Community Servitude

Part 1 – Shariya’s Law

Italian born, 58 year old Ernesto stood nervously in the dock before the much younger lady Judge who was a black woman in her late thirties or early forties. He quite rightly hung his head in shame, and was feeling very alone and vulnerable, as the superior female judge unleashed her diatribe, full of righteous indignation against him, from her seat of justice:

‘You have pleaded guilty to the crime of stealing a pair of ladies’ undergarments for the purposes of sexual gratification.

You are a disgusting, repellent individual on whom it would give me the greatest pleasure to impose a custodial sentence were the Law to allow it.

However, taking into account the fact that this is your first offence, and your guilty plea, I am regretfully obliged to impose a sentence other than imprisonment. I shall nevertheless impose the maximum sentence permitted to me under the Law.

I hereby sentence you to 5 years community servitude as a women’s footslave, and I attach the following conditions to your sentence:

1. You shall be taken forthwith to the cells where you shall be stripped of your clothing and clad only in a pair of slave shorts and a slave neck-collar

2. You shall then be placed into the custody of a female probation officer who shall ensure your compliance with the following conditions of your community servitude:

• That you be assigned to a female household in which you reside as a footslave and are subject to corporal punishment as deemed appropriate by your mistresses

• That periodically you be allocated foot-service related tasks outside the aforementioned household as directed by your probation officer

• That you undertake periods of hard labour in the State Penitentiary under the supervision of female prison officers as directed by your probation officer

• That your sentence of community servitude as a footslave be subject to continuous review by the Probation Service and that any breach of these conditions will lead to a custodial sentence of indefinite duration in the foothole-dungeons

Officer Shariya, will you kindly take the convicted prisoner down to the cells?’

The next thing Ernesto was aware of was the feeling of the uniformed, female police officer’s hands grabbing his right arm and leading him down the narrow staircase that led from the Courtroom to the cells beneath. The policewoman, whom he noticed had slightly bad breath, was even younger than the Lady Judge – asian, certainly no more than 20 or 21 years old, and wearing a dark blue, police baseball cap over a pure, white, traditional headscarf. She was also a lot shorter than him and slightly overweight – the sort of young woman Ernesto, the high-flying business executive, would have previously ignored in the street had she been in civilian dress. He preferred tall, slim, leggy blondes!

And yet, as the full horror of his sentence sunk in, it suddenly dawned on him that he had lost whatever status he had previously held in life. He was now completely in this podgy, young asian woman’s power – totally at her mercy – as he was a convicted felon and she was a correctional officer leading him to the cells. For the first time in many years he felt like sobbing.

But there was no time for sobbing. Within minutes he was being pushed by the young, policewoman into a bare, white cell and ordered to strip off his clothes – in front of her:

‘Take off your clothes and change into them shorts,’ she snapped at him, chucking a pair of flimsy, white, cotton slave-shorts at him. ‘You’re now a slave, innit?’ she declared gleefully, her voice full of girlish excitement.

How Shariya loved this part of her job – the shock on the face of the frightened, newly convicted prisoner who was about to embark on a life of humiliation and servitude at the feet of women – starting with her feet! She knew he would never have been spoken to like this before, and that made her power all the sweeter!

Miss Shariya had only been working for the Police at the Courts for some 6 months. She was still a probationer, but her managers had every confidence she would pass her probation with flying colours. It wasn’t that she was particularly bright or well-educated. Unlike Ernesto, for example, she had never been to college or university. An unkind person might have described her as a bit dim.

But her attitude was just right for the job she had chosen in the Courts, for she loved seeing others suffer, especially arrogant males; she loved being in a position of absolute power and authority over newly sentenced male prisoners – even if they were usually only in her direct custody in the Court cells for a short period of time. And she particularly liked having much older men such as Ernesto, old enough to be her father, in her young, female power.

She also liked her smart uniform consisting of the blue baseball cap and white headscarf which framed her pretty, asian features; her, plain, white shirt with blue epaulettes; dark blue, boot-cut trousers; black, zip-up, prison-service issue ankle boots; handcuffs; and brown, leather strap. She liked the way her uniform, particularly the blue baseball cap and white headscarf, made her face look slimmer than it actually was, and how the brown, leather strap that hung from her trouser belt instilled fear and obedience in the male convicts who suddenly found themselves in her ‘care’. She rarely had to use the strap – just its very presence seemed to inspire submission and compliance with her orders.

She watched with a satisfied grin on her face as the 58 year old prisoner stripped down to his underpants in the chilly cell. How different his life would be from now on! She knew his type – arrogant, ostentatious in displaying their wealth, thinking they were God’s gift to young women! Well – not now. Now he was nothing more than a women’s footslave, and she would have the privilege of collaring him – putting the heavy, wooden slave collar around his neck. He would be wearing it for the next 5 years!

‘Take off your underpants as well, slave!’ she barked, fingering her brown, leather strap with the unmistakeable threat of impending pain if he did not obey.

Ernesto for the first time in his life, was finding himself having to obey a young woman. He felt no excitement at being naked in front of her – only shame and humiliation – as he was supposed to. She represented the Law, and her word was law – Shariya’s law. He therefore wasted no time in removing his underpants and slipping on the white, cotton slave-shorts.

‘Now get down on your hands and knees, innit?’ ordered the uneducated, overweight, but nonetheless self-confident, young, asian woman.

Ernesto obeyed, and found himself kneeling on the cold, bare, concrete floor of the cell staring at the young, female police officer’s regulation-issue, black, ankle boots. He was already learning that a footslave’s perspective on life is very different from that of the free man that he was used to. He could not recollect ever being so close to another human-being’s footwear before, but he immediately observed how the young, woman’s black, ankle boots were not as pristine as they had appeared when he had been standing up. The toecaps, in particular, were dusty, and there was a trace of mud along the rim of the right toecap.

For her part Shariya was now crouching down over her vulnerable, kneeling prisoner and locking the heavy wooden slave collar around his neck. As she did so Ernesto observed how the leather in her boots creased and folded under his face. He thought he could smell the young woman’s black boot leather.

The collar felt very uncomfortable and unbearably heavy as the police officer padlocked it into place around his neck. Although Ernesto couldn’t see it, it had the word ‘Footslave’ engraved on it for everyone else to see.

‘There we are!’ declared Shariya, raising herself up again, ‘Now you’re a proper convicted footslave, innit?’

Ernesto, unusually for him – the former high-flying, fast-talking businessman – was lost for words. He didn’t know what to say.

‘Say “yes mistress Shariya”’ snapped the police girl.

The evident impatience in her voice spurred him into breaking his silence:

‘Y…y…yes, m…mistress Shariya.’

There – he’d said it! He’d acknowledged his new status as a slave by addressing a superior young woman as ‘mistress’! Unthinkable just a few days ago, but what choice did he have? He was, after all, dressed as a slave, collared as a slave, and on his hands and knees at a young woman’s booted feet – as a slave.

Speaking of which young mistress Shariya now stretched forward her right foot until it was resting on the concrete floor directly under his slave nose:

‘Kiss my boot, footslave!’ she grinned.

The first time a male slave has to kiss a woman’s foot is always a defining moment in his new life. It is, of course, the ultimate act of submission and self-degradation. No-one witnessing such a scene from any culture, or from any period of history, could mistake the symbolism of kissing another person’s foot. It is the act, par excellence, of a humble slave towards his master, his superior. And Ernesto now realised to his horror that even though he was the 58 year old, ‘successful’ businessman, and she was but a 20 year old, uneducated slip of a girl, she was, now, indeed his superior – the one with all the power; and he had to pay his humble, slavish respects to her.

So, somewhat gingerly, he leaned forward until his lips made contact with the dusty and mud-speckled, black leather toecap of her outstretched, police-issue, feminine , ankle boot and kissed it.

It really was a pivotal moment – the moment he passed over into slavery.

It was a pivotal moment for miss Shariya too. She had broken him – another dirty, convicted prisoner had become a dirty footslave – her dirty footslave, for the time-being at least! He was a frightened and contrite slave-virgin, and she was his first mistress. A sense of supreme, feminine power pulsated through her entire body as she felt the slave’s lips touch the toe of her boot.

‘Slave’ Ernesto – for that was who he now was and would remain for the next 5 years at least - noticed how the moisture from his lips had removed some of the mud from the young, female police officer’s toecap. Ridiculously he felt a certain sense of pride that his mouth had already helped to clean a small portion of offending dirt from young mistress Shariya’s boot.

‘And the other one, footslave!’ she barked down at him, suddenly withdrawing her right foot and replacing it with her left under his kneeling nose. She seemed to be hitching up the hem of her dark blue, police-uniform trouser leg to afford him a better view of her black, police-uniform ankle boot. What a kindly young mistress, he thought to himself – so considerate and helpful!

Again his lips tasted the hitherto unfamiliar, bitter taste of feminine boot-leather. He wondered what the rest of the young, asian woman’s boot would taste like – the zip area running down the side, for example, or the dusty sole of the boot. Bizarrely, he even found himself wondering whether the young policewoman was wearing any socks inside her ankle boots, and, if so, how they would feel under his lips. Would they feel rough or smooth? It would depend, he supposed, on the texture of the material – thick or thin, patterned or plain. Perhaps even the colour of any socks she might be wearing inside her boots may have a bearing on their taste – and smell.

Yes, he was already beginning to think like a ladies’ footslave. The things that were beginning to concern him were the things footslaves – and only footslaves – have to concern themselves with day in and day out: the state of their mistresses’ feet and footwear; the taste of shoe and boot leather; the smell of hot, feminine foot odour; the accumulation of sock lint and toe jam on their mistresses’ feet. It really was a different world from the world of the free man.

Whilst he was ruminating pathetically on such matters he became vaguely aware of more voices outside the cell door which was still open. Another uniformed police officer, a man, was showing a tall, rather stunning, young blonde woman into the cell.

Unlike the two police officers the blonde was wearing civilian clothes – indeed she was quite casually dressed in a brown, leather jacket, black, denim jeans and black and white sneakers. Even so, she did look striking – the sort of young woman, in her mid to late twenties, whom Ernesto might have sought to woo with his money and flashy car just a few weeks ago.

He could tell by the expression of contempt on her face, however, that this young woman was in no mood to be wooed by him:

‘Avert your eyes, prisoner-slave! Look only at my sneakers!’ she barked down at him in what sounded like an East European accent.

