Aysha’s Personal Footslave

Part 1 – The 21^st Birthday Present

The family had all gathered in the living room to witness the arrival of Miss Aysha's new personal footslave.

Mr Iqbal, the head of the family, stood proudly beside his youngest daughter, 21 year-old Aysha, as they waited for Abdul, the family's slave-overseer, to bring in the new slave to pay homage to Aysha's feet for the first time. It was always a fun time for the whole family - the breaking in of a new slave.

Also in the room were Mr Iqbal's wife, Zubeeda, and their two other daughters, 23 year-old Tahira and 26 year-old Iffat, together with their respective husbands, Ghulam and Ahmed. All were eagerly anticipating the scene of domination and humiliation they were about to witness, but none more so than the petulant Miss Aysha herself.

As well as being the youngest of the three sisters, she was, arguably, the prettiest - petite, with long dark hair and big brown eyes. As the youngest of the family she was also the apple of her father's eye, and, if truth be told, was rather spoilt. She had been longing for this day all her life - the day when her father would present her with her very own footslave by way of a 21st birthday present. It was a family tradition - the daughter is presented with a personal footslave to do with as she pleases on her 21st birthday.

The two elder sisters had left their personal footslaves locked up at home today, but Aysha was already vowing to herself that this slave of hers would never be allowed to leave her side. She had so many humiliating and degrading things that she wanted to do to him. This slave would soon know the meaning of total devotion to her feet and footwear.

She was casually dressed in her normal everyday 'student' attire consisting of a white blouse, blue denim jeans, black ankle socks and her favourite pair of white sneakers with blue stripes on the sides. She had deliberately turned up the bottom of her jeans so that they revealed just a hint of her brown flesh above the top of her black ankle socks. She wanted this new slave to have a good view of the sneakers and socks he would soon be worshipping in front of her assembled relatives. Her mother and father were standing next to her - ready to enjoy the sight of their youngest daughter having her feet kissed by her new slaveboy.

At that moment Abdul entered the room. In his hands he held a heavy chain which was attached to a collar around the neck of a cowering, semi-naked, leather-hooded male slave who followed him humbly on all fours. Tahira gasped with excitement and Aysha's mother clapped her hands with joy at the sight. Her husband had chosen well - although the slave's face was concealed by the hood she could tell that he must be in his mid to late forties. How humiliating it would be for this middle-aged male slave to be bossed about by her youngest daughter!

Aysha too was thrilled. At last - her very own slave to do whatever she liked with, someone to obey her every whim, however perverse, however cruel!

Abdul presented the kneeling slave at Aysha's pretty young feet, adorned in her socks and sneakers, and ordered him to keep his head lowered in front of his young mistress's feet, and to await her instructions.

Aysha's father then stepped forward and made a short prepared speech:

"Dirty slave, you are now the personal footslave of my beloved daughter, Miss Aysha. You will obey her at all times and be subject to her every whim. If you fail to comply with her every demand you will be severely punished".

He then turned to his daughter:

"Aysha, my dear, please accept this gift of a personal footslave from myself and your mother, together with this whip with which to punish him".

He then handed her a short, brown, single-tailed leather whip as final confirmation of her new status as a slave-owner.

Her own slave and her own whip! Aysha's heart raced wildly as an overwhelming feeling of power surged through her veins. But the best was yet to come, as her father addressed the kneeling slave again:

"Dirty slave, you will now pay your respects to your new mistress. You will kiss both of Miss Aysha's feet 10 times each".

The other family members laughed with joy and moved in closer to get a better view, as Miss Aysha extended her right sneakered foot directly under the kneeling slave's hooded face.

The footslave was anxious. Abdul, the overseer, had warned him what would happen to him if his new mistress was in any way displeased with him. The girl's father would be sure to be offended and would arrange for him to go back to the slave mines. If he was to avoid such a terrible fate he had no option but to throw himself body and soul into this new role as the personal footslave of this rich, haughty and spoilt young woman.

As he lowered his slave lips to the top of the girl's white sneaker he could see through the eye-slits in the leather hood he was wearing that her sneaker was not that clean. There was a good deal of inground dirt and scuff marks along the side of the sneaker, but he knew he had no choice but to obey the instructions of the girl's father and publicly pay his most humble respects to his young mistress and her dirty, well-worn sneakers in front of her family.

As his lips made their first contact with the top of her sneaker-toe he smelt rubber. He also noticed her black ankle
sock crease slightly as her foot flexed involuntarily in reaction to his first act of humble obeisance to his young mistress.

Aysha felt exhilarated. As the wretched slave raised and then lowered his lips for the second kiss on her outstretched, dirty-sneakered foot she fondled the brown leather whip in her right hand. Truly this was power. She had an overwhelming sense of her superiority over the kneeling creature at her feet, and she wanted to hurt him, to whip him in front of her family by way of a public demonstration of that power. But she restrained herself. There would be plenty of opportunities to punish him, and, for now, her family were just enjoying the sight of their youngest member having her feet worshipped by her new slave.

For his part, the footslave was acutely aware of the brown leather whip dangling menacingly from his young mistress's right hand. The tip of the whip was resting on the top of his hooded head. He made sure each kiss to her foot was audible and respectful. He realised that this young woman who now towered above him held his whole future in her hands. He must satisfy her, he must please her, by demonstrating his total submission towards her in front of her parents and family.

As he kissed, he heard through the ear-slits of his leather hood, the comments of the witnesses to his degradation:

"That's right, dirty footslave, kiss Miss Aysha's feet. Taste her dirty sneakers", said one of the young men.

"Come on, footlick put some effort into it. We want to see the filth on Miss Aysha's sneakers attach itself to your dirty slave lips!", shouted one of the young women excitedly.

"That's right, you're nothing but a girl's footlicker now, you dirty piece of filth. Pay your respects to your goddess-mistress, you no-good slave", added the other sister.

He heard her parents laugh as they gave each other a congratulatory kiss on the cheek. They had done well by their youngest daughter - she had turned into a right little Madam, and today she looked radiant and in her element as her new slave worshipped her feet. It pleased them both too that their other daughters and their sons-in-law were clearly almost as excited as Aysha herself at the opportunity to humiliate and degrade this new slave in the family.

After the requisite 10 kisses to each of Aysha's sneakered feet, Mr Iqbal declared that the other family members should retire to the patio for refreshments whilst Miss Aysha 'got to know her new slave'. He suggested to Aysha that she take the slave to her room, and 'explain to him what his duties would be'.

Aysha took the chain from Abdul and ordered the footslave to follow her on all fours 'to heel'. As he crawled after her he made sure to keep his eyes focussed on the back of his young mistress's white sneakers and black ankle socks. He noticed as he crawled up the stairs on all fours after her that the sneakers were showing signs of considerable wear and tear at the top of the heels. The socks also looked well-worn with some of the stitching showing signs of disrepair. The thought occurred to him that, as her personal footslave, he would soon become very familiar with all this young asian woman's footwear; indeed, it would soon come to dominate his miserable life.

After entering her room, Aysha sat on the edge of her bed and ordered her new slave to prostrate himself, face down on the floor, at her feet. She then placed one of her sneakered feet on his hooded left cheek, forcing him to rest his right cheek on the carpeted floor. Then she placed her other foot in front of his face - so that his entire field of vision through the narrow eye slits of his leather slave hood was taken up with her white sneaker and black, creased ankle sock. He now noticed even more how scuffed the side of the white sneaker was.

Aysha then did as her father had suggested and explained to the slave how his wretched life was going to be from now on. She knew exactly what to say as she had been looking forward to this day for months:

"You are now my personal footslave. I shall name you 'sockboy' as you shall be spending much of your time kissing, smelling and washing my dirty socks. You shall refer to me as 'Mistress Aysha'.

You shall remain on your hands and knees at all times unless I order you otherwise, and you shall never, under any circumstances, raise your head above my knee, or look me, or any other human being, in the eye. You must concentrate at all times on my feet and footwear, and you must think of nothing else.

The leather slave hood which is permanently covering your head will help you to do this. I can control all your senses by means of this hood, as I can open or close the slits over your eyes, the slits over your ears, and the zip covering your mouth. Only your nose will be permanently uncovered, thereby ensuring that you can breathe. However, most of the time you will be breathing in the smell of my feet and footwear".

She moved her sneakered foot even closer to his face so that her black ankle sock was covering his nose, just to emphasise this last point.

"Your daily duties will be to wash my feet first thing every morning and then to put on my shoes and socks after I get dressed. I shall decide which shoes and socks I shall wear each morning, and you will ensure that all my footwear is kept clean. I have lots of pairs of sneakers and boots which you will polish with your slave tongue, and you will wash my dirty socks every night in your slave mouth.

After I have had breakfast you will accompany me on your hands and knees to my college, where you will kneel and stare at my feet all day whilst I attend my lectures.

You will kiss my friends' feet also and treat them with the same respect you show me.

When we come home in the evening you will sniff and massage my dirty socked feet whilst I relax in front of the television, before you retire to your hole for the night".

She then stood up and pulled on the chain around his neck collar, forcing him to follow her again on his hands and knees to what appeared to be a hatch on the other side of her bedroom.

"This is the entrance to your hole. You will crawl into it feet first when I have finished using you for the day and I shall keep it locked from the outside. Inside the hole you will also find all my shoes and socks, and you will clean and polish those with your slave tongue each night until I turn off the light in your hole. Do you understand, sockboy?"

"Yes, Mistress Aysha."

"Understand one thing well, footslave. I will have your obedience and your submission. If you displease me or disobey me you will be sorely punished. You have seen the whip my father has given to me and you will feel its sting if you do not do exactly as I say. You will be my footslave for the rest of your natural life, so I suggest you obsess yourself with my feet and footwear. Get to know my socks, boots and shoes. Familiarise yourself with my personal foot odour, and think of nothing else other than how to service my feet. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mistress Aysha. Thank you, Mistress Aysha. This slave will obey you at all times, Mistress Aysha", grovelled the humble footslave at her feet.

She pulled him by the chain back towards her bed, and had him kneel in front of her, head bowed, as she sat on the edge of the bed.

"Very well, sockboy, you may now begin your servitude to me by taking off my sneakers and sniffing my dirty socks. I've been wearing them for the last three days as I want you to get to know my foot odour right from the outset. As you sniff my socks, remember that I am better than you and that you are privileged to be smelling the socks of an asian goddess such as myself. Do them one at a time, slave".

The footslave fumbled a bit with the young woman's shoe laces but managed to get off her right sneaker first. As he took the shoe off his senses were overwhelmed with the truly awful aroma of stale vinegar and mouldy cheese. He could see that the area around the toe of her black sock was drenched in her foot sweat, but, as she graciously lifted her socked foot to his slave nose he knew that he had no choice but to audibly sniff in the young woman's stinking foot odour.

Miss Aysha cocked her head playfully to one side as the slave obediently sniffed at the foul, socked foot. He felt sick, but he knew that even this was better than working in the slave mines for the rest of his life.

Miss Aysha then held up her other, still sneakered, foot to his face and ordered him to do the same again.

As she did so, her brother in law Ahmed knocked on her bedroom door and asked if he could come.

She bade him enter, and enjoyed the expression of delight on Ahmed's face as he saw what she was making the dirty slave do.

Ahmed laughed:

"Wow, I can smell those socks from here!" he quipped, as the humble footslave gave a loud sniff to her outstretched, damp, socked foot.

Ahmed then addressed the slave:

"Are you enjoying it, slave? How do you like the smell of your new Mistress's sweaty socks?"

"It is an honour for a humble footslave such as myself to smell the socks of such a beautiful young Mistress, Master", replied sockboy.

"Ha! Ha!", laughed Ahmed. "Well said, slaveboy! But perhaps you think you are too good to taste your young Mistress's toe jam? What do you think, slave?"

The footslave knew this was a potentially dangerous situation. Master Ahmed was clearly trying to impress his younger sister-in-law with his machismo. The slave knew he would have to be at his most submissive if he was to avoid a beating at the Master Ahmed's hands.

"If it pleases you, master, this slave is not even worthy to taste Mistress Aysha's toe jam, but it begs its mistress for the honour of doing so"

Ahmed was loving it.

"Did you hear that, Aysha, the pathetic slave is begging to taste the dirt under your toe nails! Make him take off your dirty black socks and eat your sweaty toe jam!"

"Do it, slave", ordered Mistress Aysha, now drunk with power.

The slave humbly removed both her dirty black ankle socks and then lowered his slave tongue to the big toe of her right foot. Her foot flesh was light brown in colour, and her toenails had been painted red. However, because her feet had been in the same pair of socks for three days the paint had mingled with her foot sweat and had begun to chip away, revealing a ridge of dark toe jam under the top of her toe nails.

"Use your teeth to scrape out the jam from under her big toe nail, dirty slave", ordered Master Ahmed, "and then chew it and roll it around on your slave tongue so that you can savour it before swallowing it. Make sure you pick up any bits of sock lint into your slave mouth as well".

"Yes, Master, I obey", said the pathetic middle-aged footslave to the much younger man as he scraped out and then tasted the salty toe jam under Mistress Aysha's dirty big toe.

"Ha Ha! You're nothing but a dirty, pathetic footlick, slaveboy", laughed Master Ahmed, pleased with himself at his wonderful idea for humiliating the middle-aged slave in front of the young woman.

Aysha was loving it too. She decided she could learn a lot from Ahmed about how to humiliate her footslave. And this was just the beginning of her footslave's miserable lifetime of degradation and humiliation at her feet! She hadn't really started yet!

Behind his leather hood, as he chewed and swallowed Mistress Aysha's dirty toe jam, the slave sobbed quietly with humility and shame. He knew that he was now the lowest of the low, despised by all and merely an object to be used for the amusement of his young mistress and her friends and relatives. Yet he accepted his lot with humility and resignation, as befits a lowly, sock sniffing and toe jam eating footslave.

Part 2 – The first morning

The footslave spent the evening and night in a hole at the side of Mistress Aysha’s bedroom, surrounded by her shoes, boots and socks – just as she had promised him.

His 21 year old mistress had graciously left the ear flaps on his black leather slave hood open and, as a result, he was able to hear the muffled noises from her bedroom television outside his hole, but the hatch to his hole had been firmly locked from the outside – her shoes and footwear were clearly to be his only entertainment of an evening before his mistress went to bed.

He was in any case keen to familiarise himself with his new mistress’s footwear. It was important to him in his new role of personal footslave to this young woman that he study all her shoes and boots, get to know what she liked to wear, learn about them, and about how to care for them properly.

Crouching in his hole, it quickly became apparent to him, for example, that she had a fondness for sneakers. In addition to the rather tatty pair she had worn, and he had kissed, that day, she had a nice pair of pink sneakers with white laces, 2 pairs of keds – one white pair and one black pair, and a pair of what appeared to be very old, red and white, converse style sneakers.

However, it wasn't just sneakers in the hole. She also owned a very smart looking pair of black patent leather Mary Jane style shoes; several pairs of flats and loafers; a pair of brown, leather zip-up, ankle boots with blocky heels; a pair of black suede zip-up, knee-length boots; and various strappy, high heeled sandals. Not to mention, of course, the many pairs of socks surrounding him. Again, her preferences were clear -- mainly ankle socks, mainly white, a few black pairs, and a few pairs of patterned socks and nylons.

The footslave made good use of his time, whilst confined in his hole. As he had been ordered to do, he first of all washed his mistress’s dirty black ankle socks in his slave mouth before starting on the rather mammoth task of licking clean all the surrounding boots and shoes, including the dirty white sneakers she had been wearing that day, with his slave tongue. He also respectfully kissed and worshipped all the other many pairs of feminine socks with his slave lips. By the time, his mistress switched off her television and turned out the light in his hole, which was at about midnight, his senses were truly engulfed by his young mistress’s footwear. He could not only smell her footwear, but also taste it and feel it.

