Celebrating Footslavery Volume 1
1. Watching the Parade
My slim and petite, 25 year old, dark-haired, Pakistani mistress – miss Seema – is at the Gynarchy's annual victory parade, celebrating the Female State's totalitarian, female rule over the male!
She has a good position, being in the front row near the climax of the parade in the central town square of the capital Barbaria, but, being no-one special – and just an ordinary, female citizen of the Gynarchy – she is having to stand (the seats are reserved for the female dignitaries, such as Gynarchy government officials and high-profile, foreign female guests etc.!)
Still, at least my young mistress gets to stand, petite and proud, whereas I, of course, am obliged to kneel, large and humble, directly behind her black leather ankleboot-heels as she hovers on the sidewalk.
I, of course, being a male slave, am not permitted to watch the parade per se – only the backs of my mistress Seema's chunky-heeled boots; and literally just the backs of her boots since her black, polyester trouser-hems are frustratingly covering the tops of her ankleboots, thereby helping to hide the tops of her, somewhat bobbled and ropey, duck-print, navy blue cotton, ankle-length bootsocks deep inside her boots!
I know she's wearing her duck-print, navy blue anklesocks today because, of course, I was responsible for smoothing them onto her dainty, brown, Pakistani-girl feet earlier this morning as she got herself ready to go out to the parade – just as I was subsequently responsible for zipping up her chunky-heeled, black leather ankleboots onto her navy-blue-socked feet; so I only have myself to blame for not being able to view her socks right now! But just knowing they are there brings me some degree of pathetic, footslavish comfort (perhaps I will get to see them when she is seated on the train on the way home!)
For the purposes of the parade, however, I must focus on the creased leather, and indelible scuffmarks, on the backs of my pint-sized, Pakistani mistress's favourite pair of well-worn, fully zipped-up ankleboots (I know the scuffmarks are 'indelible' because I have spent literally hours trying to remove them with my footslave-tongue; however, my mistress Seema still whips me every evening for my failure to remove them from the backs of her Pakistani bootheels – and justly so!)
As my sweet mistress cheers and applauds the passing parade of jubilant female soldiers, female police officers, nurses, businesswomen and female prison-guards, busily waving her pink and white Gynarchy-girl flag, I am acutely aware that I am lower than her celebratory, Pakistani-girl breasts; lower than her celebratory, Pakistani-girl torso; lower than her celebratory, Pakistani-girl groin; lower than her celebratory, Pakistani-girl bottom; lower than her celebratory, Pakistani-girl thighs; lower than her celebratory, Pakistani-girl knees; and lower than her shapely, celebratory, Pakistani-girl calf-muscles.
In fact, I am only level with her scuffmarked, Pakistani-girl bootheels – and even that is a moot point, since they are more precious to my mistress than I am, and I must worship, honour and obey them!
The boots (and no doubt the socks inside them) crease subliminally with the most girlish excitement when a coffle of semi-naked and enchained, male slaves stumble past, for they are on their way to be whipped in the town square – close enough for my mistress to hear their subsequent writhing screams, if not to see them (though she can always watch the live whipping on the nearby big screen!)
I, of course, shall be continuing to watch, and listen to, the backs of my mistress Seema's boots during the festive flogging, acutely conscious of my own, inevitable, forthcoming whipping later this evening due to those pesky, indelible scuffmarks on her pretty ankleboots!
Long live the glorious Gynarchy of Barbaria! Hurrah!
2. So long; Farewell; Auf Wiedersehen, goodbye…
I am so sad! It’s the end of the final term for those Gynarchy-girl university students who have been studying for some three years now in the Young Ladies’ College of Central Barbaria (YLCCB) where I work as a humble doorstopper footslave.
I’m going to miss kissing and lickshining some of their regular, dirty shoes and boots, specifically:
· The plain, black leather, round-toed, flat-heeled, slip-on loafers of the extremely bossy and pernickety, deaf-mute, blonde goddess-mistress – miss Heidi – who is of Germanic origins, and who never failed to stop by my face for a quick ‘lick and a shine’ whenever she was entering, or exiting, the Female Halls of Residence where I am based.
I say ‘quick’, but miss Heidi would stay, if necessary, for anything up to an hour having her shoes tongue-shined, and she would never leave until she was completely satisfied that every last, minute morsel of dirty street-mud was removed from her undergraduate-girl shoes and residing safely in my maleslave-stomach where it truly belongs! I will also miss her because she, unfailingly, used to always wear plain, black anklesocks with her black shoes and black cotton trousers, and I love lickshining superior girls’ plain, black leather shoes –especially when they are wearing them together with pure, black cotton socks on their pretty, white feet and ankles.
