A Footslave’s Christmas

Prologue

You might want to grab a tissue before you start reading this story – if only to wipe away a tear when you reach the bitter end!

A Footslave’s Christmas

Chapter 1 – Christmas Presents

The entire family were gathered around the large, gaily decorated Christmas tree in the large, gaily decorated front lounge of their opulent home early on Christmas morning - Mr Fosdun (47), his wife Julia (46) and their three daughters: Deborah (24); Andrea (22); and Jemima (20). Oh, and not forgetting Fifi the pet poodle!

This year was going to be a landmark Christmas in the Fosdun household, for it would be the eldest daughter Deborah’s last Christmas living at home. She was recently engaged to be married in the Spring to a young man called Andrew. It would be the end of an era as far as the Fosdun family Christmases were concerned!

Her parents were, naturally, somewhat sad about it, but equally happy that their eldest daughter had found a fine young man to settle down with! And they were all absolutely determined to make it the best family Christmas ever – a Christmas to remember. Mrs Julia Fosdun’s sister and brother in law, together with her charming 19 year old niece Melanie, would be calling round later that morning and spending the entire day with them, and Mrs Fosdun had planned a particularly sumptuous family Christmas dinner – with plenty of food for everyone, and party games galore! Even the weather appeared to be playing ball – it was the one time of the year when you wanted snow, and, to everyone’s delight, snowing it was!

Even though they were all now in their early twenties, the 3 girls were just as excited as they had ever been about opening their presents. And there were an awful lot of presents around the tree – for the Fosdun family were a wealthy middle-class family.

They could even afford a family slave – or footslave more accurately. Mr Fosdun had bought him at auction some two years ago specifically to serve at his three grown-up daughters’ feet; a kind of status symbol, to allow them to show off, if you like, for not all families, it has to be said, can afford a personal footslave.

44 year old slave ‘Patheticus’, as they had christened him, was in the front lounge also – but as he was not regarded as a proper member of the family, he was not permitted to sit around the tree with the rest of them. There wouldn’t really be much point in him doing so anyway, as there were certainly no presents for him around the tree! Instead, therefore, he had been ordered to kneel with his head bowed in the far corner of the room, ready to serve if any of his mistresses (i.e. the 3 girls) required him, but otherwise to remain silent – rather like a humble slave in ancient Rome would have been in the presence of his masters and betters.

Which was appropriate as the family had not only given him a Roman slave-name. They also dressed him as a Roman slave – in a plain, brown tunic and with a metal slave collar around his neck. These were the only items of clothing he got to wear all year round, whatever the weather. Even in the snow! But it was currently considered the height of fashion for personal slaves to be dressed like their Ancient Roman counterparts. It just seemed to emphasise to everyone their lowly status. The metal slave-collar had also been engraved with the following inscription:

‘Footslave Patheticus Minimus. Property of Mistresses Deborah, Andrea & Jemima Fosdun. If found please return to ……………..’

followed by their address.

Fortunately for him slave Patheticus had never yet gotten lost (or attempted to run away).

As a ‘footslave’ his particular duties involved caring for and attending to the feet and footwear of his 3 young mistresses. He was also expected to kiss their feet on a regular basis as a demonstration, especially in front of others, of his submission to their authority. Likewise he would oftentimes be required to accompany his young mistresses, on his hands and knees of course, when they ventured out to university or, in the case of the youngest, miss Jemima, to her place of work in the local supermarket. Miss Jemima was the least academically inclined of the 3 girls and had left school at the earliest opportunity! She didn’t really need to work in view of her father’s wealth, and his indulgence (all three girls were still living rent free in the family home!), but she nevertheless enjoyed earning some extra spending money of her own!

Slave Patheticus could, therefore, often be seen out and about - humbly kneeling at the feet of one or other of the young women as they went about their daily business – again fulfilling the all important role of status symbol (some might even say fashion accessory) for each of the three wealthy and attractive young women.

You won’t be surprised to hear that splitting one slave between three sisters did cause the occasional fight, especially at the beginning, but the girls had eventually come up with a rota system. Mr Fosdun had considered purchasing a personal footslave for each of his three girls individually, but decided against it. It wasn’t so much that he couldn’t afford it – but having only the one family footslave was just so much easier to manage. Slave Patheticus was, whether he liked it or not, delightfully ‘low maintenance’. He slept in the dirty, disused coal-bunker in the back yard and was sustained with only stale bread and tap water.

Fifi, the pet poodle, cost more to keep as she got to sleep in a nice, warm basket in the kitchen and got to eat only the best, premium brand dog-food! The family pet Fifi, unlike the family slave Patheticus, was totally spoilt! The girls in particular were in the habit of feeding her titbits and leftovers from their own meals, for they all doted on her! Today, for example, she would doubtless be tasting succulent pieces of leftover turkey and ham from their plates.

Slave Patheticus, on the other hand, never got any leftovers, and doubtless today would be no exception. He had certainly not received any leftovers last Christmas!

And so the scene was well and truly set for yet another joyous and wonderful Christmas for the Fosdun family and their pet dog. As they began, excitedly, unwrapping their presents around the Christmas tree in their luxury lounge, slave Patheticus, on duty as he was 365 days a year including on Christmas day, dutifully studied his three mistresses’ feet and footwear from a distance, preparing himself mentally for the demanding, not to say demeaning, day he anticipated ahead.

Miss Deborah, the eldest at 24, was still in her flimsy nightie, silk dressing gown, and thick, cream-coloured bedsocks. She was often the last of the 3 girls to get dressed – perhaps because she was still at university, doing a postgraduate diploma in Anthropology. Most of her lectures during term time were in the afternoons, and so she often got to lie in. Her sisters loved to tease her about how all that would soon change when she got married and had babies! (Deborah had no intention of having any babies just yet, and her fiancé , Andrew, also a postgraduate student, was in complete agreement – but it was fun for her younger sisters to tease her about this!)

Slave Patheticus liked miss Deborah. If a slave can be permitted to have a ‘favourite’ mistress, she was his favourite. He was sorry she would soon be leaving home and half-wished she would take him with her. She certainly seemed the most laid-back of his three owners, the least likely to scold him, or hurt him, although she had, naturally, had occasion to slap him on one or two occasions when he had failed to carry out her orders to her satisfaction.

Slave Patheticus realised that he would probably be assisting miss Deborah to get dressed later that morning – but only as far as her footwear was concerned. He would have to kneel before her as she sat on the edge of her bed, gently and respectfully take her bedsocks off her pretty feet, possibly then wash her feet in a basin of lukewarm water, before drying them and then putting on her feet whichever footwear she wanted to wear that day.

He was relaxed about it, and would look forward to serving his mistress Deborah in this way. After all, a young, 24 year old woman with a personal footslave couldn’t be expected to put her own shoes and socks on of a morning if she didn’t want to! And besides, such humble tasks were all ‘bread and butter’ to a footslave – a daily occurrence, although bread with butter itself would be an unheard of luxury for the slave in this particular household!

The other two girls were already dressed. They had obviously been so excited at the advent of Christmas day that they couldn’t sleep and had awoken early! How sweet!

22 year old miss Andrea was wearing a white, frilly blouse, blue denim jeans, white ankle socks with pink heels and toe areas, and black, soft leather ballet flats. The pink areas of the socks were not currently visible, but slave Patheticus knew they were the pair with the pink toes and heels by the distinctive lattice-style stitching down the sides of the ankle socks. It was his business to know. He had washed those socks dozens of times, sometimes by hand, sometimes by mouth – depending on the mood of mistress Andrea at the time. She was not the cruellest or most demanding of the 3 girls by any means, but she did so enjoy humiliating him with her feet! As far as miss Andrea was concerned, a footslave should be made to kiss, sniff and lick her smelly, dirty feet and socks at every available opportunity. She therefore wasn’t at all embarrassed if her feet were ever dirty or sweaty, and would not hesitate to call on slave Patheticus’s services in such circumstances.

