His Just Deserts
It was a very high post for any free-male to hold in the States of the Gynarchy X. Assistant Immigration Officer was indeed a title to aspire to - certainly for someone who had only recently moved to the Gynarchy X himself!
In fact, one of the main reasons for his recent move to the States of Gynarchy X was to secure this position. Paul and his beautiful girlfriend Lucy needed every penny they could get. For the last year Lucy had been the official guardian of her younger sister, 18 year old Aimee-Marie, ever since their parents had been caught smuggling ‘illegal substances’ across the Gynarchy border. Lucy’s parents were given the choice of a heavy fine, jail or banishment for life. They selfishly chose the latter.
This meant that Lucy had to drop out of her postgraduate college training to become a housewife/carer to her sister. Aimee-Marie was 5 years her sister’s junior and Lucy could not stand the idea of her going into care in the Gynarchy at the tender age of just 17. She had therefore taken on several day jobs to supplement her income, whilst Aimee-Marie finished school. It was during one of these mundane day jobs that Lucy had met Paul.
The local DIY superstore was hardly what Lucy had aspired to as a promising postgraduate in chemistry whilst she had been at college. Paul immediately noticed the stunning picture of young-womanhood sat behind the till during the so-called ‘graveyard’ shift in the small hours of the morning. It was obvious that she did not fit in, in so many ways. Her supposed colleagues all ignored her as they passed by, pricing items and tidying the stock. The other thing that did not fit was the book that she was studying. It is not the norm to see a checkout assistant reading a well-thumbed copy of ‘The Young Ladies College of Central Barbaria edition of advanced chemical equations and organic crystallography!’
Paul had stopped by on his leave to collect a few DIY items to do up the tiny flat that he could afford. He decided to use the checkout that had the uber-intelligent and extremely attractive college girl sat on duty, and not the adjacent dimwitted, bleached-blonde filing her nails and blowing gum bubbles! It seemed a good way to start the conversation with the intelligent-looking, young woman, by stating the only informed fact he could remember from school chemistry lessons:
‘The law which states that the amount of gas dissolved in a liquid is proportional to its partial pressure, is called Henry’s Law!’
Paul smiled and waited for a pretty feminine laugh to be returned. A short while later all that was sent by way of a reply was an icy stare and a stoic expression that conveyed the annoyance of being interrupted during intense study! Paul was taken aback by this response!
Fortunately as the young woman noticed his nervous expression, she condescendingly asked him to repeat his anxious rambling fact.
‘Uherm, right errr…. The law which states that the amount of gas dissolved in a liquid is proportional to its partial pressure is called Henry’s Law.’
‘Ha, no offence Sir, but would you really know if I were giving you the right answer, or a load of bull?’
Paul smirked, and was at least relieved to see that she had some kind of humour:
‘I simply had to say something about the book, you see? Not everyone is into advanced chemistry in your local DIY store! At least I know where to come if I end up spilling my caustic soda!’
Rather surprisingly, the ruse had worked; they were having a proper conversation!
Lucy explained her predicament, and that this was one of three jobs that she had taken on to cover the cost of looking after the family home and her younger sister. One thing lead to another and they were soon dating regularly. Paul was delighted!
A few months passed by and Paul offered to help with the weekly bills. Lucy insisted that Paul moved in, as he was so generous in contributing towards her upkeep. The only problem with this was the aforementioned Miss Aimee-Marie.
The younger sister did not share her wit, intelligence or good looks with Lucy! Aimee-Marie was quote a portly little Miss trouble! She had a very rounded face and dark curls that reached her shoulders. The dark brown eyes seemed to always be focussing on Paul to spot any infringements of her self-made rules and laws. She was actually quite a cold spiteful young madam who instantly took a dislike to Paul – the unwanted ‘intruder’ in their home (as she saw it). Whenever Lucy was not around, Aimee-Marie would barge into the living room and order Paul to shift off the sofa and sit on the floor as she wanted to sit down and stretch out! Paul always obliged, because he did not want to upset his beloved Lucy.
By way of contrast the stunning Lucy with her chestnut tresses tied back revealing her stunning intelligence and innocent blue eyes was completely different in her behaviour towards Paul. She was always most grateful for his contributions and companionship. She did not worship Paul, as he did her, but it was a good relationship and, for the most part, seemed to work well- even if Aimee-Marie could be bit volatile!
More time passed by and the decision was made (by the two young ladies of the house), as soon as Aimee-Marie had finished school and turned 18, that it would be better for all if they relocated to the Free States of Gynarchy X. This was quite a revelation!
Paul had heard all about the extra-male oppressive attitude in the Gynarchy X States and he never wanted to experience it first hand. He was given little say in the matter, as the girls had already decided that his was for the best. Lucy was guaranteed a double increase in her wages and a better job. She would also be given extra money towards caring for her younger sister as a dependent, and be given a placement on a university course! Meanwhile Aimee-Marie was guaranteed a higher education by free entry into the Gynarchy X Young Ladies’ Training Academy!
Over a meal one evening, Lucy told Paul that she could also get him a very rare thing in the Gynarchy X - a high ranking job for a free-male. She explained:
‘Basically, they are in a bit of a mess at the moment, as the Gynarchy X government have put a case against a free-male who successfully sued them for unlawful grade reduction. He was a serving Bank Clerk for over ten years when his Manageress suddenly demoted him to female washroom attendant so that her daughter could have his job. The government had to pay over five thousand Fems in compensation! Strangely enough, the man disappeared, probably down the slave mines, soon afterwards, but it has put the cat amongst the pigeons. As a result, they have to offer some high ranking jobs to those hardworking free-males who have an exemplary behaviour record; you for instance!’