Slave Ernesto, who, it has to be admitted had momentarily forgotten his position as a convicted ‘prisoner-slave’, immediately lowered his gaze to the sneakered feet of the young, blonde woman who had deigned to enter his presence– as befits a rookie footslave.

‘My name is mistress Gozia,’ she continued, the same tone of contempt in her voice, ‘and I am your probation officer!’

She paused to let the full import of her words sink in to the stupid criminal’s brain. She was his female probation officer – the young woman who would determine exactly how his life would be for the next 5 years in accordance with the lady Judge’s directions. He must show her due respect.

‘Kiss my sneaker, slave!’

This was now the second young woman in the space of 5 minutes whose foot was extended under his nose and which he had been ordered to kiss. It was already clear to slave Ernesto that, whatever else the future might hold for him, female boot and shoe kissing was going to be a big part of it:

‘Yes, mistress, Gozia. At once, mistress Gozia.’

He was already more comfortable addressing his female superiors as ‘mistress’. It already seemed to come more naturally to him.

And now he was to get his first taste of girl-sneaker, as he lowered his face to the young, blonde woman’s black and white sneaker until it filled his field of vision and his nose could detect nothing but the rubbery smell of the sneaker-material.

Mistress Gozia’s feet were larger than those of the relatively short mistress Shariya, and, unlike with the latter, he didn’t have to speculate as to whether his female probation officer was wearing socks or not, for he now caught a glimpse of black, cotton ankle sock under the hem of her black, denim jean-leg. The sock was short – so short that only the elasticated top of the material was visible, and even then it disappeared down into the back of her sneaker around the heel. Slave Ernesto couldn’t help thinking, however, how nice the short, black sock looked as it contrasted so vividly with the young woman’s pale, white, ankle skin.

To his consternation he also noticed what appeared to be a tiny, red sore on mistress Gozia’s outer ankle bone. A large part of him wished he could kiss it better for her, just so that he could touch her bare flesh with his lips, but he realised even at this early stage of his servitude that such an act would be overly presumptuous in a humble, trainee footslave. He must confine himself to kissing his probation-mistress’s sneaker, as he had been ordered to do.

And so his slave lips made contact only with the black, leather upper of mistress Gozia’s rather dirty and scuff-marked sneaker.

Her foot muscles seemed to twitch inside her sneaker in pleasurable reaction to his humble act of obedience and submission towards her. Certainly the tone of her voice appeared to have mellowed somewhat as she continued to introduce herself to her new charge:

‘As you know you have been sentenced by the Court to five years of community servitude as a women’s footslave, combined with hard labour and corporal punishment.

My job is to see to it that the wishes of the Court are fulfilled, and that your punishment should be as unpleasant, humiliating and painful as possible. I intend to see to it, therefore, that your next five years are filled with misery and degradation at the feet of women so that by the end of your sentence you are fully reformed and contrite, and fit to resume your place as an equal amongst the society of women.

Make no mistake about it, though, slave – if you fail to submit to my supervision and directions in a satisfactory manner I shall apply to the Court for your sentence to be reviewed with a view to your incarceration for life in the foothole-dungeons. Do I make myself clear, slave?’

Slave Ernesto was impressed with the young woman’s perfect command of English, even though she pronounced all her words with a strong east European accent. He was even more impressed by the evident power she had over him – the power to have his sentence reviewed and to send him down for life into the foothole-dungeons!

He resolved there and then to be a good community servant and footslave:

‘Yes, mistress, I understand mistress,’ he replied in what he thought was a humble, slavish way.

But mistress Gozia was apparently not best pleased with his response:

‘Hmm…I can see that you have a lot to learn!’ she exclaimed as she replaced her right, sneakered foot with her left under his nose.

Once again, slave Ernesto admired the sight of short, black feminine ankle sock contrasting with smooth, white footskin as he kissed the toe of mistress Gozia’s left sneaker.

‘For starters, I shall have to teach you how to speak properly as a slave!’ she continued to mistress Shariya’s evident amusement as the latter, who was still standing to one side in the cell, let out a girlish giggle.

The mischievous, girlish giggle gave mistress Gozia an idea:

‘For example, let’s say I wanted you to beg mistress Shariya here for the honour of unzipping her boots and kissing her socks, how would you beg her to let you do that, slave?’

Slave Ernesto thought it was a slightly silly question from the probation officer. The answer was obvious – he would have to ask her in a respectful manner:

‘Erm… I would say: “Please may I unzip your boots and kiss your socks, mistress Shariya?” he replied.

A sudden crescendo of pain crashed through his head as mistress Gozia bent down to slap him hard across the right cheek – momentarily sending him reeling towards mistress Shariya’s booted feet. The heavy wooden collar around his neck dug painfully into his shoulder bone as his face landed on the concrete floor.

Miss Shariya continued to giggle.

‘’Wrong, slave!’ barked mistress Gozia – the girl with the considerable punch. ‘No dirty, convicted slave in my charge addresses a superior female in such a haughty and disrespectful manner!’

As he came to his senses again, slave Ernesto, his right cheek and jaw now stinging with pain, couldn’t for the life of him understand what he had said that was so ‘haughty and disrespectful’! Had he not addressed mistress Shariya as “mistress”? What more could he say?

‘Tell him Shariya,’ continued mistress Gozia, ‘explain to him how he should beg to kiss your socks using proper slave-speak!’

Mistress Shariya, seemingly emboldened by mistress Gozia’s physical chastisement of the slave stepped forward to the slave and gave him a slap of her own - this time across his upturned left cheek, as she explained to him the intricacies of slave-speak:

‘Ha! Ha! Stupid pig! You has to say somefink like… “Oh pray, mistress Shariya, if it pleases you mistress Shariya, this dirty, convicted, criminal slave begs its mistress for the honour and privilege of unzipping your beautiful, feminine ankle boots and kissing your sweet, feminine socks, if it so pleases you, most merciful and beautiful goddess-mistress Shariya”…innit?’

The superior, young policewoman then slapped him again, although her two slaps were still no match for the one slap mistress Gozia had laid on him.

‘Thank you, officer Shariya,’ said mistress Gozia from behind the kneeling footslave. She then moved over and crouched down beside him in order to speak softly into his rapidly swelling right ear:

‘Now, why don’t you ask mistress Shariya for the privilege of kissing her socks again, slave? And this time – do it properly. Speak like the dirty slave that you are!’

Slave Ernesto, who had always been something of a cunning linguist, at least had the ability to learn a new language quickly:

‘Yes, mistress Gozia, at once, mistress Gozia… Oh pray, mistress Shariya, if it so pleases you mistress Shariya, please permit this dirty slave to unzip your boots and kiss your beautiful, feminine socks, goddess-mistress Shariya.’

It wasn’t word perfect, but as a first attempt it wasn’t too bad. And it would have been churlish for mistress Shariya to deny the slave his request – since he had now asked her in such a nice and humble way.

The young, uniformed, police officer therefore moved over to sit down on the metal seat that protruded from the cell wall and placed her booted feet on the ground in front of her:

‘Very well, slave,’ she giggled, since you’ve asked me so nicely, I will let you take off my boots and kiss my socks, innit? Come on! Unzip my boots!’

Slave Ernesto felt the tall, blonde mistress Gozia giving him an encouraging kick on his backside with the toe of her scuff-marked, well-worn, black and white sneaker as he shuffled forward on his hands and knees to where mistress Shariya, his diminutive and slightly podgy, uniformed, asian ‘goddess-mistress’, was now sitting. As he went to pull down the zip of her right ankle boot with his hands the kindly probation officer prevented him from making his second serious error:

‘Not like that, filthy pig! Use your dirty, slave mouth to unzip mistress Shariya’s boots. Remember – you’re her footslave, not worthy to touch her boots with your bare hands!’

Slave Ernesto wondered how he could have been so stupid! He clearly had a lot to learn – not least the technique for unzipping female boots with ones’ teeth!

Mistress Shariya appeared to be offering her assistance to him:

‘Should I help you, slave?’

The tone of her voice, however, sounding dark and ominous, suggested otherwise, and even the stupid and inexperienced footslave, slave Ernesto, realised that when a mistress offers you her help in such a tone, she is asking a rhetorical question – for it is not the place of a superior mistress to help a down-in-the-dirt footslave to fulfil her orders. She merely gives the order, and the slave either fulfils that order to her satisfaction, or gets whipped!

He therefore had the good sense to respectfully decline mistress Shariya’s kind offer – remembering to do so in his newly-acquired ‘slave-speak’:

‘God bless you, mistress Shariya, this slave thanks its mistress for her kind and generous offer of help, goddess-mistress Shariya, but believes it must learn to unzip its superior mistresses’ boots by means of its dirty, slave mouth without the mistress’s kind assistance, if it so pleases you mistress Shariya.’

Although you would never have guessed it from her demeanour as she stood, hands on hips, behind him, mistress Gozia was already quite pleased with her new charge’s attitude. She could already tell he would make a good family footslave, and she had just the family in mind for him – Madam Tahani (46) and her two grown-up daughters, Arrabella (22) and Penelope (19).

Although Madam Tahani was herself of Moroccan origins, her two daughters were mixed race as their father, who was now divorced from their mother, was of English origins. Perhaps because they came from a broken home, all three women hated and despised men – especially older men who reminded them in any way of their cheating husband/father. And slave Ernesto fitted the bill perfectly - he was a similar age; he was white; he was a businessman (or former businessman more accurately); and, above all, he was a convicted sex-offender and knicker-stealing pervert, and therefore just ripe for the women of the Tahani household to take out their frustrations and anger on. Gozia was confident that they would take on the convicted footslave with relish and make his 5 year sentence one long, miserable punishment. She was sure that even the normally sweet-natured and kind hearted Penelope would, deep down, enjoy having an ‘elderly’ male slave at her beck and call!

She smiled cruelly to herself as she now witnessed the pathetic prisoner-slave Ernesto pulling down the zip of miss Shariya’s right boot with his teeth to reveal a somewhat scrunched up and creased, dirty-white, bootsock.

White! She was wearing white socks! Slave Ernesto was somewhat surprised. He had been anticipating that any socks the young, female police officer would be wearing would have been either black, to match her boots, or dark blue, to match her navy blue trousers and baseball cap – not white, matching her shirt and traditional headscarf.