· I’m not just partial to black girlsocks, however – black with a splash of colour works for me just as well, such as the pretty, black, feminine anklesocks with pink flower motifs which frequently graced the feet of the short and squat, Chinese goddess student-mistress, miss Lan-Fen, particularly when worn with her matching pink and black, low-top, lace-up leather sneakers, so unkempt and scuffmarked on the rounded toe-areas that I never failed to feel a failure after unsuccessfully trying to ‘lickshine’ the Chinese-girl scuffmarks clean away! Kind and forgiving miss Lan-Fen, however, never took me to task over this, and even permitted me to occasionally kiss her on the side of her socks – directly on the pink-flower motifs – as a ‘reward’ for all my valiant efforts on her still-scuffmarked, pink and black sneakers! Oh how I shall miss her oriental sweetness and kindness – along with the rough feel of her scuffmarked sneaker-leather on my inadequate tongue!
· Then there were the black suede leather, single-strapped, block-heeled mary-janes of forty-something, mature-student Indian mistress, mistress Rohana – she of the quiet, sultry voice and long, dark, hair dyed pitch black (even though she is showing some signs of going grey at the temples!). ‘Mature’ student she may be, but she is still my much younger and better (I am in my sixties), and her shoes and socks help to keep her looking young and feisty – especially since she is wont to wear brightly-coloured, cartoon-print socks inside her black suede mary-janes; or black socks with bright, zigzag patterns down the sides. Oh the happy hours I have spent over the past three years politely nosing mistress Rohana’s zigzagged sock-patterns as a public demonstration of my footslavish admiration and respect for her middle-aged, mature-student footwear (after I have properly spruced up her outer footwear with my suede-brush tongue, of course!). And now, it’s all about to end, for she too has successfully graduated!
· Then there are the stylish, spike-heeled, pointy-toed, black leather, zip-up kneeboots (frustratingly nearly always worn under trousers) of ginger-haired, slim and svelte, goddess-mistress Joanna. Oh how I loved lickshining her boots as high as her hitched-up trouser-hems could go, which was never quite high enough for my tongue to be able to attend to her upper kneeboot-rims! But, even if I could, I wouldn’t have been able to see sock, for I know for a fact that ginger-mistress Joanna wears ultra-short, sneaker-style, soft black cotton socks inside her long, stylish boots.
I only know that because on one happy occasion – nearly two years ago now – she complained of a stone inside one of her boots, and promptly had me deboot her so that I could wipe the offending street-stone off the sole of her sock. I think it had become attached to the base of her black sock though sweat. Oh how my heart missed a beat as I was actually permitted to touch beautiful redheaded-girl, soft black sock – if only to divest it of it’s rough stone. I only wish I could say that my back also missed a beat from the subsequent whipping she gave me with the student-use whipping stick – but beaten I was:
a) For touching her sock (even though she had ordered me to); and
b) For ‘allowing’ the stone to get stuck to her short sock, inside her long boot, in the first place! If that seems unfair to you, then think again! I wholeheartedly agree that goddess-mistress Joanna should have taken out her young-womanly annoyance and anger on me, since I was the nearest slave available to her for a whipping.
· And then, last but not least, there are the skinny, dark-nyloned, anklebones, and pointy, one-inch-heeled, navy-blue, court shoes of the petite and fragile, Pakistani mistress – miss Sugharan – who, even though she has quite bandy legs, to give her her due, is always disposed to wear short skirts with her nylons, which is more than can be said of most of her student-girl compatriots these days!
Or should I say was always disposed to show off her bandy, nylon-covered legs – for she too is taking her skinny, nyloned anklebones on to higher things (I believe she has just qualified as a female barrister, so it is truly an honour for me to lickshine her navy-blue shoeleather for one last time, and admire her veiny nyloned feet within them – the court shoes and nyloned feet of an upholder of the glorious Female Law!)
Yes, woe is me! For all these delightful, young ladies are forsaking me now for higher and better things, as befits la crème de la crème of the Gynarchy, and are leaving me with only the sweet memories of their undergraduate-day shoes, boots and socks!
Still, I can’t wait for the next generation of female students at the beginning of the next student year! Their new-intake shoes and socks should soon cheer me up again! 