Lucy had a couple of friends in the Gynarchy X that could help in this respect. The only alternative for Paul was to leave Lucy forever and stay behind in the traditional Gynarchy. He could not bear to be parted from his beloved, so agreed with a little hesitation. He would not be able to enter the Gynarchy X alone, as all free-males require a female sponsor.
True to her word, Lucy was able to secure a lucrative and dignified job for Paul as an ‘Assistant Immigration Officer’! Paul was so grateful that he would turn over all of his wages at the end of the week to Lucy. They were very content in their new lives. Aimee-Marie was her usual spiteful, ungrateful self, but Paul could put up with anything for his precious Lucy. 18 year old Aimee-Marie was now attending the Gynarchy X Young Ladies Training Academy and doing very well. All she would talk about in the evenings was how much she was looking forward to owning her own male footslave! In the States of Gynarchy X the age for slave ownership is lower than on the mainland; young ladies can officially own a slave from the age of 20 (as opposed to 21 on the mainland)! Paul and Lucy would just laugh as she would selfishly rant and moan about how much she wanted someone that she could whip, punish and humiliate at her feet!
Once Paul had finished mocking Aimee-Marie’s selfish aspirations along with his partner, her big sister, he would then, nevertheless, generously donate yet more of his money to Aimee-Marie as a gesture of his own, selfless dedication towards his new family. This always impressed Lucy!
‘Careful Paul, she will be spoilt rotten if we carry on like this! HA!’
Aimee-Marie would simply pocket the money and run off to add it to the collection that she was amassing! For the moment, she had to make do with throwing her tatty old, flat heeled, zip-up, black leather ankle boots at Paul when Lucy was not around, and barking her order:
‘Do me a favour; polish those up, would you Paul? You’re miles better at it than me! Oh, and how many more times do I have to tell you to get off the sofa when I enter the room, loser?’
Paul would always do as he was asked, but knew that the young woman was fantasising about having her own slave internally. This was her way of asserting her young-womanly authority over men in this male-oppressed world! Paul felt sorry for any poor slave that would end up under her control, as she was clearly a natural born, dominant Mistress!
Another month passed by and things were not going so well for some reason? Lucy was becoming more distant towards Paul. She would frequently issue fake and very flimsy excuses for having to miss dinner in the evenings. Paul was having to spend much more time with the feisty and spiteful Miss Aimee-Marie! He was not enjoying that after a hard day at work!
Paul tried all that he could to get Lucy to tell him what the problem was, but to no avail. Over a heated discussion one Friday evening, when Lucy actually stayed in, she just barked at him:
‘Look, if you want to help, you can take Aimee-Marie shoe shopping tomorrow! She wants new shoes, but hasn’t got any money! I need to go into University to finish a paper for submission, not that you would understand that of course!’
BANG!
The door slammed shut to the bedroom!
Paul, as usual, decided that he would indeed help his super-intelligent girlfriend by escorting the demanding Miss Aimee-Marie on her day of shoe shopping. Aimee-Marie was secretly delighted at the prospect of having Paul pay for her new shoes, but put on a facade of annoyance and irritation at his presence!
It was unseasonably warm for the time of year (hence the need for summary footwear for the young lady). Aimee-Marie stood at the door of the car as Paul left the house, tutting at his appearance.
‘Tut tut tut, that will not do, Paul! Here go put these on; its too hot today!’
Aimee-Marie then casually tossed a pair of white, cotton shorts over towards Paul from her cavernous handbag. Paul was not dressed for the season and was actually quite touched at her concern for his comfort (as this was bound to be a long day at the shopping mall!).
A short while later Paul returned looking much more comfortable, in a blue T shirt; lightweight deck shoes; and the aforementioned white cotton shorts. Aimee-Marie was still not impressed!
‘No, you moron, wear only the shorts, and take off that T shirt! You won’t need a shirt today, and maybe if you catch a tan Lucy will find you more attractive, don't you think?’
She then threw a pair of pale pink flip-flops at Paul. He looked at them strangely; why pink? Also, he was adamant that he would not be going shopping bare chested! Not with all of those women around!
‘Oh alright Paul, just put this on then, and let’s get going, shall we? I am eager to get started!’
This time her ‘handbag of many things’ produced a very flimsy, cotton vest, again pale pink in colour to match the flip-flops. Not wanting to waste any more time, Paul acceded to her strange demands, and hastily changed into the top and shoes that he had been thrown by the 18 year old. He then drove his temporary ‘boss’ into the busy Saturday traffic, and onwards to the central shopping mall.
Once they had finally secured a parking space they headed straight for the ‘shoe district’. The weather was, indeed, unbearably hot. Paul was still rather flattered that Aimee-Marie had considered his comfort before setting off this morning, and had graciously selected these cool clothes for him. Maybe this was the more considerate side of the normally feisty and bolshie young woman coming out? Perhaps Paul had done her an injustice?
As they started up the main high street Aimee-Marie suddenly shrieked with girlish delight and started running! Paul struggled to keep up in his foolish, pink flip-flops but moved as fast as he could. Once he finally caught up with her, he realised precisely why she was so excited. They were both stood in front of the public stocks!