It has to be said, however, that, unlike the white of mistress Shariya’s shirt and headscarf, the white of the young woman’s bootsock could hardly have been described as crisp and pure. Even from her own standing position Gozia could see the yellowy-brown sweat stains on the side of the female police officer’s sock. To slave Ernesto, however, the yellowy-brown stains loomed large – for the young woman’s dirty, white sock was now just inches away from his nose and face.

Mistress Shariya slipped her socked foot out of the top of her now unzipped boot and placed it on the ground, wriggling her toes and causing the white sock to crease and fold.

To his horror slave Ernesto suddenly realised that the sock was on inside-out! He could tell by the rough line of stitching around the toe area. It horrified him for two reasons: firstly, it reminded him that socks were the humblest of garments which most women, including mistress Shariya it seemed, donned without much thought or attention in the morning – and yet they were the very garments that he was now obliged to respect and adore as if they were some sort of superior beings to him, to the extent that he had to beg the owner of the socks for permission to kiss them!

The second reason why the inside-out sock horrified him was that he realised he would shortly be kissing the inside of a white sock that was self-evidently well-worn and sweaty. He would therefore be kissing the stale, sweaty bacteria from a plump, asian girl’s podgy foot – bacteria that was deeply ingrained in the material of the sock, hence accounting for its yellowy-brown staining.

But he had no choice! He was now a ladies’ footslave, and he only had himself to blame.

As soon as mistress Shariya’s second ankle boot was off, therefore, he braced himself, immersed himself in her sweaty sock-odour, and humbly and respectfully kissed the unpleasant, yellowy-brown sweat stains on her inside-out, thick, white, bootsocks.

Part 2 – First Impressions

Slave Ernesto was lying in the front of miss Gozia’s car, face down, and staring humbly at her sneakered feet as she operated the pedals. His young probation officer was driving him to the home of the family whom he would now serve as a footslave for the next 5 years – 46 year old Madam Tahani and her two grown-up daughters, miss Arrabella and miss Penelope.

As he watched miss Gozia’s ankle action as she pumped up the accelerator, slave Ernesto was already resolving in his own mind to be a good footslave. He would, quite literally, keep his head down, fawn over the feet and footwear of his female betters, ingratiate himself with them, and do his time humbly and with resignation – as befits a convicted criminal. He was, after all, as the good Lady Judge had so aptly put it, “a disgusting, repellent individual”, and his 5 year sentence of community servitude was perfectly just. He deserved everything he got, and could only hope that his new female masters would be kind and merciful to him.

Yes, humility is the best policy for a community footslave, and the thick, heavy, uncomfortable wooden slave-collar around his neck would be a constant reminder to him, as indeed it would be to everyone else, of his new status in life.

He therefore focused his attention on the elasticated tops of miss Gozia’s short, black ankle socks as she drove the car. She increased in his estimation every time the top of her sock creased with the movement of her foot – such power; such strength as she propelled the vehicle forward with a mere movement of her soft, feminine foot muscles. And he realised that she now controlled him with her sneakered feet just as effectively as she controlled the motor vehicle – for he was truly in her power and at her mercy. This young woman would determine every aspect of his life for the next 5 years. Whatever other mistresses he served, he would remain in some sense miss Gozia’s ‘personal’ slave throughout the period of his sentence.

He found himself again desperately wanting to kiss her black sneakers and socks – but not even that was his decision to make. He was a powerless, male prisoner for whom every decision would now be made by others – by women.

She drove him for about an hour and slave Ernesto, although he was, of course, unable to see where they were going, could somehow sense that they were now out in the countryside – fewer stops; fewer traffic lights. He started to get butterflies in the pit of his stomach. They must be getting close to the home of his new female masters!

The car pulled up and miss Gozia unceremoniously pulled him on his hands and knees out of the car and onto a gravel pathway. The gravel cut painfully into his bare hands and knees as he then crawled behind miss Gozia’s sneakered heels up to what appeared to be the back door of a very large and seemingly isolated country house. How appropriate, he thought, that I should be taken to the Tradesman’s entrance!

He stared dutifully at the backs of miss Gozia’s sneakers, admiring the way his East-European, probation officer’s short, black socks disappeared completely down the back of her sneakers leaving the wrinkles in her bare, pinky-white heels exposed as she rang the doorbell.

The door was opened by a petite, dark-haired, hispanic looking woman in her early thirties. She was dressed in a black and white maid’s uniform, although slave Ernesto could really only see her shapely, black nylon-stockinged calves, shapely stockinged ankles, and shiny, black, patent-leather pumps.

‘Oh hello, Marguerita, I’ve brought Madam Tahani’s footslave,’ declared miss Gozia to the maid.

The latter appeared to giggle and the shiny, black pumps moved to one side as she beckoned miss Gozia and her charge into what was evidently the kitchen:

‘Ha!Ha! Welcome, miss Gozia. Marguerita hope you had a pleasant journey! Madam is expecting you!’

‘Thank you, Marguerita,’ responded the young, blonde, female probation officer.

It was all very civil, but as he crawled into the kitchen behind miss Gozia’s sneakers slave Ernesto could not help but note how miss Marguerita had not enquired of him whether he had had a pleasant journey! But then, why would she? After all, he was just a slave being delivered to his new masters. A package, if you like.

He managed to direct a furtive glance at the maid’s shiny, black pumps and nyloned calves and found himself wondering whether he would be serving the maid as a footslave also. It was, of course, a hopelessly naïve question on the part of an, as yet, totally inexperienced footslave. Of course he would be the maid’s slave too! All women were now his superiors – whatever their station in life. He was now the lowest of the low. But he needn’t have worried – the women in his life from now on would be making that perfectly clear to him.

Indeed, mistress Gozia, almost as though she were reading slave Ernesto’s mind, answered his question for him almost immediately:

‘Slave, kiss mistress Marguerita’s feet, and thank her for admitting you into Madam Tahani’s home!’ she barked down at him.

Still holding slave Ernesto’s chain in her pretty hands she then moved to one side to allow the hispanic maid to move forward and position her right foot directly under slave Ernesto’s nose.

Marguerita may have been ‘just’ the maid – the sort of woman who would have been serving him drinks as he relaxed in the opulent lounge of one of his business associates’ houses just a few weeks before - but right now she was the one with all the power as she stood, hands on her white-aproned hips, her right foot extended forward, gleefully awaiting his slavish attention to her pretty, high-heeled shoes. She was a slightly built young woman, but slave Ernesto had already noticed how everyone now seemed like giants to him, towering above him as he lived his new life on his hands and knees at their feet.

He lowered his lips to touch the pointy toe of miss Marguerita’s right shoe and kissed it:

‘Thank you for admitting me to Madam Tahani’s home, maid-mistress Marguerita,’ he fawned.

The ‘maid-mistress’ epithet went down a treat and mistress Marguerita laughed triumphantly:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave kissing Marguerita dirty shoe! Marguerita better than slave – make slave work hard; make slave obey Marguerita. Ha! Ha!’

Slave Ernesto understood. He understood that the maid could not possibly regard him as anything other than her inferior from now on, as she was the one standing tall and proud on her own two feet, and he was the one living life on his hands and knees and having to kiss her pretty, hispanic feet.

Yes, he was a servant’s servant – a point miss Gozia now reinforced as Marguerita replaced her outstretched right foot with her left for slave Ernesto to respectfully kiss:

‘That’s right, slave. Remember that you are miss Marguerita’s prisoner-slave too in this household. If she gives you an order, you obey her instantly! Is that clear, boy?’

‘Yes, mistress Gozia. Thank you, mistress Gozia.’

He noticed a slight crease in the material of mistress Marguerita’s nylon stocking just above her left ankle as he kissed the pointy, black toe of her patent-leather pump. He wondered if her feet were sweaty inside her nylons – after all, as a maid, she presumably must be on her feet most of the day? Perhaps he could give her stockinged feet a soothing massage later in the day! He would actually quite like that – serving the maid whilst she put her feet up and relaxed! It would only be right and proper – for she was, undeniably, better than him.

Having kissed maid-mistress Marguerita’s feet slave Ernesto humbly kept his head bowed and listened to the conversation between his two female superiors:

‘Miss Gozia want accompany slave to meet Madam Tahani?’

‘No thanks, Marguerita, I really must be getting back, and I’ve already explained to Madam Tahani that I’ll be popping back in a couple of days to see how the slave is settling in. You will let me know in the meantime if there are any problems or if you have any concerns, won’t you?’

Miss Gozia was, of course, addressing Marguerita – not the slave. His concerns, if he had any, would be of no interest to anyone.

‘Yes certainly, miss Gozia. Don’t worry – Marguerita make sure dirty slave serve Madam and Madam daughters well. Marguerita expert with cane – beat slave long time if slave not please Madam and daughters; cause slave many pain!’ and, with that, she went over to a drawer and took out a long, slim, whippy dark-brown cane which she then swished through the air in order to reinforce her point.

Now it was Gozia’s turn to laugh out loud:

‘Ha! Ha! Do you hear that, slave-pig? Thank miss Marguerita for offering to discipline you with the cane!’

Slave Ernesto remembered the lady Judge’s stipulation during sentencing that he be subject to corporal punishment. How kind of this young, hispanic servant-woman to offer to help carry out this aspect of his sentence! He must indeed thank her, in the most sycophantic of slave-speak!

‘Oh pray, mistress Marguerita, God bless you, mistress Marguerita, for your kind offer to discipline this dirty pig-slave with the cane. This slave fears both you and the cane, if it pleases you mistress Marguerita!’

Slave Ernesto had never been caned, and he had an aversion to physical pain – a somewhat unfortunate trait in a slave! That was precisely why he genuinely did fear corporal punishment - and that dark brown cane looked particularly fearsome in miss Marguerita’s pretty hands.

Marguerita, momentarily, almost seemed to take pity on her new charge:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave relax! Slave please mistresses – not feel pain. Marguerita only beat slave if slave naughty!’

Naughty! Slave! Boy! These were words Ernesto, the 58 year old former businessman, was unused to hearing in connection with himself, especially from the mouths of maids and junior probation officers! How the mighty had fallen!

As if to emphasise the point mistress Gozia, the young, female probation officer who was at least 30 years his junior, now ordered him to kiss her dusty, black sneakers before she departed back to her office in the town centre.

He kissed her sneakers with genuine slavish gratitude, and enjoyed the sight of her short, black ankle socks on her soft, white, east european skin one last time before she handed him over to the custody of the hispanic woman.