The following morning he awoke early having slept only fitfully. He was nervous. This would be his first full day of enslavement and servitude to his demanding new mistress. He wanted to do well, to please her, to be a good obedient slave and to avoid being punished. He knew well the sting of the whip, having been a slave all his life. He knew that he was obliged to obey and serve this young woman and accede to her every whim, however capricious, however unreasonable, and that if he didn't do so satisfactorily without the need for punishment his mistress would see to it that he did so under punishment.

Indeed, he sensed, based on his early first experiences with mistress Aysha, that she would be only too happy to employ the new brown leather whip that her father had given to her. But, whilst it was not his place to spoil her fun, he did so fear the pain of the whip that he made it his number one priority to try to avoid being on the receiving end of any angry whip. That meant total submission, total obedience, and total respect towards his betters.

Mistress Aysha opened the hatch at about 7 a.m. Apart from her bare feet she appeared to be already fully clothed in a navy blue T-shirt and black denim jeans. She also held the aforementioned whip in her hands.

" Get your sorry ass out here this instant, sockboy!", she shouted at him, "and bring my pink sneakers and a pair of white ankle socks with you, you lazy good for nothing footslave".

The footslave obeyed, shuffling clumsily out of the hole on his hands and knees whilst trying to carry the sneakers and socks.

He followed Miss Aysha to the edge of her bed, where she sat down. He noticed a basin of water, a cloth and a towel on the floor next to her feet. The footslave placed the sneakers and socks down on the floor and knelt, head humbly bowed, in front of his mistress awaiting her orders.

His mistress spoke:

“Kiss my feet, dirty slave”.

Mistress Aysha had already informed the slave that he was not to speak to her, or acknowledge her commands verbally, unless she gave him specific permission to do so. Thus far, she had not. So the slave, who knew what was good for him, simply got on with the job of obeying her orders.

He therefore lowered his lips to the top of first her right foot, then her left. As he placed a respectful kiss on each of the soft, bare feet he caught a faint whiff of the unmistakable smell of feminine foot odour – not as strong as the evening before when he had been forced to clean her feet with his tongue, but an indication of lingering foot odour nonetheless. He felt humbled.

" You're going to wash my feet, sockboy. Place my feet in the basin and bathe them with the cloth", instructed his young mistress.

He lifted her pretty, asian feet, one after the other into the basin of water and gently massaged them and cleaned them with the cloth -- always keeping his servile eyes focused, through the slits in the leather slave hood, on his superior mistress’s feet.

Mistress Aysha watched him as he worked. She was satisfied with his humility and obedience thus far. But she continued to run the whip through her fingers as a way of letting her slave know that she would not hesitate to use it at the slightest sign of insolence or ineptitude.

"That’s enough, slave. You may now dry my feet with the towel. Get a move on!".

The footslave obeyed. He even, within his slave hood, allowed himself the luxury of breathing a short sigh of relief, for it appeared that he had fulfilled his first duty to his mistress’s satisfaction.

When he had dried her beautiful feet to her satisfaction Mistress Aysha spoke again:

"Now put on my socks and sneakers, footlick”, she ordered.

The slave was nervous again. This was an important task and one that he would have to do often and do well. He mustn't screw up. Rather gingerly, he lifted the rolled up pair of white ankle socks, separated them, lifted mistress Aysha's newly washed right foot and rolled the short, white sock onto her foot, pulling it up to her shapely ankle bone. He then did the same with her left foot.

He winced as he felt a sudden shaft of pain across his right shoulder. She had struck him with her whip!

"Turn down the cuffs at the top, you stupid slave", his mistress shouted down at him.

This was evidently his first mistake, but at least he now knew that her preference was to have her ankle socks neatly turned down at the top. This slave hoped that his mistress was not sufficiently annoyed with him that she would feel the need to continue giving him a taste of her whip. After a few seconds, however, it seemed that he was not going to be punished further -- this time.

"Now put the sneakers on, and hurry up about it, footslave, or I'll be late to college. God you're so slow! ".

The slave placed each of the pink sneakers on his impatient young mistress’s feet – his shoulder still throbbing from the lash. As he fumbled with the laces he received another deserved cut from her whip – this time across his left shoulder. It caused him to gasp with the pain, bit it also had the desired effect of forcing him to lace up her sneakers properly. Aysha loved her new whip. She loved the sound it made as it whistled through the air, and she liked the angry red marks it had left across her useless slave’s bare shoulders.

She stood up, adjusted her clothing, attached a chain that was hanging from her belt to his slave collar And then ordered her footslave to follow her downstairs on his hands and knees.

Her parents, Master Iqbal and Mistress Zubeeda, were already sitting at the kitchen table being served breakfast by the slave-overseer come family servant, Abdul.

As she entered the kitchen Aysha greeted each of her parents with a kiss on the cheek and confirmed to them that she had slept well, before seating herself at the table. The slave knelt at her feet under her chair.

“And how is your new slave performing, my darling?”, master Iqbal asked his daughter, observing the whip marks across the slave’s shoulders.

“He seems a bit stupid, papa. He didn’t even know to turn down the cuffs on my socks without me having to tell him to!”, replied mistress Aysha.

The slave’s heart began beating a bit faster as he sensed he may be in real trouble with his mistress’s father now that she had complained about him. But master Iqbal just laughed. He found his daughter’s petulance over such a small incident quite endearing:

“Never mind, dear. Remember, you can always ask Abdul to give him a good, hard flogging if he needs any further encouragement”.

“It would be my pleasure to flog your personal slave, Miss Aysha”, confirmed Abdul, smiling at the young woman.

She smiled back at him. She liked Abdul – he was young, handsome, only a few years older than herself. If he wasn’t a servant she could have quite fancied him.

The mere mention of a flogging was enough to encourage the footslave to study his young mistress’s feet even more humbly and zealously as Abdul served her breakfast. She had her legs crossed, meaning that her right foot was dangling in the air. Abdul had explained to him several days ago, as part of his training, that whenever his mistress had her legs crossed he would be permitted, as her footslave, to concentrate on her higher foot, rather than the foot which was resting on the ground. Abdul had made it perfectly clear to the new footslave that he was to regard this concession as a great privilege, as the dangling foot would be of much greater interest to watch than the stationary foot on the ground – he would, for example, have a much better view of his mistress’s sock, and could concentrate on the creases in the sock as her foot flexed and moved. What an honour for a humble footslave! He should be grateful.

And the pathetic footslave was grateful. As the pink sneaker dangled in the air he could see how relatively clean it was compared to the older pair of white sneakers he had been forced to kiss yesterday. There were some tiny scuff marks here and there on the pink sneaker in front of his face , which showed up particularly on the white border of the sole. Nevertheless, these were relatively clean sneakers and, of course, they ought to be given that he had spent nearly an hour licking them last night whilst confined in his hole.

And the socks she was wearing looked cleaner and newer than the well-worn black socks she had been wearing the day before. As the bottom of her jeans rode up he had a slave’s-eye view of the whole of her white ankle sock, cuff neatly folded at the top. They were cotton socks with patterned stitching which, if he focussed really closely, allowed him an occasional glimpse through the pattern of her beautiful brown footflesh beneath. As his mistress flexed her foot whilst she was eating her white sock did indeed crease, but the creases quickly disappeared when she straightened her foot out again.

What the slave didn’t know was that Mistress Aysha had deliberately chosen to wear white socks that morning as she wanted her new footslave to see just how dirty and sweaty a girl’s socks can become when they are encased in hot sneakers all day. Come the evening, when she would have him massage her socked feet with his face, she wanted him to not only smell but also to see the yellow sweat stains on her socks – and the stains would show up much better on white socks than they would on coloured socks.

As the slave concentrated on his mistress’s dangling, pink-sneakered foot Abdul pushed a bowl towards him on the floor with his bare foot. It was the footslave’s breakfast, or rather his only meal of the day – traditional ‘slave gruel’ which he had eaten many times before, and which was described by the masters as ‘nourishing but unpalatable’.

“Eat, slave”, ordered Abdul. Although he was a family ‘servant’ he had authority over all the ’slaves’ in the household. The footslave did wonder if he should await Mistress Aysha’s permission to start eating, but it was clear that she was engrossed in conversation with her parents – something to do with her studies – and that she was happy to ignore him at present.

So he ate the bowl of mush at her feet – like a dog.

He finished his meal just as Mistress Aysha was finishing hers. She unclipped his chain from her belt temporarily and handed it to her mother, asking her to ‘hold onto him’ whilst she went upstairs to get her books for college. Master Iqbal and Abdul left the kitchen also, as the footslave humbly crawled over to kneel at Mistress Zubeeda’s feet.

Mistress Zubeeda was wearing silver coloured flat slippers on bare feet and traditional Pakistani trousers which came down to the top of her ankles. The footslave had a good view of her foot skin which looked somewhat leatherier than her daughter’s footflesh. But they were still very pretty, petite asian feet.

However, Miss Zubeeda, rather like her daughter, was not a soft and gentle woman, and she had a warning for her beloved daughter’s dirty footslave.

The slave felt the chain pulling on his neck as Mistress Zubeeda leaned down towards him until her face was just above his. He felt her run her finger across the two red weals on his back as he continued to stare submissively at her feet:

“Make sure you please my daughter, useless footlick, or you’ll feel my own whip wrapping itself around your slave ribs”.

“Yes, mistress”, blurted out the slave. He knew from the tone of this middle-aged woman’s voice that this was no idle threat.

“Kiss my feet, dirty slave”, she continued.

The slave hurriedly planted respectful kisses on the leathery skin on the top of each of her bare feet. He thought it best that this powerful and threatening woman should feel the submissiveness of her daughter’s personal slave direct on her bare skin and not just through the material of her silver slippers. It was a gamble, for she might deem it impudent, but it was a gamble that appeared to pay off as he heard her laugh with satisfaction at his humble act of obeisance towards her.

“That’s right, slave. Always remember that your place is at the feet of superior women”, she crowed.

Mistress Aysha came back into the kitchen and was delighted to see that her slave was also paying his humble respects to her mother.

“I have to go now, Mama”, she said. “Lectures start at 9 o’clock sharp this morning”.

“Ok, dear”, replied Mistress Zubeeda, retuning the slave’s chain to her daughter for her to clip on her belt again. “Have a nice day!”.

The two women kissed again and the footslave followed his young mistress to heel on his hands and knees outside to the front driveway where Mistress Aysha’s car was parked. As she opened the door to the driver’s seat she indicated, by pulling on his chain, that he should crawl in ahead of her to the ‘passenger’ side of the vehicle. The slave could see immediately that the car had been adapted to enable a slave to kneel face down on the floor at the driver’s feet – which is exactly what he did.

As she deposited her books (and her whip) on the back seat and settled herself into the driver’s seat Mistress Aysha leaned down and closed the zip over the slave’s mouth. This wasn’t to prevent him from talking – she only had to order him to be silent for that to happen. It was more because he had finished kissing feet for the time being and would be staring at her feet for the next twenty minutes or so whilst she drove into her college which was in the centre of town. She wanted her personal footslave to be breathing only through his nose as he stared at her feet – she wanted him to smell her sneakers as well as looking at them. She wanted her feet and footwear to dominate his senses during the short journey – for that, in her opinion, was how a footslave should be treated. And in matters concerning her slave, her opinion was the only one that mattered.

As she revved up the car engine the footslave admired the power of his young mistress’s foot. Every time she pressed the accelerator her white ankle sock creased and the engine obediently roared. Truly, this was a young woman of power and authority whom it was a privilege to serve.

“Concentrate on my feet, sockboy”, she warned the slave as she drove off, but she needn’t have worried. The slave knew that he was in the presence of a goddess, and that he was fit to do nothing other than kneel at her feet and admire her white socks and her pink and white sneakers. He would doubtless in due course be paying his respects to her female friends’ feet when they arrived at her college. But the footslave realised, perhaps for the first time, that he was truly privileged to be the personal footslave of this particular dominant and beautiful young woman. He may have been crouching on the dirty floor of a car at her feet, but he couldn’t help but feel that he had come a long way since leaving the back-breaking toil of the slave mines. He must never go back there. He must ensure that he becomes a good footslave. And if anyone can teach him how to do that, it must surely be Mistress Aysha.

Part 3 - College

The journey to the college didn't take long. The footslave was happy enough to lie at his mistress's pink-sneakered, white-socked feet and observe their power as they drove the car through the rush-hour traffic.

Mistress Aysha didn't have a parking space in the actual college grounds, so she had to park on the other side of the town square. However it was only a short walk across the square to the college and was a nice bright spring morning.

When they got out of the car mistress Aysha unzipped the slave’s mouth again and gave him her next order:

"Crawl after my heels, sockboy", she snapped as she headed on foot across the square. The slave noticed that the square was quite busy, but nobody seemed to be paying much attention to him as he crawled on his hands and knees behind the sneakered feet of his 21-year-old mistress. And why should they? Personal footslaves where two a penny in this society. The site of a young woman walking through the town with her personal footslave crawling humbly after her was nothing particularly unusual.

Although he was concentrating hard on looking only at the back of his mistress’s sneakers under her black jeans, as a good footslave should, he couldn't help but be distracted momentarily by the sound of a raised female voice to his left. Out of the corner of his eye, through the eye-slit in his leather slave hood, he just caught a glimpse of what appeared to be an angry young Asian businesswoman shouting at one of the public footslaves as the latter was desperately trying to lick some mud of her black leather shoes. Mistress Aysha's personal footslave couldn't help but feel glad that he was not a public footslave -- at the mercy of dozens of superior women every day. He realised that, compared to the public slave, he was in a very privileged, if demeaning, position to be the personal footslave of a beautiful young woman such as mistress Aysha. Yet he felt no sympathy for his fellow slave. If the public footslave was not doing his job properly he deserved the verbal abuse that was being meted out to him by the mistress-businesswoman, just as he himself had deserved the two red stripes across the shoulders which he had received from mistress Aysha that morning for his own ineptitude.

As they entered the college grounds two young women ran up to greet his mistress enthusiastically.

"Hi Susan. Hi Laura", responded his mistress happily to her two friends and fellow college students.

From his humble kneeling position at his own mistress’s feet the slave only dared to have a fleeting glance at the two young women. Both, not surprisingly, appeared to be about the same age as his mistress Aysha -- in their early twenties.

Mistress Susan was a blonde and the taller of the two women. He had more time to look at her feet, and observed that she was wearing white sneakers with blue stripes and navy blue tracksuit bottoms with two white stripes down the sides. Although the tracksuit bottoms pretty much covered the top of her sneakers, the slave also could just see the elasticated tops of her white 'no show' socks. She looked very tall and athletic -- a very ‘sporty’ girl.

Mistress Laura was a black girl. She too was very slim and pretty, and was wearing navy blue denim jeans folded up at the bottom to reveal her shapely ankles and black leather high-heeled pumps on bare feet.

The footslave did not have time to take in what the two women were wearing on the upper half of their bodies, but then that really was none of his concern as he would never be allowed to raise his slave head above their knees or the knees of any woman.

"How’s the birthday girl?”, asked the blonde mistress Susan.

"Great!", replied mistress Aysha.

"You look great!", said mistress Laura, "and you don't look any older than you did last week when you were just 20!”, she added.

The girls laughed.

"And what's this piece of filth at your feet?", asked mistress Susan.

The footslave realised she was referring to him.

"Oh, he's just a present from my parents. We always get a personal footslave on our 21st birthdays in my family. It's like a family tradition", replied mistress Aysha.

"Gosh, you're really lucky Aysh’. I wish my parents had bought me a personal footslave for my 21st”, said mistress Laura. She spoke for mistress Susan as well. They weren’t exactly jealous of Aysha. They were all from wealthy backgrounds and basically had all been spoilt rotten by their parents throughout their lives. But having a personal footslave whilst you were still at college, and before you started your first proper job, was a bit of an extravagance. A nice one nevertheless.

Aysha was aware of the potential for envy on the part of her two best friends, and was determined, therefore, that they should regard her personal footslave as their slave also. She therefore snapped down at her slave:

"Pay your respects to mistress Susan and mistress Laura, sockboy. Kiss their feet".