3. Cheap Frills!
I love watching my Indian cleaner-mistress – miss Veena – at work; not because I take some kind of perverted pleasure out of watching a free, young woman having to work for a living in the Gynarchy – but because, in my capacity as her personal footslave, I am obliged to follow her around the office where she cleans on my hands and knees, and with my face permanently glued to the backs of her shoes and socks.
And they are such nice shoes and socks too! Nice and cheap!
Her shoes are made of cheap, shiny black plastic, and are made in the ‘loafer’ style. This makes them good, practical shoes for my mistress to wear – since she is on her feet all day!
And her socks, too, are of the cheap and cheerful variety – cheap, because they came in a pack of six; cheerful, because they are bright red.
Cheap, bright red anklesocks, occasionally flashing themselves to the outside world from beneath the hems of my Indian mistress Veena’s hardworking, black denim jeans – for example, when she raises her shiny-black-loafered foot up onto the starting button of her vacuum cleaner!
And that’s all the rest of the world knows about my mistress Veena’s socks – that they are red. But I know much more about them – since I am their personal servant, and must dress them on her pretty, brown-skinned feet every morning, and take them off her at night; I know that the seemingly all-red anklesocks actually have a secret, frilly-white top concealed beneath those black denim jean hems!
That’s right – cheap frills! The seemingly plain, red socks are actually ruffled and frilly! They are nose-tickling socks (when you come to kiss them of an evening), and most definitely not to be sneezed at! For they are the cheap, frilly socks of my unruffled and self-confident, Indian footmistress – divine mistress Di Veena – and are steeped in her individual foot-DNA!
They are imbued with the very essence of her hardworking, Indian-girl feet – and are therefore my frilly-ruffed betters, fully deserving of my footslavish admiration and respect!
As my mistress Veena continues about her daily cleaning business, I am imbued with a slavish sense of footfoolish pride at my secret knowledge of her hidden, frilly sock-tops, and mock the rest of the world for not knowing – or caring – about my redsocked, Indian cleaner-mistress’s cheap, white sock-frills!
4. Whipped because I'm worth it!
I just love it when my mistress Tahira's navy-blue trouser hem gets stuck in the bootstrap at the back of her green leather, laced-up, doc marten ankleboot – thereby affording me a surreptitious view of the bobbled top of her white, cotton anklesock inside her green leather bootrim!
How everyone laughs – not at her, but at me – as I crawl behind her misshapen trouser-hem! They laugh at me because:
· I am a selfish and impertinent footslave, who refuses to adjust the back of his Indian mistress's trouser hem, just so that he can have the slavish cheap thrill of seeing her everyday, unremarkable, girly-white socktop
· Because they know that, when they report me to my mistress Tahira, and gently inform her of her ankleboot-related, fashion faux-pas, she will have me sorely whipped
· That, despite my inevitable sore whipping, I still won't learn my lesson and discreetly adjust my mistress Tahira's navy-blue, office trouser-hem on future such occasions, since I regard the punishing sting of her whip as a price worth paying for the 'privilege' of observing her white bootsock-top inside the back of her green leather, bovver boot – even if only for a few minutes!
I am whipped because I'm worth it!
5. Local Knowledge
I speak 15 languages and am a professor of Molecular Science. Or rather, I was – prior to my enslavement 25 years ago as a local, public footslave on this sink-estate in a run-down suburb of Barbaria, capital city of the glorious Gynarchy.
Now the only language I am permitted to speak is humble male-slavespeak, and the only knowledge I require to survive is that of my local customer-mistresses’ preferences when it comes to having their feet and footwear kissed and licked!
To wit:
· I know that 18 year old, local goddess-mistress Teagon – she of the ubiquitous, pink and white shellsuit and braided, blonde hair – likes having her grey kneesocks kissed above her slovenly-laced, grubby-white, canvas, high-top sneakers; so much so that her pink shellsuit trouser-hems are stylishly worn at half-mast, thereby exposing her grey-socked calf muscles to my face as I am lickshining her dirty sneakers! We both know that I shall be kissing her on the socks (as well as the sneakers) during each and every public sneaker-shining session that she imposes upon me on her local sink-estate, and her fellow girlgang members laugh and mock at me as I desperately seek out the very tops of her plain, grey kneesocks below her half-mast, pink shellsuit-hems, but never quite make it up to the elasticated tops (her socks are always neatly pulled-up as high as they can go – a somewhat paradoxical trait in such an otherwise slovenly-dressed, young woman!). She is still my infinite better, though, as she towers above me with her outstretched, sneakered foot resting grubbily on the well-used, wooden footblock beneath my permanently kneeling and bowed face!