Two very sorry-looking male prisoners were secured in a very public gaze. Paul commented on how barbaric it all was, and that ‘we should just move on and leave them in peace’.
‘HA, don't be such a spoil-sport, dork! I think it’s great to see prisoner scum like this in the stocks! I think they look totally pathetic, and deserve everything I’m about to give them’, replied an unmoved Aimee-Marie!
That said, she set out for the first prisoner languishing in the traditional kneeling-pillory. He had a full head of hair which Miss Aimee-Marie set about tugging violently! The prisoner screeched in pain as Aimee-Marie just laughed at his misfortune! She then started kicking his face with her unseasonably heavy, black leather, lace up boot-toe!
It seems a strange thing to think but, all Paul could focus on now was her boots, and how sweaty Aimee-Marie’s feet must be inside them. Why had she insisted on him wearing such light and cool, summery flip-flops, when she herself had elected to wear such a chunky pair of black leather boots underneath her summer frock?
Miss Aimee-Marie had now finished torturing and mocking the hairy prisoner in the kneeling pillory. Adjacent to him was a much more disheveled-looking bald man, sat in the aptly named ‘sitting duck stocks’.
‘Ha, what are you in for, loser?’
Before the poor man’s parched lips could formulate a humble reply, Aimee-Marie was already rifling through her bag for her hair brush. She immediately set about pounding the prisoner’s bare, exposed feet with the pointy sharp bristles! This caused him much apparent pain, to the amusement of several passers-by!
Finally, Paul had to take charge of the situation. He was not impressed with Aimee-Marie’s un-ladylike behaviour at all!
‘Right, that is enough, young lady! You are coming with me now!’
Paul grabbed Aimee by the elbows and pulled her off her stockaded prisoner. She screamed with rage and her face was burning red with fury!
All of this commotion attracted the attention of a passing female police officer. The blonde matron of the law tapped Paul on the shoulder and removed her dark glasses so that he could see her eyes peering out from under the brim of her uniform cap.
“What seems to be the problem here then, Sir and Miss?’
Paul began to explain that he was concerned for the safety and wellbeing of the confined men, but was abruptly cut off by Aimee-Marie:
‘This male dork just grabbed me off of the filthy prisoner scum! I was only doing my civic duty and scourging these pitiful wretches, as is the duty of any young woman in the Gynarchy X!’
After Paul had calmed the situation down by explaining to the Officer that he was the unofficial ‘guardian’ of the young Miss Aimee-Marie, the Female Officer turned her attention back to the young Mistress-to-be.
‘So Miss, this man stopped you from scourging these criminals in public, then?’
‘That’s right! He just pulled me off them, and then manhandled me! Can you believe it, officer?’
‘Well Miss, although I agree with you with regard to your unlawful restraint at his hands, I feel that he was only trying to protect you’.
Aimee was livid! Paul was looking justifiably smug, at this point.
The Officer continued:
‘However, I just think that he needs to be informed who is in charge in this country with regard to men and women!’
Paul was a little taken aback at this last comment.
‘Well Sir, we can deal with this in a couple of ways:
1. You plead guilty to a breach of the peace and unlawful restraint of a young woman, which will incur a fine of one thousand Fems and a night in the cells or…
2. We forget all about this little “incident” whereby you show me your contrition in public and we all go about our daily business. The choice is yours?’
Paul immediately opted for the minimum fuss option (not knowing what exactly it meant!)
The blonde Officer then proceeded to mount an old wooden barrel (converted to a set of barrel stocks for prisoners) and removed her left knee-high boot! She then peeled off her black, regulation ankle sock and pointed to her bare foot glistening with sweat and freshly liberated from the clammy confines of her police-officer boot. Paul knew what this meant, public footlicking time! Aimee-Marie was almost crying with laughter at this point. It had also attracted a lot of unwanted attention and picture taking from a gathering crowd of onlookers!
The humiliation was going to be absolute! Paul decided to simply screw his eyes shut and get on with it. With his eyes closed, he was even more acutely aware of the strong smell of female foot odour. Something he knew all-to-well from cleaning Miss Aimee-Marie’s boots at home. He gingerly stuck out his tongue and set out for the blonde police-officer’s foot. It was obvious when he had made contact, as he could immediately taste the salty/vinegary bouquet of female footsweat. The rough underside of the blonde officer’s feminine foot flesh was a truly intense sensation. Her toes wriggled with glee as he proceeded to lick!
This produced much general merriment in the public crowd. The prisoners in the stocks were most grateful for the attention being drawn elsewhere, for once!
As Paul reached the female officer’s toes, he could feel some detritus being lifted away on his tongue. He wanted to wretch, but managed to regain control. He correctly surmised that it was black sock lint. He swallowed the offending material and continued licking for another thirty seconds until the order to stop was heard! The female Officer merely pulled on her sock and boot and jumped up in front of the still kneeling and embarrassed free-male saying:
‘I hope that you have learned your lesson, free-male? Now go about your lawful business, everyone!’
Aimee was hoping that the humiliation would have included the female officer’s second foot, but no such luck. A very red-faced Paul got to his feet and grabbed Aimee by the wrist and made off for one of the shoe shops, and some much-needed privacy!