The pathetic, middle aged, hooded and semi-naked footslave obediently shuffled forward, head lowered, on his hands and knees across the harsh tarmac of the college forecourt – stretching the chain that was attached both to the collar around his neck and to Mistress Aysha’s belt. He approached mistress Susan first as she was obligingly stretching out her right foot for him to humbly kiss. As he lowered his lips to the top of her white sneaker he noticed immediately how much bigger her foot was than that of his petite mistress Aysha. Mistress Susan's foot was nevertheless a nice foot, with a shapely ankle projecting over the elasticated top of her short white sock.

"I like the name you’ve given him – ‘sockboy’”, she said. “It’s a good name for a footslave”.

“He seems very docile", commented mistress Laura as the slave-man placed his lips on the top of her friend Susan’s shoe.

"Docile, but thick", responded mistress Aysha. "As you can see I had to give him two licks of the whip this morning for his ineptitude. He can't even tie laces properly!".

Mistress Susan laughed as she withdrew her right foot and then replaced it with her left foot under the kneeling slave’s nose:

"Ha ha, a footslave who can't tie shoelaces!", she quipped.

"He'd better learn quick!", added mistress Laura, as the slave moved over to kiss her outstretched right foot. As he did so, he saw her beautiful black footflesh
twitch in response to the gentle kiss he placed on the top of her black leather pump.

"He will", said his mistress Aysha in an ominous tone, "with or without the help of my whip". And with that, as her footslave humbly paid his respects to mistress Laura's other foot, she showed her two friends the brown leather whip that her father had bought her to help her control and discipline her new slave.

The girls admired the whip, as Aysha told them that they must regard her footslave as being their slave also whenever he was in their presence, and that they were welcome to borrow her whip as well.

"Cool!", said mistress Laura, "I might use him later on to tongue-bath my feet, if that's okay? I overslept this morning and didn't have time to shower!".

"Be my guest", replied his mistress Aysha, "I think he likes dirty feet. He certainly seemed to enjoy eating my sweaty toe jam yesterday evening!".

The girls laughed.

"And my toenails need clipping", interjected mistress Susan, "sounds like sockboy might enjoy doing that as well -- with his teeth!".

Aysha was delighted. Her friends had clearly accepted her offer to use her dirty footslave as their own, and she knew she could rely on them to degrade and humiliate him every bit as much she would.

"You won't even have to worry about throwing your toenail clippings away", she replied to her friend Susan, “ I'll see to it that he swallows each and every one of them!".

The slave felt the humiliation of being spoken of in this way, almost as if he was a mere object – a thing to be degraded purely for the pleasure of others. But then he suddenly realised that that was exactly what he was – an object, and that if his mistress wanted him to eat toe jam from her friends’ feet, or swallow their toenail clippings, that was exactly what he would have to do. And he would have to do it well, or he would do it well but in pain.

The girls arranged to meet up at lunchtime when the slave would perform the aforementioned chores for them. In the meantime, however, they all had their respective lectures to go to.

The slave crawled after his mistress Aysha as she made her way into the main college building and up some stairs to the main lecture hall. He caught glimpses of the back of her white socks under her black jeans every time she climbed a stair. Various friends acknowledged her, some wishing her a belated ‘happy birthday’. He noticed that most of them referred to her as ‘Aysh’, something, of course, which he would never be allowed to do. The slave was almost completely ignored. He was clearly a non-event, a mere appendage to his beautiful young mistress, of interest to others only if and when he was ordered to kiss their feet or to serve their feet in some other way.

It was a large lecture hall, full of students, both male and female, and as soon as his mistress sat down in one of the back rows the slave saw that there was a purpose-built space for footslaves to kneel in. Although privileged, mistress Aysha clearly wasn’t the only college student to have her own footslave.

It would mean that whilst his mistress concentrated on the lecture, he could concentrate on her pretty feet. To help him avoid any distractions, mistress Aysha kindly closed the ear flaps on his slave hood, and the zip over his mouth. He could now only see and smell her feet and footwear, and could hear only muffled voices through the earflaps. He realized that that was how it should be. Whatever information was being delivered to his superior mistress during the lecture was of no relevance to him. All he was required to do, all day and every day from now on, and possibly for the rest of his miserable life, was to concentrate on serving his beautiful asian mistress’s feet.

Mistress Aysha had crossed her legs again, and as the lesson proceeded, and he stared at her right sneakered-and-socked foot as it dangled in the air, he found himself wondering what was happening inside her shoe. He had, after all, nothing else to think about. Was her foot gradually becoming sweaty inside the pink sneaker? Was there any danger of her thin white sock slipping down within her shoe? If so, would he expected to pull up the sock and straighten it for her? At one point, his mistress reached down to scratch her ankle under her sock. Should he have sensed that her ankle was itching and scratched it for her? Would he be punished for not anticipating this? What would her socks taste like when he had to mouth-wash them at the end of the day? These were all the type of questions that preoccupy a pathetic, servile male footslave as he kneels at the feet of his mistress. His whole world becomes dominated by her feet and footwear, and nothing else is of any importance to him – save that his mistress is content with his humility and obedience.

The lecture appeared to be a long one as it lasted up until lunch-time – the time allotted for the footslave’s service to mistresses Susan and Laura. Had they been bluffing? Would his mistress really want him to eat mistress Laura’s toe jam and clip mistress Susan’s dirty toenails with his teeth, or had they been teasing him? He was about to find out.

The three girls met at the appointed time in the college canteen for lunch. As they ate, the slave knelt at Mistress Aysha’s feet, still concentrating on her feet and footwear, although she had now opened his ear flaps and unzipped his mouth again so that he could hear her orders and obey her. She had definitely not opened his mouth so that he could eat. Her slave had already eaten that day, and one meal per day was enough expense on a mere slave.

Mistress Susan had noticed that the slave was not eating, and expressed some fake concern for his wellbeing.

“Don’t worry, Susan”, laughed mistress Laura, “he’ll soon be eating my toe jam and your toenail clippings. That should fill him up!”.

All three laughed as they continued with their meals.

“Where shall we do it?”, asked Susan suddenly. “I mean, we can’t make him do it here in the canteen. It’s totally gross and people might throw up!”.

“You’re right”, said mistress Aysha. “I was thinking of the ‘reading room’ – it’s always empty at this time of day, and even if anyone else was in there at least they won’t be eating”.

“Good thinking”, said Susan, and Laura agreed. Al three of them hurriedly finished their meals and made off, with sockboy in tow on his hands and knees, to the reading room.

As they had anticipated, it was currently empty. Not that they were about to do anything wrong. They were merely about to make a footslave service their bare feet – absolutely nothing wrong with that, providing it was done in a suitable place.

“I want to go first”, said mistress Laura, breathing heavily with excitement. In fact, all three women were becoming quite aroused. Humiliating and degrading a helpless male slave was such fun!

She sat in a wooden chair and mistress Aysha unclipped sockboy’s chain from her belt and let it fall onto the ground. She then grabbed her slave by his collar and pulled him over into a kneeling position in front of the young black woman’s feet.

“Don’t do anything to help him”, explained mistress Aysha to Laura, “he has to do everything for you – including removing your shoes and putting them back on again for you”.

“Cool!”, said mistress Laura as she readied herself to have her dirty feet licked clean. Mistress Aysha unfurled her whip in readiness too, in case the slave messed up or failed to perform satisfactorily in front of her two friends.

“Just give him the order when you’re ready, and he’ll obey”, she told Laura.

The black girl looked down on the pathetic slave kneeling at her feet. How nice it was to have a man totally in her power, although she realized he was a ‘man’ only in the sense that he was ‘male’:

“Slave, take off my right shoe and sniff my dirty toes”.

Aysha and Susan looked on approvingly as the footslave gently lifted mistress Laura’s right foot and slipped off her high-heeled black leather pump. As he did so he heard a whoosh of warm air escaping, observed some discolouration in the beige inner lining of her shoe, and smelt the feminine foot-sweat that had caused it. She had not been joking when she had said earlier that she had not had time to shower that morning. In fact, what she had omitted to say was that she hadn’t showered properly for three days – she had just been too busy! But the footslave, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He knew that the fact that the young mistress’s feet were sweaty meant that the humble task he was about to perform for her actually had a purpose – to clean her feet for her with his slave tongue.

But first, she had ordered him to sniff her stinky toes, and he must obey her.
He lowered his nose to the top of her unpainted big toe nail and gave an audible and respectful sniff. The smell of mouldy cheese assailed his nostrils. It was at one and the same time unpleasant and yet intoxicating – young woman foot-sweat and toe jam , a footslave’s ‘bread and butter’. He could see the black toe jam under her toe nails – gunk that he would soon be ordered to take down his throat. Yet he knew he must await the order, and in the meantime continued to sniff mistress Laura’s pretty black feet.

“That’s right, dirty footlick ”, laughed mistress Laura, “sniff up all my foot sweat into your slave nose”.

“Dirty pig!”, exclaimed mistress Susan – even though the humble slave was only doing what his mistresses were ordering him to do, “get your nose deep in between mistress Laura’s toes and smell female foot-sweat!”.

All three girls were loving the footslave’s humiliation. His Mistress Aysha even gave him a quick flick of her whip just to reinforce his efforts – not because he was particularly slacking, but just because she could. He was her slave, to treat however she wished. And this was how she wished to treat him.

Mistress Laura then ordered her friend’s slave to remove her left shoe and to smell her left foot, before giving him the order he had been both dreading and anticipating at the same time:

“Now suck my toes and lick up my stinky toe jam, footpig!”

The slave opened his mouth and inserted the big toe on mistress Laura’s right foot into it. The skin felt soft although the nail scratched the roof of his mouth. He tasted salt. He tasted sweat.

“Lap up mistress Laura’s sweaty toe jam, footsucker!”, shouted his mistress Aysha, now overwhelmed with her sense of power. She reinforced her order with a crack of her whip – although it didn’t touch the slave’s flesh on this occasion. It was just a warning shot, but the mere sound of the whip-crack thrilled all three of the young women and reinforced their feelings of overwhelming power.

The slave felt the little black balls of sweat and dead skin known as toe jam rolling along his tongue and down his slave throat. He carefully and diligently lathed his tongue in between each toe.

“Toe slut!”, shouted Mistress Susan down at the footslave, “dirty, filthy toe-licker. That’s all your good for, and don’t you forget it!”

Mistress Laura was in heaven. The feel of the humble footslave’s wet tongue refreshing her toes was immensely pleasurable. She ordered him onto her other foot. She could have sat there all day having her toes cleaned and sucked by this pathetic creature, but her friend Susan was becoming impatient.

“It’s my turn now, Laura. I need him to clip my toenails – don’t hog him all to yourself!”

With that, Laura reluctantly ordered the slave to stop licking and sucking her toes. She then pulled a paper tissue out of her pocket and ordered him to dry her feet with it. The slave humbly wiped his dirty saliva off her now clean feet as he swallowed the last vestiges of her superior foot dirt, before placing her black leather pumps back onto her feet.

He then remained kneeling, whilst mistress Laura stood up and Mistress Susan took her place on the chair in front of him. The two black feet in their black leather pumps were now replaced by two white feet in white sneakers with blue stripes and short white socks.

He awaited Mistress Susan’s orders.

Part 4 – Serving Miss Aysha’s friends

The slave knelt humbly, head bowed above Mistress Susan’s sneakered and socked feet, awaiting her orders. At 23, Mistress Susan was a year or two older than the other two girls. They looked up to Susan somewhat, admired her athleticism, her intelligence. In fact, Mistress Susan was well respected throughout the college – and although she did not have a footslave of her own, she sure knew how to treat a slave. Strong-willed and supremely confident, domination came perfectly naturally to her.

Aysha was looking forward to witnessing the humiliation of her personal slave by her athletic friend.

“How do you like my feet, foot lackey?”, began mistress Susan, “Do you think they look nice in my white sneakers and socks?”.

The slave gave the only answer he could. Mistress Susan’s feet were larger than his Mistress Aysha’s, but she had shapely ankles protruding over the top of her short white sneaker-socks :

“Yes, Mistress Susan, this slave admires your beautiful feet”.

Susan gave a wicked laugh. She just adored having this helpless slave at her mercy.

“Well, slave, if you think they look nice, how do you think they might smell, all cooped up in my hot sneakers?”, she teased.

“If it pleases you, mistress Susan, this slave thinks your feet may smell of feminine foot-sweat”, replied the humble slave – desperate not to say the wrong thing, but completely unsure as to how he was expected to reply to such a leading question.

“I see”, continued mistress Susan in a mocking tone, “and does the foot flunkey have an opinion as to how my white socks might smell? I mean, do you think they will have absorbed the sweat from my feet, or are they too thin to be of any use in that regard?”.

Aysha and Laura grinned to each other. They loved the way their friend and mentor was engaging Aysha’s slave in such a humiliating conversation. It was humiliating, of course, because everyone present, including the footslave, knew that his opinion counted for nothing. Mistress Susan just wanted to hear his opinion so that she could disregard it.

The slave was increasingly nervous at the way the conversation was going, and, sensibly, decided to respond in the humblest way he knew how:

“If it pleases you, mistress Susan, this dirty, good-for-nothing footslave believes that some of the mistress’s divine foot-sweat may have been absorbed by her beautiful and superior socks”.

Susan, and the other girls, laughed at the humble footslave’s obsequious reply:

“Oh, you believe so, do you, sock-servant?”, continued Susan, “well, it seems to me there’s only one way to find out if you’re correct in your belief. Take off my sneakers and smell my socks”.

“That’s right, Susan”, chipped in Laura, excitedly , “make him smell your sneaker socks. Let’s see how he likes it!”

“I’ll bet he does like it”, added his mistress Aysha, “after all, it’s what his nose is for – smelling our feet and socks!”

The girls laughed again, as sockboy gingerly untied the laces on mistress Susan’s right sneaker and raised her foot slightly off the ground in order to prise off her shoe. Unlike Laura, Susan did not have to be told not to help him in any way. She merely cocked her head slightly to one side to get a better view of what he was doing as she looked down on him.

The footslave’s first impression of mistress Susan’s plain white sock was that it was actually quite clean. It was indeed made of a quite thin material, with very fine stitching, but there were nevertheless some visible signs of dampness around the area of reinforced stitching that covered the toes.

The slave hesitated. He was in a bit of a quandary now. What should he do next? Proceed to lower his nose to her socked toes and sniff her right foot, or put her foot down temporarily whilst he first took off her left sneaker? Mistress Susan was giving him no clues.

The other two young women noticed his dilemma, and enjoyed his consternation.

“What are you waiting for, slave?”, barked mistress Susan from her seated position above him, knowing full well what the problem was.

“Forgive me, mistress Susan, but this stupid slave is not sure whether it is required to remove your left sneaker before sniffing your right foot”, pleaded the footslave.

“For God’s sake!”, exclaimed mistress Aysha with fake outrage, reinforcing her pretended displeasure with another cut of her lash across the slave’s back and shoulder. “Don’t you listen to a lady’s orders when she addresses you? Or are you just so thick that you can’t remember? You were ordered to remove mistress Susan’s ‘sneakers’ – plural – and then to smell her ‘socks’ – plural. How much plainer could she have made it, you lazy waste of space?”.

“Surely he can’t really be that stupid?”, interjected mistress Susan, “I mean, he must be trying to take the piss out of me, or something!”.

The slave realised that his stupidity had placed him in a very dangerous situation. The young woman above him was, rightly, offended that he had not understood her orders the first time. She had total power over him at that moment. He must retrieve the situation, or he knew he would receive further and totally deserved punishment:

“This useless slave humbly begs forgiveness from its superior mistress, mistress Susan. It will obey its mistress………….”

“Just get on with it!”, interrupted mistress Susan, angrily, “Take off my left sneaker – and start smelling my socks like I ordered you to. I want to know if they have absorbed my foot sweat, and by God, you’re going to find out for me! Move!”.

The slave hurriedly, but gently, placed mistress Susan’s right socked foot onto the wooden floor and undid the laces on her left shoe. He decided he would just take a gamble and smell her right foot first as it had been waiting impatiently the longest to be sniffed. Luckily for him this seemed to be the right decision, as he wasn’t whipped again.