· Likewise I know that 20 year old, pint-sized, gum-chewing, black goddess-mistress Shaniqua – she of the musty-smelling and scuffmarked, black leather ballet flats and scruffy, black denim jeans – is wearing the same anklesocks she had on yesterday ; and not just because of their highly distinctive, multicoloured, cartoon-print pattern, but because I recognise the tear in the elastic at the top of her left sock (though it was actually on her right foot yesterday; today it is on the left – so the socks must have been off her feet at some time in the intervening period)! Besides, as I lickshine her outer ballet-flats, the musty smell of the soft, girlshoe-leather is mixed in with the unmistakeable – and highly familiar to a sink-estate footslave – aroma of stale, young-womanly footsweat. Needless to say (in slavespeak or any of the other 15 languages I used to speak for that matter) miss Shaniqua is not in the least bit embarrassed about imposing her day-old sockstink on my hardworking face; in her superior eyes I’m just her local, dirty, public shoelick. And furthermore my expert knowledge of molecular science, and my polyglottism, is of no use to her; to her way of thinking my tongue is only good for one thing – licking the street-crud and grime off her sweat-saturated, black leather ballet-flats! And rightly so!
· I know that her fellow black-mistress – 23 year old miss Joyfulness who hails originally from Ghana, but who is now a Gynarchy-girl through and through – is anything but (full of joyfulness, I mean!). In fact, she is the epitome of a misnomer, as she delights only in being surly and unforgiving as she presents her low-heeled, black leather courts and black nylons for me to kiss on her way into work every morning. At least – unlike most of the more casually dressed and unemployed, young women on this local, inner-city estate – she tends to wear short skirts with her full-length nylons, thereby inadvertently affording my downcast eyes a furtive feast of uninterrupted, nylon-covered, surly-black-girl, shapely calf muscle as I lick-polish her workaday shoes. I believe she has a job as some sort of shop-assistant in a city-centre department store, so her career is, right now, self-evidently much more successful than mine. I used to be somebody; she is somebody – and that’s why I must respect her black leather courts, and lickshine them up a treat so that she can see her pretty, black face in them as she looks disparagingly down on me!
· I know that, however hard I try – however much I employ my weaselly words of sycophantic slavespeak (which I now speak fluently after 25 years) – I shall never talk 25 year-old, mixed-race miss Gloria into hitching up her cheap polyester, navy-blue trouser-hems high enough to reveal her socktops inside her upper, black leather ankleboot-rims, for she is not a ‘sock-revealer’. Unlike her mixed-race sister, miss Lexie, who just loves being a bit of a socktease with her anklesock-tops perennially on view above her brown leather, ankle-length, doc marten-style, fully laced-up boots. Today miss Lexie is wearing a pair of twisted, black and white spotty anklesocks on her bare, brown legs beneath her black cotton miniskirt, and she verbally orders me to ‘nose’ them as I am lickshining the very tops of her doc marten boots – an arrogant order I am only too happy to comply with, since her socks are nice and soft; even softer than her skin, I’m guessing? (I have to guess, since, being a mere public shoe and bootlick – and occasional socknose – I am, of course, forbidden to touch superior, young women’s bare flesh; even their foot and lower leg flesh!)
· I know that I shall be whipped in the next few minutes – by my next customer-mistress, bespectacled 19 year old Pakistani-girl miss Aaqilah – who, being a strict, black-headscarfed and beige-green, salwar-kameez wearing Muslim girl, is always, quite properly, insistent on my complete respect and adoration for her black leather loafers and plain, black anklesocks. Every dust particle must be removed-by-mouth from her black shoes; every bobbled, cotton stitch must be respectfully honoured and kissed on her black cotton socks – and she ensures such public-footslavish devotion on my part through the liberal use of the State-supplied whipping stick, as is her perfect Muslim-girl right! She may be no respecter of age (I must be old enough to be her grandfather!), but she sure as hellfire ensures that I am respectful of her strict-Muslim-girl youth!
And so, you see, I remain knowledgeable – even if I am mightily fallen – although my knowledge is now very much focussed on the street-dirtied, feet and footwear preferences of the superior, young women on the local sink-estate where I kneel and work!
Who needs a multilingual, molecular scientist on a sink-estate full of beautiful, young women anyway? The local girls all speak fluent English, and the only molecules of any importance in my life now are the DNA-molecules in their sweaty feet and socks. I would humbly venture to suggest that I am much more useful to female society now in my lowly capacity as a humble, public shoelicker!