As he looked at her socks slave Patheticus knew that at some point that day miss Andrea would find some excuse to have him lying under her socked feet and sniffing the sweaty, pink area of her socks around her toes!

At least she was predictable - unlike her younger sister, 20 year old miss Jemima. The latter was by far the most dangerous and most unpredictable of the 3 girls – at least, from a humble footslave’s point of view. Even now her choice of clothing demonstrated eloquently her feisty personality – a bright, red shirt with a motif of Father Christmas on it; black denim jeans with silver tinsel around her waist instead of a belt; multicoloured Christmas ‘novelty’ socks showing Santa on his sleigh, which played the tune ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ if the slave kissed Rudolph the Reindeer’s red nose on the side of her ankle; and thick, furry green slippers in the shape of some sort of ‘monsters’ each with two scary, red eyes!

She looked like a fun girl dressed as she was. And, if you were a free human being - an equal - miss Jemima was ‘fun’ to be around – the life and soul of the party. If you were her slave, however, you had to be careful, for miss Jemima’s moods could change in an instant, and she brooked no disobedience.

Perhaps it was because she liked to break the rules and test the boundaries herself. Perhaps that was why she despised someone who had no freedom to test the boundaries, who was permanently subject to the will of others, who was, quite literally, under the heel – someone like Patheticus.

Slave Patheticus, therefore, had particular reason to be afraid when he witnessed miss Jemima opening her first Christmas present. It was long and thin, and had been bought for her by her father. She really hadn’t a clue what it was until all the wrapping paper had been ripped off:

‘Oh father! Thank you! Thank you! A leather riding crop!’

Slave Patheticus had reason to be afraid because he knew that miss Jemima didn’t go horse-riding, nor was there any sign of a horse to go with the nasty-looking, black, leather riding crop! The crop must be for use on him!

Her father’s words confirmed slave Patheticus’s worst fears:

‘Merry Christmas, darling. I reckoned it was about time you had a proper whip to beat Patheticus with! I mean, your hands must be getting sore with all the spanking and slapping you give him! At least now you can save your hands and punish him properly if he’s insolent or disobedient. The shop assistant assured me that it should really sting and raise some nice red weals on his bare legs and buttocks if you use it properly!’

‘Oh, thank you, father! I can’t wait to use it on him – especially on the backs of his legs. I’ll bet that must really smart, especially on the back of his bare thighs! Ha! Ha!’ giggled miss Jemima excitedly, swishing the leather crop through the air a few times in order to get a proper feel for it.

The corporal punishment of the Fosdun family footslave had, at least up until that point, been confined mainly to a few slaps across the face. Miss Andrea had, on one occasion, taken a leather belt to his bare buttocks, but that had been pretty much a ‘one-off’ caused as much by her intoxication with alcohol following an all-night party as by slave Patheticus’s inept cleaning of her favourite pair of shiny, black, patent leather, high-heeled pumps.

But it was true that it was miss Jemima who generally had occasion to slap him the most. Indeed, hardly a day went by that her soft, feminine right hand, with her thick, skull and crossbones ring on her forefinger, didn’t make sudden contact with slave Patheticus’s right cheek, sometimes followed in swift succession by his left cheek, whilst she berated him for some perceived failing or other.

From now on, it seemed, it would be his other cheeks – his buttocks, and the backs of his legs, that would feel miss Jemima’s wrath, no doubt as he was made to bend over her bedroom chair. Indeed, he wondered, as he watched miss Jemima eagerly performing her practice swings with her new, whippy toy, causing Fifi the poodle to yelp and jump up and down excitedly, whether he would survive Christmas day without making the acquaintance of the leather riding crop.

At least he wouldn’t be in any danger of being brutally scourged by his young mistress, like his compatriots in Ancient Rome would have been! Slavery in the 21^st century, in the Fosdun household at any rate, was, mercifully, a little bit more civilised. A slave should be grateful for such small mercies!

‘Oh…just one thing, Jemima,’ continued her father, ‘if either of your sisters wishes to beat Patheticus you must let them borrow your new whip!’

Miss Jemima was in a happy, Christmassy mood, and for once didn’t seem to mind the idea of sharing something with her two sisters:

‘As long as they ask me nicely first, father!’ she laughed.

Patheticus didn’t know whether to laugh or cry!

Mistress Andrea, meanwhile, had opened one of her presents to find a new pair of expensive, pink and white, designer sneakers. It was no secret that they had been on the trainee Physical Education teacher’s Christmas wish-list, but that didn’t make her any the less delighted at unwrapping them.

They appeared to be a gift from her mother:

‘Oh thank you, mother!’ she exclaimed, kissing her mother on the cheek.

‘Ha! Ha! Merry Christmas! Well, try them on then darling. Make sure they fit!’ exclaimed her mother, delighted with her daughter’s reaction.

Slave Patheticus got ready to move. When a young woman in the Fosdun household wants to try on a pair of shoes, there is a fair chance that the services of slave Patheticus will be invoked.

Sure enough, with a double click of her fingers (something which always confused Fifi the poodle who assumed it was a signal to her) miss Andrea signalled for the footslave to crawl over through the Christmas wrapping paper that was now littering the floor in order to serve her feet.

Miss Andrea was now sitting down in an armchair still holding and inspecting the new sneakers. She had still not kicked off her soft black ballet slippers by the time the kneeling slave Patheticus had reached her feet – nor would she. That was his job – to remove the shoes from her socked feet. Such things were, quite literally, beneath her:

‘Take off my shoes, slave,’ she snapped without giving the slave a second glance. Again, why would she? She was much too interested in examining her pretty, new sneakers.

‘Yes, mistress,’ responded Patheticus, and immediately cradled his young mistress’s right foot in his hands prior to gently raising it a few inches off the carpeted floor in order to slip the black, ballet-style slipper off her dainty, white and pink socked foot.

At least the new sneakers will match my mistress’s socks, he thought to himself!

The rest of the family were continuing to open presents. Nobody was paying the slightest attention to slave Patheticus, on his knees, taking off miss Andrea’s shoes. It was a common, everyday occurrence – even if today wasn’t exactly an ordinary day!

As soon as he had removed the second ballet flat, and placed the shoes respectfully to one side, miss Andrea handed him down the sneakers and gave him her next, curt command:

‘Put them on me, slave!’

‘Yes, mistress.’

Slave Patheticus always had to acknowledge a verbal command with at least the words ‘Yes, mistress’ or variants to that effect. As a general rule, the more trouble he was in, the longer and more obsequious his reply had to be. So from a simple ‘Yes, mistress,’ he sometimes had to escalate to a ‘Yes, mistress – at once, mistress’, all the way up to a ‘Yes, mistress. At once, mistress. Please have sweet, feminine mercy on this dirty, male slave, if it pleases you most kind and beautiful mistress’ – depending on how much ‘hot water’ he was in. It was one of the unwritten rules of the Fosdun household – the three girls liked to hear and see their slave cringe and cower before them!

What slave-owning woman wouldn’t?

Slave Patheticus saw the pink, cotton material of the sock covering the toes on mistress Andrea’s right foot crease and fold slightly under his nose as she wriggled her toes inside the sock in anticipation of the pleasurable feeling of having her pretty foot inserted into the soft, warm comfort of the new, padded sneaker. He cradled the pink heel of the sock as he gently guided her foot into the sneaker.

It seemed to fit perfectly. She may, at that point, have borne a passing resemblance to Cinderella, seeing if the shoe fits, but slave Patheticus was far from being her Prince Charming! He was just a raggedy, old footslave, putting his mistress’s sneaker onto her socked foot.

He did the same with her left foot, prior to lacing up the two sneakers.

When he had finished, he remained kneeling, head humbly bowed, whilst miss Andrea waved both her feet around in front of his face getting used to the feel of the pretty, new pink and white sneakers on her socked feet. Slave Patheticus could smell the strong smell of fresh, new rubber. The sneakers smelt good just out of the box. How would they smell, however, after a few weeks on mistress Andrea’s feet? He would doubtless get to find out.