Paul was still seething with rage at his maltreatment at the hands (or rather feet) of the uniformed representative of the Gynarchy X Female Police Force! But he tried hard to hide it. As they entered the shop, Aimee made a dash for the pair of shoes she had seen previously in the window. She then sat herself in the comfy, high-backed chair and threw the shoes onto the floor.
She looked up at Paul and just said:
‘Well? Are you going to put them on me, or not?’
Paul was a little shocked at first. He was surprised, in his naivety, that she was going to allow him to touch her in any way! She clearly did not like him after all! As Paul got to his knees, he started to unlace the heavy and chunky boots from Miss Aimee-Marie’s chubby, 18 year old calves. Paul had to pull hard to remove the boots. They came off with a swooping inrush of stale, warm, feminine foot air!
‘Woops! Sorry, dork! I forgot to put my socks on this morning! HA! Good thing I painted my toenails ruby red, for you to have something nice to look at!’
This was obviously no mistake! She had deliberately chosen to wear these heavy boots, and left her socks at home, to make her feet all nice and sweaty for Paul – her shoe-shop assistant! Nice and sweaty for me, thought Paul to himself. What a fool he felt! Worse still, the actual shoe-shop assistant, a bright young female not much older than Aimee-Marie, then came round the corner to ask if the young Madam Customer required any assistance?
‘Oh beg your pardon, Madam, I see you have brought your own footslave with you! Call if you need anything!’
Footslave! Who was she referring to?
Paul then looked in the mirror. Flimsy white cotton shorts; pink flip-flops; and a pale pink T shirt! Aimee-Marie had dressed him up as her own, personal footslave, and he had been too dim to see it!
It was a very long morning, trying on numerous shoes in a multitude of shops. Paul caught the occasional shop assistant giggling at his lowly predicament! Worse still, Paul was no slave; he was a free-male! Every time he heard a comment about his supposed servitude, he would seek to assure the individual that he was not a slave, only to be cut short by Miss Aimee-Marie screeching:
‘Come on, dork! Hurry up! These shoes will not put themselves on my feet, you know?’
Finally, late in the afternoon, Aimee-Marie decided that even she had tried on all of the shoes available in her size in the whole district, and she finally settled on a pair of all-white, American-style, lightweight, lace-up keds. They made their way back to the car, and set off for home.
A short while into the return journey, Paul decided to throw caution to the wind and ask Aimee-Marie if she knew why her older sister was being so mean and distant towards him. The reply was as curt and brief as always:
‘Tch! She has probably had enough of your ugly face and shacked up with some more manly hunk! HA!’
Paul was terrified at the prospect. He had never even contemplated this being the reason for the sudden change in Lucy’s behaviour!
………………………….
Another couple of days passed by and things did not improve. Paul could take no more of this. He asked Lucy outright:
‘Look, I need to know, Lucy! Have you found someone else? I don't know why you are being so stand offish towards me lately?’
The reply was a little while in coming. Lucy looked a little sad as she drew breath to respond:
‘I was going to tell you in my own time, but, yes I have found someone else. He is in my lecture group and his name is Brad. I’m afraid that this means we are over, Paul’.
Paul was fighting back the tears.
‘Still, that doesn't mean that you need to move out, does it?’ continued Lucy. ‘You can set up all of your things in the cellar! Aimee-Marie likes having you around, and you will not find anywhere cheaper to rent!’
‘But… But… I would rather just have a clean break, Lucy, and go back to the mainland Gynarchy! I think it would be best for us all!’
‘No, silly! Remember that I am your sponsor? I have not given you permission to leave the Gynarchy X States! If you want a logical and honest explanation, I still want your money! Brad has a part-time job as a professional whip Master in the local correctional facility. He only earns five Fems a week and that would not be enough for myself and Aimee-Marie to live on, would it?’
‘You mean you are keeping me here as a prisoner’ then?’
‘Grrr! No! You are free to come and go as you please, but just stay in the cellar. You can still pick Aimee-Marie up from college every afternoon, though. Also, I would prefer it if you ate alone in future. Brad will be moving his things in soon, as I can’t stand the thought of him living in that room over the stocks and pillories outlet! Anyway, I had better get a move on. Need to go and take Brad his lunch! Thanks for being so understanding as always on this, Paul! See ya later!’
Paul slumped off into the living room where Aimee-Marie was waiting.
‘Whoa, bummer, hey Paul? You must feel like such a loser right now?’
‘Not now Aimee, I need to think!’
‘Do you want me to help you move your crap down into the cellar? HA! I could also come and tuck you in at night, if you would like? It does get a bit cold down there! I could even lock the door for you at night, so it would seem like a real dungeon! HA!’
Paul did not respond. He just sat there motionless with anger. He decided that he was going to get out of the Gynarchy X States, with or without Lucy’s permission! And he told her younger sister as much:
‘If Lucy thinks that a lack of an exit visa will keep me here, she needs her head examining!’
‘But Paul, I mean ‘Dork’, that means you will be breaking the law, you idiot!’
‘Oh, just for once would you keep your airheaded, self-opinionated, curt, hurtful and disparaging remarks to yourself, you childish, selfish BITCH!’
With that, Paul stormed off to change into his assistant immigration officer’s uniform. As he worked for Gynarchy X Immigration, he could simply print out his own exit visa and just leave. Once back in the good old Gynarchy, he would be safe and sound!
Aimee-Marie was too busy crying in the living room to even notice that Paul had left. She had expected him to come back and apologise for such a hurtful barrage of abuse! She finally noticed he had left. She immediately spotted the open wardrobe and the missing uniform and put two and two together. She stumbled to the telephone and called for the police at once!