The latter had now, quite literally, taken over the reins of power as she held the kneeling footslave’s chain in her pretty, hispanic hands. Slave Ernesto was now living up to his name, and was earnestly studying the maid’s stockings and shoes in detail. The crease around her stockinged, left ankle had disappeared again as her left foot was no longer outstretched. However, as he now crawled behind her

on his hands and knees as she lead him up a flight of stairs towards the living room where Madam Tahani was presumably awaiting him, he admired the way the finest denier nylon material creased and folded at the back of the maid’s heels as she took each step.

The nylon material was so fine that, even though the stockings were dark, he could see some red marks on the backs of her heels underneath. Yet again he found himself longing to kiss and massage those tired, stockinged, maidservant’s heels. Perhaps, who knows, maid-mistress Marguerita might even permit him later on to massage her bare, hispanic heels! What a treat that would be!

As they reached the door of the living room, which was ajar, miss Marguerita stopped, crouched down, and whispered some kindly words of advice to her fellow-servant:

‘Slave keep head bowed. Keep eyes on madam Tahani and daughters’ feet. Not look madam Tahani or daughters in eye. Slave obey Marguerita, or feel cane!’

Slave Ernesto gulped. It sounded as though he was about to meet not only Madam Tahani, but her two daughters, Arrabella & Penelope, also – three more pairs of feminine feet to kiss, no doubt - but these feet really were of ultra-importance, for they were the feet of his new female masters with whom he would be living for the next 5 years, the feet of the 3 women who really could make his life a misery from now on if they so wished!

As he crawled into the living room behind miss Marguerita’s black, patent heels slave Ernesto indeed saw three pairs of legs all seated in a comfortable sofa, the 3 owners of the legs apparently chatting excitedly amongst themselves. The chatter stopped, however, as soon as miss Marguerita made her announcement:

‘Madam Tahani, miss Arrabella, miss Penelope – this the prisoner-slave Ernesto. This your new footslave!’

One of the pairs of female legs, clad in blue, denim jeans tucked into brown, zip-up, calf-length, leather boots, stood up and walked towards them:

‘Oh my God! What an ugly, wrinkly-looking old dork!’ exclaimed the owner of the legs.

Slave Ernesto realised that this was one of the two younger women – one of the daughters – as the two other pairs of female legs, still seated in the sofa, were clad respectively in a smart pair of cream coloured trousers and matching pumps (which slave Ernesto correctly surmised must belong to Madam Tahani), and in an ankle length, frilly, brightly coloured dress, black ankle socks with a white, lacy trim, and flat, green, moccasin style slippers (the feet and footwear of the other daughter).

The owner of the frilly socks was audibly giggling at her sister’s disparaging opening remarks:

‘Oh really, Arrabella! That’s frightfully rude! Don’t be so horrid to him!’

So, the owner of the blue jeans and brown, calf-length boots was miss Arrabella!

‘Ha! Ha! I’m not being horrid!’ retorted the latter to her sister, who must therefore be miss Penelope. ‘Just look at him – he must be in his seventies!’

‘Oh really, Arrabella! You know that’s not true! We were told he’s only 58 – isn’t that right, mother?” exclaimed miss Penelope, the owner of the frilly, black and white, ankle socks.

‘Girls! Girls! Please don’t argue in front of the servants!’ scolded the owner of the cream-coloured pumps – Madam Tahani. ‘Thank you, Marguerita, you can leave him with us now. Please hand over his chain to miss Arrabella.’

‘Yes, Ma’am,’ responded the maid, curtseying as she did so. Slave Ernesto saw how the maid’s stockings creased around her ankles again as she curtsied.

But the next thing he found himself staring at was the creases in miss Arrabella’s brown, leather boots, as she now stood, masterfully, directly in front of him. He could smell them too – the leathery smell reminded him of the smell of miss Shariya’s black, leather boots back in the court cellroom. He wondered if brown, leather boot tasted different from black leather boot.

He was about to find out!

‘Kiss my boots, wrinkly old dork!’ snapped miss Arrabella. He already knew that, at 22, she was the eldest of Madam Tahani’s two daughters. It was also becoming clear to him, even at this very early stage, that she was also the ‘feistiest’. It wasn’t just her more modern, more fashionable dress sense that gave him that impression. It was also her manner of speaking about him, and to him - so obviously different from that of her seemingly much gentler and kinder 19 year old sister, miss Penelope.

Yes, he could tell already that miss Arrabella was not a young woman to be trifled with! Miss Penelope, on the other hand, sounded like she might be a bit of a ‘push-over’!

He therefore shuffled forward without any further delay and lowered his lips to the rounded toe of miss Arrabella’s now outstretched right boot. He kissed a small scuff mark on the brown toecap.

The right boot was quickly withdrawn and replaced by the left:

‘And the other one!’ barked the arrogant young woman.

Another respectful kiss to the toe of miss Arrabella’s brown, leather, calf-length boot for everyone present to hear.

‘That’s right, slave! Get to know the taste of my boots – for you’ll be paying your respects to them day in and day out from now on!’

Slave Ernesto noticed that miss Arrabella’s boots didn’t actually seem to taste any different from miss Shariya’s black, leather toecaps! But perhaps, with time, he would get to appreciate the little differences in the tastes of individual ladies’ boots. He would certainly have to get used to the taste of female boot leather in general – even if it was an acquired taste!

‘Make him come over here and kiss my feet, Arrabella!’ shouted miss Penelope, excitedly.

Perhaps miss Penelope will not be such a ‘push-over’ after all, thought slave Ernesto to himself!

‘You heard my sister, slave! Crawl over to her on your hands and knees and kiss her pretty, green moccasins!’

Miss Arrabella then accompanied slave Ernesto as he crawled across the plush, living room carpet towards where miss Penelope was sitting. The latter was adjusting the hem of her ankle-length dress so that the slave would be able to have uninterrupted access to her pretty shoes and socks.

As slave Ernesto reached miss Penelope’s soft, green, feminine moccasins and black ankle socks with the lacy, white trim, he couldn’t help thinking to himself that this was hardly the footwear of a dominatrix! But then, miss Penelope was no professional dominatrix! She was just an ordinary, young woman who was thrust into the role of slave-owner. He was sure she would do her best to dominate and humiliate him in compliance with the sentence of the Courts!

Seeing miss Penelope’s bare, brown skin above the lacy-white top of her ankle socks reminded him that the two girls, despite their English sounding names and terribly posh English accents, were mixed race. He could sense they were both very pretty girls, as, indeed was their Moroccan mother. From the corner of his eye he could detect that they were all, as might be expected, dark-haired – although miss Penelope appeared to have curly, permed hair whereas the other two women had long, straight hair. He sensed also that miss Penelope was the only one wearing glasses.

Miss Penelope definitely came across as a giggly, delicate slip of a girl. Her ankles were shapely, but quite slender:

‘Tee! Hee! What’s it like, Arrabella? What’s it like having him kiss your feet?’ Penelope asked her sister.

‘Honest to goodness, Penelope! Just stretch your foot out and order him to kiss it! Order him to kiss the side of your sock, if you like – that way you’ll really feel his lips on your feet!’ suggested Arrabella.

Penelope, although slave Ernesto couldn’t see it, was blushing:

‘Kiss my sock? Oh, that must be horrid for him! Imagine having to kiss someone’s sock – especially while they’re still wearing it! How humiliating! Yuck!’

‘Ha! Ha!,’ laughed her mother, seated beside her, ‘my dear, if you want him to kiss your sock then that’s just what he’ll do. Remember what I told you earlier, he is your slave just as much as he is mine and your sister’s. You must get yourself used to bossing him about and humiliating him – it’s all part of his community punishment. It’s the law, and we must all do our part in helping to enforce the law!’

‘Yes, mother. Sorry!’ said miss Penelope apologetically.

She appeared to compose herself, cleared her throat, stretched out her moccasined, slender, right foot until it was directly, under slave Ernesto’s nose, and then give him her first order in the most authoritative, albeit still girlish, voice that she could muster:

‘Slave, would you please kiss the side of my sock?’

Arrabella and her mother just burst out laughing:

‘Ha! Ha! What was that, Penelope?’ asked Arrabella incredulously. ‘Did you say “please”? “Please” – to a slave! Ha! Ha!’

Miss Penelope was evidently mortified at her social faux-pas. Of course one doesn’t say please to a slave! Her sister was right. She had so much to learn!

‘Oh fiddlesticks and botheration! This is so difficult…ahem…I’m sorry, slave…I mean, kiss my sock, slave!’

Again there were hoots of laughter emanating from the other two women in the room:

‘Sorry?’ repeated Arrabella. ‘Sorry? Honest to God, Penelope, you don’t need to apologise to a slave! You should be kicking him in his stupid face for making you feel uncomfortable and causing you to say the wrong things – not apologising to him! Remember what mother told us – we can do no wrong! We are the slave’s mistresses! We own him, and can do or say anything we like to him!’

‘Sorry,’ said the sweet mistress Penelope again, this time to her sister and mother. She then quickly turned her attention to the kneeling slave at her feet again, in order to re-establish her authority over him:

‘Slave, you will kiss the side of my black, ankle sock – and make sure you don’t touch the white, lacy frill with your nose!’

‘That’s more like it!’ exclaimed her mother, encouragingly. Penelope was such a kind-hearted soul. She knew this whole slave-owning business didn’t come naturally to her – unlike her eldest daughter, Arrabella. Arrabella wouldn’t need any lessons in how to give orders to slaves!

For his part, slave Ernesto did not think any the less of miss Penelope for her diffidence and confusion as he lowered his lips to the side of her black ankle sock, taking care not to brush his face against the lacy, white top. She was, like him, learning a new role in life. They would learn how to be mistress and slave together.

Miss Penelope’s black ankle sock felt warm and soft under his lips, not at all like the cold, harsh leather of mistress Arrabella’s brown, calf–length boot. Warm and soft; cold and harsh. The two girls’ respective footwear eloquently summed up their personalities.

Slave Ernesto then had to kiss miss Penelope’s left sock, before being ordered to kiss Madam Tahani’s cream-coloured, expensive-looking, low-heeled pumps, which he now noticed she was wearing on cream-coloured nylons. Are they knee-highs, or full length tights or stockings that she has on under her trousers, he found himself wondering. He was already well into the mindset of a pathetic ladies’ footslave.