‘They fit just perfectly, mother. Thanks! I love you!’

‘My pleasure, darling!’ responded her mother.

My pleasure too, miss Andrea, though Patheticus to himself.

Miss Deborah, meanwhile, had also unwrapped one of her presents to discover some new footwear – a pair of block-heeled, platform-soled, calf-length, brown leather, zip-up boots with rounded toes. They were considered the height of fashion that year, and she was ever so excited:

‘Oh father! Look what uncle James and aunt Joy have bought me! How did they know my size?’

‘Ha! Ha! I think your sisters may have helped them choose them, sweetheart!’

‘Oh Andrea, Jemima – they’re just perfect. Thank you!’

‘Ha! Ha! We’d seen you eyeing them up in the shop, Debs,’ replied Jemima. ‘You’re really very good at dropping hints!’

‘Oh I’ve got to get dressed and try them on! Andrea, have you finished with Patheticus?’

‘Sure, Debs – he’s all yours!’

Such harmony on Christmas morning! If only the girls could be like that all the year round, thought Mrs Fosdun to herself!

Miss Deborah then picked up the new boots in her left hand and clicked the fingers on her right hand:

‘Follow me, slave….no, not you Fifi, you stay here and play with your present, there’s a good girl!’

She was referring to a plastic bone that squeaked irritatingly whenever the pooch picked it up in its teeth. Yes, even the family pet dog had received a Christmas present! Only Patheticus, the poor slave, didn’t receive any presents – unless you count the riding crop which was for use on his bare legs and backside!

Patheticus crawled after miss Deborah’s thick, cream-coloured bedsocks as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. He had spent many a long, winter’s night kneeling at the end of miss Deborah’s bed, his face under the duvet acting as a hot water bottle for her socked feet. He quite liked doing it – even though it meant having to sleep in a kneeling position as well as having to contend with the smell of miss Deborah’s socked feet all night long. But at least it meant not having to sleep in a kneeling position out in the freezing cold of the coal-bunker.

He rather liked the idea of following mistress Deborah to her new marital bed as her human hot water bottle, but whether her husband-to-be master Andrew would tolerate that was quite another matter, not to mention mistresses Andrea and Jemima!

Mistress Deborah first ordered him to take off her thick, cream-coloured dirty bedsocks before making him kneel by the side of her unmade bed as she laid the new pair of boots on the floor directly beneath his bowed head, grabbed some clothes and made her way into her ensuite bathroom.

He would not, it seemed, be required to wash away the overnight dead skin from mistress Deborah’s feet after all that fine Christmas morning. So slave Patheticus, ever the conscientious footslave, instead set about studying his young mistress’s new boots whilst she showered. They really were very stylish – expensive looking; the sort that were naturally creased around the ankles, but hugged the calf muscles tightly to show off a woman’s shapely, lower leg to its full advantage. He liked the modern, platformed soles and blocky heels as well - lots of leather to lick clean, as and when his young mistress desired it!

After some 20 minutes, she emerged from the bathroom dressed in a bright, yellow, fluffy jumper and a blue denim, knee length skirt. She was now barefoot, but was carrying a pair of thick, yellow, knee-length bootsocks - the pair she often wore with her knee-length, brown leather boots (miss Deborah already had an extensive collection of leather boots – her favourite form of footwear).

She sat down on the edge of her bed in front of Patheticus, threw the fresh, yellow bootsocks down at him, and gave him her next order:

‘Put these on my feet, slave!’

‘Yes, mistress.’

She then grabbed her compact mirror and applied some make-up whilst slave Patheticus picked up the first knee-length, yellow sock, scrunched it up in his hands, pulled it gently over the toes of her obligingly outstretched right foot, and then slowly, and respectfully, pulled the sock up her soft, smooth foot, over her shapely ankle bone, and further up her leg until the elasticated top of the sock came to just below her pretty kneecap – all the while taking great care not to touch his superior mistress’s bare skin.

Miss Deborah then placed her right foot on the ground and stretched out her left foot, whilst still plucking her eyebrows, to allow the kneeling footslave to do the same to her left foot and leg. He couldn’t help admiring miss Deborah’s choice of socks to go with her new calf-length, brown leather boots. Not only would the yellow kneesocks keep her legs nice and warm, they would also look good as they showed above the tops of her boots. They would remind everyone that her soft, feminine feet were well protected, warm and cosy, inside her new boots. New boots could often rub and chafe against a young woman’s heels or toes – but these socks were so thick they would almost act like protective cushions or bandages until the new leather of the boots softened up.

As soon as both the yellow socks were pulled up miss Deborah gave him his next order:

‘Now put the boots on me, slave.’

‘Yes, mistress.

For the second time that special day slave Patheticus had the honour of smelling fresh, new, feminine footwear as he put the brown, leather, calf length boots on miss Deborah’s outstretched feet, first the right one then the left one, and carefully zipped them up. He was careful because he didn’t want to inadvertently catch the socks in the zip. The boots were the correct size, but they were also really leg-huggingly tight above the creased leather around the ankles.

When miss Deborah stood up however, she looked the business! She strolled over to her body-length mirror, ordering slave Patheticus to follow to heel. She examined her booted legs in the mirror, moving her pretty legs into various coquettish positions to see what they looked like in the brown boots and yellow kneesocks.

She noticed that the left knee sock was slightly lower than the right one. She was a kindly mistress, and did not regard this as a punishable offence on Patheticus’s part (unlike her younger sister Jemima who undoubtedly would have done – especially now that she had a new whip to play with!), but it was a fault that he should nevertheless be tasked with correcting:

‘Straighten my left sock, slave. I want both my kneesocks to be the same height!’ she snapped.

‘Yes, mistress. At once, mistress!’

She smiled to herself as she watched slave Patheticus jump nervously to it in the mirror. He wasn’t to know, after all, that his mistress was not disposed to punish him for the slightly uneven socks! For all he knew she might be intent on breaking in her sister’s new whip!

Slave Patheticus fumbled a little as he attempted to pull up and straighten the top of mistress Deborah’s left, yellow kneesock without touching her bare leg. He was justifiably nervous - even the kindly and laid-back miss Deborah would punish him for sure if he touched the soft, feminine skin of her bare leg without permission.

His task would have been so much easier if miss Deborah had stood still, but she was continuously moving her shapely legs in order to look at her new boots from various different angles in the mirror. But then why shouldn’t she? A mistress, after all, is under no obligation to make her footslave’s life any easier!

Eventually, Patheticus managed to even up the yellow kneesocks, and mistress Deborah was ready to go back downstairs in order to show off her new boots to her family.

It was good timing, for at that very moment the doorbell rang, Fifi started yapping, and miss Jemima was heard shouting:

‘They’re here! It’s uncle James and aunt Joy!’

Chapter 2 – A Christmas Carol

Slave Patheticus followed miss Deborah down the stairs on his hands and knees with his face just inches from the backs of her new calf-length, brown leather boots.

Meanwhile uncle James, aunt Joy, and their 19 year old daughter, Melanie, were being greeted at the front door by the rest of the Fosdun family, including Fifi the dog who was going mental and running round in circles, as the guests stepped into the front porch.

The visiting relatives were, of course, laden with yet more presents for their hosts. But that was of no interest to slave Patheticus. There would, after all, be no present for him. What caught his footslave’s eye was the snow on the blonde miss Melanie’s pink, rubber wellington boots.

Snow was always bad news for a footslave. Not only was it cold on ones hands and knees should one be required to crawl along the ground outside after ones mistress’s heels – it could potentially ruin the mistress’s footwear if not cleaned off properly. He was thankful, therefore, that miss Melanie had had the good sense to wear her pink wellington boots with her black trousers tucked inside them – for wellingtons were, of course, designed to cope with snow, slush, or heavy rain. Less for him to worry about, although he noted with some consternation that mistress Joy, Melanie’s mother, was wearing an ordinary pair of black, leather ankle boots. He hoped they hadn’t been damaged by the snow.