Mistress Susan wiggled her toes inside her short white sock to help release some of the smell as the footslave positioned his nose at her toes. He gave one long audible sniff. He detected the unmistakable aroma of feminine footsweat just where the socked toes were at their dampest.

Susan was in a better mood again. She laughed.

“Well, sock-sniffer, how does my sock smell? Has it absorbed any of my sweat? Has it done its job?”.

“If it pleases you, mistress Susan, this slave can indeed smell your foot odour on your sock”.

“Well at least the sock does what it’s supposed to!”, responded mistress Susan, “looks like you could learn a thing or two from my sock, you lazy, worthless piece of scum! In fact, I want you to congratulate my sock on doing its job properly, and to beg it to teach you how to serve a mistress in the proper manner”.

Aysha and Laura were ecstatic. Susan was going to make the slave address her sock, as if it were some kind of superior being to him! They both admired their friend’s ingenuity. For Aysha, this was an invaluable lesson in how to humiliate and degrade her slave.

“Come on, dirty slave ”, shouted mistress Susan, “praise my sock!”

The slave looked at the sock as he humbly addressed it:

“Mistress Susan’s sock, this humble footslave congratulates you on absorbing mistress Susan’s footsweat. Please teach this good-for-nothing slave how to serve a mistress properly”.

The girls laughed out loud at the slave.

“What does your sock think of that?”, Laura asked Susan.

Susan extended her socked foot up to the kneeling slave’s lips:

“It wants the slave to pay its respects to it, and acknowledge its superiority, by kissing it”, replied mistress Susan. “Slave, obey my sock! Kiss it! Worship it!”.

The slave needed no further prompting. He humbly placed his lips on the top of mistress Susan’s socked toes and kissed them several times. The material felt soft and delicate, and he could feel her toenails underneath. At that point in time, footslave that he was, he genuinely did admire and envy the superior sock and he knew it was right that he should pay his respects to it.

The slave was then made to repeat the process, first smelling then kissing and worshipping mistress Susan’s left socked foot

Then came the moment the girls were all looking forward to – mistress Susan ordered the slave to remove her white socks and get ready to clip her dirty toenails. However, she had had second thoughts about having the slave clip them with his teeth. She didn’t want to risk any damage to her toenails. As a sprinter on the college athletics team it was important to mistress Susan that her feet were kept in good condition, and this slave had already proved he was inept. She didn’t want to risk an in-growing toenail due to his ineptitude.

She therefore explained to the slave that he was to soften up each of her toenails by sucking on them, one by one, prior to trimming them with her nail-clippers.

The slave was relieved that he was being given some proper equipment to help him perform the pedicure.

Mistress Susan’s toes, inevitably, tasted salty. As he softened her cuticles he swallowed her sweat and her stinky toe jam. There was also some white sock lint mixed in there.

He slowly sucked on the ten toes, one by one, and then carefully clipped the top of each toe nail, placing the clippings onto the floor beside him.

When he had finished the pedicure to mistress Susan’s satisfaction, she gave him his next humiliating order:

“Now, slave, do you think it would be appropriate to leave my toenail clippings on the floor ?”.

It was an easy question for the slave to answer:

“No, Mistress Susan”

“And why not, slave?”

“Mistress Susan, if it pleases you mistress Susan, because your toenail clippings are too precious to be just left around or thrown away”.

“And why is that, slave?”.

“Mistress Susan, if it pleases you mistress Susan, because they contain your foot sweat and toe jam”.

“Hmm, you’re learning, slave”, replied mistress Susan, content with the pathetic footslave’s answer. “So, where do you think my dirty toenail clippings belong then, sockboy?”.

“Please, Mistress Susan, if it pleases you mistress Susan, your toenail clippings belong in this dirty slave’s mouth and stomach”.

Laura and Aysha clapped their hands with delight. The slave was going to have to swallow Susan’s toenail clippings!

“Make him smell each one first, Susan”, suggested mistress Laura.

“Yeah, make him smell each nail clipping, then scrape the dirt off each one with his teeth, before placing it in his mouth and swallowing it”, added mistress Aysha.

“You heard your Mistress”, said mistress Susan, “pick up each dirty toenail clipping, give it a good sniff, then scrape off the dirt with your teeth, place it on your slave tongue, suck on it, soften it, savour it, before chewing on it and swallowing it. I want all the dirt and sweat to come off in your dirty, slave mouth before it goes down your throat and into your stomach”.

The instructions were crystal clear this time, and the slave obeyed them to the letter.

As he was just finishing the last of the ten clippings, the three young women and their footslave were interrupted by Brad, the college jock, coming through the door of the hitherto deserted reading room. All three girls fancied Brad, along with virtually every other girl in the college, and secretly wished they could be with him. But everyone equally knew Brad was spoken for. That blonde-haired bimbo, Stacey, was his ‘fiancée’, and didn’t she let everyone know it!.

However, Brad appeared to be on his own at the moment. He had a pile of books under his arm and was presumably coming into the reading room for just that – some quiet reading and study.

He observed the footslave on his hands and knees in front of the still bare footed mistress Susan:

“Wow!”, he exclaimed, “What have we here? You’ve got yourself a footslave, Susan?”.

Susan blushed.

“Actually, Brad, he’s Aysha’s slave. But she has kindly let me borrow him”.

“Wow, that’s really cool, Aysh!”, Brad turned to Aysha. “Perhaps I could borrow him some time? My girlfriend Stacey’s feet are really rank sometimes. Perhaps he could clean them for us with his tongue before we make love!”.

Aysha grimaced slightly. The thought of her slave helping out that bitch Stacey before she made love to Brad was not something that she relished. But at the same time she didn’t like to say no to Brad – the college stud.

“Sure, Brad”, she replied, trying to sound pleased, “as far as I’m concerned he’s everyone’s footslave”.

“Cool!”, said Brad.

The slave noticed that mistress Susan was now hurriedly putting her shoes and socks back on herself. It seemed that she was embarrassed that Brad, a real man, should see her bare feet – although she clearly had no compunctions whatsoever about imposing her stinky feet on the humble footslave.

The three girls engaged in some further small talk with the college stud before going their separate ways. The slave, of course, followed his mistress Aysha, crawling on his hands and knees behind her pink-sneakered feet and black denim jeans. They headed back across the college grounds, and out through the town square towards her car.

As he crawled into the car and knelt on the passenger side at her feet, Mistress Aysha explained to her slave, not that she had to, that they were heading to the town leisure centre where she had arranged to meet up with another friend, mistress Louise.

When they arrived at the leisure centre mistress Aysha, her slave in tow, went straight to her locker in the changing rooms, where she changed into her squash gear – white T shirt, white pleated skirt with a red trim, and white keds. Needless to say, her personal footslave put the keds on for her. She kept on the same white socks she had been wearing all day.

Mistress Louise arrived shortly afterwards, a tall black girl with very large feet. The footslave couldn’t help wondering how his petite mistress Aysha would possibly be able to compete against the muscular Louise on the squash court, but the two girls embraced and were clearly the best of friends.

Louise congratulated Aysha on her new acquisition – the footslave. Aysha then ordered the slave to kiss mistress Louise’s feet.

Mistress Louise was wearing red track suit bottoms with large white sneakers and no socks. As the slave kissed her sneakers he had a good view of her wonderful, shapely black ankles. His mistress Aysha then ordered him to help Louise off with her sneakers and to help her change into her equally large white keds. It was becoming clear to him that, although he was mistress Aysha’s personal footslave, he really would be serving all the women he came into contact with during the day at his mistress’s behest.

As the two young women got ready to go and play squash, mistress Aysha explained to her slave that he was to remain kneeling in the changing room, in front of one of the benches, with his nose inside one of her pink sneakers. She also closed the zip over the mouth on his leather slave hood, thereby ensuring that he had to breathe through his nose. Kindly, she left the slits over his eyes open so that he could see close-up the inside of the sneaker that he was being forced to sniff whilst she played squash. She then departed to the squash court with her friend Louise, who looked down on the footslave with utter contempt, leaving him on his own in the changing room.

Kneeling humbly with his nose inside her right sneaker the slave could smell the day’s accumulated foot sweat. He also saw the sweat marks on the grey inner lining of his mistress’s pink sneaker. He concentrated on the sight and smell of his mistress’s inner sneaker as befits an obedient footslave.

After some 15 minutes he heard the door to the changing room open and soft footsteps as somebody approached him from behind. He sensed it was a woman, and she appeared to have a bucket and mop with her. He guessed it was the cleaner.

Mistress Maria was a Filipina lady. She had only been in the country a few months and had limited English. She was a petite, pretty, 30-year-old, with a husband and two kids to support back in the Philippines. Needless to say, she didn’t particularly enjoy her work as a cleaner in the leisure centre. But it did help her to earn enough money to send back home. And one thing she loved about this new country was the fact that there were lots of male slaves, slaves that she could dominate and humiliate if ever she wanted to feel better about herself. Of course, she could not afford to have her own personal slave. But in addition to the public slaves, her job in the leisure centre brought her into regular contact with the personal slaves of the female clients – such as the footslave who was now kneeling with his nose inside his mistress’s sneaker. Maria liked to degrade these slaves too. It made her feel like the superior woman that she was.

Out of the corner of his eye the slave saw that the Filipino cleaning lady was wearing shiny black flat shoes with a low heel and black corduroy jeans. Although her jeans came right down to the top of her shoes he also caught a glimpse of thick black sock under the jeans.

“Ha, Ha!”, the slave heard the young woman giggle as she stood beside him.

“Slave like smell mistress’s shoe?”, he heard her ask him in a thick Filipino accent.

Of course, although it was disrespectful, not to say disobedient, for a humble slave not to answer a mistress’s question, the slave could not answer because of the zip over his mouth. Mistress Maria had now noticed it too, and stooped down to unzip his mouth with her petite, but rather rough fingers.

“Slave answer Miss Maria!” she continued.

The slave felt he had no choice but to answer the mistress.

“Yes thank you, mistress Maria. I like the smell of my mistress’s shoe”.

“Ha, ha!”, the Filipino woman continued laughing. She had made him obey her by answering her question. Now, as far as she was concerned, he was her slave – to do with as she wished, at least until his real mistress came back.

She straightened up again to her full height and extended her right foot towards his kneeling face.

“Slave kiss Miss Maria’s foot!”

In the back of his mind, the slave did wonder whether he should be obeying this cleaning lady’s orders as it meant disobeying his mistress Aysha’s very clear orders which were to remain with his nose inside her sneaker until she got back. But what choice did he have? A real, living superior female was standing over him and giving him orders. He was a mere slave. He had to obey her.

He therefore raised his slave nose out of his mistress’s sneaker, and proceeded to place his slave lips respectfully on the top of the Filipino mistress’s shiny black leather shoe.

No sooner had he done so, than mistress Maria withdrew her right foot from under his nose and replaced it with her left foot . He kissed that also. He noticed that her shoes, whilst they appeared very clean and shiny from a distance, did contain traces of dust and dirt when viewed close-up. He was aware that some of that dirt was now been transferred where it belonged onto his lips.

Mistress Maria was clearly pleased with his humble act of obeisance, and wanted more.

“Good slave. Maria like”, she continued. “Maria feet dirty. Sweaty. Slave clean”.

She sat down on the wooden bench in front of him and, somewhat to the slave’s disquiet, pushed Mistress Aysha’s pink sneaker to one side with her left foot.

“Slave take off shoe and sock. Lick feet!”.

Mistress Maria then observed the slave from her position of power as he humbly removed first her right shoe and then her left shoe. Both her black socks showed evidence of being well worn and sweaty. They were thick boot socks – not really designed to be worn with ordinary, flat shoes. However, that was no concern of the footslave’s. His job was merely to obey the mistress sitting in front of him and to respect her footwear whatever she had chosen to wear. Perhaps she could not afford too many pairs of socks?

As a sign of his respect for this mistress he kissed her black socks even though she had not ordered him to do so. Mistress Maria clearly liked this:

“Ha, ha! Slave like sweaty sock!”, she exclaimed, “slave like smell. Sock better than slave!”.

She was right of course. Her sock was better than him, just as Mistress Susan’s sock was better than him, and Mistress Aysha’s socks were better than him. That was why she had named him sockboy.

The slave then peeled off mistress Maria’s thick, black boot socks and began licking her bare feet – first the right foot, then the left foot. There was no more hesitation on his part. Mistresses Susan had taught him how to serve a lady’s feet. And so he sucked mistress Maria’s dirty, sweaty, Filipino toes – swallowing her foot sweat and toe jam so that it would mingle with Mistress Susan’s foot sweat and toe jam which was already in his slave stomach.

As he did so, mistress Maria moaned with evident satisfaction:

“Mmmm, slave good. Lick well. Maria like slave”.

The pathetic slave almost felt pride at this compliment from the Filipino cleaning lady. He was pleasing a superior mistress. What more could a humble footslave ask for in life?

However, all good things must come to an end and all too soon mistress Maria
was ordering him to dry her feet with a paper towel which she had given to him and to put her shoes and socks back on her feet.

She then ordered him to put his nose back into his mistress’s sneaker as she proceeded to mop the changing room floor.

Once she had finished, and before she left the changing room, Mistress Maria came back to the slave, stooped down, and whispered in his ear:

“Slave obey mistress. Keep nose in sneaker – or Maria tell mistress. Slave get whip. Feel many pain!”.

The footslave did think it was somewhat ironic that the very mistress who had ordered him to effectively disobey his own mistress was now threatening to ‘dob him in’. However, that was a mistress’s right. A mistress can do no wrong. A slave is always to blame. He knew it, mistress Maria knew it. And that was precisely what she loved about this society.

It was some 90 minutes before his Mistress Aysha and her friend Louise re-entered the changing room. They were both needless to say, hot and sweaty. Mistress Louise went straight to the showers, but Mistress Aysha came up to her kneeling slave and explained that she was not going to shower as she wanted her feet to really stink when she made him massage them with his nose later that evening.

The slave had a brief foretaste of that sweaty stink as he changed her shoes for her, out of her white keds and back into her pink sneakers. Her white ankle socks were positively drenched with sweat.

However, he couldn’t help feeling a certain smug satisfaction at the fact that, unbeknown to his mistress Aysha, he had serviced another lady’s feet in her absence. And he had got away with it – assuming it was the wrong thing to do.

What the slave had forgotten, of course, was that the zip over his mouth was now open, whereas when Mistress Aysha had left him it had been closed. Mistress Maria had ‘forgotten’ to close it again.

Mistress Aysha had noticed it, however, and was already deciding how to punish her personal footslave for his disobedience.

Part 5 – Punishment

Aysha was quite quiet during the drive home. She was quiet not because she was upset, or angry with her personal footslave who was kneeling in the car at her feet. Rather, she was concentrating on deciding what his punishment for his disobedience should be.

Sockboy wasn’t aware of anything unusual as he stared at his mistress’s pink- sneakered and white-socked feet. He was merely concentrating, as befits a footslave, on his mistress’s footwear below her black denim jeans. He was thinking about how sweaty and smelly her socks must now be having been on her feet all day and following her lengthy game of squash. He was thinking about how those socks and feet would almost certainly be imposed on his slave face later that evening, and he was thinking about how it was only right that they should be. For that was now his role in life -- to kiss, to sniff, to lick and to worship the feet and footwear of his mistress Aysha.

Sockboy knew that some personal slaves were allowed to perform other duties from their mistresses, up to and including satisfying them sexually with their slave tongues. But he was by now equally aware that he was considered unworthy of such a privilege. It was clear that his mistress, her family and her friends, all regarded him as being worthy only to service feet – either their feet or his mistress Aysha’s feet. That was why he was called ‘sockboy’, and that was why he was now lying on the floor of the car and compelled to stare at his 21 year-old mistress’s socks and sneakers as she manipulated the pedals and drove them both to her home.

She arrived home just as Abdul, the family servant and slave-overseer, was ready to serve the evening meal to the family. She therefore went straight to the kitchen table and joined her parents there. Sockboy, of course, followed his mistress Aysha on his hands and knees and then knelt on the kitchen floor by her feet.