When he had kissed all their feet Madam Tahani took great pleasure in explaining to the convict-slave that he was to be the personal footslave of every woman in the household, including, she emphasised, the maid, Marguerita. She then decided that it should be Penelope who showed the slave to his ‘quarters’. She knew that her other daughter Arrabella would be only too happy to show the slave around, but Penelope needed the practice – she needed to get used to speaking to a slave, and so she asked Arrabella to hand over the chain to her younger sister and to help her sort out where exactly they would go for their summer holiday that year by looking through some brochures whilst Penelope took the slave up to his ‘room’.

Slave Ernesto kept his slave-eyes firmly fixed on the backs of miss Penelope’s black and white ankle socks as she led him on his hands knees up the stairs – although the swirling, frilly hem of her multi-coloured, ankle-length, dress often brushed over his face as she climbed the stairs causing him to temporarily lose sight of the pretty, lacy, black and white socks. Her footsteps were ever so soft and feminine in her soft, green moccasins on the soft, plush carpeted stairs.

They eventually went down an equally plushly carpeted corridor and entered a brightly-coloured, luxurious bedroom:

‘This is my room,’ explained mistress Penelope. ‘Your room is attached between my bedroom and Arrabella’s. I think it used to be a walk-in wardrobe or box-room of some sort, but our mother has had it converted into a room for you so that you will always be “on hand” to serve me or my sister should we need anything. Or should I say “on foot”?’

Miss Penelope then laughed at her own funny joke, as she opened a door at the side of her bedroom which lead into a dimly lit boxroom – slave Ernesto’s room!

The contrast with miss Penelope’s opulent bedroom could not have been starker - plain, wooden floorboards. A wooden chair. A sink. A toilet. That was it!

Penelope could see what slave Ernesto was thinking:

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to sleep on the floor! But there is an old blanket over there which you can use to cover yourself if you like!’ She pointed with her slender foot to an old, rough-looking, grey-coloured blanket in the corner of the boxroom. It looked like the sort of blanket a dog would have in its kennel.

For a moment slave Ernesto felt sorry for himself. He even wondered whether he might not have been better off if the good lady Judge had passed a custodial sentence on him. At least then he would have, presumably, had a bed in a cell. But then he remembered how ungrateful he was being. He was, after all, being given the inestimable privilege of serving this delightful family as a footslave in the community – and his ‘accommodation’ was not only free; it was located between the bedrooms of two charming, young mistresses. Clearly, sexual intercourse, or indeed sexual activity of any description between himself and his young mistresses would be completely out of the question! But, at his age, and given his circumstances, was he not honoured to be allowed to serve at the feet of such charming young women - even if it did mean having to sleep on the bare, wooden floor?

‘I do hope you’ll like being our slave,’ chirped miss Penelope, bringing him back to his senses. ‘I mean, I know you’re here to be punished, and all that – and we will see to it that you are punished – but that doesn’t mean you can’t be happy here, does it?’ she asked somewhat wistfully.

Such a charming young woman, thought slave Ernesto. She still can’t bring herself to address me properly as a slave! He resolved not to take advantage of miss Penelope. Even if she didn’t use ‘mistress-speak’ when addressing him, he would use ‘slave-speak’ in addressing her. That way, she might learn to be a good, strong mistress:

‘Oh pray, mistress Penelope, if it pleases you sweet, feminine mistress Penelope, this slave will be honoured to be your personal footslave.’

Miss Penelope giggled nervously:

‘Will you? Will you really? I mean, did you really like having to kiss my socks just now?’

‘Oh yes, mistress – it was truly an honour for a dirty slave such as myself to be allowed to place his dirty, slave lips on your nice clean socks, if it so pleases you, mistress Penelope.’

‘You can call me ‘miss Penelope’, or just ‘miss’ if you prefer. But I shouldn’t call my sister ‘miss’ if I were you. I think she would prefer it if you called her ‘mistress’ all the time. Oh gosh! I do hope she isn’t too horrid towards you! She can be very demanding of servants!’

‘Yes, miss Penelope. Thank you, miss Penelope.’

‘And what shall I call you? “Slave Ernesto”, or just, plain “slave”? Which would you prefer?’

Which would he prefer?! How sweet!

‘Oh pray, miss Penelope, if it pleases you, miss Penelope, this slave believes it would be more appropriate if you just referred to him as “slave”, miss Penelope, since he is no longer a person – but just a slave.’

‘Oh don’t say that!’ protested miss Penelope, ‘although I suppose you’re right. Mother did say that we weren’t to think of you as a person – just a “thing”, here to do our bidding.’

As Penelope looked down at the slave kneeling at her feet she suddenly noticed that the lacy, white top of her left ankle sock had become twisted. She was about to stoop down to correct it, when it was as if she suddenly could hear her sister’s voice inside her pretty head saying : ‘make the footslave do it! That’s what he’s here for!’

She therefore, somewhat coquettishly, put her slender, brown arms behind her back and slid her left, green-moccasined foot under slave Ernesto’s face before giving him her first, truly independent order:

‘Erm…slave, straighten the top of my sock, would you?’

She’s getting better, thought slave Ernesto. At least miss Penelope has stopped saying please!

‘Yes, miss’ he happily responded, before carefully and respectfully adjusting the white, lacy frill at the top of her left ankle sock with his slave fingers so that it was no longer twisted.

Penelope was thrilled at his unquestioning and instant obedience:

‘Thank you, slave!’ she squeaked.

Thank you! Oh dear! Back to square one! Will she ever learn how to behave like a proper, slave-owning mistress?

Don’t worry, slave Ernesto. I think I can safely say that she will!

Part 3 – Modelling Assignment

Slave Ernesto slept only fitfully that first night in his new home – hardly surprising given that he not only had to spend the night sleeping on bare floorboards, but also had to do so wearing his heavy, wooden slave collar which kept his neck at a permanently uncomfortable angle whichever way he tried to rest his head. The rough, old blanket didn’t help either!

But he kept reminding himself how he had ended up in this position – through his own stupidity and by breaking the law. He was being justly punished for his crime; he had to pay his debts to society – to female society at any rate – and that was why for the next 5 years at least he would be living in a small, bare boxroom located between the bedrooms of two young women – always on call should they require his services as a humble footslave.

To his relief neither mistress Arrabella nor her sister, miss Penelope, did call on him during that first night. However, this lack of activity during the night also unnerved him somewhat. He could understand why the kind-hearted, sweet natured miss Penelope might leave him in peace on his first night in her household. But mistress Arrabella? What was she up to? Even miss Penelope had felt the need to warn him of her sister’s predilection for being ‘horrid’ to slaves. So why had mistress Arrabella left him in peace?

The answer, of course, although slave Ernesto couldn’t have known it at the time, was that the family had arranged for him to ‘shadow’ Arrabella on his first full day of enslavement, and she wanted him to be in a fit condition to serve her throughout the day. Madam Tahani and her two daughters would be sharing him out during the week; he would be spending whole days serving each of them in turn. But they had made a joint decision that Arrabella would have ‘first crack of the whip’, as it were.

It was a good choice, for 22 year old mistress Arrabella loved cracking whips!

Slave Ernesto only realised what was in store for him when the door to the left of his boxroom-cell opened and mistress Arrabella, already dressed for the new day in what appeared to be the same, blue denim jeans she had been wearing the day before, and a pink top, stormed in barefoot and carrying a pair of dark blue boot socks in one hand together with a pair of brown, leather, pointy-toed, patterned cowboy boots in the other:

‘On your knees, slave! ‘ she barked.

Slave Ernesto ‘jumped’ to his knees as if he had been awoken by a particularly strident alarm clock! He stared humbly at mistress Arrabella’s pretty, bare, brown feet as she pulled over the one chair in his boxroom, positioned it so that she could sit down directly in front of him, and then nonchalantly threw the socks and boots onto the wooden floor beside her feet:

‘You will assume the kneeling position everytime I, or my sister, or mother – or anyone else for that matter – enters your room – is that clear, slave?’

‘Yes, mistress Arrabella. Thank you, mistress Arrabella.’

Slave Ernesto, even at such an early stage of his new life of community servitude, already appreciated that it was best to thank a mistress for taking the time to explain things to you – rather than just beating you, as was her perfect right.

Mistress Arrabella was a lot taller than her younger sister, Penelope. Although miss Penelope had seemed to tower over him when he had been kneeling at her feet and adjusting her sock for her the evening before, mistress Arrabella, even when seated, seemed like a veritable giantess.

Her feet were larger than miss Penelope’s too – although no less pretty and shapely. Her toenails wee painted bright red. ‘Who painted those for her?’ thought slave Ernesto to himself. ‘Had mistress Arrabella painted them herself? Surely that should be my job?’ Whatever, they were, undisputedly, the pretty, soft, brown feet and bright, red-painted toenails of a haughty, self-confident, beautiful, mixed race, young woman – which is what mistress Arrabella was. Slave Ernesto found himself hoping that mistress Arrabella would order him to either kiss, or, praise be to God, wash her pretty bare feet – but it was not to be:

‘Put my socks on me, slave,’ ordered the supremely powerful young mistress.

So, whilst it was slave Ernesto’s wish to kiss and wash mistress Arrabella’s bare feet, it was mistress Arrabella’s wish that he merely cover her pretty feet by putting her socks on them.

Guess whose wish would prevail!

Slave Ernesto picked up one of the thick, plain, navy blue bootsocks – rolled it up in his fingers, and positioned it at the end of mistress Arrabella’s now arrogantly outstretched right foot. At least his slave fingers got to brush against her bare toes as he then pulled the sock over them and gently rolled it up to the top of her ankle bone.

‘Leave the sock slightly scrunched at the top. I don’t want it pulled all the way up my calf,’ mistress Arrabella barked down at him.

I like that, thought slave Ernesto – a young woman who knows her own mind!

He obeyed by leaving the top portion of the thick, blue bootsock nestling in a scrunched-up manner just beneath the hem of her blue, denim jean-leg. He had to admit, the sock did look nice like that. Mistress knows best!

‘Now the other one!’ snapped mistress Arrabella, resting her right foot back onto the wooden floorboard and raising her left foot into the air under the kneeling slave’s face.

He couldn’t detect any aroma of foot odour, but then it was early in the day and the young mistress had probably showered that morning in her luxurious en suite bathroom.

He repeated the process with her left foot, respectfully rolling the thick, blue bootsock up his 22 year-old mistress’s shapely foot and allowing the top of the sock to remain scrunched above her equally shapely, soft, brown, left ankle.