He was about to find out as Mrs Fosdun (‘mistress Julia’ to the slave) barked an order at him:

‘Patheticus, kiss the feet of our female guests and welcome them to our home!’

‘Yes, mistress.’

Patheticus, like his roman counterparts before him, was well used to the ritual of greeting the guests of his masters by kissing their feet. The only difference was that an ancient roman slave-boy would, presumably, have never experienced kissing snow-covered boots and shoes – not in Rome anyway!

There was a certain protocol to be observed in such situations. Firstly, he was only required to kiss the feet of the female guests; and secondly, he must kiss the feet of the eldest female first – 39 year old mistress Joy, who, like her daughter, was a beautiful blonde. Patheticus therefore crawled over to mistress Joy and lowered his lips to her obligingly outstretched left ankle boot (mistress Joy was left-handed!):

‘Thank you for entering my mistresses’ home, mistress Joy,’ grovelled the slave, and he placed a respectful kiss on the wet toe of her stylish, stiletto heeled, black, zip-up ankle boot.

It really wasn’t the type of footwear she should have been wearing in the snow, but the high heels had seemingly helped to keep the snow, which wasn’t too deep outside, off the main part of her boot. Slave Patheticus just caught a glimpse of mistress Joy’s dark, nylon stocking under the hem of her light brown trouser leg, as she positioned her other foot under his nose for kissing.

Then it was the turn of her daughter, miss Melanie. The latter appeared to be waiting impatiently for Patheticus to kiss her pink, rubber, wellington boots as her right foot was already extended when he crawled over to her. Melanie didn’t have a personal footslave at home. It was always her favourite thing about visiting her cousins’ house – having her feet attended to by their footslave:

‘Thank you for entering my mistresses’ home, miss Melanie.’

He smelt the strong aroma of rubber as he kissed the dirty, melting snow on the toe of her right boot.

You will notice that slave Patheticus was not permitted to wish his superiors a ‘merry Christmas’. Such platitudes were considered inappropriate from a mere slave since he was in no position to wish his superiors a merry Christmas.

As soon as he had kissed the toe of miss Melanie’s other boot, mistress Julia, her aunt, made a suggestion:

‘Melanie, dear, would you like Patheticus to remove your boots for you?’

It was, if truth be told, a suggestion made partly out of self-interest on the part of mistress Julia. She could tolerate her sister’s stylish, black, ankle boots on her nice new carpet, but her niece’s wellington boots looked a bit dirty and unkempt. Patheticus would never let her own daughters’ boots get that dirty!

But mistress Julia needn’t have worried. Her niece was only too happy to have slave Patheticus take off her boots for her. She wanted him to see her socks!

‘Yes please, aunt Julia,’ and with that miss Melanie sat down on the chair in the porch to facilitate Patheticus in pulling off her boots.

Everyone watched as he did so. The pink boots had two, dirty-white drawstrings at the top, but they were there as much for show as for anything else. The boots slipped off miss Melanie’s feet with relative ease, revealing a pair of bright red, Christmas-themed socks each containing a drawing of a green Christmas tree surrounded by multicoloured boxes of presents on the outer ankles.

‘Ha! Ha! Love the socks, Mel!’ exclaimed mistress Jemima.

‘Yeah, I wore them specially for Patheticus,’ replied miss Melanie. ‘I thought I could make him kiss each of the boxes in turn, you know...make him kiss the boxes in a certain order, and that. I thought it might brighten up his day. What do you think?’

‘Cool!’ replied miss Jemima enthusiastically. ‘Slave, what do you say? Thank my cousin, miss Melanie, for thinking of you when she chose her socks!’

Slave Patheticus was, sad to say, genuinely grateful to miss Melanie for thinking of ways to brighten up his otherwise dreary existence. He couldn’t wait to kiss her Christmas-tree socks:

‘God bless you, mistress Melanie, thank you for choosing to wear those beautiful socks!’

‘Hey, check this out, Mel!’ interrupted miss Jemima, moving over to where slave Patheticus was kneeling in front of miss Melanie’s socked feet and pulling up her own black, denim jean leg above her green ‘monster’ slipper to reveal the side of her multicoloured ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ ankle sock:

‘Slave, kiss the side of my sock!’

‘Yes, mistress Jemima.’

Slave Patheticus knew exactly what she meant. She wanted him to activate the ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ tune by kissing Rudolph’s red nose. Miss Jemima could be such a show-off! She loved being the centre of attention.

He knelt forward and kissed the reindeer’s nose on her outer anklebone, and, sure enough the tinny tune started to play.

Everyone laughed, even miss Melanie, whose Christmas tree socks were being somewhat out-staged by her cousin’s musical socks.

And so Patheticus, surrounded by young women’s Christmas socks, crawled after them into the lounge where he was ordered to lie on his back so that mistress Melanie could warm her Christmas-tree socked feet on his face whilst she opened her presents from her aunt and uncle.

After some 30 minutes or so of happy Christmas present unwrapping, Jemima invited Melanie up to her room to see her new whip. Miss Melanie didn’t need a second invitation.

Patheticus, of course, was ordered to follow the two girls on his hands and knees up to miss Jemima’s bedroom. No point in showing someone a whip if they can’t also see the slave it’s designed for use on!

Slave Patheticus wondered whether he was about to get his first taste of the riding crop, but, although the two young women were happy to swing it and test it through the air, no strokes landed on him as he knelt in miss Jemima’s bedroom at their feet.

Instead, the crop was used as a ‘stick’ to threaten him with whilst he was ordered to kiss miss Melanie’s socks in the manner she had hinted at earlier:

‘Patheticus, I want you to kiss the boxes of presents on the sides of my socks; kiss my right sock first; start with the yellow box, then the blue box, then the green box, then the purple box, and then the pink box. And make sure you kiss all the boxes in the right order, or I’ll ask your mistress Jemima to beat you with her riding crop!’

‘Yes mistress Melanie. At once, mistress Melanie. As it pleases you, mistress Melanie!’

You will no doubt sense that Patheticus was nervous about this situation. It wasn’t that he needed the threat of the new riding crop across his slave-tunic covered back to perform his demeaning chore properly. He genuinely wanted to pay his respects to 19 year old miss Melanie’s socks. But it would be very easy for either miss Melanie or miss Jemima to find fault with his work, especially if his lips strayed onto the wrong coloured box, and miss Jemima was, quite naturally, just itching to use her new whip!

He therefore took great care to kiss the boxes on both miss Melanie’s socks in exactly the correct order as she dictated – even though she tried to confuse him by changing the order in which he had to kiss the coloured boxes on both her socks every time she made him repeat the process. It wasn’t until after some 15 minutes of concentrated sock kissing that mistress Melanie finally ordered Patheticus to stop. She was immensely gratified to hear her sock-servant give an audible sigh of relief. Oh what fun it is to ride roughshod over a pathetic and vulnerable, middle-aged, male slave!

Even more worryingly for Patheticus, however, the two female cousins were now clearly concocting some fiendish plan to humiliate him further as miss Jemima was whispering something in miss Melanie’s ear, and giggling!

‘Cool! Let’s do it!’ exclaimed miss Melanie all of a sudden.

‘Slave, fetch my grey leg-warmers and my chucks!’ barked mistress Jemima. ‘We’re going to take you for a nice walk in the woods!’

Slave Patheticus’s heart sank. He would have much rather stayed in the warmth of the bedroom, even if it meant having to resume the kissing of miss Melanie’s socks. But his wishes were not important.

And so he crawled over to miss Jemima’s wardrobe where he knew exactly where to find her black and white, high-top, canvas sneakers and her thick, grey leg-warmers. These aren’t going to be enough to stop your feet from getting wet in the snow, miss Jemima, he thought to himself.

He thought it, but, of course, he was in no position to say it.