Paul arrived at his immigration office on the Gynarchy X border. All he had to do was announce that he had come in to do some overtime to the security guard, print off the forged exit visa, and then leave by the back door!
Paul was so busy printing that he did not notice the police cars pulling up outside!
He had just finished placing the documents in his pocket when the door burst open. It was the same blonde police-officer mistress that had humiliated him in the town centre just a few days ago!
‘Going somewhere are we, Sir?’
Paul was trembling with fear!
‘Errm, no Miss! I’m just catching up on some work, that’s all Miss. Anyway, all done now, so I should be going back home!’
As Paul tried to squeeze past the officers, the blonde WPC tore into Paul’s pocket and removed the forged papers!
‘Oh dear! Fancy ourselves as a bit of a forger then, do we Sir? Let’s see how Sir likes playing the lead role in my new production of “The Count of Monte Cristo”! HOLD OUT YOUR HANDS!’
As Paul was being lead out of the building, Aimee-Marie had just arrived in a taxi. She was just in time to see the arrested criminal being placed into the police transport van!
Aimee climbed aboard the van without even asking permission! She stood there with a big grin on her face! It was obviously her that had dobbed him in to the law. What a bitch, thought Paul!
‘Sorry Miss, you will have to make your own way to the station if you want to visit your friend’.
‘Oh don't worry, he’s no friend of mine! It was a pleasure to report the fool for his planned crimes! But I am his legal guardian at the moment, since my elder sister is out with her boyfriend! Officer, I have just used all of my money on that cab; could I please come with you in the van to the station, if I just sit quietly?’
The Blonde Officer in charge smiled politely and nodded.
‘Alright Miss. But I’m afraid you’ll have to sit on the bench next to the prisoner, please’.
‘Ohh, I like the sound of that; next to the prisoner! Alright if I sit here, PRISONER?’
Paul chose not to respond.
Aimee-Marie leant over to examine Paul’s handcuffs. She fingered the shiny links of cold, unforgiving steel and murmured in a low, ominous tone into Paul’s right ear:
‘These really suit you, dork! I wonder if they will torture you in prison? What do you think?’
‘Oh shut up, Aimee! They don't torture people! It’s not the middle ages, for heaven’s sake!
‘QUIET, PRISONER IN THE BACK!’, shouted the blonde police officer. ‘…As a matter of fact, Miss, we do not torture our prisoners.’
Aimee-Marie looked a little disappointed at this comment; but the officer then continued:
‘We don't torture them, but we do interrogate them quite severely, if you know what I mean, Miss? Tee-he-he!’
Aimee and the Officer were clearly getting along very well all of a sudden! But meanwhile, Aimee had not finished mumbling to Paul:
‘I wonder if they will put you in the stocks, just like that convict you tried to save the other week? I bet you would hate being pilloried, dork? I bet you would rather die than for that to happen?’
The blonde Officer decided to contribute to this one-sided conversation once again:
‘To be honest, Miss, I will be recommending to the custody Sergeant that he is secured in a pillory whilst in custody, as he is clearly an escape risk!’
‘Oooohhh, you have got to let me see that, Officer! I promise that I will be good, and follow all of the Prison rules! You did say that I could visit him, didn't you?’
‘Of course you can, Miss! I’m sure that he would be glad of the company!’
Paul was not so sure!
Once at the station, Paul was unceremoniously stripped, searched and given a thin pair of pink cotton speedo-type trunks to wear (nothing else!). The custody Sergeant agreed with the arresting Officer, and placed Paul under close confinement (meaning the pillory). As Paul sat on the cold floor of his cell he started to sob. The sound of keys jangling in the lock could be heard and the door was pushed open. Two burly looking male assistants carried in the heavy wooden pillory fitted to a square base nearly three feet by four. Paul was hastily confined in the dreaded contraption. He was informed that he would have access to a defence lawyer tomorrow, and that he was to be kept in the pillory until further notice.
After some three hours of painful cramped confinement, the door was once again opened. In came Aimee-Marie as promised:
‘I see that they have you nicely accommodated, dork! Let’s just check that lock, and make sure that you are nice and secure! HA!’
Aimee rattled the padlock and then drew herself up to Paul’s kneeling position, mimicking his pilloried limbs by raising her hands in line with her face:
‘Aww, poor dork! All alone and stuck in the stocks! Is there anything that I can do to help?’
Paul knew she was being sarcastic, but simply had to ask for assistance; he had a terrible itch on his left shoulder!
‘No problem, dork! I will get that for you!’
Aimee disappeared from site and moments later a very satisfying scratch was delivered to his left shoulderblade! Paul was twitching with relief!
‘Ohh, thanks Aimee! That is so much better; you can stop now; though’.
She did not stop, though! She continued scratching, though - harder and harder into Paul’s unprotected bare back! Red weals were starting to show. She even started pinching his flesh between her talon-like nails and cutting into him mercilessly!
AAAAOOOW!
Barely a week later his trial started. It was not expected to take any great time to complete. For this reason, the most junior apprentice female defence lawyer had been appointed. She was up against a heartless, merciless prosecution lawyer called Miss Ross (or as she is known locally, ‘The Crusher’!)