‘Now the boots – pull them onto my socked feet, and make sure the scrunched up tops of my socks are still visible above the tops of the boots.’

Mistress Arrabella was nothing if not precise about her requirements – but that was a good thing for a slave. Male slaves feel happiest when they know exactly what they have to do. They don’t like to have to think for themselves, because they are inherently stupid.

The dark brown cowboy, or should that be cowgirl, boots contrasted nicely with the navy, blue bootsocks. They were, as we have already noted, pointy-toed; had floral-patterned stitching down the sides; and were V-shaped at the top, meaning that when they were fully pulled on to mistress Arrabella’s pretty feet the scrunched-up tops of her blue socks were indeed clearly visible – or, at least, they were whilst she was sitting down. As soon as mistress Arrabella stood up, however, the hems of her boot-cut, blue denim jeans covered her boots down to the ankles meaning that the socks which had been so carefully positioned on her feet disappeared from view.

It made slave Ernesto wonder, momentarily, why mistress Arrabella had been so specific about the arrangement of her socks inside her boots when no-one would be seeing them for most of the time. Then he realised that she had given him very specific orders just because she had the power to do so. They were her socks, and he was her footslave – ergo she decided just how they would be worn on her feet.

Mistress Arrabella looked fantastic as she stood, now fully clothed, over the semi-naked, male footslave at her feet. Slave Ernesto felt like worshipping the dirty floorboards she walked on.

‘You will be serving me all day today, footslave. You will accompany me to my modelling agency where you will appear alongside my feet in various photoshoots, so I want you on your best behaviour. You will concentrate on my feet and make sure you look humble for the cameras as you stare at my pretty feet whilst I model various types and styles of footwear – is that clear, dirty slave?’

A modelling agency! So mistress Arrabella was a model! Slave Ernesto’s heart leapt. He knew it! He just knew that mistress Arrabella had the figure to be a fashion model! And the feet to be a foot-model! He actually felt a sense of pride at the thought that he was, apparently, going to be photographed kneeling at her supremely beautiful feet! Was this really the penance the good Lady Judge had intended for him?

‘Oh pray, mistress, God bless you, mistress Arrabella, this dirty slave will be truly honoured to serve at your feet as you model the footwear, if it pleases you mistress!’

‘Come on, then, I’ve got a train to catch!’ and with that mistress Arrabella grabbed the metal chain that was attached to the front of his heavy, wooden community-footslave collar, secured the free end to a leather belt in her jeans, and signalled for him to crawl along the floorboards behind her cowboy-booted heels.

A plethora of questions now raced through slave Ernesto’s mind: Am I going to get any breakfast? Has mistress Arrabella had breakfast yet herself? Am I to be allowed to wash and have a shave? Will I be given any other clothing apart from the slave shorts I have on when we get outside?

The answer to all these questions was ‘no’. Mistress Arrabella wasn’t bothering with breakfast that particular morning – and so her slave wouldn’t be breakfasting either. As for washing and shaving – he was, in her eyes, just a dirty slave anyway – so why would he be concerned about washing? And as for clothing – slaves didn’t get to wear nice clothes! They were just raggedy old slaves – she was the one who got to wear all the latest fashions! She was the up-and-coming young fashion model! He was just an appendage to her footwear – a fashion statement, of sorts!

And so, whilst mistress Arrabella wrapped herself up in a nice pink jacket to match her pink top, and kissed her mother goodbye, slave Ernesto remained hungry and semi-naked as he crawled on his hands and knees out the front door of the house behind mistress Arrabella’s cowboy boots and along the harsh gravel of the family’s front drive way.

Although the house was in the countryside it was only a short walk to the village train station. As they entered the station there were quite a few other commuters milling around waiting for the hourly train up to the big city. One of them, a young, white businesswoman in her mid to late twenties, was clearly a friend of Arrabella’s:

‘Hi, ‘Bella! I take it that’s the convicted pervert doing his community servitude?’

‘Oh, Hi Jenny! Yeah – this is him! Would you like him to kiss your feet?’

‘Sure!’ exclaimed the smartly dressed young businesswoman. She was carrying a dark, brown briefcase, and was wearing a cream coloured jacket and knee-length skirt with, somewhat incongruously, white sneakers and thin, white cotton ankle socks. Having previously worked in business, however, slave Ernesto realised that she would probably change into smart, cream-coloured pumps to match her suit when she arrived at her office – the sneakers and socks would be purely for her comfort and convenience as she travelled to and from work.

He was, rather unceremoniously, dragged by mistress Arrabella along the station platform over towards the now outstretched right sneaker of miss Jenny:

‘Slave, kiss miss Jennifer’s feet and thank her for letting you taste her white sneakers!’ ordered mistress Arrabella.

Slave Ernesto was vaguely aware of other commuters who were waiting on the platform pointing and laughing at him as he lowered his slave lips towards the toe of the young woman’s outstretched sneaker. But then, that was what a sentence of ‘community servitude’ was supposed to be all about – public humiliation as you served the community humbly and contritely as a penitent slave.

Slave Ernesto did indeed feel humiliated as he kissed the toe of mistress Jennifer’s dirty, white sneaker. But it was humiliation tinged with excitement as he noticed how her thin, cotton, plain white, ankle sock was creased below her outstretched ankle. That creasing has been caused by the mistress positioning her foot for me to kiss, he thought to himself. What a privilege!

He remembered to thank the young woman:

‘Oh pray, mistress Jennifer, than you and bless you, mistress Jennifer, for allowing this dirty, convicted criminal-slave to touch the toe of your precious, white sneakers with his dirty, slave lips – if it so pleases you, mistress.’

Mistress Jennifer just burst out laughing:

‘This is so cool, Arrabella! You’re so lucky that your mother got this convicted slave a placement in your family! I’d love to have a slave crawling at my heels and kissing my feet all day!’

True to her word, mistress Jenny then withdrew her right, sneakered foot from under the slave’s nose and replaced it with her left. Again, her thin, white ankle sock creased due to the positioning of her foot. How slave Ernesto ached to kiss those cotton creases!

But he didn’t – for he lacked permission to do so. Instead, he kissed the rather flaky, leather toe of miss Jenny’s well-worn, white sneaker, contenting himself with just admiring the contrast between the snowy-white of mistress Jenny’s short, ankle sock and the grey-white of her sneaker.

Mistress Jenny sat opposite mistress Arrabella on the train during the hour long journey into work. The two young women talked to each other virtually non-stop – not about slave Ernesto; not about their respective jobs; not about their plans for the day; but about some talent-contest they had both seen on television the night before.

Slave Ernesto remained largely ignored as he lay, face down, on the dirty floor of the train carriage at their feet. More specifically, mistress Arrabella was resting her right, booted foot on top of his upturned left cheek as her left cowboy boot rested directly on the train floor in front of his face, whilst mistress Jenny was resting the dirty, dusty soles of both her sneakered feet on his bare, slave back. Nobody else on the train seemed all that interested in the slave-cum-footrest lying at the two young women’s feet. Then again, it was a not uncommon sight.

Being ignored, and not having to respond to orders, gave slave Ernesto the opportunity to study closely the pattern in the stitching of mistress Arrabella’s left cowboy boot. It followed an intricate floral pattern making the boot look very ‘girly’ – although he noticed that in one or two places the tiny stitching was coming undone. He so much wanted to cut off the loose stitching with his teeth lest it become any worse if it was just left there to its own devices – but, as he was quickly coming to realise, a slave’s wishes are of no importance. And so, he had no choice other than to stare at the offending loose stitching on his superior mistress’s brown, leather cowboy boot – loose stitching that she, in all probability, was completely unaware of – as was everyone else on the train. He really was living in a different world now from the world of the free man – a world seen by no-one else; a world dominated by the sight, smell and taste of women’s feet and footwear.

And the sheer variety of feminine footwear was soon to be brought home to him as he spent the rest of the morning and afternoon helping his young mistress to model various styles of ladies’ shoes at the modelling agency.

On arrival at Arrabella’s office he was, of course, formally ‘introduced’ to the fashion photographer who would be conducting the day’s photoshoots – miss Sarwan. Miss Sarwan was what could only be described by a male slave as an ‘Indian Goddess’ – although a free man could probably get away with describing her as an ‘asian babe’! 25 years old, long, shining dark hair, deep brown eyes and a pretty, little nose with an equally pretty nose-stud in the side. She was wearing a plain white T shirt, black denim jeans, and shiny, black leather, slip-on, flat-heeled shoes on her bare, Indian feet.

Slave Ernesto’s ‘introduction’ to miss Sarwan, inevitably, meant kissing her feet – but he was already getting used to this. Slaves kiss feet – it was that simple – and, as he kissed the photographer miss Sarwan’s feet, he admired the tiny veins running under her pretty, brown footskin which seemed to flex and move in reaction to the feel of his slave lips on the shiny, black, leather upper of her shoe:

‘Mmm… he’s not exactly what you would call “photogenic”, is he?’ opined the young, female, professional photographer, evidently concerned that slave Ernesto’s ugly features could potentially ruin the photoshoot.

Arrabella, however, just laughed off the photographer’s concerns:

‘Ha! Ha! That’s what we want, isn’t it? We want the slave’s ugliness to be in stark contrast to the beauty of my pretty feet and shoes, don’t we?’

‘True!’ responded miss Sarwan, ‘it’s just that I’m not used to having to photograph anyone this ugly!’

Slave Ernesto was ashamed of himself. He was ashamed that his ugliness was causing the beautiful, Indian photographer such concern. He just hoped her professional skills could at least make him look presentable as he stared humbly at the pretty, feminine shoes on mistress Arrabella’s beautiful, brown feet.

The morning shoot, paradoxically, involved mistress Arrabella dressing up in evening wear. Lots of different types of strappy, sparkly sandals and high-heeled shoes. Mistress Arrabella seemed to have a whole army of costume designers to dress her in the pretty evening gowns and dresses – but it fell, naturally enough, to slave Ernesto to dress her feet.

The most stunning outfit of the morning was a long, ankle length, black dress which had a split up the side. It made goddess-mistress Arrabella look even more like the womanly giantess she now appeared to the kneeling, permanently cringing footslave. But, as any woman will tell you, it was the shoes that really set off the outfit – sparkly, silvery, high-heeled, open-toed sandals. The sandals had two straps across the top which slave Ernesto had to do up whilst mistress Arrabella stood above him, maintaining her balance with the aid of one of the male costume designers who, though he may have sounded rather effeminate, was now more of a man than slave Ernesto could hope to be. After all, it wasn’t the costume designer who was kneeling on the dirty floor humbly doing up a young woman’s designer-sandal straps.

