Tease (a girl who likes to tease and torment a public footslave with her socks – letting him look at them, but not touch, sniff or kiss them; such a young woman may, or may not, be a ‘Socktop’!)
Sock-Certain (a young woman who knows her own mind when it comes to what types of socks she likes wearing; and how she wears them on her feet)
Sock-Stupid (the opposite of the above; she may even wear totally inappropriate socks – such as multicoloured, Christmassy socks to work in the middle of summer; or just odd, mismatched socks!)
Similarly, of course, our female masters and betters have disparaging nicknames for us – though the difference is that these can be uttered by them in public and in front of us, or we can even refer to ourselves in such sock-derogatory terms, since self-deprecation in a slave is considered socially acceptable, even desirable, in a slave.
Thus, a public footslave may well be described as:
A Sockslave (self-explanatory)
A Sockservant (ditto)
A Sock-Slut (somewhat confusingly, since this is a term we footslaves also use secretly to describe some of our customer-mistresses who wear their socks in public in a slutty or slovenly manner, as explained earlier!)
A Sock-Whore (reserved for us male footslaves!)
A Sock-Queer (because of our queer and unusual obsession with female socks)
A Socksniff (as opposed to a ‘sock-sniffer’ – which is a proper word!)
A Socklick (ditto for ‘sock-licker’)
A Sock-Cleaner (which aptly describes our slave work, especially if we are employed in a sock-laundry room)
A Sock-Nose (self-explanatory? A slave whose nose is forever buried in his mistress’s socks?)
A Sock-Man (meaning that we clearly like female socks; I’ve never been too keen on this one, since it implies I am a ‘man’, rather than a mouse. Perhaps I should start using the term ‘sock-mouse’, and see if it catches on!)
A Sock-Slimeball (a footslave who lusts in an unseemly manner over his mistress’s socks; contrary to popular belief, this does not refer to the little balls of sweaty sock-lint one can often encounter stuck to the surfaces of a mistress’s bobbled and well-worn socks!)
I’m sure there are many more sock-related, slang terms out there, but those are the ones in common parlance throughout the Gynarchy – whether surreptitiously or openly!