The Crusher set about building an airtight case against Paul. The young, inexperienced defence brief was awestruck by her opponent colleague’s eloquence and knowledge of the law! Twenty minutes in, and it all looked like curtains for Paul!
The good lady judge duly found Paul guilty and agreed with a number of additional punishment recommendations from the merciless Miss Crusher!
‘Prisoner in the dock, I hereby confirm that the Female Court finds you guilty of all charges brought against you. All mitigating evidence brought before the Court, and argued by your defence, has been considered and ignored. It is now my pleasant duty to pass sentence upon you. In view of the serious nature of your crime, and the onetime high status you had been afforded by this great nation, I intend for this sentence to serve as a warning for all other naive men in the Gynarchy X States.
The sentence of the Court is two years’ hard labour, to be served on a plantation farm on the tropical island of Nerva!...’
Paul was actually quite relieved, as was his stunned defence lawyer! It could have been a much harsher sentence indeed! But unfortunately for Paul, the good lady Judge was just pausing for dramatic effect. She grinned evilly as she continued to spell out the rest of Paul’s judicial sentence:
‘… Furthermore, in view of the public-spirited testimony and initial “tip-off” from the young Miss Aimee-Marie, the Court feels that she deserves something by way of a reward. It is therefore my decision that, upon completion of your two year sentence of hard labour, you be immediately transferred into the custody of the aforementioned Miss Aimee-Marie as her personal footslave in perpetuity! Bailiff, can you confirm she will be of legal slave ownership age by that time?’
‘Yes indeed, your honour! The witness shall be 20 years of age on completion of the first part of the convicted criminal’s sentence!’
Paul was devastated with the shock; life as a personal footslave to vindictive Aimee-Marie (and that was after a two year hard labour sentence!) Aimee-Marie, on the other hand, was predictably delighted, and could be heard shrieking with unrestrained joy at the prospect! Paul, meanwhile, began to blubber uncontrollably!
‘If I may be permitted to continue, Prisoner in the dock? I have not finished pronouncing the sentence! It is also a stipulation of your hard labour sentence that you serve the female Commandant of the prison camp as her temporary foot trustee. She will train you in all foot-related aspects of your life from now on. As a final condition of your sentence, I have to say that I agree with all of the prosecution lawyers additional stipulations:
1. That you be confined naked in a strip cell until your deportation in one week’s time
2. That you be publicly flogged by a professional corrections officer (25 lashes)
3. That you repay the debt to the prosecution Lawyer, Miss Ross, by kissing her stockinged toes 100 times each in public following your scourging!
Bailiff, take the convict down!’
With all of the prescribed additional punishments, it took another month before Paul was finally deported to the labour camp on the sub-tropical island of Nerva. Fortunately for the newly convicted male, he was issued some rag-like garments on his release from the ‘strip cell’. On his arrival at the convict island, Paul was shocked to see the harsh conditions he was expected to endure for the next two years!
As the new arrivals stepped off the prison hulk, the first thing to hit them was the immense heat and humidity. It was stifling! Next on the list of intimidating items were the female guards themselves. All of them were huge! Unbeknownst to the male prisoner population, the pre-requisites of this special, all-female guard elite was that they must be 6 feet tall or over; be of heavy and strong build; and, ideally, trained in the martial arts so as to fend off any prison rebellions this far out from Femdom civilisation!
The prisoners were lead in a coffle to the prison camp. They were then neatly lined up beneath the fluttering flag of the Gynarchy X States. The camp Commandant-Mistress took to the podium. She was obviously unaccustomed to the stifling heat herself, as she was sweating profusely in her prison-officer uniform. Unlike her female cohorts, she was not such a towering and imposing figure. Barely five feet tall and quite portly, she was not as well suited to this harsh and unforgiving environment. Her rounded, pretty features were framed by sweat-matted, reddish-golden locks that reached just above her shoulders.
She went on to deliver a morale crushing speech that Paul, frankly, could not focus on, due to the heat. Suddenly all fell silent!
‘I will ask one more time; which of you is the convicted footslave scum?’
Paul had missed the first question. He looked around and saw that nobody else had answered the curt question. He decided to gingerly step forward. He was immediately seized by one of the large female guards. The Commandant then went on to say:
‘As you have been assigned to this prison camp as a prisoner and a footslave-trustee, you will receive the worst treatment of all! Furthermore, your “recreation time” will be removed from you, and you will instead spend this time attending to my feet and personal footwear in order that you learn how to be a fully-fledged footslave. You may also be called upon to serve the feet of the other female staff of this camp, but that will be my decision. You will immediately remove your top and remain bare-chested at all times, as befitting a lowly footslave! You will now be escorted to the blacksmith for your “fitting”! HA!’
Paul reluctantly removed his top, and it was roughly seized and flung into a baying crowd of work-hardened convicts who were looking on from their hard labour tasks!
Paul was then escorted for his “fitting” as it was referred to? Upon arrival, all became clear; a hefty set of leg irons to be riveted about each ankle forevermore!
Later that evening, Paul was lead into his new shack to meet his fellow inmates. He was not given a bunk. As a mere footslave-to-be, he was considered too lowly for such a ‘privilege’, and so was ordered to sleep in the corner of the shack! Worse still, his fellow convict-compadres did not wish to converse with him. He truly felt despised – the lowest of the low!