Once the strappy, high-heeled sandals were firmly secured on his mistress’s feet, the photographer, miss Sarwan, carefully checked the lighting before positioning Arrabella with her right foot raised onto a small wooden box as she stood in her long, black dress with a wine glass in one hand and her other hand resting on her hip. The raised positioning of her foot on the wooden box caused the split in the side of the black, evening gown to increase, revealing miss Arrabella’s shapely right leg and ankle. More importantly, of course, it also revealed the sparkly, designer sandal – the focus of the photoshoot.

Having taken some snaps of the expensive, designer, open-toed shoe miss Sarwan then wanted a close-up of slave Ernesto kissing mistress Arrabella’s pretty, red toenails. She therefore pulled him by his greying hair until his 58 year-old head was directly above the shapely foot and ankle of the 22 year old girl:

‘Pucker your slave lips onto your mistress’s big toe, slave,’ barked the Indian goddess, ‘and make sure your lips just touch the end of her toenail – I don’t want your ugly lips obscuring the camera’s view of her nice, red toenail paint!’

Another mistress who knows her mind, thought slave Ernesto.

Not for the first time that day, therefore, slave Ernesto found himself staring at the pretty feet and toes of his mixed-race mistress – except that this time he had express permission to kiss the edge of her painted big toenail on her right foot – and to hold his lips there until the photographer had taken the desired shots! He really did wonder if his new life as a slave would ever get any better than this!

‘Concentrate on your mistress’s big toe, slave!’ barked the photographer miss Sarwan, as a series of flashes in rapid succession indicated that she was satisfied with the pose of both mistress and slave – the classic pose of a humble, male slave kissing his superior mistress’s foot and tasting her brightly painted red toenail whilst she sips on her sparkling white wine.

After a break for lunch which slave Ernesto, to his increasing consternation, was not a party to, the photoshoot turned its attention to some feminine sportswear. Mistress Arrabella could look every bit as much the glamorous athlete as she could the glamorous socialite. When she emerged from behind the screen in a pair of bright, yellow lycra running shorts and matching vest slave Ernesto’s heart skipped a beat.

Once again he had the enormous privilege of dressing his mistress’s feet – this time in her ‘sporty’ footwear consisting of thick, white slouch socks and white running shoes or trainers. The white socks where even thicker, and longer, than the blue bootsocks he had pulled onto mistress Arrabella’s feet first thing that morning. They therefore were even more thickly ‘scrunched up’ over her calf muscles, and he noticed how the stitching of the upper part of the white, slouch socks was much thicker too, ribbed even, compared to the much thinner part of the socks that actually covered mistress Arrabella’s foot.

The socks were clearly brand new and had never been worn before. They were absolutely pristine-white, even whiter than miss Jenny’s thin, cotton ankle socks had been at the train station, and slave Ernesto could not help but admire the contrast between the snowy-white of the socks and the soft, brown of mistress Arrabella’s lower legs. His only regret was that the socks were not soiled or sweaty, as a young woman’s running socks should be! But then, this was an artificial photoshoot – designed to show the running shoes and socks at their best.

Miss Sarwan decided that the socks and trainers would look their very best if slave Ernesto’s nose was buried in the folds of the white slouch socks whilst mistress Arrabella was wearing them inside her white, designer trainers – paying homage to the pretty, feminine socks by sniffing them, as it were – even though there wasn’t much to smell. Such a scene would nonetheless appeal to countless young women of Arrabella’s age, who would like the thought of a male slave having to bury his nose in the folds of their sweaty running socks.

Miss Sarwan, it has to be said, also had an ulterior motive for wanting slave Ernesto’s nose to be buried deep in mistress Arrabella’s socks – it would help to hide his ugly, aging features and focus everyone’s attention on the pure beauty of the feminine, white socks! And so slave Ernesto once again felt miss Sarwan’s hands manoeuvring his head and face until it was buried into the side of miss Arrabella’s right, white slouch sock whilst she stood on a make-believe podium in her designer sneakers proudly holding up her make-believe gold medal. Slave Ernesto was as proud of his mistress as if she had actually won a gold medal, for she was a stunningly beautiful young woman and he was truly honoured to have his face buried submissively in the side of her snowy-white sock.

When the afternoon’s shoot was over, mistress Arrabella, the costume designers, and the photographer miss Sarwan, all decided to head to the pub for a relaxing and celebratory drink, The photoshoot had been completed in good time and miss Sarwan was delighted with the results. She had managed to obscure the footslave’s ugly features in nearly all the shots through some clever camera angles, and she was confident that the fashion magazine which had solicited the pictures would use them all. The drinks, therefore, were on miss Sarwan!

Not that slave Ernesto would be invited to join in. He, of course, had to accompany his mistress Arrabella to the pub – he was her personal footslave for the day, after all! But it never crossed the minds of anyone present that he would do anything other than kneel at mistress Arrabella’s feet as she sat on a raised barstool enjoying a relaxing glass of wine (real wine this time – not the fake wine she had consumed at the photoshoot which had actually been nothing more than sparkling mineral water!)

Slave Ernesto would have liked even that! His mouth felt parched and dirty. He had not even had a chance to clean his teeth in the morning – and he had been kissing girls’ dirty shoes and boots throughout the day. At least his raging thirst was distracting him from his hunger pangs, for whilst mistress Arrabella had at least had a light lunch, he had had nothing to eat all day.

Arrabella had, of course, changed back into her own clothes before going to the pub. As slave Ernesto knelt in the pub staring at her dark brown cowboy boots it suddenly dawned on him that he might not get anything to eat at all that day! His stomach appeared to be low down on mistress Arrabella’s list of priorities. He humbly focused, therefore, on the patterned stitching on the side of her boots again as she sat chatting to miss Sarwan who was seated on the neighbouring stool. At one point mistress Arrabella crossed her legs revealing the top of her scrunched-up, navy blue boot sock on her right foot in all its glory as her foot was now dangling in the air.

Slave Ernesto wasn’t sure if it was the sight of the carefully scrunched-up bootsock that attracted the man, but within minutes mistress Arrabella was being chatted up by a young man who was clearly just as impressed with her charms as slave Ernesto was. Unlike slave Ernesto, however, the free man, whose name turned out to be Peter, could do something about it, and so Ernesto just had to continue staring at his mistress’s cowboy boots, feeling jealous, as the young man wormed his way into Arrabella’s affections.

It got worse. Whether the wine went to her head or not, slave Ernesto couldn’t tell. But his mistress happily accepted an invitation from Peter to go ‘back to his place’, at which the two of them made love whilst slave Ernesto was left in the corner of the bedroom, with his back to the bed, staring down into the tops of mistress Arrabella’s discarded cowboy boots, with her now sweaty navy blue bootsocks inside them, and listening to the groans of ecstasy and pleasure emanating from the superior young master and mistress as the former pleasured mistress Arrabella in a way slave Ernesto could, quite literally, only dream of!

Still, at least he can be a good footslave to her. Her soft and beautiful body may have been master Peter’s, but her warm boots and sweaty socks were slave Ernesto’s!

At the end of the day, what more could a humble footslave ask for?

Part 4 – The Laughing Stock (i)

The next day started better for 58 year-old slave Ernesto – insofar as he was at last fed by his new owners, even if it was only stale bread and water. It still tasted sweet to a truly hungry manservant!

He had to eat his ‘appetizing’ breakfast whilst kneeling on the kitchen floor, as befits a lowly footslave. His female masters, meanwhile - Madam Tahani and her two daughters, Arrabella (22) and Penelope (19) – were, as befits their status as free human beings, seated at the kitchen table eating a much more sumptuous breakfast which had earlier been lovingly prepared for them by the family maid, Marguerita. The latter was now doing the ironing in the adjacent laundry room (at least being a ladies’ footslave doesn’t appear to be as hard work as being a ladies’ maid, thought Ernesto to himself!)

From his kneeling position on the floor Ernesto could clearly see what each of the 3 ladies was wearing on her feet. Madam Tahani was still in her white, silk nightie and matching dressing gown, and she was wearing soft, silvery slippers on her pretty 46 year old feet.

Misses Arrabella and Penelope were already fully dressed however. Mistress Arrabella, the feisty fashion model, was wearing blue, denim, boot cut jeans and spike-heeled, shiny, black, pointy-toed ankle boots. A pair of dark blue, ankle length bootsocks were also just visible under the hems of her trouser legs thanks to her seated position.

Miss Penelope, the bespectacled English Literature student, was wearing a floral-patterned, brightly-coloured, calf-length dress with beige, suede leather, ankle boots and a pair of black and grey, stripy knee-socks. Because of the length of her dress a casual observer might have mistaken her stripy socks as a pair of thick, opaque tights, but slave Ernesto knew they were in fact knee-length socks as he had had the privilege of putting miss Penelope’s socks on her shapely legs that very morning.

Indeed, he was rather hoping that today would be ‘Miss Penelope’s day’ i.e. that having served her extremely demanding sister, Arrabella, all day yesterday, it would now be the turn of the much more gentle and mild-mannered miss Penelope to ‘look after’ him for the day. He was sure that serving miss Penelope as a footslave would not be quite so stressful as serving the somewhat wayward miss Arrabella, or ‘mistress Arrabella’ – as she insisted on being called. He wondered if her mother knew Arrabella ‘slept around’. Ernesto was, if truth be told, still smarting from the humiliating experience of being forced to listen to her make love to that arrogant young master she had met in the pub after work, Peter, whilst he buried his slave nose in her dirty socks and boots in the corner of the young man’s dirty bedsit.

But he had to bite his lip and say nothing. He was a mere slave, and the sexual shenanigans of his superior mistresses were none of his business, just as he had no say in how he would be spending the day – as he was about to find out!

‘Eat up, slave!’ Ms Tahani barked at him suddenly, in between taking bites of her delicious, warm toast. ‘Your probation officer miss Gozia will be here shortly to pick you up and take you into the town centre. You’re going to spend the day in the stocks!’

Slave Ernesto heard miss Arrabella giggle at her mother’s pronouncement:

‘Actually, mother, technically speaking it’s a pillory! He’ll be having to kneel with his head confined just inches from the ground in a wooden pillory, so that all he will be able to see all day long is people’s feet! Ha! Ha! His neck and shoulders will truly be aching by this evening!’