Aysha engaged in small talk with her parents over dinner. She told them all about her game of squash with her friend, Louise, which it appeared (as her footslave had predicted) she had lost. Her parents were laughing at how upset she was about losing to Louise again. They loved the way their daughter seemed to take everything so seriously. They found it quite endearing.

Although his mistress had left the ear flaps on his leather slave-hood open, sockboy wasn't really concentrating on the conversation. Nor should he have been -- for it was not his place to regard himself as a part of the family entitled to listen in on their conversation. He was a mere footslave who was only allowed to be there so that he could lie at his mistress’s feet and stare at them humbly while she ate - as befits a slave.

The smell of the delicious food was making him hungry. But he was aware also that he had already had his meal that day -- the one meal that a mere slave could expect to eat every day -- and if he was to receive any additional 'treats' that would be a matter for his mistress Aysha to decide.

For her part mistress Aysha was not inclined to give her slave any of the scraps from her plate, even though she did not finish her meal. Her slave had disobeyed her today -- and it was now time to decide on his punishment and to pass sentence on him.

She excused herself from the table and led her slave by the chain around his neck into the living room. There she sat down in a comfortable armchair, resting her feet, still in their sneakers and socks, on a footstool. Sockboy was required to kneel with his nose next to her feet and to kiss her sneakers and socks continuously whilst she put her feet up and relaxed in front of the television.

As he did so his mistress asked him a question:

"So, sockboy, how do you think you did today on your first full day as my personal footslave?"

Sockboy was by now getting used to having conversations, as it were, with his mistress's feet. He had still not dared to look her in the eye:

"If it pleases you mistress, the slave believes it has performed satisfactorily for its revered mistress”, he replied, rather immodestly, before resuming his respectful kisses to her superior footwear.

"Oh you do, do you?”, replied his mistress in an ominous tone. “ That’s in spite of the fact that you don't know how to put my socks on me properly; that you don't know how to tie my laces properly; and that you fail to understand my friends’ orders and embarrass me in front of them, is it?”.

The sockboy began kissing her feet even more fervently. He could sense this conversation was not going well:

“ Please forgive this stupid, worthless slave for its incompetence, mistress”.

"Mmm, I think I can just about forgive a slave for its incompetence, providing it learns from its mistakes and doesn’t repeat them”, replied mistress Aysha. “But what do you think I should do with a disobedient slave?”

Sockboy's heart started beating faster. What was his mistress alluding to? Surely she couldn’t have found out about the episode with mistress Maria, the cleaning lady at the leisure centre. And even if she had, did his humble servitude to the Philipino cleaning lady’s feet, as ordered by her, really amount to disobedience to his own mistress Aysha? No, she must be alluding to some other incident. He racked his pathetic, slave brain as he continued kissing her pink sneakers and white ankle socks, trying desperately to think what else he could have had done wrong that day.

“Well, slave, I’m waiting for an answer”, interjected his young Pakistani mistress.

“Please, mistress, if it pleases you mistress Aysha, a disobedient slave must always be severely punished”.

He was almost embarrassed to utter the words – talk about stating the blindingly obvious!.

Aysha laughed, enjoying the slave’s misery as she mercilessly teased him:

“You are quite correct, slave, I too believe that a disobedient slave, even an inexperienced one, must be severely punished, and that’s why I’m going to have you severely punished!”.

She paused to allow the full force of her words to sink in, and enjoyed the renewed vigour with which he now kissed her feet. He had moved to her socked ankles now – it was almost as if he was hoping that the feel of his lips against her socked feet would somehow elicit mercy in her. If that was his hope, she decided, he was sadly mistaken:

“You see, before I went in for my game of squash I deliberately closed the zip in the hood over your slave mouth, to make sure you breathed in the smell of my warm sneaker through your slave nose, did I not?”.

Sockboy’s heart now sank. It was indeed something to do with the ‘ mistress Maria’ incident! All he could do was answer truthfully from now on:

“Yes, mistress Aysha”, he mumbled in his pathetic, servile voice.

“Yes, mistress Aysha”, she mimicked him in a mocking tone. “And yet by the time I came back from my game of squash you had opened the zip, had you not?”

The stupid slave now realised what had happened. It was all down to the zip over his mouth! Of course! How could he have been so stupid?

He now had two choices – to try to excuse himself by blaming another mistress – mistress Maria – or to humbly acknowledge his disobedience and accept his punishment with humility and resignation. He chose the latter option- correctly, for no mistress can ever do any wrong. Only slaves are ever at fault.

He placed a particularly humble kiss directly onto the socked ankle of her right foot and begged for mercy:

“Oh pray, mistress Aysha, please have mercy on this no-good, insubordinate footslave. Please punish him and make him realise the error of his ways. Please beat me, mistress!”.

As he kissed her sock he couldn’t help thinking how soft the material was under his lips. Soft, white sock on soft, feminine skin. Surely his kind, gentle mistress would not be too severe on him?

“Very well, slave, you shall have your wish. You shall be whipped. But I shan’t be the one doing it”.

With that mistress Aysha stood up and ordered sockboy to lie flat out, on the carpet of the living room with his right cheek, inside his leather slave hood, resting on the carpet. He could smell the carpet as he obediently complied.

She then placed her right, sneakered foot onto his left cheek, squashing his face into the floor. All the footslave could now see through the eye slits in his hood was her left foot in its pink sneaker and her white sock below the bottom of her black jeans.

Mistress Aysha had made her personal footslave adopt this humiliating and painful position in order to formally pass sentence on him:

“Footslave, I hereby sentence you to 30 lashes of the bull-whip, to be delivered across your bare back and shoulders by Abdul whilst you are kneeling at my feet!”.

She paused to let the full force of her pronouncement sink in. Somewhat incongruously, given the severity of the sentence, a game-show audience burst into laughter on the television in the background.

But sockboy wasn’t laughing. Sockboy was sobbing into the carpet, feeling very sorry for himself:

“Thank you, mistress”, he remembered to say. A slave must always thank its mistress for taking the time to discipline it.

Aysha had also decided that the punishment would take place at 9:00 PM, in the punishment room, and with her parents as witnesses. She wanted them to see that she knew how to discipline her personal footslave – this wonderful 21st birthday gift they had given her. Still standing on his face, she called her parents, and Abdul, into the living room and explained what had happened and what she had decided to do about it. They all approved of her decision to punish sockboy with a whipping at her feet. Aysha’s mother Madam Zubeeda, however, suggested that only 30 lashes was, in her opinion, too lenient a punishment for such a willful act of disobedience by the slave against her beloved daughter.

Aysha laughed:

“It is only his first offence, Mama, but thank you for your concern!”.

She then turned her attention to sockboy again, and raised her right foot off the side of her slave’s leather-hooded face:

“Slave, kiss my Mama’s feet and thank her for suggesting that you receive even more than the 30 lashes I have sentenced you to!”, she ordered.

Sockboy, now the epitome of obedience, crawled over to Madam Zubeeda, whose right, brown-sandaled foot already extended out from the bottom of her sari ready for him to kiss. He placed his slave lips onto the older woman’s big toe and humbly kissed it in front of everyone.

Madam Zubeeda then withdrew her right foot and replaced it with her left. Again, sockboy humbly paid his slavish respects to her big toe. He knew he was effectively the slave of everyone in this household. Even Abdul, a mere servant to the family, was to have the privilege of whipping him tonight. Sockboy was truly the lowest of the low.

It was still only 7:00 pm , so Aysha decided to retire to her room where she decided sockboy could massage her feet with his nose for 2 hours prior to his impending punishment. Abdul, meantime went to oil the family bull-whip.

As she lay on her bed reading one of her college books, sockboy duly massaged mistress Aysha’s feet with his slave nose. She had ordered him to remove her pink sneakers as soon as she had sat down on the edge of her bed. As he had anticipated, his mistress’s socks proved to be very dirty and sweaty after her long, busy day.

As he now nosed her white-socked feet he could see the yellow sweat stains around the toes, and other discolouration caused by the foot-sweat on her socks reacting with the inner lining of her warm sneakers. His nostrils were assailed by the unpleasant stench of stale, feminine foot sweat , but sockboy knew that it was no more than he deserved. He was a disobedient footslave who merited nothing more than to be subjected to his mistress’s foot-stink prior to his totally justifiable punishment.

After one hour of smelling and nosing her white/yellow socks, Mistress Aysha ordered her personal footslave to take off her socks and nose her soft, bare feet. As he dutifully rubbed his nose all over her bare feet and between her sweaty toes, sockboy was again impressed at how soft and beautiful his young mistress’s feet were, in spite of the sweatiness and the smell. They were certainly softer than Madam Zubeeda’s feet. ‘Soon you will be whipped as you kneel in front of these soft, brown feet’, he thought to himself. ‘Will her feet display any signs of pity for you ’, he wondered.

Meanwhile Aysha was finding it hard to concentrate on her book and was also thinking about her feet. The punishment room had a cold stone floor, so what would she wear on her feet whilst her slave was being whipped? She knew her footwear would be an integral part of the footslave’s punishment – for he would be forced to stare at her feet throughout his chastisement. The idea was that with each and every lash the message would be drummed into him that he was the slave of her feet, and that it was only by concentrating on her feet that he could hope to avoid similar punishment in the future.

She decided that, as he was her ‘sockboy’ she would wear her white ankle socks – the same pair that she had been wearing all day and which were now lying on the floor whilst sockboy attended to her bare feet. That would not only help to keep her delicate feet warm in the cold punishment room – it would also add extra humiliation to her slave as he would be forced to stare at the same sweaty pair of dirty socks he had been looking at, and then smelling, throughout the day.

She did not want, however, to wear her pink sneakers to the punishment. They seemed altogether too girly and informal for such a solemn occasion. Yet socks alone wouldn’t keep her feet warm. She decided, therefore, that she would wear her brown, zip-up ankle boots with the blocky heels. These would go well with her trousers as they would contrast nicely with the inner grey lining of her black denim jeans, which she would turn up at the bottom in order to afford sockboy a glimpse of the tops of her dirty, white ankle socks – something for him to concentrate on during his punishment.

At 08:50 PM precisely she ordered sockboy to put her socks back on her feet and to fetch the brown, leather ankle boots from his ‘hole’ –which doubled as her shoe-cupboard. Sockboy’s heart was beating furiously and he was sweating with fear as he pulled the leather boots onto his mistress’s socked feet, and then zipped them up, preparing her for his punishment session. The mere act of zipping up the boots reminded him of the reason why he was about to be punished.

Mistress Aysha was also perspiring, and her heart was also racing – but not with fear: in her case it was excitement and anticipation. How would sockboy take his punishment? Would he be fit to serve her the following day?

She adjusted the bottom of her jeans to ensure that when she was in a seated position the tops of her white ankle socks would be visible.

“It’s time”, she stated, as the clock on her bedroom wall showed 08:55.”Follow me on your hands and knees, footslave”.

The about-to-be-whipped slave respectfully crawled after his mistress’s brown ankle boots, down two flights of stairs and into the rather gloomy and cold punishment room.

Aysha’s parents were already there, as was Abdul, holding the brown leather bull-whip coiled up like a pet snake in his right hand.

There was a chair in the middle of the room on which Aysha sat. Sockboy was ordered by Abdul to kneel in front of his mistress’s feet, and to keep his head bowed.

The slave shivered, partly through fear and partly through cold, although he realised his bare back was soon to be warmed up.

When everyone was in position, Abdul repeated that the sentence pronounced by Mistress Aysha for the footslave’s disobedience was to be 30 lashes. He then politely asked Aysha’s parents to stand well back, as he uncoiled the whip and measured his distance.

“Don’t spare him, Abdul”, ordered Madam Zubeeda. She was determined that if, through the kindness of her daughter’s heart the slave’s punishment was to be limited to just 30 lashes, he would at least feel the full sting of every one of those lashes.

As sockboy braced himself for the first lash, he focused on the tops of his mistress Aysha’s white socks inside her brown ankle boots.

The whip whistled through the air……………………….

We won’t go into unnecessary detail here as to sockboy’s suffering during the ensuing five minutes or so. Suffice it to say that with every blow, and the subsequent agonising pain, he found himself drifting deeper and deeper into his mistress’s feet and footwear. It was as if the pain of the whip was enlivening all his senses – his sense of smell and sight as well as his sense of pain – so that every stitch in her white socks, every crease in her brown leather boots, and every sweat-excreting pore in her feet was all that mattered in the universe. He was their slave – the slave of mistress Aysha’s feet, and the terrible whip was telling him that he would obey her feet , at all times and in every way they wished, or he would suffer the consequences.

The whip taught sockboy a valuable lesson indeed, and at the conclusion of the whipping he instinctively used what strength he had left to kiss mistress Aysha’s brown, leather ankle boots, and to thank them for his punishment.

Justice had been done. He would do better.

Part 6 – Madam Zubeeda and her friends

Sockboy spent much of the night sobbing in his ‘hole’, surrounded by his mistress Aysha's precious socks and shoes. He awoke the next morning after some fitful sleep, feeling very sore and stiff.

Mistress Aysha, bare footed but otherwise already dressed in her black jeans and a white top, opened the flap to his hole at about 7:30 a.m. and ordered him to crawl out, bringing with him a pair of her black ankle socks and black, flat, leather loafers.

After he had emerged from the hole he followed the usual morning routine of kneeling in front of his mistress, kissing both her bare feet, then washing them, then putting on her socks and shoes. He was already learning well his mistress’s personal preferences, and this time remembered to fold down the cuffs of her black ankle socks. Once he had put on her black, leather loafers he respectfully kissed each of them as he continued to kneel in front of his seated mistress awaiting her next orders:

“I'm going to give you light duties today, whipped footslave", said his mistress Aysha. "You're in no condition to accompany me to college today. Instead, you will stay here in the house and serve my mother. I believe that some of her friends are coming round today to visit. You will serve them also”.

She paused to let the force of her words sink in. She knew that sockboy would be disappointed not to be considered worthy to accompany his mistress to her college as he had done the day before. But, following his beating, he really was in no condition to crawl around after her all day on his hands and knees. He needed to recover, and staying in the house for the next 24 hours or so would help him to do so. Mistress Aysha was, at the end of the day, a kindhearted slave-mistress.

The irony was, of course, that her mother, Madam Zubeeda, was less inclined to be kindhearted. But Aysha didn't see that. She loved and respected her mother, and trusted that whilst she would make sockboy work, she would nevertheless ensure that he did not come to any further harm. She had already explained to her mother that she needed sockboy to be fully fit again by tomorrow when she wanted him to accompany her to her friend Dani’s party. Madam Zubeeda had been only too pleased to 'babysit' her daughter's personal footslave, and had assured her that he would be well looked after.

Sockboy followed his mistress Aysha downstairs to the kitchen in the normal manner befitting a footslave -- on his hands and knees, crawling behind her heels. Again, he knelt at her feet as she breakfasted at the kitchen table with her parents. As he did so he stared at his mistress’s black socks and black shoes, angry with himself that he had disobeyed her, received her just punishment, and as a result would not be allowed to follow her feet throughout the day. He longed to smother her socked ankles and leather shoes with humble kisses -- to demonstrate how sorry he was, that he had learnt his lesson, and that all he wanted in life was to serve at her feet. But he had not been ordered to kiss her feet whilst she ate, and so he just knelt and stared with slavish respect and humility of at the superior feet and footwear of his beautiful, young asian mistress. His only hope was that, when she retuned from college later that evening, she might let him lick her black leather shoes so that he could at least get a taste of where she had been.

After a few moments, Abdul, the superior servant who had whipped him so professionally the previous evening, shoved the usual bowl of slave-mush under sockboy’s nose. Sockboy wasn't hungry, but knew he must eat to keep up his strength. He suspected that Madam Zubeeda’s definition of 'light duties' might differ from his own mistress Aysha’s. In truth, he was afraid of what the day ahead might hold for him. Who were these friends of Madam Zubeeda's who were coming round? Would they be kind, like his mistress Aysha? Or would they be cruel and demanding, like her mother Madam Zubeeda?