The next day, the magnitude of his dilemma started to sink in. The hard labour side of his sentence became horribly apparent. He was assigned ‘cutting’ duty. This meant being marched out into the steamy swamp lands, and cutting through three-foot-wide tree trunks with no more than a handsaw! All of this was done under strict supervision of his personal guard-Mistress (referred to only by her chosen name, “Guard Mistress Boss”)
Guard Mistress Boss was a real Amazonian Giantess of a woman! She had very pale skin, a long set of curls that offset her pale complexion, and truly evil eyes. She rejoiced in Paul’s suffering! She was also an expert whipper, but chose to employ the whip rarely. She preferred a good hard “sucker punch” to the solar plexus, or a punch or slap to the face, as a ‘guiding’ influence!
The work seemed endless. For 13 hours a day the slave labour force would toil in the monotonous heat, under constant fear of the lash (or gut punches!) Every evening the convict rabble (some in irons) would be lead back to the camp complex in an exhausted rabble. Upon arrival, those in irons were inspected for evidence of tampering with their fetters, and then allowed to join their non-fettered compatriots for a meal and some recreation time in the yard before confinement to the shack and lights out. All, that is, except Paul.
Paul was not allowed any free time in the yard. After his long day of hard labour, he was escorted by Guard Mistress Boss to the Commandant’s office. The heavyset, fifty year old woman was sat at her desk with her booted feet resting on the leather bound insert that formed the top of the ornate period piece of furniture.
As the hours and months went by, Paul was instructed in how to properly serve a woman’s footwear and, more importantly, feet. Long sessions of boot worship were his initiation into this world of self-abasing shame. They seemed to run through blocks of training that were announced each and every time he was roughly escorted into the office. The Commandant would look up from her papers and simply drop her pen and smile. She would then get up, walk over to the comfy armchair and seat herself down as she would say one of the following:
‘Boots’; ‘Socks’; or ‘Bare’.
These were the main subjects Paul would cover in his one-week-long training blocks. Always repeated on a three week basis.
• Boots: This would mean he was going to spend a week sniffing, licking, polishing and generally caring for the Commandant’s outer footwear. She had very well worn, black leather, flat heeled, uniform boots that were pulled up her ample calves to just below the knee. The soft, worn leather was grateful for all of the attention. These sub-tropical climates are not well suited for leather care!
• Socks: This was Paul’s signal to remove his temporary Mistress’s tight fitting, well worn, and now well polished, boots so that he can have access to her more intimate foot coverings. Always the same foot coverings. The same pair of heavily worn, bobbled up and thinning, black cotton anklesocks that were crumpled up and half pulled off with the action of removing the pull-on knee boots. The drenched-in-sweat, black cotton socks were obviously not the ideal inner foot garment, as they had only a very limited absorbency factor in these climes. It would seem that the wearer of the damp socks was not in the least bit worried or concerned for the wellbeing of her feet, or, indeed, that of the poor wretch serving them. After the first couple of days of wear, the smell of the socks would get more pungent. Paul would have to first smooth the sock material out, and then pull the socks back on the Commandant’s feet. He was then made to beg the socks for permission to begin worshipping and venerating them! Then came the audible sniffing, half an hour per sock. He was to begin at the heels and work up to the toes. The smell got worse the nearer to the toes he got. A tart vinegary/cheesy odour was his reward for diligent sock worship! Then it was over to sock-kissing. Each sock to be kissed 1000 times in various places, and each kiss to be filled with a sense of reverence and respect! Then it was the final act of submission; sock-sucking. Paul was made to suck clean each sock, while still on the female wearer’s foot! This was always his most hated task. The taste and smell would combine with a choking feeling as he gagged on her socked, fleshy foot deep inside his mouth. She would gaily play with his tonsils with her middle socked toe (as this was slightly longer than the big toe on each foot).
• Bare: This was the big one, in so many ways! The first time Paul had seen a woman’s bare feet so close up was quite an intense feeling. Removing the now well-known boots and socks revealed a pair of very small, but plump, white feminine feet. Her big toes took on the shape of diamonds from underneath (his enforced kneeling position). They were also slightly in-turned, suggesting the possible formation of a bunion! Still, the relatively pretty feet were glistening in female foot sweat. That had to be remedied, but a little later on in the proceedings. First was the necessary, familiar ‘begging’ to be allowed to degrade himself and begin the honour of worshipping the bare feet of his captor! A thousand kisses to each toe would follow that, then a long penetrating massage to each foot (the prisoner being denied permission to wash his hands for the rest of the week, so that the naked foot dirt would remain on his convict hands! Then the final act of humility - he was ordered to suck out the toe jam and foot related detritus from the Commandant’s feet. He was told that if he gagged or flinched at any of the tasks he would receive 100 lashes! The contrastingly soft tops of her feet slid into Paul’s gaping mouth with ease, as the coarse and unkempt rough underside of her footskin lacerated his tongue as it made its way past his lips with brute force.
It was a good footslave-training programme, based on repetition. My, how he learnt every facet of this authoritative woman’s feet and footwear! In a perverse way he actually looked forward to seeing her feet, as it meant a whole three hours of not being punched, whipped or shouted at by his guards and fellow prisoners!