6. The Two Stooges
The two public footslaves – chained up at their respective public-footslave stands adjacent to one another in the town square – are eyeing up the ‘crumpet’ on the other side of the street:
Public Footslave no. 1 - ‘You see those two gorgeous black birds over there? Do you reckon they’re wearing any socks inside their boots?’
Public Footslave no. 2 – ‘Can’t be sure, mate! They look like a couple of right slappers to me! Wouldn’t surprise me if they were sockless inside there!’
Public Footslave no. 1 – ‘Ha! Ha! Well, I reckon the one on the left – with the brown leather kneeboots – she’s gotta be wearing a nice pair of sweaty, white anklesocks inside there! And as for the other one – with the calf-length, black leather biker boots – I’d go for black socks inside? They’ve both, surely, gotta be wearing something inside those heavy boots!’
Public Footslave no. 2 – ‘Nah! Slappers! Sockless! I’ll bet ya!’
Public Footslave no. 1 – ‘OK, I’ll take you up on that! If they come over to us for a bootlick I’ll prove it to you. I’ll take my one’s boots off her feet and we’ll soon see! And when I’m proved right – and she’s holdin’ her little white sockies up to my nose for me to sniff on her black feet – you can kiss my ass! Ha! Ha!’
Public Footslave no. 2 – ‘Alright! You’re on! But it won’t be me kissin’ anyone’s ass! I guarantee ya those girls are both sockless slappers!...Shoosh!...They’re comin’ over!’
………………………………………………………………………………………..
Just as he’s hoped – the black girl with the skinny tight, blue denim jeans and brown leather , kneehigh, clunky-heeled and round-toed, stretch boots goes up to public footslave no. 1’s footblock, and stretches forth her right leg in front of his kneeling face:
Black Girl no. 1 - ‘Shine it up, bwoy!’
Public Footslave no. 1 – ‘Yes, mistress! At once, most beautiful and respected black mistress! Please don’t beat me, mistress!’
He begins to lickshine her lower boot-parts.
Meanwhile the second black girl – in the black ski-pants tucked into a heavily buckled and strap-laden pair of flat-heeled, black leather, calf-length biker boots inelegantly plonks her right foot down onto the well-worn, wooden footblock beneath public footslave no. 2’s humbly-bowed face:
Black Girl no. 2 – ‘Likewise, bootlick-bwoy!’
Public Footslave no. 2 – ‘Yes, black mistress! To hear you is to obey you, most beautiful and all-powerful black mistress!’
The early evening air is filled with the stereophonic sound of double bootlicking.
It is public footslave no. 1 who, bravely, breaks the ice:
Public Footslave no. 1 – ‘Erm…forgive me for asking, black mistress…lick…lick… but this dirty slave was wondering, superior black mistress …lick…lick…lick...lick…whether the two most respected black mistress are perhaps heading out clubbing for the night?...lick…lick…lick…lick… if you would be so kind and understanding to a lowly, public footslave, black mistress?...lick…lick…lick…lick…’
Black Girl no. 1 – ‘Shut yoh mouf, slave-bwoy! I ain't talkin' to you! You is just a mingin’, dirty feetslave, an’ that! So hush up yoh mouf and keep lickin' the crud off of my boot, yeah?’
Public Footslave no. 1 (feeling deflated) – ‘Yes mistress! Sorry mistress!...lick…lick…Pray forgive me, black mistress…lick…lick...lick...lick…’
Meanwhile Public Footslave no. 2 can’t help chuckling to himself whilst he is lickshining the neighbouring, black leather, girl biker-boot.
The gum-chewing, black-girl wearer of the boot (who is, therefore, quite literally – as footslave no. 2 had earlier identified, a bit of a ‘slapper’) notices his menial mirth, and queries his slave attitude-problem in the presence of her black-girl greatness:
Black Girl no. 2 – ‘What’s so funny, an’ that feetslave?...slap…slap…slap… Is you laughin’ at us, or somefing?...slap…slap…slap…’ (those are slapping sounds from inside her beautiful mouth, by the way – not slaps to the impertinent slave’s face, though, God knows, he deserves them!)