Miss Melanie made way for miss Jemima on the side of the bed so that she could sit down whilst slave Patheticus pulled on her scrunched-up, grey leg warmers over her ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ musical socks, and then laced up her black and white, well-worn chucks over her pretty ankles and feet. The left sneaker even had a hole in the base! What sort of protection was that going to afford against the snow!

When they were back down in the porch he, of course, had to also pull mistress Melanie’s pink, rubber wellington boots back onto her feet over her Christmas tree socks and black trousers. No young woman in the Fosdun household, guest or otherwise, ever had to put on her own boots and shoes if she didn’t want to – and especially not a young, female guest on Christmas day!

At least mistress Melanie’s feet will be kept dry in her waterproofed boots, Patheticus thought to himself.

As Jemima attached a chain to slave Patheticus’s collar, Fifi, the pet poodle, was going absolutely berserk – clearly wanting to be taken for a walk herself. But the girls decided it would be too cold for her outside. Never mind about me, thought slave Patheticus. Mistresses Jemima and Melanie will be well wrapped up, but I shall doubtless be crawling along in the snow on my bare hands and knees with only my thin, plain brown slave-tunic to protect me from the elements! He also knew, however, that nobody cared about his discomfort.

He knew that nobody cared.

And sure enough nobody batted an eyelid at the sight of the shivering male slave crawling after the two beautiful young women as they made their way somewhat gingerly along the snowy footpath that led to the nearby woods. Passers by were wishing the girls a happy Christmas, but the slave was totally ignored. They probably assumed he was just the girls’ Christmas present!

When they reached the woods mistress Jemima’s mood seemed to change:

‘Slave! Look at the state of my chucks! They’re absolutely filthy and drenched! And my socks are all wet inside them! I could catch my death of cold!’

You and me both, thought Patheticus to himself, rather selfishly!

Patheticus felt like saying ‘Well, I tried to warn you, mistress Jemima’ – except that, of course, he hadn’t. He had only thought about saying something to her regarding the unsuitability of her footwear for the snow, but had shied away from it. That was his trouble - always thinking too much, and never saying or doing enough. He was, fundamentally, a coward - it was a serious personality defect in a slave, and, right now, it was to prove his downfall!

‘Why didn’t you stop the snow from getting into my socks?’ miss Jemima screamed at him. ‘I’ll bet they’re ruined! I’ll bet they won’t be able to play that nice tune any more!’

Thank heaven for small mercies, thought Patheticus to himself – although this was clearly no laughing matter, not that it was stopping mistress Melanie from laughing uncontrollably! Be that as it may his mistress Jemima was clearly angry with him, and possibly with some justification, for not preventing the snow from penetrating through her canvas sneakers and onto her socks (although quite how he was supposed to have prevented that from happening eluded him).

‘Whip him, Jem! Punish him!’ shouted the dry-footed, dry-socked mistress Melanie in her waterproof, pink rubber wellingtons.

And with that miss Jemima produced her new, black leather riding crop from inside her coat.

Ah! So that was their plan! That was what the whispering and giggling in the bedroom had been all about – finding an excuse to take him out to the woods and give him a whipping. An ominous thought occurred to him that the two young women must have wanted to whip him outside the house for a reason – perhaps they wanted to beat him really hard!

Slave Patheticus did what any self-deprecating slave would do. He crawled over to mistress Jemima’s snow-sodden, black and white, dirty canvas sneakers and showered them with supplicating kisses:

‘Oh pray, mistress Jemima. Please pardon me, mistress Jemima. Please don’t beat this dirty, useless slave!’

He was even kissing the snow and mud-splattered bottoms of her thick, grey leg warmers – as if that was going to do him any good!

‘Don’t listen to him, Jem. Make him bend over that tree stump over there, and I’ll stand in front of him and keep his head still between my legs while you beat him!’

‘Thanks, Mel!’ She did get on well with her younger cousin. There was only a year in age difference between them, and they did seem to think alike about things!

Mistress Melanie grabbed slave Patheticus’s neck chain and pulled him over to the aforementioned, snow-covered tree stump. Patheticus felt the material of the slave tunic covering his abdomen suddenly get cold and wet from the snow as mistress Melanie then moved round to stand in front of him. The stump was quite low, so when she scissored his head between her legs it was the upper part of her knee length, pink rubber wellington boots that he felt digging into his temples.

He was now, quite effectively, immobilised.

The next sensation he noticed was the cold air enveloping his bare behind as miss Jemima, who was now standing behind him, folded up the lower part of his thigh-length slave tunic to expose his buttocks. She now had the choice of whipping either the backs of his legs, or his bare buttocks.

Slave Patheticus braced himself.

‘Since its Christmas day we’re going to sing you a carol while we punish you, slave Patheticus – ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’. Do you know it?’ enquired miss Jemima mischievously from behind him.

‘Yes, mistress’ replied slave Patheticus, somewhat puzzled.

‘Ha! Ha! Well please feel free to sing along with us, slave!’ exclaimed miss Melanie from above him with undisguised glee in her voice. ‘Are you ready? I’ll count us all in. One, two, three:

On the first day of Christmas,
my mistress gave to me…’

Swish…Crack!

‘A beating on my bott-y!’

Patheticus felt his buttocks go numb for a split second, prior to a wave of stinging pain such as he had never before experienced in his life. Miss Jemima had delivered a truly stinging blow across the very centre of his exposed buttocks.

He was too shocked to cry out – or to join in the singing!

Both mistresses Jemima and Melanie were guffawing with laughter:

‘Ha! Ha! Come on, Patheticus. Join in! Where’s your Christmas spirit?’ complained mistress Jemima.

The two girls then continued to serenade him with their seasonal carol, adapted for the purposes of slave punishment:
‘On the second day of Christmas,
my mistress gave to me
Two turtle doves…’

Swish…Crack!

‘And a beating on my bott-y!’

This time mistress Jemima caught Patheticus on the sensitive crease between his thighs and buttocks. He had no choice but to howl this time:

‘Aaaaggghhh! ….’

‘Ha! Ha! I think he really liked that one Jem! Sounds like he now wants to sing along with us, although there must be a danger he’ll attract the big, bad wolf with all that howling!’ shouted miss Melanie.

‘Ha! Ha! Maybe he just lied to us about knowing the words to the carol?’ suggested mistress Jemima.

Slave Patheticus’s natural instincts as a slave undergoing corporal punishment kicked in. He must concentrate on miss Melanie’s beautiful wellington boots as they enveloped the sides of his face. Only that may help him to bear the dreadful, stinging pain. He saw a dirty smear along the rim of the heel on her right boot. ‘I will concentrate on that,‘ he resolved to himself. ‘I must try not to think about the pain!’

But it was difficult when you were, actually, familiar with the song, and knew exactly what was coming next! They must be going to give him a full twelve strokes of the riding whip – one for each verse! At least as the verses got longer, the gaps between the strokes would get longer – giving him more time to recuperate.

The girly singing continued with Patheticus injecting his new impromptu chorus – consisting of just one, high-pitched note - after each painful verse:

‘On the third day of Christmas,
my mistress gave to me
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves…’

Swish…Crack! 

‘And a beating on my bott-y!’

‘Aaaaagghhh…!’

‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, Patheticus! Sing along!’ laughed mistress Melanie.

The pathetic slave wondered, pathetically, if begging the young women for mercy might help:

‘Oh pray, mistress Jemima, mistress Melanie, please have mercy on this poor, helpless slave!’

‘Mercy? Mercy? Ha! Ha! Why should we show you any mercy, slave? Did you, or did you not, allow my socks to become wet inside my chucks?’ responded miss Jemima.

Slave Patheticus was blubbering and still trying to recover from the third cut of the riding crop.

‘Answer your mistress, dirty slave!’ screamed miss Melanie, digging her rubber-booted ankles even harder into his temples:

‘Aoww! Sorry, mistress. Yes, mistress, this slave did allow your socks to become wet and is truly sorry, mistress!’