All too soon his mistress Aysha was getting ready to leave for college. She formally handed sockboy over to her mother, giving her the chain that was attached to the collar around sockboy's neck below his leather slave hood:

“Remember, mama, I want him worked, but please don't hurt him any more today as I will need him for the party tomorrow", she said to her mother.

"Don't worry, dear”, replied Madam Zubeeda as sockboy changed positions to kneel at her slippered feet, " I've got plenty for him to do and there are plenty of other ways to punish a slave other than beating him”.

Aysha thanked her mother and kissed her, and her father, goodbye as she grabbed her car keys and headed out the door.

Madam Zubeeda pulled tightly on sockboy’s chain as she lowered her face to his and spoke to him in an ominous semi-whisper:

“Don’t worry, whipped slave. I intend to see to it that your day here with me is not wasted. My daughter is such a gentle girl – she finds it hard to know how to treat a slave properly – although she is learning fast. But I, I can assure you, know exactly how to deal with disobedient and disrespectful slaves. I will soon teach you what it means to be a footslave in this household”.

Sockboy felt sick in the pit of his stomach. Today was not going to be a good day – but he only had himself to blame.

“You can begin by kissing each of my feet one hundred times – make sure your dirty, slave-lips don’t touch my bare skin, only the tops of my slippers”, she then ordered him.

Her husband, master Iqbal, chuckled as his beloved wife got to work on their daughter’s slave. He knew his wife was going to enjoy her day, and thought it was a pity he couldn’t stay and watch her humiliate the slave. But he had to get to work.

As sockboy lowered his lips to place the first of his two hundred respectful kisses on Madam Zubeeda’s slippers, her husband gave her an affectionate peck on her cheek and bade her farewell.

Madam Zubeeda was wearing the same, flat ballet-style, silver slippers she had been wearing the previous morning. Sockboy admired how they set off her still shapely feet and ankles. Although she was an ‘older’ woman, he reckoned she must still be in her early forties – almost certainly a few years younger than him, and he somewhat grudgingly had to acknowledge that despite her cruel and domineering nature, Madam Zubeeda was still a beautiful and attractive woman.

He was beginning by kissing her right foot which she had extended out onto the floor in front of him. She was still seated at the breakfast table and was in her dressing gown and pyjamas. Because her leg was outstretched the bottom of her pyjama-leg had risen up to reveal the full shapeliness of her ankle and lower calf.

Sockboy noticed that her slipper was a bit scuffed around the toe and it did smell a bit sweaty and musty as he continually kissed it – a sure sign that she had had these slippers for some time and always wore them without hosiery on her bare feet. But he was not repulsed by the smell. In fact, he regarded it as a smell fit for a footslave, especially a disobedient footslave like him who now deserved every humiliation he got.

Sockboy didn’t know if mistress Zubeeda was counting the kisses to her foot as she nibbled on a piece of toast above him, so he carefully counted each separate kiss in his own head. He needn’t have worried, however. As soon as he reached one hundred, madam Zubeeda withdrew her right foot and replaced it with her left. The one hundred slavish kisses began all over again.

When he had finished kissing her feet, Madam Zubeeda announced that she was retiring to her room to get dressed. She also ordered Abdul to take the footslave to the ‘shoe cupboard’:

“See to it that he licks clean all my dirty shoes and boots whilst I get ready for my friends. They’ll be here in an hour or so”.

“Yes, Madam”, answered Abdul. He too, even though he was treated much better than any slave in the household, feared Madam Zubeeda. He had seen her temper and always made a point of being particularly respectful towards her.

He deposited sockboy at the entrance to Madam Zubeeda’s shoe cupboard which was located near the front door in the hallway, and passed on his mistress’s orders:

“Lick clean each and every boot and shoe, slaveboy. Madam wants her shoes gleaming and be warned – she will be choosing one of these pairs to wear this morning so you’d better make damn sure you do a proper job, whipped footboy!”.

Sockboy could sense the contempt, but also perhaps the fear in Abdul’s voice. Would he be punished too if the footslave failed to do a good job on Madam Zubeeda’s footwear? It was an interesting question, but not one sockboy intended to put to the test. Whatever assurances she may have given to his mistress Aysha, sockboy knew that Madam Zubeeda was just itching to cause him more pain. And so he would be at his most obedient.

He spent the next 45 minutes or so slavishly licking any mud and street dirt off the soles and leather uppers of Madam Zubeeda's shoes and boots. It was clear that she had a fondness for high heels -- both high-heeled shoes and boots. They looked expensive as well, perhaps only to be expected for the mistress of such a wealthy household. Fortunately for him, he was still licking assiduously when Madam Zubeeda approached him from behind in her bare feet:

"Haven't you finished yet, dirty slave?" she snapped. Sockboy was, in fact, working on the very last pair -- a pair of black leather low heeled pumps.

Perhaps to emphasise her power and authority, Madam Zubeeda indicated that these were the very pair of shoes should now wished to wear. She therefore exhorted the footslave to finish polishing them with his tongue, and then put them on her feet.

Madam Zubeeda was now wearing a traditional Pakistani outfit known as ‘salwar kameez’, comprising a light loose-fitting top which came down to just below her knees and light blue slacks which came down to her ankles. The footslave admired her red painted toes as he humbly slipped her dainty feet into the black shoes.

"Kiss my feet", she ordered again.

This time he kissed each foot only once.

"My girlfriends will be arriving shortly, slave boy. You will now kneel by the door and as they enter you will kiss each of their feet and welcome them to my home. Abdul will open the door for them. Do you understand, footslave?"

"Yes, mistress".

Mme Zubeeda promptly kicked sockboy in the face:

"Don't call me ‘mistress’, you ignorant footlicker!”, she barked at him. “I am not your ‘mistress’. Your ‘mistress’ is Miss Aysha, or hadn’t you realized that yet? Perhaps that would explain why you had the audacity to disobey her! Well, I’ll soon put you right on that one!”, she continued ominously.

“You will address me as ‘Madam Zubeeda, and likewise you shall refer to each of my friends as ‘Madam’ – that’s if they even deign to speak to you, is that clear, wretch?”

“Yes, Madam Zubeeda. Please forgive me, Madam Zubeeda.”

Madam Zubeeda then retired to the living room to ready herself for her guests’ arrival.

The first to arrive was Madam Nayla. At 35 she was the youngest of the ladies to be invited round for the coffee morning at Madam Zubeeda’s house. She was wearing western clothes including a black blouse, black trousers and black patent leather, high-heeled shoes. Sockboy noticed how Madam Nayla greeted Abdul by bidding him good morning as he opened the door for her, but said nothing to him as he humbly kissed the toes of her shiny, black shoes and welcomed her to Madam Zubeeda’s house. It was yet another indicator of his lowly position within the household – he was just the household footslave, quite literally ‘beneath’ any conversation with a superior mistress.

Next to arrive was Madam Latha, a slightly older woman of about 45. She, like Madam Zubeeda, was dressed in a ‘salwar kameez’ suit, although hers was bright yellow. On her feet she wore strappy, white sandals, and the slave noticed a silver toe ring on the second toe of her right foot as he kissed her sandaled foot in humble, slavish greeting.

Finally, Madam Zainab arrived. Although only 39 she was perhaps the most ‘conservatively’ dressed. She wore a black headscarf as well as a mainly light brown salwar kameez suit of dress and trousers. On her otherwise bare feet she wore flat, brown loafers.

After sockboy had kissed each lady’s feet Abdul had escorted them into the living room where madam Zubeeda was awaiting them. He then, on Madam Zubeeda’s instructions, pulled sockboy by the chain around his neck into the living room and ordered him to kneel in the corner whilst he went to fetch a bowl of warm water and a towel:

“You’re going to wash our guests’ feet”, he explained with an evil grin.

Sockboy realized he was just like the humblest slave of ancient Rome, fit only to wash the dirty feet of his female master’s guests.

The four ladies were all now seated in comfortable chairs in the living room, as Madam Zubeeda asked Madam Nayla first if she would like to have her feet washed.

“Oh, yes please”, responded the younger woman, “I’m afraid these new high-heeled shoes of mine are killing my poor feet. They could really do with a wash and a massage!”

Madam Zubeeda clicked her fingers and indicated to sockboy that he was to assume a kneeling position in front of Madam Nayla’s feet:

“Footslave, remove Madam Nayla’s shoes and wash her feet”, she ordered.

As he gently slipped off the first of her high-heeled shoes sockboy was vaguely aware of Madam Nayla looking down on him:

“I like his whipped back!”, she laughed. “Has he been a disobedient slave, Zubeeda?”

“Yes. He’s actually Aysha’s new slave. We gave him to her for her 21st. But I’m afraid he has a lot to learn”, replied Madam Zubeeda.

“I’m sure the whip will be a good teacher to him”, chirped Nayla happily. The ladies all laughed:

“Yes - there is nothing like the sting of the whip to teach a slave his place”, opined Madam Zainab.

By now the humble footslave had removed Madam Nayla’s second shoe under the watchful eye of Abdul, who was now acting in his role as slave-overseer. He carefully placed her feet into the bowl of water and massaged the young lady’s soft, bare feet with his slave fingers. He could see red marks on the back of her heels where the new shoes had obviously been rubbing. He just hoped the water didn’t irritate the raw skin, for if the young woman did experience any discomfort he would doubtless get the blame.

The four asian ladies then largely ignored the hooded footslave as they engaged in small-talk and chit-chat whilst he went around the room first removing the shoes, then washing and drying the feet of the three female guests, before putting their shoes back onto their refreshed feet. Abdul indicated to him that there was no need for him to wash the host’s feet.

It was only after he had finished this humiliating and degrading task that the ladies turned their attention to the humble footslave again:

“Tell me, Zubeeda, what exactly did this slave do to deserve such a beating?”, asked Madam Zainab.

“To be honest, my dear, I’m not entirely sure. Something about opening the zip over his mouth without my daughter’s permission. Whatever it was, she was too lenient with him – only 30 lashes, for an act of downright disobedience!”.

“Disgraceful!”, exclaimed Zainab, “Not your daughter’s leniency, I mean, but the slave’s willful disobedience! Doesn’t he realize his position in life?”

“I’m not sure he does yet”, responded Madam Zubeeda, “I would dearly love to whip him again today myself, but my darling Aysha is anxious that he shouldn’t be physically chastised any more until his wounds heal”.

“She really is too kind to him, Zubeeda darling”, stated Madam Latha, “but, you know, there are other ways that we could teach this insolent wretch a thing or two about humility”.

“That’s just what I was saying this morning”, echoed Madam Zubeeda, “I was thinking that there must be some way that the four of us could teach this dirty, disobedient footslave a lesson without leaving any more physical marks on him!”

“I have an idea, darling”, continued Madam Latha. “Since he clearly has a problem accepting the authority of younger women why don’t I have Richard, my driver, bring over my daughter’s dirty socks and we can make him sniff them and then mouth-wash them in front of us?”

The ladies clapped their hands and laughed with pleasure at Latha’s idea.

“Yes!”, exclaimed Nayla. “A fitting punishment for a lowly footslave – to wash the dirty socks of a young woman by mouth - and in public! That should teach him his place!”

“How old is your daughter now, Latha?”, asked Madam Zainab.

“Pratheepa? She’s just turned 19. We’ve been thinking of getting her a personal footslave – especially as her socks and shoes are always filthy, but we just haven’t got round to it yet”.

“We decided to wait until Aysha turned 21”, interjected Madam Zubeeda. “It is quite a responsibility for a young woman to have her very own footslave”.

“You’re probably right”, replied Madam Latha, “but it would be such fun to see her dominating her very own footslave in her own home! Anyway, I’ll have Richard bring round her laundry basket – it should only take him a few minutes”.

She then took out her mobile phone and rang through her orders to her chauffeur.

Sockboy had remained kneeling humbly in the corner of the room whilst the ladies had been discussing his fate. He recognized that it would be humiliating to have to sniff the sweaty socks of some girl he had never met, and whilst she wasn’t even there. He would much rather be kneeling at the socked feet of his own mistress Aysha. But he had brought all of this humiliation on himself by his disobedience.

The driver arrived with Miss Pratheepa’s dirty laundry basket after some 15 minutes. Madam Latha promptly dismissed him again with a perfunctory wave of her hand, before taking off the lid of the linen basket and looking through her daughter’s dirty underclothes:

“These should do to begin with!”, she smiled, puling out a pair of dirty white sports socks with pink stripes on the cuffs. Everyone could clearly see grass and mud stains on the sides of both the matching , creased-up socks.

“She plays netball”, explained Madam Latha, “her socks do tend to get very sweaty and dirty. Shall we make him smell them first?”

“Yes, lets”, exclaimed Nayla excitedly, “Make him smell Pratheepa’s dirty sock-sweat, Latha. Lets see how he likes that!”

Madam Zubeeda, her two other guests, and Abdul the servant, all watched contentedly as Madam Latha beckoned the footslave to crawl over to her and then shoved the scrunched up pair of dirty socks onto his nose:

“Inhale my daughter’s foot-sweat, you disrespectful footslave! Smell her stale sweat from several days ago. Take it up your ugly nostrils – it’s all you’re good for!”, barked Madam Latha.

“Gosh, those socks really do stink!”, yelled Madam Zainab covering her nose, “I can smell them from here!”

Everyone in the room laughed, apart, of course, from the aptly named ‘sockboy’, whose sense of smell was now assailed by the deeply unpleasant aroma of stale, female, sweaty sock. It made him feel sick.

Yet it was only the beginning of his humiliation, for the ladies made him smell seven pairs of Miss Pratheepa’s dirty socks in all before they then made him wash each of the dirty socks in his slave mouth. One of the socks, to the great amusement of the ladies, even had an old sticking plaster attached to it, so they made him suck on that also.

The smell and the taste of the young woman’s dirty socks was utterly foul. Yet he knew it was a smell and a taste worthy of a recalcitrant footslave.

When he had finished cleaning Miss Pratheepa’s socks in his mouth, Madam Zubeeda made him thank Madam Latha by kissing her strappy-sandaled feet whilst repeating the following:

“Thank you, Madam Latha, for teaching this arrogant, disobedient footslave a lesson in humility. Thank you, for letting it smell and suck the sweat from your daughter’s dirty netball socks. Please permit this dirty, low-life slave to kiss your superior feet as a demonstration of its gratitude to both you and your daughter for taking the time to discipline it and for humiliating it in front of you and your friends. This slave now knows that its place is at the feet of superior women, and is eternally grateful to you for granting it the honour of cleaning a superior female’s foot-garments”.

He was then made to kiss the feet of the other two guests, whilst repeating the following:

“Thank you Madam Zainab and Madam Nayla for witnessing this slave’s humiliation as it was forced to smell and then wash in its dirty, slave mouth Miss Pratheepa’s sweaty sports socks. Thank you for encouraging Madam Latha in her humiliation of this wretched slave. It humbly hopes that you have enjoyed watching it suffer, and that you will deign to view it with the utter contempt it deserves”.

The ladies graciously indicated that they did so deign.

Later that evening, as sockboy knelt at the foot of Mistress Aysha’s bed, massaging and kissing her socked feet, she asked him what he had been up to that day. She laughed as he humbly explained how he had been smelling and then sucking on another girl’s dirty socks:

“Don’t worry, slave, you’ll get to meet Miss Pratheepa at the party tomorrow night. I’m sure she’ll want to thank you personally for washing her stinky socks for her”, she quipped sarcastically. “Now continue to kiss and sniff my dirty socks!”.

Part 7 – Shoe-Shopping

The next day was a Saturday. Mistress Aysha did not have to go to college and had other plans for the day. In the morning she would go shopping for a new pair of shoes; she would then have lunch with one of her friends, Louise; and in the evening she would be going to her friend Dani’s 22nd birthday party.

Her personal footslave, 'Sockboy', now reasonably recovered from his much deserved beating, would be accompanying her throughout the day.

Today Aysha was wearing a black denim jacket, a white blouse, her favourite pair of black denim jeans and thick black boot socks inside her blocky-heeled, brown leather, zip-up ankle boots. As she walked towards the bus stop to catch the bus that would take her into town, her personal footslave, as usual, was required to follow her heels, on his hands and knees, with the chain around his neck attached to the back of her trouser belt.