Public Footslave no. 2 – ‘Oh no, black mistress!...lick…lick...lick…If you’ll forgive me, most respected and admired black mistress…lick…lick...lick...lick…I was just laughing at my ignorant footslave-colleague, miss….lick…lick...lick...lick…as he is so stupid, miss!…lick…lick...lick…lick…’
Black Girl no. 2 (reassured that she and her mate are not the butt of some footslave’s joke) – ‘Hja! Hja! Yep! Reckon you’re right there, bwoy!...slap…slap…slap…. Was yoh friend tryin’ to aks Shanisa out, or somefing? Hja! Hja!...slap…slap…slap…Was he chattin’ her up, or somefing like?...slap…slap…slap… For, iffin he was, he ain’t got no chance, bwoy!...slap…slap...slap… Like my girlfriend said, he is truly mingin’, an’ that!...slap…slap…slap… You bofth is! Ha! Ha!’… slap...slap... slap…’
It’s a figurative slap in the face for the two-faced public footslave no. 2 – but he’s not completely down and out yet:
Public Footslave no. 2 – ‘Oh no, mistress!...lick...lick…lick...lick… He’s not my friend, black mistress…lick…lick…lick…lick… if you would be so kind and understanding, black mistress? But, in his defence, I don’t think he was asking your beautiful, black friend out, mistress…lick…lick...lick… I think he’s just curious to know whether or not your friend is wearing any socks inside her boots tonight, miss… lick…lick…lick...lick… because he’s a queer socksniffer, mistress…lick…lick…lick...lick… like me, miss…lick…lick…lick…lick…’
Black Girl no. 2 – ‘Hja! Hja! You hear that, Shanisa? Hja! Hja!...slap…slap…slap… These two dumbass feetslaves wanna know iffin’ we is wearin’ any stinky socks, an’ that, inside our boots? Ha! Ha!...slap…slap…slap…’
Black Girl no.1 (miss ‘Shanisa’) – ‘F***ing queers!’
Black Girl no. 2 – ‘Hja! Hja! What makes you fink we is wearin’ any socks inside our boots anyways, bwoy!...slap…slap…slap… For all you knows I might be barefoot inside these here boots, an’ that?…slap…slap…slap… like, all foot-nuddy an’ that? Hja! Hja!...slap…slap…slap…slap…’
Public footslave no. 2 smiles wryly to himself – looks like he’s winning the bet!
But he’s smiling too soon – the black girl no. 2 hasn’t finished yet with teasing him with the thought of her sweaty, nude feet inside her black-leather, biker boots. She mock-coquettishly twists her right, booted ankle in towards his bootlicking face:
Black Girl no. 2 – ‘Would you likes to see my nuddy foot inside my boot, bwoy?...slap…slap… Would you likes to, like, take off my boot, an’ that, an’ lick all the sticky toejam off of my bare foot, an’ that, slave-bwoy? Hja! Hja!...slap…slap…slap…’
Public Footslave no. 2 (thinking he’s struck gold – black-girl toejam-gold!) – ‘ Oh pray, black mistress….lick…lick…Oh pray!...lick…lick…lick… That would truly be an honour for a dirty, public footslave such as myself, black mistress!...lick…lick...lick… Truly I am unworthy, mistress!... lick... lick…lick...lick…’
Black Girl no. 2 promptly withdraws her biker-booted foot from his face, only to bring it back again – crashing suddenly into his shocked and exposed face:
Black Girl no. 2 – ‘Hja! Hja! F*** off, slave! Like my mate Shanisa says – you is bofth a couple of mingers!...slap…slap… I wouldn’t let you touch my bare feet iffin you was the last slave on earfth, an’ that! Ha! Ha!...slap…slap...slap…Loser!...slap…slap…slap…’
Black Girl no. 1 (switching brown-leather-booted legs beneath Public footslave no. 1’s silent, but as yet unkicked face) – ‘Hja! Hja! That’s right, Tanisha! Kick his ugly face in, an’ that! Hja! Hja! He talks too much, an’ that! Hja! Hja!...’
So – now we know! Not whether the two black girls are wearing any socks inside their boots; but that their names are mistresses Shanisa and Tanisha.
And that public footslaves nos. 1 and 2, though they think they are clever, are actually just a couple of stooges! Ha! Ha!
7. Ballet Flats on the Face
My Pakistani master and mistress employ me as a human ‘Welcome Mat’ in the cold and draughty porch of their otherwise opulent home. My permanent job is to have their guests and family members wipe their dirty feet on my upturned face before they enter the nice, clean, family home.