‘Ha! Ha! Apology accepted, slave! But you still have to be punished, isn’t that right, mistress Melanie?’ suggested miss Jemima.

‘Seems fair enough to me, mistress Jemima!’ responded her cousin.

Patheticus now knew he had no hope of getting any mercy. In fact – he agreed with the two young women. He had to be punished for his wanton neglect for the well-being of his mistress’s musical socks! His only respite would be to concentrate his mind on the dirty heel of miss Melanie’s mud and snow stained, pink, rubber boot!

The Christmas carol therefore resumed:

‘On the fourth day of Christmas,
my mistress gave to me
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves…’

Swish…Crack!

‘And a beating on my bott-y!’

‘Aaaaggggh!...’

And so it continued, verse after verse, with Patheticus supplying the involuntary chorus, right up until the last verse: 

‘On the twelfth day of Christmas,
my mistress gave to me
Twelve drummers drumming,
Eleven pipers piping,
Ten lords a-leaping,
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves…’

Swish…Crack!

‘Aaaaggghhhh!...’

‘And a beating on my bott-y!’

Patheticus was exhausted, even though it had been miss Jemima doing all the work! He was experiencing the most bizarre and uncomfortable sensation of having a burningly warm backside whilst the rest of him was feeling the cold. Yet for all his suffering, as miss Melanie released his head from the vice like grip between her pink, rubber wellington boots, he knew there was only one proper way for a slave to react to such a beating.

He crawled through the snow on his hands and knees over to where miss Jemima was standing, her hands on her hips, and kissed her snow-sodden, canvas, black and white sneakers:

‘Thank you, mistress. God bless you, mistress, for correcting me. I promise I will be a good footslave to you from now on, mistress.’

Your heart would have to be made of stone not to melt at such a pitiful sight – a 44 year old, blubbering, cowardly male slave kissing the dirty, wet sneakers of a 20 year old girl and thanking her for beating him on the bare behind with a riding crop!

But Jemima and Melanie both, rather like the snow that surrounded them, were not for melting. They just laughed:

‘Ha! Ha! Kiss mistress Melanie’s boots also, slave, and thank her for holding your head still between her dirty boots while you were being punished!’ barked mistress Jemima.

‘Yes, mistress. At once mistress.’

Even though every movement of his buttocks now caused him pain, slave Patheticus obediently turned around and crawled over to mistress Melanie’s now outstretched in the snow, right, pink-booted foot. He deliberately kissed the muddy smear on the heel of her boot that had gone some way to helping him through his ordeal:

‘God bless you, mistress Melanie, and thank you for holding my head still between your dirty, rubber boots whilst mistress Jemima beat me!’

Patheticus by name, pathetic by nature!

Miss Jemima put her whip back inside her coat, and the trio of two happy young mistresses and their crawling, blubbering, middle-aged manservant headed back home.

Christmas dinner would soon be ready, and miss Jemima had now worked up a healthy appetite!

Chapter 3 – Christmas Dinner

When they arrived back at the house the first thing, of course, which Patheticus was required to do was to change mistress Jemima out of her sodden-wet socks.

He did so ashamedly, for the riding crop had impressed upon him his negligence with regard to looking out for his mistress’s feet and footwear. He now accepted that if he, the footslave, couldn’t be held accountable for the dire state of her novelty, Christmas socks, who on earth could be?

He therefore knelt humbly in front of miss Jemima as she sat in the chair in the front porch, and, with his head appropriately weighed down with shame, peeled the musty, damp ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ musical socks off his mistress’s feet. Mercifully, Patheticus was not ordered to test whether the musical socks still worked. He was grateful for that, not just because the signs were not good (the socks were truly wet through with dirty, melted snow water), but also because he really had reached the point where he didn’t know if he could stand the torture of having to listen to that dreadful, tinny tune yet again!

Meanwhile, miss Melanie had kindly gone up to Jemima’s bedroom to fetch a towel and a fresh pair of socks for her cousin’s feet. Needless to say she did not bring Patheticus a change of slave-tunic, even though the front of his existing tunic was equally cold and sodden from having had to lie prone over the snow-covered tree stump during his whipping.

Miss Melanie, who by now had kicked off her dirty, pink rubber boots and was standing proud in her own, still dry, Christmas-tree themed socks threw the towel and fresh socks down onto the floor beside Patheticus:

‘Dry your mistress’s feet and put these other socks on her, you dirty, waste-of-space footslave!’ she barked angrily on behalf of her aggrieved cousin.

Jemima was pleased. Her cousin had chosen well when it came to the fresh pair of socks – one of miss Jemima’s favourite pairs: her bright red and green towelling socks. They somehow still looked Christmassy, and, of course, they would go well with her furry green ‘monster’ slippers with the scary, red eyes – inasmuch as anything went well with such a ridiculous pair of novelty slippers!

She decided she would have Patheticus kiss her monster slippers once he had put them on her freshly dried and besocked feet, just to remind him who was boss, and to humiliate him further in front of her cousin and aunt and uncle.

On re-entering the house slave Patheticus had had the privilege of smelling not only miss Jemima’s musty, damp socks, but also the delicious turkey dinner that Mrs Fosdun was so lovingly preparing. The smell of warm, roast turkey was now permeating the entire house making everyone hungry. Fortunately, they would all be able to sit down and partake of the sumptuous Christmas meal shortly. Even Fifi was looking forward to it – she was bound to get some leftovers!

Only Patheticus would have to make do with smelling the delicious hot food, for he had already eaten that day – his normal ration of stale bread and tap water, although, to be fair, Mrs Fosdun had kindly ensured the bread had an extra layer of blue-mould on it that special morning.

In any case, slave Patheticus knew he had not exactly earned his daily bread this day, what with his negligence over miss Jemima’s musical socks, and so he regarded his growing hunger pangs as just another element of his just punishment, along with the still painful stripes on the backs of his legs and across his buttocks.

Whilst everyone, apart from Mrs Fosdun, was sitting in the lounge waiting to be called into dinner, miss Jemima was, true to her earlier intentions, ordering slave Patheticus to kiss her furry slippers in front of everyone, to the assembled family’s great amusement:

‘Kiss Mr Monster, slave!’ was all she said.

‘Mr Monster’ was what she called her right slipper. You will no doubt have worked out from that that ‘Mrs Monster’ was her left slipper. It wasn’t exactly rocket science, which was just as well, for miss Jemima was no rocket scientist! She was a checkout girl in her local supermarket!

Mind you, Patheticus was no rocket scientist, either. He was merely a supermarket check-out girl’s personal footslave.

He was, however, very adept at kissing young women’s slippered feet.

‘Ha! Ha! Don’t be afraid, Patheticus, I’m sure Mr Monster won’t bite!’ laughed miss Andrea, sitting opposite her sister Jemima, and still wearing her new pink and white sneakers on her old pink and white socks.

The joke was, of course, that this was a signal to miss Jemima to make the slipper on her right foot do just that! As slave Patheticus lowered his face and lips towards the toe of the furry, green slipper, miss Jemima suddenly raised her foot, scrunched up her toes inside her sock and slipper, made a roaring noise, and kicked the footslave in the nose.

How everyone laughed – everyone, that is, apart from slave Patheticus who now had a sore nose to add to his list of Christmas woes.

‘Aw, you frightened Mr Monster , Patheticus – suddenly leering down at him like that!’ protested miss Jemima. ‘You need to ask his permission to kiss him first. You need to explain to Mr Monster that mistress Jemima has ordered you to kiss his handsome face, that you are just a humble footslave and therefore have to do whatever your mistress commands, and ask him nicely if he would mind terribly letting you kiss him respectfully so that you can fulfil your mistress’s orders. You need to call him ‘master’, and explain to him that if he declines your request your mistress Jemima is likely to punish you with her new, black leather riding crop, that you are frightened of the crop, and that you are therefore begging him to let you kiss him!’