Nobody on the street batted an eyelid at the sight of a young woman with her footslave in tow. It was a perfectly normal sight in this town. Quite frankly, nobody gave a damn!

Sockboy noticed that the pavement was wet. It had evidently just been raining, and not only was wet dirt inevitably sticking to the soles of his mistress’s boots, his hooded face was also being splashed by droplets of water from the back of her boot soles as he crawled behind her heels. He realized mistress Aysha’s boots would need to be licked clean again later that day.

When they entered the bus, the footslave observed that his mistress didn’t have to pay for him. It was like he was a non-entity – a mere appendage to his mistress’s feet. He saw also that there was a space on the floor specifically designed for personal footslaves to lay at their mistresses’ feet. This whole society really was geared up for slavery.

Mistress Aysha sat herself down on the seat and made herself comfortable. The journey would only take about 20 minutes. Sockboy dutifully lay down on the floor at her feet, and with guidance from his mistress placed his right, leather-hooded cheek onto the dusty floor of the bus, thereby enabling his mistress to rest her right booted foot on his left cheek whilst placing her left foot in front of his face.

As the bus moved off sockboy felt the vibrations through the floor and onto his cheek. As he lay in the dirt under his mistress's feet he contemplated his position in life:

'You are the personal footslave of this beautiful, young, Asian woman. She is superior to you in every way and you are privileged to be allowed the honour of having the dirty sole of her boot resting on the side of your slave face. Look at the brown leather ankle boot and the black boot sock in front of your face. You are unworthy to touch her leather boot with your slave lips, or to even smell her shoe leather. Her friends, the women whose shoes and boots she makes you lick and whose feet she makes you kiss and sniff, are also better than you. Everyone is better than you. You are nothing. You are less than the bacteria that make up their foot sweat, or the mud that accumulates on the soles of their boots. So you must pay your humble respects to these superior human beings by keeping your head bowed at all times in their presence, and by humbly kissing and licking their superior feet and footwear. Be what you are. Be a footslave. It is what your superiors expect and demand’.

For her part, mistress Aysha was contemplating her superiority over her personal footslave. He truly was less than the dirt beneath her feet. Her feet, her socks, her boots -- each were superior to him. His very head was nothing more than their resting place. How she despised him. She herself was not perfect. She was a flawed human being like everyone else. But to the pathetic footslave lying at her feet she was a goddess, and he was fit only to act as her boot-wipe. His hooded face was literally good only for wiping the dirt off the soles of her ankle boots. Yes, truly, she was a goddess and he was the lowest of the low - privileged to grovel in the dirt under her feet. He was nothing more than her pathetic sockboy.

Aysha and Sockboy would probably never realize it, but they were actually a match made in heaven.

After some 20 minutes the bus had reached its destination in the town centre and Aysha alighted, making her way directly to her favourite shoe store. Again, the store was perfectly used to young women coming in with their personal footslaves in tow, and even made sure the footslave played a part in serving the customer.

Aysha had come to the shop with the full intention of buying a pair of strappy stilettos for the party that evening. She already had a brand new, red party frock that had been given to her by her aunt as a 21st birthday present the previous week. She wanted some red shoes to go with the frock.

But the first item of footwear that caught her eye was actually a pair of black leather, spike-heeled ankle boots which were in her size and reduced in price (not that price was a huge issue for this wealthy young woman).

The shop assistant, a young woman in her mid twenties, recognized the potential sale and came over to offer her assistance as Aysha was examining the red lining inside the black ankle boot:

“Good morning, miss”, she chirped, “can I help at all?”.

From his kneeling position, head dutifully bowed at his mistress’s feet, Sockboy could see out of the corner of his eye that the young shop-assistant was wearing bright red tracksuit bottoms with two white stripes down the side, white sneaker socks and white and red sneakers. She was nicely ‘colour-coordinated’ as women invariably are.

“Hi. Yes, I’d like to try on these boots please ”, replied Aysha.

“Certainly, miss. If you would just like to sit down over there and have your footslave remove your boots I’ll be back in just a moment with a pair from our storeroom”.

Sockboy was aware that, yet again, he was in effect having to take orders from another female stranger – not that there was any question this time of his mistress Aysha not approving of those orders. In order to try on the new boots the old pair had to come off. And a mistress with a footslave does not expect to have to take off her own boots. That’s precisely what a footslave is for!.

Sockboy carefully pulled down the zip of his mistress’s right boot and pulled it off her foot, then repeated the process with her left boot:

“Straighten my socks, footslave”, ordered his mistress. Sockboy had already established that although his mistress Aysha liked to have the cuffs on her ankle socks neatly folded down when she was wearing sneakers or ordinary shoes, she preferred to have her boot-socks fully pulled up so that they showed over the tops of her ankle boots. Such details are important for a footslave to know because he has to learn to please his mistress.

Sockboy, therefore, immediately pulled up and straightened his mistress’s thick black boot-socks readying her feet to try on the new ankle boots that the female shop assistant was now bringing in their cardboard box.

The shop assistant, of course, did not expect to have to help the customer on with the new boots herself. That was something for the customer’s personal footslave to do. As she placed the black leather ankle boots on the floor in front of Sockboy’s face she snapped her orders at him:

“Slave, unzip these boots and then put them onto your mistress’s feet”.

As Sockboy obeyed the shop assistant, the latter engaged in small-talk with his Mistress Aysha, commenting on the weather and how it was looking increasingly like rain again.

Mistress Aysha kindly stretched out her right leg to better enable her footslave to pull the ankle boot onto her socked foot and then zip it up.

After he had successfully placed and zipped up the other boot onto her left foot, his mistress Aysha stood up and walked around a bit, trying out the new boots. Sockboy, of course, had no choice but to follow his mistress on his hands and knees over to the mirror where Aysha had a good look at the new boots on her feet. She liked them, and she liked the sight of her footslave kneeling at her spiked heels. For his part, Sockboy found the reflection of his hooded face in the mirror somewhat disconcerting.

“They look great!” commented the shop assistant. “Do they feel alright?”.

“Yeah, they feel fine. I’ll take them, thanks!”, replied Aysha happily. Another pair of ankle boots to add to her collection; another pair for her personal footslave to worship and take care of.

As Aysha sat down again to allow Sockboy to unzip and remove each boot the shop assistant asked her whether there would be anything else.

“Actually, I really came in for some strappy red stilettos. I’m off to a party tonight and need a pair to go with my red frock!”.

“No problem, Miss!. Perhaps you’d care to take a look at our selection of high-heeled sandals over here”, replied the shop assistant leading Aysha in her socked feet over to a display on the other side of the shop. Sockboy followed his mistress’s feet on his hands and knees.

The two women then discussed the merits of various pairs of red sandals which were out of his field of vision. Sockboy humbly concentrated on his mistress’s socked feet, and on the sneakered feet of the female sales assistant.

Eventually a pair was selected for Aysha to try on, and she retuned to the bench whilst the shop assistant went to get the relevant pair from the storeroom.

“Take off my socks, footslave”, ordered Mistress Aysha now seated.

Sockboy duly pulled off each of her black socks from the top downwards, whilst taking great care not to brush his dirty slave fingers against her soft skin. He placed the socks neatly next to her brown boots on the floor beside him, and then stared humbly at his mistress’s bare feet.

As they were waiting for the shop assistant to return mistress Aysha’s phone rang. It was her friend Louise just ringing to confirm that they were still on for lunch and that the venue was a quiet little restaurant just off the town square.

Aysha was still chatting to Louise when the shop assistant arrived back with the red stilettos and so the assistant, not wishing to disturb Aysha’s conversation, bent down and spoke to the footslave in a low voice:

“Put these sandals on your mistress’s feet, dirty footslave”.

“Yes, mistress”, Sockboy replied obediently, also in a whisper.

Mistress Aysha was still laughing and chatting away on her phone whilst he gently lifted up her right foot and slipped the sandal onto her beautiful bare foot - doing up the strap, before repeating the process with her left foot under the watchful eye of the shop-girl.

“Sorry about that!”, said mistress Aysha when she had finished her telephone conversation with Louise.

Both the footslave and the shop assistant knew, of course, that Aysha’s apology was to the shop assistant only, and not to the slave. Why would anyone ever have to apologise to a slave!

“That’s quite alright miss! How do they feel? They look absolutely fantastic on you!”, replied the pleasant shop-girl.

As mistress Aysha walked over to the mirror again, her footslave, following as always behind her on his hands and knees, noticed how her ankles wiggled seductively with each step. She pointed her right foot forward as she examined the shoes in the mirror:

“Yes, I like these very much!, exclaimed his mistress. “I’ll take these also, if I may.”

It occurred to Sockboy that his mistress was an extremely polite and well-mannered young lady – polite, that is, to other free human-beings; not to him, but then why on earth would she need to be polite towards him? He was her slave. She only needed to speak to him either to give him orders or to admonish him.

“Great!”, replied the young shop-assistant. “If you’d like to have your slave take them off and put your socks and boots back on for you, you can then join me at the till where I’ll wrap them up”.

With that the shop-girl took the black, spike-heeled ankle boots and went over to the till, whilst mistress Aysha sat down again to enable her footslave to unstrap the red stilettos from her feet, place them in the appropriate box, and then put her black socks and her brown, zip-up ankle boots back onto her feet.

After she had paid for her new boots and shoes Aysha gave another order to her footslave:

“Slave, kiss the shop assistant’s feet to thank her for her help”.

The shop-girl graciously moved out from behind the till and extended her right foot under the kneeling footslave’s nose. As he lowered his servile lips to the top of her red and white sneaker the shop girl thanked Aysha for her custom. She did not need to thank the footslave for kissing her feet – he was merely carrying out his duty as his mistress had ordered him to.

Once he had kissed the shop-girl’s left sneaker the two women said goodbye and Aysha left the shop with two new bags containing her purchases and with her footslave crawling behind her on his hands and knees.

As she walked across the town square towards the side street where the restaurant was located Sockboy noticed that the bottom of her left jean leg was caught in the top of her brown ankle boot. He hoped he wouldn’t be punished for that, but his mistress, it seemed, either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care. She seemed happy.

Louise was already seated in the restaurant when Aysha arrived. The two girls kissed and Aysha ordered Sockboy to kiss Louise’s feet. It was the same girl with whom Aysha had played squash earlier in the week – the athletic, tall and very beautiful black girl, Louise. This time she was wearing blue jeans tucked into black knee-length zip-up ankle boots. With her long legs she seemed to tower above Sockboy as he knelt in front of her leather boots. They were covered with small splashes of mud from the wet street, but he had not been ordered to lick mistress Louise’s boots clean – just to kiss them in humble greeting; so that was all that he did – one respectful kiss on the toe of each boot.

He then knelt under the table at the feet of his now seated Mistress, mistress Aysha. As she sat down she had crossed her legs meaning that her right ankle boot was hovering in the air. He remembered how Abdul, Aysha’s servant, had earlier told him that, unless he was instructed otherwise by his mistress, he was to concentrate on her dangling foot whenever she was seated. It was an honour and a privilege, and one which Sockboy now took up. So he stared humbly at mistress Aysha’s right boot as it dangled in the air under the table; at the wet mud on the sole and the splashes of muddy rain water on the upper; at the top of the black boot sock; and dare he say it, at the brief glimpse of her bare, brown skin above the sock and below the stitched hem of her black denim jean-leg.

After a few minutes the two girls interrupted their conversation to give their orders to the waitress. The footslave could see only the waitress’s bare legs and flat white loafers on her feet. He guessed she was a young woman in her late twenties or early thirties, and he thought he detected a slight east-european accent:

“Good afternoon, ladies, may I take your orders please?”

“Yes, I’d like the Spaghetti Bolognese, please”, replied Louise first.

“And I’ll have the Lasagna with a side salad, please” added mistress Aysha.

“And to drink?”, queried the waitress.

The two girls had a brief discussion about not wanting to drink alcohol before Dani’s party that evening, and just ordered some soft drinks.

The waitress thanked them for their order and took away the menu. Needless to say it did not occur to her to ask the footslave whether he wanted anything to eat or drink, nor even to ask his mistress Aysha whether she wanted anything for her footslave. Slaves might, if they were lucky, be fed scraps from their mistress’s plates - left-overs etc. But no slave would ever be given fresh food or drink in a public restaurant! The slave was there merely to stare humbly at his mistress’s feet whilst she ate.

That’s not to say that the footslave didn’t feel hungry when he smelt the delicious food. His stomach rumbled as he tried desperately to concentrate on his mistress Aysha’s booted foot as she manipulated it and dangled it in front of his kneeling face as she ate her lasagna.

But if he harboured any hopes of being fed a few scraps he was to be sorely disappointed. Both mistress Aysha and mistress Louise were far too caught up in their conversation to take any notice of him and his hunger.

They were talking about the forthcoming party that evening – about who would, or would not be there – particularly the men. Both Louise and Aysha were on the look out for a man. Unbeknown to the footslave both girls had recently split up with their respective boyfriends and were very much on the look-out for a new man. Aysha, apparently, had her eyes on a young man called ‘Rashid’, and was clearly delighted when Louise confirmed that Rashid was going to the party.

When they had finished their meal the two girls remained seated at the table whilst Aysha showed Louise her new boots and shoes. Whilst Louise was admiring Aysha’s new boots in their box, the footslave was still admiring his mistress’s old boots on her feet. And he couldn’t help the occasional furtive glance over towards mistress Louise’s knee-length boots. How strong and powerful they looked. He reckoned she could crush him in those boots if she so fancied. They certainly demonstrated her female superiority over him.

And yet, as he was ordered by his mistress Aysha to kiss the flat, white loafers of the waitress as the two girls paid their bill, he realized that, whatever footwear a lady was wearing, she was still superior to him. He truly was the footslave of all women – not just of his owner, mistress Aysha.

Part 8 – The Party

Miss Aysha's personal footslave was nervous. He was kneeling at his seated mistress's bare feet giving her a pedicure.

It was the first time he had ever given a young woman a full pedicure. Having previously been a slave down the mines, he had not hitherto had much opportunity in his wretched existence to serve the feet of a beautiful young woman in such an intimate way. He was conscious of what a great privilege it was for him to beautify further the already beautiful feet of his mistress Aysha. But he was conscious also of the tremendous responsibility he was under.

As he painted his mistress’s toenails with the bright red nail paint, he shuddered to think what she would do to him if he inadvertently smeared some of the paint onto her superior foot flesh, or even onto one of the white, spongy toe-dividers he had placed between her delicate, soft, feminine toes.

Mistress Aysha had already showered, and changed into her red party frock. With her dark hair and dark complexion she looked divine in the bright red dress which came to just below her knees. She also smelt divine. It was only the finishing touches to her feet that now remained, and then she would be ready for her friend Dani’s 22nd birthday party.

Aysha was a little bit nervous. She had been tipped off by her friend Louise that Rashid would be at the party. Aysha had had her eye on Rashid for sometime. If he didn't make a move tonight, she had decided that she would. He was such a hunk. She wanted him.

Aysha’s nervousness about the party, however, was as nothing compared to the footslave's nervousness. His mistress had already informed him that he would be accompanying her to the party in his capacity as her personal footslave. However he had, obviously, never been to a party before. He had absolutely no idea what to expect, or more particularly what his mistress expected of him. Was she taking him to the party for purely practical reasons? Did she really need his services at the party? If so, what exactly would those services be? Or was it just an excuse for her to show off her new footslave to her friends -- perhaps even to this young man he had heard her talking about, Master Rashid? The footslave didn't know the answer to these questions.

And, of course, he had no right to know. All he needed to know was that his owner, his mistress Aysha, was going out for the evening and required him to accompany her. She could equally have ordered him to remain at home polishing her footwear and washing her dirty socks. He was, as always, at her mercy and subject to her every whim. That was the pressure of being a personal footslave to a superior young woman.

"Now blow my toes dry with your dirty slave breath, footslave”, his mistress ordered him.