Their feisty and spoilt, 19 year old daughter, however – miss Shirin – can’t be bothered to stop and wipe her pink leather, single-strapped, ballet flats on my mud-receptacle face every time she comes home from college mid-afternoon. She’s much too keen to get chatting with her boyfriend in Pakistan on her parents’ landline phone!
So, without stopping she just kicks off her pink, student-girl, ballet flats directly onto my face, and continues on into the house in her black-socked feet leaving me surrounded by the warm and stinky air emanating from her soft, inner, shoe linings.
What is more, her scuffmarked and sweat-stained, pink ballet flats shall remain on my face until someone – probably her mother – disapprovingly picks them up; and that might not be for several hours yet, for she is still out shopping.
Result!
8. A Thorn Between Two Roses
Today I am in celebratory mood, even though I am, technically, being publicly punished in the town square kneeling-stocks as part of the Gynarchy's annual celebration of girl-power over the enslaved male. For I am currently a thorn between two roses – namely the red rose-motifs on the sides of a beautiful, young, black-denim-jeans-wearing, Chinese woman's otherwise plain and ordinary, black anklesocks!
I am in this happy, if humiliating, position because she has chosen to sit and eat her strong-smelling sandwich on top of me i.e. seated on the heavy, wooden crossbar above my neck with her socked ankles digging into my kneeling temples – a not uncommon position for young ladies to adopt when they wish to add to a convicted prisoner-footslave's suffering in the stocks!
So why would anyone – even a pathetic slave – wish to celebrate being trapped between a young, Chinese woman's socked anklebones, I hear you ask incredulously?
Well, try to see things from my footslavish vantage-point in the stocks: the very fact that her red-rose-decorated, black anklesocks are digging into my temples is forcing me to look down at the tops of her pretty, black leather, low-top, laced-up, oriental-girl sneakers – and boy are they a sight for sore eyes!
They’re
- Small (she's quite petite in stature – this twenty-something, Chinese girl – and her feet are dainty and petite in line with the rest of her beautiful, oriental body);
- Scruffy (heavily scuffmarked and mud-stained on the rounded toe-areas – she must have walked through the park to get here!);
- Sexy (being subliminally turned in towards one another at the rounded toes beneath my besotted, but powerless, prisoner-face as she munches on her sandwich seated above me).
Oh how I yearn to lower my head that last few inches in order to kiss those everyday, plain black, but mudstained sneaker-toes – but I can't, because the pretty, red-rose-themed, black anklesocks have me in a pincer movement as they pointedly dig into my brain! A constant reminder to me of my middle-aged, male-prisoner impotence in the face of youthful, free-female power and authority.
Now that's got to be worth celebrating!
9. Foot-Towel Face
Petite and comely, 20 year old, African-Caribbean , office admin-assistant mistress – miss Esther – works hard(ish) for a living, and is therefore perfectly entitled to 'lord it over me' on my public shoelick-stall on her way home from work of an evening.
What I particularly like about her is her dry sense of humour, and her accompanying, sarcastic and disparaging comments towards me, as she makes me 'towel-dry' with my 'ugly, slave face' her dainty, sweaty black feet which have been naked inside her ubiquitous, musty-smelling, footsweat-saturated, black leather, office ballet-flats throughout the long working day, by rubbing her bare feet all over my face!
Most Gynarchy girls nowadays have the decency to wear socks – and most keep their sweaty feet and socks inside their shoes or boots whilst I am dutifully lickshining their outer footwear. But not miss Esther – she positively revels in making me absorb her stinky foot-perspiration directly from the slimy surfaces of her moist, bare feet and into my inferior, facial slave-pores!
And whilst she is unashamedly imposing her ballet-flat-generated stink upon me in public, she simultaneously showers me with sarcasm:
'Ha! Ha! Is you goin' out anywheres tonight, slave-bwoy? Ha! Ha! I is goin' out clubbin', an' that, wiv my man! Ha! Ha! Sweet!... What has you got planned for the evening, towel-face bwoy?'
My humble and bowed face, newly glistening with her transferred footsweat, is obliged by law to respond to miss Esther respectfully, and deferentially, even though it's a stupid, sarcastic question:
'Oh pray, mistress, if it pleases you most beautiful and respected black mistress Esther, this dirty slave will be obliged, as ever, to stay at his public shoelick-stall this evening and clean the dirty feet and footwear of his female betters, mistress, if you would be so kind and understanding to a poor, unfortunate slave, mistress-madam?'