Everyone was now in stitches at mistress Jemima’s teasing of the family footslave:

‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, Patheticus, beg Mr Monster to let you kiss him. Do as my sister suggests!’ screamed the normally placid and much more mature mistress Deborah, still wearing her new, brown leather, calf-length, platformed sole boots

and yellow kneesocks, but now exhibiting some signs of being ever so slightly tipsy.

And so, slave Patheticus braced himself for his humiliating verbal petition to an inanimate, furry green, monster-shaped slipper. Strangely the scary red eyes on the toe of the slipper seemed to be waiting for him to beg:

‘Oh pray, master Mr Monster , if it pleases you master Mr Monster, this humble slave craves your indulgence, and begs to be allowed to kiss your face, as his mistress Jemima has ordered him to do so under threat of punishment from her new, leather riding crop if he fails to carry out her order. Oh pray, master Mr Monster, this slave fears the whip, and begs you to spare him from punishment by allowing him to kiss your handsome face, if it so pleases you master.’

Miss Deborah was by now in hysterics of laughter, along, it has to be said, with everyone else. Everyone was laughing at the hapless and helpless pathetic slave who was begging a furry, green slipper for compassion!

‘Ha! Ha! What does Mr Monster have to say, Jem?’ enquired miss Deborah.

‘Erm…he wants to consult his wife, Mrs Monster!’ exclaimed miss Jemima, turning her two slippered feet in together so that they could have a private conversation with each other in connection with slave Patheticus’s humble request.

‘Oh I do hope Mrs Monster isn’t a jealous woman! She might not like a male slave kissing her husband on the face!’ squealed miss Andrea.

Again there was raucous laughter.

‘Ha! Ha! No – she says it’s alright providing slave Patheticus isn’t gay!’ replied miss Jemima, the arbiter of what her furry slippers were saying. ‘You’re not gay, are you Patheticus?’

‘No, mistress.’

‘Ha! Ha! He could hardly be described as “straight’ though, could he?’ interjected the drunken miss Deborah. ‘I mean, when was the last time you had sex with a woman, Patheticus?’

The question was, of course, a nonsensical question to ask a humble footslave. Mistresses did not have sex with slaves, therefore slaves never had sex. Everyone present knew that, but they wanted to hear Patheticus say it:

‘Please, mistress Deborah, if it pleases you mistress Deborah, this slave is not worthy to have sex with a woman, and never will be, since he is nothing but a dirty bootlicking, socksucking slave, if it so pleases you mistress.’

‘Ha! Ha! Too right slave! You’re just a down-in-the-dirt footslave, fit only to kiss women’s shoes, boots and socks!’ screeched miss Deborah gleefully.

‘And their slippers!’ added miss Andrea with equal relish, reminding everyone of what the conversation was originally about. ‘Ha! Ha! It’s alright, Mrs Monster, Patheticus says he’s not gay. In fact he’s a virgin and never will have sex with anyone, because he’s just a big girls’ sockslave. Your husband is quite safe!’

And with that Mrs Monster apparently was reassured and acceded to slave Patheticus kissing her ‘husband’ on the face. He also, of course, had to then kiss Mrs Monster on the ‘face’ - just to say thank you to her for allowing him to kiss her husband’s handsome, monster face.

The slipper-teasing only ended when the doorbell rang and miss Jemima jumped up out of her armchair to answer the door (followed by the inevitably barking and yelping Fifi) leaving Patheticus staring at the temporary imprints left in the carpet by the soles of his mistress’s slippers.

He prepared himself, however, for some more foot-kissing if the newly arrived caller was female. It transpired that it was actually master Andrew, however – miss Deborah’s fiancé. He had, as a surprise, been invited to Christmas dinner at his new fiancée’s house by her mother.

Needless to say miss Deborah was ecstatic, and quickly stood up to embrace her boyfriend before making room for him to sit down on the sofa beside her:

‘Wow! I like your new boots, darling!’ commented Andrew.

‘Yeah, aren’t they super! Uncle James and aunt Joy bought them for me!’

Her uncle and aunt looked suitably pleased with themselves.

They are nice boots, thought Patheticus to himself, but I’ve had the honour of smelling and touching them close-up, unlike you, master Andrew! For although I may never get to have sex with my beautiful mistress Deborah – your fiancée – I am at least allowed to touch and smell her footwear in my capacity as her footslave!

You may have gathered that slave Patheticus was somewhat jealous of master Andrew – a jealousy, no doubt, borne of the fact that the latter would soon be taking his favourite mistress Deborah away from him when they married in the Spring. The very thought of that caused slave Patheticus more stress than anything else that had happened to him thus far that Christmas day.

‘I hope Patheticus has already paid his respects to your new boots, sweetheart?’ continued master Andrew.

‘Erm...actually, even though I had him put them on me earlier, I don’t think he has actually kissed them yet!’ replied miss Deborah, twiddling her hair flirtatiously in the way that tipsy young women sometimes do.

Slave Patheticus’s mood lightened in a split second. Could it be that he actually was about to be ordered to kiss miss Deborah’s lovely new boots – and all at master Andrew’s behest? Ha! Ha! What a loser master Andrew is – playing right into my hands, thought Patheticus (in a manner quite unbecoming for a humble slave and worthy of severe punishment).

Sure enough master Andrew summoned him over:

‘Well, I’ll soon put that right! Hey there, slaveboy, crawl over here and kiss my fiancée’s new boots!’ he ordered.

The women present, even aunt Joy, all admired Andrew. He was so masterful – referring to the middle-aged footservant as a slave boy when he must be at least 20 years Patheticus’s junior!

Patheticus, however, for all his hatred of young master Andrew, was in no doubt who was boss:

‘Yes master. At once, master.’

Slave Patheticus may have sounded dutifully humble and put upon. But he was genuinely delighted to be commanded by her fiancé to kiss mistress Deborah’s smart, new, calf-length boots in front of everyone.

He crawled on his hands and knees across the carpet, past the pink and white sneakers and white ankle socks of miss Andrea, and over to the outstretched toe of miss Deborah’s brown, leather, zip-up boot. As he placed a respectful kiss on the toe he noticed that, even though the leather, as one would expect, still smelt brand new, there were already little lines appearing in the texture of the boot where it was beginning to mould itself to the individual contours of his mistress’s foot around the toe area. It was the same with the left boot. It somehow compensated for the fact that the boots were still pristine-clean, for slave Patheticus was more used to having to kiss dirty, well-worn, feminine shoes and boots as opposed to brand new boots fresh out of the box!

Miss Deborah, still imbibing merrily on her third, pre-Christmas dinner glass of wine, was clearly getting more and more drunk, and at the same time aroused by her fiancé’s presence:

‘Thank you, darling!’ she exclaimed (addressing her fiancé, of course, not the slave!). ‘Would you mind if Patheticus lies on the floor under my boots while we have dinner? I want him to study my new boots close up and get to know them really well. After all, he’ll be required to spend a lot of time cleaning and polishing them from now on!’

At least until the Spring, thought Patheticus, somewhat morose again.

‘Sure, honey! No problem! Just so long as he only stares at your boots and not your pretty, yellow kneesocks!’ replied master Andrew.

‘Ha! Ha! Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll keep the sole of my right boot resting on the side of his cheek whilst he stares at the sole of my left boot. He won’t be able to look up at my legs!’

And so that was exactly how slave Patheticus spent the Fosdun family Christmas dinner – lying on his stomach on the floor under the dining room table, his right cheek resting on the carpet whilst his upturned left cheek acted as a footrest for mistress Deborah’s right boot. Try as he might, he could not see the tops of her yellow kneesocks, only the lower half of her left, calf-length, brown leather boot. Master Andrew had his wish!