Paul was only ever summoned to the punishment cells once. His crime was baulking at the putrid foot-smell of his most hated Guard Mistress, “Guard Mistress Boss”. The veritable giantess simply pulled on her boots, threw him over her shoulder and carted him off to the punishment cells. He was confined for five days in a set of interconnected stocks, leading to hand pillories, leading to a wooden cangue. The set was interconnected with several heavy chains, thereby allowing little rest. To silence his chattering tongue, a ‘Scold’s Bridle’ or ‘branks’ were applied to his prisoner-mouth, in order to effectively gag him and force him to breathe through his nose. For this reason, the offending Guard Mistress’s socks were nailed to the wooden cangue so Paul could ‘soak up the atmosphere’, as the owner of the sweaty, black socks termed it!
The months rolled past slowly but surely. Back in the ‘land of the free’ (Gynarchy X!), future Mistress-to-be, Miss Aimee-Marie, was busy making plans for her upcoming ‘enslavement day'. She would finally be the happy owner of her very own personal footslave when she turned 20! She was literally counting the days as was Paul (but for a very different reason)!
The constant hard work, accompanied by beatings and sweaty-foot worship, was getting Paul down. Fortunately, he only had two more months to go. The time had progressed slowly for the wretched prisoner, but he was well on the way to completing the first phase of paying his dues to female society.
The time had finally come! Paul was released from his hard-labour camp. His permanent irons were never removed (it seemed an unnecessary waste of the prison camp’s time, seeing as he was still technically a prisoner).
Paul was transported in irons back across the sea to the States of the Gynarchy X. He was held in a police station until the necessary immigration paperwork could be completed (ironically by his old boss, Miss Pine, who just laughed at his misfortune). He was then issued a nice clean pair of flimsy, white cotton, slave shorts and nothing else.
Two days later he was to meet his new permanent foot-Mistress - the dreaded, chubby little Miss, Aimee-Marie. The arrogant, self-appointed princess of the house!
Paul was lead out into the sunny courtyard of the police station and immediately recognised the pretty features of the young Mistress-to-be. Amazingly she had completely changed. She was a stunning picture of young, victorious womanhood! A veritable Goddess of beauty! She had lost so much weight and gained such a voluptuous, young-womanly figure as she had matured into a truly beautiful, young woman in her early twenties!
Aimee-Marie was also delighted to see Paul (albeit for a completely different reason!). Paul was so pleased to see a semi-friendly face after all of this time, he nearly jumped up to kiss her, before he remembered that he was now her slave, and not her guardian, or even friend!
Aimee-Marie said nothing, she just grinned? She then mounted a small set of wooden steps leading off the courtyard. She stopped with her back to Paul and kicked off her traditional, American, Ked-type sneaker shoes to reveal a pretty, pale white set of female feet. She just arrogantly pointed to the bottom of her raised foot as an indication for Paul to shuffle forward to lick off the dirty filth that clung to the sole! This was to be done in full view of all of the young police cadets and officers alike! How humiliating!
As Paul got closer he recognised the shoes. They were the same ones that he had purchased for her some two years ago, that day he had been made to lick the Woman Police Officer’s foot clean! Miss Aimee-Marie had obviously been wearing these now tatty shoes quite a lot while Paul was serving his sentence! They were filthy, off-white, and stunk to the high heavens!
Finally Paul reached her bare foot sole. He paused, and decided to go for the reverential first kiss (that was a good move!). Paul was amazed at how pretty her feet were (minus the dirt). He was also astonished at how different they smelled when compared to his only reference point, the Camp Commandant’s podgy feet. Although quite pungent, they also smelled like dusty old books? The new feet-smell that would doubtlessly be filling his footslave-existence from now on!
He just knuckled down and got on with licking her feet clean in full view of the spectators! It was a good initiation into what was coming!
On the way home that afternoon, past all of the familiar landmarks, Miss Aimee-Marie commented that the couple were to take a small detour to collect some supplies. This was said in the most ominous of tones!
Their subsequent arrival at the aptly named ‘Slave Wares Warehouse’ was a bad sign! The pair were not there long, as everything had been pre-ordered by Paul’s new Mistress!
A luminous, pink foot-fool mask (that had been deliberately made to look ill-fitted and had a seem sewn along the top and side panels. This was actually as well made as any foot-fool mask, and a permanent addition to his face once the application of the heat gun had taken place! At least it was a ‘minimalist’ mask, with none of the currently trendy words like ‘toe jam’, ‘nail clippings’, or ‘foot-cheese’ stamped onto it!
Next came the dreaded cangue! Fortunately this was not to be a permanent addition. Unfortunately, this was a one-off, specially-commissioned cangue built with the money that Paul had once given Aimee-Marie when she was still a dependent in his care! It had a set of steel bars built into the wooden ruff that encircled the wearer’s head, making him feel alone inside a cage like a prisoner! To all intents and purposes, it was a head cage! Locking wrist manacles were attached to the ensemble to make the experience all the more miserable for the occupant!
The last item on the list was a thin whip, no doubt for use on Paul’s bare back over the coming years!
Months later, and Paul was found to be unfortunately correct about Mistress Aimee-Marie. She was, indeed, well suited to ownership of a personal footslave. She was a vicious, merciless, cold hearted Goddess. Her pretty features (that he was forbidden to look upon) hid a multitude of sins!
Meanwhile, Miss Lucy’s live-in boyfriend was called upon, in his position of ‘Professional Whip Master’, to instruct Mistress Aimee-Marie in the correct method of whipping to produce maximum pain and suffering from minimal input. This allowed her to go on whipping her footslave for hours at a time!
Such a wretched existence – and yet fully deserved! These were his just deserts, for had he not once called her a ‘bitch’?