'Ha! Ha! Jeesh - I forgot! You is just a women's public footsweat-towel! Ha! Ha! A genuine toe-rag! Ha! Ha! You ain't fit to go out wiv anyone, an' that! Ha! Ha! Leastways, not wiv anover human being! Ha! Ha! Besides – yoh face stinks man! What you been doin' to it, bwoy?'
It's another 'sarcastic' question, as the cruelly grinning miss Esther knows full well what I've been doing with my face for the last 5 minutes or so, and precisely why it stinks so much – it's her stink, from her feet, on my face!
She's right, though – I am not fit to be seen out with another human-being in such a pathetic state, with my face reeking of a clever, young black woman's already stale, day-old footsweat!
At least I have the consolation of knowing that miss Esther's dainty, black feet will be nice and sweat-free for her manfriend when she eventually kicks off her poisonous ballet-flats again tonight prior to climbing into his bed in order to make sweet love to him – lucky man! I know that because she has left most of her black-girl footsweat behind on my footslave towelling-face; where it rightly belongs!
I apologise to miss Esther for my stinky face – much to her sadistic amusement.
10. Famished
I am absolutely starving! My 22 year old, Pakistani college-mistress, miss Ambreen, has omitted to feed me – or even to allow me to forage for scraps around the female college grounds or in the female bins – in over three days now!
It's not that she's forgetful – it's that she doesn't care about my well-being. And nor should she – I'm just a slave. So long as her belly is filled to overflowing, that's all that matters.
And that's the law of the female land!
Some personal footslaves would have built up a sufficiently strong rapport with their footmistresses after 12 months of servitude to be able to gently nudge their mistress into remembering, or bothering, to feed them – literally 'nudge' as they would softly nose the side of their Pakistani mistress's sock, running their nose down the weave in her sock as a gentle reminder of their, otherwise discreet and unobtrusive, hungrily devoted presence at her feet.
But I, unfortunately, do not have such a pleasing relationship with my mistress. As I kneel next to her stylish, kitten-heeled, chisel-toed, black leather shoes with the heart-shaped, silver buckles on the fronts, beneath the college-cafeteria table where she is seated alone whilst eating her lunch, I am too frightened to nose my mistress Ambreen's plain, black anklesocks beneath her black cotton trouser-hems for fear of irritating her, and thereby receiving a whipping! (My mistress Ambreen is one of those Pakistani girls who always carries a personal whip with her – attached to her belt; and, unlike with some mistresses, it's not just for show – my mistress Ambreen is not afraid to use her whip, in public or in private!)
And so, with the smell of her delicious, hot food wafting down to my nose and drowning out the musty aroma of her nearby shoeleather, and the sound of her chewing and swallowing ringing in my food-sensitive ears, I suffer in silence, and try to take my mind off the subject of food by focussing on the following:
- I think about the fact that my mistress is my better, and that, as I indicated before, the Female Law requires that her stomach must come first
- I remind myself of how lucky I am to be the personal footservant of such a beautiful, if somewhat solitary, young woman (everyone is forever commenting on my mistress Ambreen's great beauty, and she is never short of freemale suitors, but, being a good Muslim girl, she is saving herself for her fiancé who has been arranged for her by her parents. I understand he is just awaiting his Gynarchy visa in Pakistan!)
- I study the weave in her black anklesock – the very weave I am so wary of nosing, being such a footslave-coward who is terrified of his mistress's whip!
- I note the dried-in mudstain at the base of her right, black leather shoe-heel – not just because I must make a mental note to lick that offending mud off my mistress's divested shoe later this evening, but because the mud is starting to look surprisingly tasty and nutritious to my empty stomach!
Embarrassingly, and disastrously, my footslave-stomach rumbles out loud at this point – disturbing my superior mistress and prompting her to kick me in the face beneath the table with the chiselled, buckled toe of her mudstained, right shoe:
'Be quiet while I am eating my lunch, slave, or you will be receiving a taste of my whip!' she barks angrily down at me.
I apologise to my whip-hungry mistress, and focus once more on the side of her, now creased, black anklesock. Best not to dwell on that nutritious-looking shoemud on the back of her heel!
When she finishes her hot meal, my mistress Ambreen emits a gentle, girlish belch; politely wipes her lips with a paper serviette; takes her tray to the food recycling-bin; and scrapes her leftovers off her plate and into said bin – all whilst I must kneel hungrily behind her, observing her Pakistani-college-girl, unfeeling, black shoes and socks.
I then accompany her to heel to the lecture room where I hope my stomach doesn't rumble out loud again. I'm already on a whip-warning about that!