The Fosduns were noisy eaters – slapping and slurping their way through the many courses of their sumptuous Christmas meal as they chatted and told jokes in their jolly, paper, party hats. Even Fifi the poodle was encouraged to wear a paper hat as she got to eat lots of titbits from everyone’s plate. Only Patheticus wasn’t allowed to wear a hat and was forced into involuntary abstemiousness as he lay humbly on the floor under mistress Deborah’s brown, leather boots and yellow kneesocks!

But Patheticus, the footrest, wasn’t completely forgotten. At one point mistress Deborah seemed to notice for the first time through her increasingly drunken haze the red whip marks on the backs of his legs. She pulled up his slave tunic to look at the further, angry marks decorating his bare buttocks.

‘Do you mind, darling?’ complained master Andrew who was, naturally, seated beside her at the table. ‘I’m trying to eat my dinner!’

‘Sorry, honey, I was just admiring the raw marks on Patheticus’s legs ! Did you do that, Jem? Did you use the new whip that father bought for you?’

‘Yeah,’ replied her younger sister proudly. ‘Me and Mel had to give him what for when we were outside having our walk in the woods as he allowed my socks to get all soaked through my sneakers!’

‘Ha! Ha! Well done, darling! I knew it wouldn’t take you long to get into the swing of it!’ remarked her father, in between gulping down his glass of red wine. ‘How many strokes did you give him?’

‘Ha! Ha! Twelve!’ answered miss Melanie on behalf of her cousin. ‘Twelve stingers across his bare botty in honour of the twelve days of Christmas!’

The two girls giggled at their private joke as they thought again of their cruelly adapted Christmas carol.

Slave Patheticus wasn’t laughing as he listened to the conversation amongst his betters from underneath miss Deborah’s right boot. The latter seemed to take some pity on him, however, as the next thing she did was reach down in order to allow him to pull the wishbone with her. To Patheticus’s initial horror, it broke in his favour. Needless to say, he was expecting to get into yet more trouble over this – a slave should never be seen to win any kind of ‘contest’ with his mistress, and, in any case, a slave’s ‘wishes’ were of supreme unimportance!

Nevertheless, perhaps because she was feeling very relaxed and ‘merry’, miss Deborah appeared not to take offence, and actually congratulated him and ordered him to make a wish. He, of course, in keeping with tradition, made his wish silently, but, predictably, he was then ordered by miss Deborah to tell his assembled superiors what it was he had wished for, still whilst he was lying on the ground under the sole of her brown, platformed boot:

‘If it pleases you, mistress Deborah, I wished that I could be your footslave, and the footslave of your sisters, mistress Andrea and mistress Jemima, for the rest of my natural life, if it so pleases you mistresses!’

Everyone laughed at him!

‘Ha! Ha! Be careful what you wish for, Patheticus. It might come true!’ stated miss Andrea. ‘After all, we do have the power to make that particular wish come true!’

Then please, oh please, let me continue to serve miss Deborah when she moves out of the family home, thought slave Patheticus to himself. Please say that I can still visit her and serve her on a regular basis. Please, miss Deborah! Please, master Andrew!

He would just have to wait and see. One of the facts of life of being a slave was that your fate was in the hands of others, and there was nothing you could do about it. Except perhaps grovel and fawn, and try to ingratiate yourself with those who had total power over you.

After dinner the extended family, all still wearing their brightly coloured, paper, party hats at Mrs Fosdun’s insistence, retired to the lounge again. Slave Patheticus was now allocated to serve mistress Andrea as a footrest. The latter had ordered him to take off her new sneakers as they were apparently starting to rub slightly. It wasn’t that they weren’t the right size, or anything. They just needed to be ‘broken in’.

She could equally have ordered slave Patheticus to fetch her soft, black ballet slippers and put them on her feet instead, but she decided just to stay in her socked feet. She was feeling relaxed and wanted to let her feet breathe a bit. It would be a bit too cold to go barefoot, even in the warmth of the lounge, but her pretty feet should be warm enough in just her pink and white socks with their latticed-style stitching.

Slave Patheticus was therefore compelled to lie on his back on the carpet under miss Andrea’s chair whilst she rested her pink and white socked feet on his upturned face. This allowed mistress Andrea to rub her socked feet up and down his face – pleasurable for her, but somewhat smelly for him for, as we all know, feet and socks that have been inside a girl’s sneakers all day long, even brand new sneakers, can end up smelling a bit. Fortunately, precisely because the sneakers were brand new, the smell of miss Andrea’s foot and sock sweat was mingled with the much more pleasant smell of the fresh rubber padding from the insides of the sneakers.

The pink and white socks, as has been mentioned before, were not brand new, and whilst mistress Andrea and the other free human beings started playing a game of charades, he concentrated on the numerous little black balls of dirty sock lint that had accumulated over time on the soles of her socks. Some of them were even rubbing off onto his slave face and falling into his slave mouth as she moved her socked feet up and down his ugly, slave features. Everyone, apart from Patheticus, was seemingly a little bit drunk now and he was sure he heard mistress Andrea belch above him in a most unladylike manner as he had the honour of ingesting her sock lint.

Of course, lying on ones back, even on a relatively plush carpet, is not exactly the ideal position for a recently whipped slave. The pain in his buttocks and the backs of his legs seemed to get worse again as miss Andrea rested her socked feet on his face. His only respite came whenever it was mistress Andrea’s turn to get up and stand in the centre of the room in order to act out the particular film she was thinking of.

She wasn’t gone for long, however, as miss Jemima guessed it almost straight away, and soon the sock-lint covered soles of mistress Andrea’s creased pink and white, cotton socks were back resting on his face and enveloping him in her sweaty sock aroma once again.

He would, in point of fact, have been quite happy to remain lying under miss Andrea’s sweaty socks for the rest of the evening, for he was very conscious of the importance of being a superior mistress’s footrest. However, after some two hours she had had enough of massaging her socked feet on his face and, since nobody else had any immediate use for him, she had him put her new sneakers back on her socked feet again so that she could escort him out of the light and warmth of the family lounge into his cold and dark accommodation in the former coal-bunker outside in the back yard.

As he knelt alone in the bunker (for there was no room for him either to stand up or stretch himself out in the square shaped bunker), slave Patheticus could hear the muffled, joyful laughter of his three wise mistresses and their extended family coming from inside the house. They were all happy and contented, their bellies full to bursting with delicious Christmas fare, whilst he was cold, wet and hungry.

But he realised that this was as it should be. For he was just their slave and they were his masters and betters. They were where they belonged and he too was in his proper place – on his knees and alone in their disused coal-bunker.

Epilogue

Several hours later, as slave Patheticus remained shivering and alone in the dark, freezing, coal-bunker, his appropriately submissive and docile mind could never have imagined what was about to happen next. Indeed, it could well be the case that nothing as astonishing as this has ever before been recorded in the annals of female domination literature!

Mistresses Deborah, Andrea and Jemima suddenly emerged into the bitter cold of the back yard and summoned Patheticus to project his head out of the small, square-shaped aperture at the bottom of the old coal-bunker.

As soon as he had complied, they each crouched down in turn in order to deliver him a small gift: Mistress Deborah placed a plate of cold, leftover turkey on the snowy ground beside her new, brown leather, calf-length boots; mistress Andrea placed a cold, leftover mince pie on the snowy ground beside her new, pink and white sneakers; and last, but not least, mistress Jemima placed a bowl of flat lemonade on the snowy ground beside her green, furry ‘monster’ slippers.

She then crowned the slave’s obediently outstretched head with a paper, Christmas party hat, kissed him on the cheek, and spoke on behalf of herself and her sisters:

‘Merry Christmas, Patheticus!’

Slave Patheticus was, not for the first time, lost for words! He would have wished his mistresses a merry Christmas back, except that, as we indicated earlier, a slave is in no position to wish his betters a merry Christmas.

As the snow started falling again and his three queens turned and headed back into the warmth of the house, slave Patheticus tucked eagerly into his totally unexpected and undeserved treat of cold turkey, cold mince pie and flat lemonade.

So you see, even a footslave’s Christmas can have a happy ending!