The footslave felt privileged to know that his breath was considered worthy of such a high honour. Of course, he had to breathe in order to keep himself alive; and he had to keep himself alive in order to serve his mistress. But the thought that his inferior breath should be considered worthy to actually dry the paint on his mistress’s superior toenails was quite staggering.

He blew gently on each of her red toes. Her feet really were beautiful – petite and dainty; soft, brown and smooth. There was just a little evidence of some rough skin around the heels - perhaps inevitable given that they were just coming to the end of the long winter during which his mistress's feet would have been encased for most of the time inside heavy boots or sneakers. But anyone looking at these feet would have had no doubt that they were the beautiful feet of a beautiful young, Asian woman. The footslave felt almost a sense of pride that he had been tasked with helping to keep those feet beautiful.

"Now remove the toe-dividers, slave. Use your dirty slave mouth!”, ordered mistress Aysha haughtily.

Yes, she was right. It wouldn’t be appropriate for him, a mere footslave, to risk touching her superior toe-skin with his grubby slave hands. The leather slave-hood that covered his head would at least ensure that his ugly slave face did not touch his superior mistress’s skin and if his dirty lips did accidentally brush against her foot flesh at least it could be seen as yet another act of homage by an inferior footslave to a superior human being – which is what his mistress Aysha undeniably was. She was superior to him in every way – female, younger, better-looking and more intelligent. He was, quite properly, in awe of her.

He carefully removed each of the round, sponge toe-dividers from between her toes with his mouth, conscious of the fact that – however clean her feet may be at that particular point in time – there would inevitably be some residual footsweat on each of the spongy dividers. Perhaps he would get the chance to smell and suck on the dividers properly later.

“Put my new sandals on my feet, footboy”.

These were the red, strappy stilettos his mistress had bought earlier in the day. Mistress Aysha extended her right foot to enable her footslave to slip her delicate foot into the equally delicate red stiletto sling-back. The footslave had to admit, with its open heel at the back, it showed off his mistress’s feet like a treat.

He gingerly fastened the strap which crossed the top of her ankle, and then repeated the process with her right foot. Her feet were now safely secured in the high-heeled sandals – her freshly painted toes showing through the peep-toe at the front.

As mistress Aysha stood up the slave noticed again how her ankles wiggled seductively in the high-heels – a quite different posture from when his young mistress was walking around in her sneakers or even her block-heeled ankle boots. And there were no jeans or socks! He had a clear view of her beautiful bare heels and ankles! What a privilege! He felt unworthy.

Aysha’s father had kindly agreed to drive his daughter to and from the party – so that she could imbibe as much alcohol as she wished. Master Iqbal was quite liberal with his daughters in that regard, although he would probably have been a bit concerned if he knew what his youngest daughter was planning to do with Rashid later that evening!

The footslave knelt at his mistress’s feet in the back of the car, staring at her beautiful painted toes throughout the 15 minute drive to mistress Daniella’s house.

Mistress Daniella (or ‘Dani’ to her friends) was celebrating her 22nd birthday. She had invited around 30 of her best friends – male and female and all of a similar age- to her party, which she fully anticipated would be ‘wild’. Dani herself was often described by her friends as a bit ‘wild’. With her spiky blond hair and nose piercing she was seen as a bit of a ‘punk rocker’. She went to the same college as Aysha and was a popular girl – the life and soul of the party, particularly her own party!

She greeted Aysha at the door:

“Hi, Aysh’! Great to see you! Glad you could make it!”

The two girls kissed as Aysha handed her a bottle and a small, wrapped present.

“Thanks, honey”, beamed Dani. “Oh, and I like the footslave! Does it have a name?”

“I’ve called it ‘Sockboy’ as it seems to like women’s’ socks”, chuckled Aysha.

“Wow!”, exclaimed Dani, “well, I’m wearing socks inside my boots so perhaps we can let it have a sniff of those later!”, replied Dani cheerfully.

Mistress Dani was wearing knee-length, spike-heeled, brown leather zip-up boots and a very short skirt. The slave found it a little bit disconcerting that both mistress Dani and his mistress Aysha were referring to him as ‘it’ – as if he were no more than an object, a thing. But he quickly recognized that that was exactly what he was, at least compared to the superior mistresses who towered above him. He was nothing more than an object to be used and then disposed of as appropriate. And he could easily be replaced.

“I’m sure Sockboy would be honoured to sniff your socks, Dani. Slave, kiss mistress Daniella’s boots and thank her for offering to let you smell her socks”, ordered his mistress Aysha.

The slave shuffled forward on his hands and knees and lowered his respectful lips to the toe of Dani’s obligingly out-stretched booted right foot:

“Thank you, mistress Daniella, for offering to let this humble footslave sniff your socks”.

He wondered, just for a split second, whether he should also offer his best wishes to the young woman on the occasion of her birthday. Then he realized how stupid such a thought was. Birthday greetings from a mere slave would be meaningless. She thought of him as an ‘it’!. How could she possibly want or even care about his ‘best wishes’!

As his nose breathed in the smell of freshly polished brown boot-leather he noticed how the leather of mistress Daniella’s boot was creased around the ankle. He couldn’t help thinking what a privilege it would indeed be to be allowed to sniff this young woman’s sweaty socks inside those boots after she had been dancing all evening.

And he could tell already that there would be lots of dancing at this party, as, above the myriad of raised male and female voices which were coming from inside Dani’s house, dance music was blasting out of her large and powerful CD player. Dani may have looked like a punk-rocker, but, like most young women in their early twenties, it was the dance music of the night clubs that really turned her on.

As they entered the large living room of Daniella’s house, Sockboy crawling dutifully behind his mistress Aysha’s wiggling heels, both the mistress and her slave were somewhat overwhelmed by the noise and the commotion. For Aysha it was a case of recognizing and responding to the many shouted greetings of her friends. For the footslave, it was a case of taking in the many different pairs of legs that surrounded him.

He recognized almost instantly the large ,black, leather, zip-up, knee-length boots of mistress Louise – although this time she was wearing them on her bare legs and with a short black skirt, rather than over her blue jeans as she had been earlier in the day when she had lunched with Aysha in the restaurant. He recognized also the voice and the feet of the blonde, athletic mistress Susan, whose toenail clippings he had been forced to suck and eat earlier in the week. He recognized her feet because she wasn’t wearing sneakers, but flat, black peep-toe sandals.

But there were a whole host of feet, male and female, surrounding him that he did not recognize. He felt incredibly vulnerable surrounded by these superior free human-beings who all seemed to tower above him as he cowered on his hands and knees at his mistress’s ankles on the floor.

One girl had moved forward to greet Aysha by kissing her on both cheeks. The girl concerned was wearing blue, denim jeans and black sneakers with white stripes down the side:

“You look wonderful”, she was telling Aysha, “and this must be the footslave that was forced to wash my dirty socks in his mouth yesterday?”.

Sockboy realized that this must be Mistress Pratheepa, the 19 year old daughter of Madam Latha, one of Aysha’s mother’s friends, who had made him mouth-wash her daughter’s dirty sweat-socks as an additional punishment and humiliation.

“Yes, I heard about that!”, laughed Aysha, “I hope my slave did a decent job on your socks?”

“Well, I’m afraid I had to wash them properly in the washing machine afterwards as they were still quite dirty, but I’m sure your slave’s mouth was a good pre-wash for them! In fact, I’m wearing them again now!” – and with that mistress Pratheepa raised her right trouser leg to afford the kneeling footslave a good view of the familiar, white, ankle-length sports socks with the pink stripes at the top.

“Slave, kiss Miss Pratheepa’s ankle socks and thank her for wearing them in order to show them to you again today”, ordered his mistress Aysha above the din of the music.

The slave stretched his neck forward in order to place a respectful kiss onto the side of the exposed white ankle sock just on Miss Pratheepa’s ankle bone. Mistress Pratheepa then switched feet and pulled up her left trouser leg to allow him the privilege of paying his slavish respects to her left sock above her black sneaker. Nobody else in the room appeared to take any notice, although the free men were doubtless glad that they could not be subjected to having to make such a humiliating and degrading gesture at the feet of a young woman.

Pratheepa laughed.

“I’d love to have my own footslave! Perhaps I could borrow him sometime?”, she tentatively enquired of his owner, mistress Aysha.

Aysha baulked a bit inside at the idea. Though she was happy to share her personal footslave with her friends, she wasn’t really that close to Pratheepa. The two years’ difference in their respective ages made all the difference – Pratheepa seemed so much younger and immature. Aysha didn’t really want her sockboy running over to be at Pratheepa’s beck and call all the time:

“We’ll see”, she fobbed off Pratheepa, “I’m afraid he’s already got enough dirty socks of my own to wash!” she grinned.

Miss Pratheepa laughed. Fortunately, she wasn’t offended at the obvious brush-off. In any case, her mother had strongly hinted to her that her own personal footslave would soon be appropriated.

It occurred to the footslave that he would have no say in whether or not he was loaned out to miss Pratheepa – and that was how it should be. He was his mistress Aysha’s property – hers to dispose of and utilize as she alone wished.

Speaking of being hired out to others, a few moments later the footslave recognized the dulcet tones of master Brad, the young college ‘jock’, as he approached Aysha. Brad was accompanied by a young, blonde woman wearing a very short white skirt and with long, shapely bare legs. Presumably this was mistress Stacey, Brad’s ‘fiancée’:

“Hi, Aysh’!”, exclaimed Brad, “I just wanted to show Stacey your personal footslave since you indicated we might be able to use him sometime!”.

Again, Aysha bristled somewhat inside. She was so jealous of the permanently gum-chewing, hair-twiddling Stacey, whom she regarded as a complete bimbo!

“Hi, Aysh!”, shouted the latter gleefully, “is this it kneeling at your feet?”

Aysha had to bite her lip: ‘of course this is the footslave, you bimbo, why else would he be kneeling at my feet?’, she thought to herself. She knew, however, that she had to go through the motions of having her slave kiss Stacey’s eager feet:

“Slave, kiss mistress Stacey’s feet”, she ordered him, through partly gritted teeth.

The footslave, of course, knew that he could make no such disparaging judgments about a superior young woman. However stupid, however vacuous she might be in the brain department, if she was female she was better than him, and he must show his unconditional respect for her. He therefore lent forward and humbly kissed mistress Stacey’s outstretched right foot. She was wearing white stiletto shoes and had an ankle chain. When he kissed her left foot he noticed that she had Brad’s name tattooed through a heart just above her left ankle. One thing there was no evidence of was the foot odour that Brad had previously accused his fiancée of suffering from. The slave could only smell the leather of her white shoes. But perhaps inside those shoes?

Stacey giggled as the footslave paid his respects to her white shoes with his slave lips:

“Brad darling, can I have a footslave, pleeease?”, she whined, kissing Brad on the lips.

Aysha felt sick.

“We’ll see, honey”, replied Brad in his deep, masterful voice. Perhaps his girl ought to have the status symbol of her very own, male footslave, he thought. After all, he was the headboy of the college!

Suddenly Aysha spotted the man she intended to make a move on that evening – Rashid. He was on the other side of the room talking to one of his mates. She made her excuses, and left Brad and Stacey to their lovey-dovey, french-kissing session and sidled over towards Rashid, footslave in tow.

What Aysha didn’t know was that Rashid had eyes on her too. In fact, he’d just been telling his mate about how he was going to try and ‘pull’ her that very evening. As she approached Rashid’s mate had diplomatically made a retreat to allow Rashid to make his move on Aysha:

“Hi, Aysh! Can I get you a drink?”, shouted Rashid above the noise.

“Yes, thanks – I’ll have some of that white wine”.

The footslave wasn’t offered any wine.

It soon became clear to him that the mutual chatting up that was going on between his mistress Aysha and master Rashid was going well. Rashid appeared to be ignoring him completely as he knelt at Aysha’s feet. And why shouldn’t he? He was, after all, merely her slave. Hardly a ‘love-rival’!

But when Rashid asked Aysha if she wanted a dance, Aysha faced something of a dilemma. There was no room for her slave to kneel at her feet on the crowded dance floor of the living room. Where could she put him? Fortunately, Dani was nearby, so she asked her.

“I’ll tell you what, Aysh’”, suggested mistress Daniella, “my sneakers are really filthy – I was jogging through the forest earlier today and they got caked in mud and grime. In fact, I had to leave them in the porch outside the kitchen as they were really smelly as well. Why don’t we get sockboy to lick them clean while you and Rashid ‘get it together’!. My maid, Consuela, can keep an eye on him!”

Aysha liked the idea. Her slave would be out of the way and kept busy doing what he was designed for – cleaning dirty female footwear. It was the perfect solution.

Dani called for Consuela, her family’s maid, and asked her to take her friend Aysha’s slave out to the porch:

“Make sure he licks my dirty sneakers spotless, Consuela!”, ordered mistress Daniella, already somewhat drunk. “Don’t hesitate to hit him if he’s slacking! -I hope that’s alright, Aysh”, she added as an afterthought.

“Sure!”, replied Aysha, always happy for her slave to be physically disciplined if necessary.

Consuela’s face lit up. There were no ‘slaves’ as such in Daniella’s household and she was the family’s only servant. So having an inferior male slave to boss around would be a novel, and pleasant experience for her.

“Follow me on your hands and knees, footslave”, she ordered in her thick south-american accent, dragging Aysha’s footslave behind her by means of the chain attached to his leather slave hood. The slave crawled after the 30 year old maid’s dark, nylon-stockinged legs in their flat, black pumps. He was under no illusion that, despite her status as a servant, this woman too was his superior deserving of his obedience and respect. All women were better than him.

As soon as they reached the porch outside the kitchen he saw the offending pair of dirty sneakers. Consuela switched on the porch light in order to illuminate the sneakers. As she did so a girl screamed, and Consuela realized that she had inadvertently exposed a girl and her boyfriend who had been canoodling in the dark outside the kitchen:

“Sorry miss!”, exclaimed the maid, but the man and girl just laughed and went deeper into the bushes.

“Lick clean my mistress’s dirty sneakers, you pathetic footslave”, barked Miss Consuela, pointing to the white sneakers with pink stripes down the sides with her own outstretched foot. She spoke excellent English, thought the footslave.

“Make damn sure you remove every trace of the mud and dirt with your slave tongue or you’ll feel the leather of my belt across your bare shoulders”, threatened the south-american maid.

The footslave needed no further encouragement. His back and shoulders were still tender from the whipping he had received earlier in the week from master Abdul.

As he lowered his slave face to the tops of the dirty female sneakers he got a whiff of the ‘smelliness’ mistress Daniella had alluded to. These were truly a well-worn, scuffed and sweaty pair of old sneakers. The smell was quite overpowering. She must have been wearing them without socks, for the inner lining of the sneakers appeared to have almost entirely disintegrated into a sweat-stained mush.

Nevertheless, under the watchful eye of mistress Consuela, he dutifully lowered his lips to the top of the right sneaker and began to lick away the caked-on mud. It tasted foul! But he swallowed it. What else could he do? He really didn’t want the maid to have an excuse to ‘hit’ him with her leather belt.

As he continued to lick feverishly at the outside of the filthy, white sneaker, he was glad that he was, at least, able to be doing this outside the house on the kitchen porch. The sweaty stench coming from inside the sneakers would have been quite unbearable had he been indoors. Perhaps the earlier offer of smelling mistress Daniella’s socks inside her brown, leather boots was not such an attractive proposition after all! This girl’s feet must really smell! And yet, if she ordered him to, he would have to do it.

“I will be watching you from inside, dirty slave!”, warned mistress Consuela, leaving the kitchen door open, but retiring inside the kitchen to restock some of the trays with nibbles for her mistress’s guests.

And so, whilst sockboy licked clean Mistress Dani’s dirty old sneakers on the kitchen porch, mistress Aysha first danced with Rashid in the living room, and then, with Dani’s blessing, subsequently made love with Rashid in one of the many bedrooms.

Both mistress Aysha and her footslave were where they belonged – she in the loving arms of a real man, and he at the dirty, sweaty sneakers of a superior young woman.