Arrabella and her mother burst into gleeful laughter.

Miss Penelope, however, apparently did not find it funny:

‘Oh really, Arrabella, how can you be so cruel? Poor Ernesto is in for a perfectly horrid day – having to kiss and lick the dirty shoes and boots of all the women who are passing by! And some of them are sure to tease him! Why, I’ve even seen criminals being spat on in the pillory!’

‘Quite right too!’ countered her sister, ‘I think you’re forgetting that he’s a dirty, convicted, knicker-stealing pervert! He deserves all he gets!’

‘Now, now girls – don’t get into an argument in front of the slave!’ interjected their mother, ‘and, Penelope, you mustn’t call slave Ernesto by just his first name – remember he’s just a slave; our slave. And the Law demands that he should be properly humiliated and punished for his crime.’

‘Yes, mother. Sorry, mother,’ replied miss Penelope, suitably rebuked, ‘I know he must be punished, but I just don’t think we should be taking pleasure in his suffering!’

‘Well, I’m going to take pleasure in his suffering!’ retorted a still belligerent mistress Arrabella, ‘I’m definitely going to the mall sometime this morning to watch him being humiliated in the stocks!’

‘Well I shan’t!’ exclaimed an equally belligerent miss Penelope, ‘And I still think you’re being perfectly horrid in wanting to see him humiliated like that!’

‘Girls! Girls! You’re both adults and can do whatever you like! Now please be quiet and finish your breakfasts!’ exhorted their exasperated mother.

Listening to the argument, the irony for slave Ernesto was that of the two young women he would have much preferred miss Penelope to be the one to ‘visit’ him in the stocks. He too, as a free man, had witnessed convicted male criminals being teased and tormented by young women in the pillory or ‘stocks’ in the town shopping mall. He imagined that miss Penelope would comfort him in the stocks by sitting on the wooden crossbar above him and wrapping her grey and black stripy-socked legs around his cheeks in order to protect him. That would be a nice feeling to have as he stared down into the tops of her soft, beige-coloured, suede leather ankle boots.

But the kindly miss Penelope, it seemed, was not to be a feature of his life that coming day. Instead he would be at the mercy of strangers – and of the stiletto-heeled, black patent leather-booted mistress Arrabella, who would by all accounts be revelling in his misery!

Both Arrabella and Penelope dutifully finished their breakfasts without any further arguments and got ready to head off to work/university respectively. As he was humbly kissing miss Penelope’s beige ankle boots goodbye in the front porch as she was about to leave, she crouched down to whisper some quiet words of advice into his ear:

‘You’re going to be in a lot of pain today, slave Ernesto. If you think that wooden slave collar around your neck is bad enough just wait until they put your head in the kneeling pillory! I’m afraid the muscles in your neck and shoulders will be truly aching after just an hour or so. You really must try to concentrate on all the ladies’ boots and shoes – I’m sure that’s the only way you’ll be able to take your mind off the pain!’

Such a sweet girl, thought Ernesto. She clearly is genuinely worried about me:

‘Thank you, miss Penelope. Miss Penelope – please will you come and visit me in the stocks?’ he whispered back as his lips touched the suede leather of her left boot.

He knew he was taking a huge risk in whispering such a request to his young mistress. Mistresses generally don’t do requests! And miss Penelope had already made it clear to her sister that she had no desire to see him suffer public humiliation in the stocks. But he somehow thought he could get away with it and he did so much want to feel miss Penelope’s soft kneesocks wrapped around his cheeks! It would be so nice to see a friendly pair of feminine socks!

Miss Penelope just giggled:

‘Oh, Ernesto, you are so funny!’ she whispered back, ‘you must have already heard me telling my sister in no uncertain terms that there is no way I could stomach watching you suffer in the stocks. I mean, I know you’re a dirty pervert and all that – and it’s quite right that you should be made to suffer. But that doesn’t mean I have to come and watch! Now just do as I told you and I’m sure you’ll be alright! You can tell me all about it when you get back!’

Slave Ernesto sighed somewhat disappointedly:

‘Yes miss Penelope. As you wish, miss Penelope’.

And with that the furtive conversation between reluctant mistress and anxious slave was over.

Both Arrabella and Penelope had left by the time mistress Gozia arrived to pick up slave Ernesto and take him to the town centre. There were two surprises awaiting him outside the front door. The first was that he was to be driven to the town centre not in miss Gozia’s own car, but in a prison van. The second was that the driver of the van was miss Shariya – the slightly podgy asian policewoman who had been his cell guard in the court cells. She was still resplendent in her police uniform consisting of blue police baseball cap, pure, white headscarf, white blouse and navy blue jacket and trousers. On her feet she appeared to be wearing the same, flat-heeled, zip-up, black leather ankle boots. They looked even dustier than they had done in the court cellroom, and he found himself wondering whether miss Shariya was still wearing inside her dirty boots the same pair of manky old white bootsocks that she had had on two days previously. It wouldn’t surprise him!

He could see that mistress Gozia at any rate had changed her socks! She was wearing the same pair of black denim jeans and black and white sneakers as she had been when she had first introduced herself to him two days previously in the court cell immediately following his conviction, but, as he now kissed her outstretched right foot in humble greeting, he could see that instead of the short, cotton black socks she had been wearing on that occasion she was now wearing equally short, white, sneaker-socks with a pink trim along the elasticated top – very nice; very feminine.

‘Kiss miss Shariya’s boots also!’ ordered miss Gozia in her distinctive east-european accent.

The young, asian policewoman moved forward to facilitate slave Ernesto in carrying out his all-powerful probation officer’s orders:

‘Lick the dust off the toes, innit?’ added mistress Shariya, clearly aware that her dusty, black boots were letting the rest of her smart uniform down. And it was important that she look her best today for, rather like slave Ernesto, she would be on public display – standing next to him as his guard whilst he knelt in the stocks staring at the ground through his uncomfortable wooden window.

She wouldn’t be ‘guarding’ him to prevent his escape, of course. He would be securely locked in the pillory. Escape would be impossible! Nor would she be protecting him from any excessive cruelty by the hoards of gleeful women who would no doubt wish to tease and torment him with their feet and footwear. Rather, her function would be to ensure his compliance with the wishes of the women who were tormenting him – ensuring that he kissed, licked and cleaned their dirty footwear to their complete satisfaction. To that end she had ensured her brown, leather, police-issue punishment strap was attached to her belt.

Slave Ernesto shined mistress Shariya’s black leather boots with his tongue to the best of his ability before being unceremoniously thrown by the two young women into the windowless back of the prison van where he was shackled to the wall. He was not, it seemed, to have the privilege of kneeling in the front of the van on the passenger’s side directly under mistress Gozia’s sneakered feet, whilst he watched miss Shariya’s booted feet manipulating the pedals in the driver’s seat.

But he needn’t have worried. Even though he was now alone in the back of the van, he was not going to be starved of women’s boots and shoes that particular day. Far from it!

On arrival at the shopping mall in the town centre slave Ernesto was dragged out of the back of the prison van on his hands and knees and ordered to crawl behind miss Shariya’s booted heels as she led him along by means of a chain attached to his heavy, wooden slave collar. Miss Gozia was walking beside them, and beyond her black-sneakered and pink and white socked feet he could see the feet and footwear of a small crowd of women standing in the mall and watching the convicted criminal being led by the young, female police officer to his place of punishment – the stocks!

‘Ha! Ha! I’ll bet you’re regretting your crime now, you disgusting, filthy pervert!’ screamed one young woman gleefully. She appeared to be a bank worker as he recognised her corporate clothing consisting of a smart blue suit, flesh coloured nylon tights, and shiny, blue pumps.

‘Yeah!’ exclaimed one of her similarly attired female colleagues, ‘Let’s see how you like spending the whole day trapped in the stocks looking at socks, creep!’

A wave of female laughter echoed around the mall. It was still fairly empty of shoppers – most of the ‘audience’ appeared to be female shop assistants and bank clerks waiting for their manageresses to come and open up their various premises.

Slave Ernesto wondered momentarily how the young, female bank workers were apparently aware of the perverted nature of his crime – stealing a pair of ladies’ knickers – but when they reached the pillory all was revealed. There, attached to the wall behind the pillory, in big, bold letters was a placard spelling out his crime. Mistress Gozia kindly grabbed hold of slave Ernesto’s hair and raised his head up to the placard so that he could read it:

‘Name of convicted Felon : Slave Ernesto

‘Crime: Stealing a lady’s undergarments for the purposes of sexual gratification.

‘Sentence: 5 years’ community servitude as a ladies’ footslave with periodic hard labour and corporal punishment.

Sentence handed down by: Her honour, the Lady Judge, Lady Justice Priscilla’

Slave Ernesto was suddenly overwhelmed with a deep sense of shame. He deserved everything he was about to get!

He had been wondering whether mistress Shariya would have to remove his wooden slave collar before placing his neck in the pillory, but as she now raised up the heavy, wooden cross bar, which was easily thick enough for someone to sit on, he saw that it was cleverly designed so that the wooden slave collar would fit into the hole. Indeed, the wooden slave collar would make the pillory an even tighter, even more uncomfortable fit.

He could tell that mistress Shariya was enjoying every moment as she positioned him so that he was kneeling with his wooden-collared throat resting awkwardly on the wooden base of the pillory and then brought the heavy crossbar down on top of him, locking it into place with a heavy padlock so that he was now well and truly confined with his face just inches from the floor of the shopping mall and his wrists equally secured through holes in the heavy, wooden crossbar . All he could now see was the shiny, white floor tiles and mistress Shariya’s creased, black, ankle boots under her navy blue police trousers as she stood in front of him.

The shops were starting to open now and the crowd of onlookers was becoming more mixed - shoppers as well as shop staff, free men as well as superior women.

Miss Shariya’s boots moved to one side and mistress Gozia suddenly stepped forward in front of the now confined, kneeling slave Ernesto, and, standing with her back to him meaning that all he could see was the back of her black sneakers and her frayed, black, denim jeans, she made an announcement:

‘Ladies and gentlemen, this convicted criminal is to spend 8 hours confined in the pillory. Ladies, please feel free to use his tongue to clean your dirty shoes or boots, or to humiliate him in any other way you see fit. His guard, miss Shariya, will see to it that he obeys your every command. Enjoy!’

And with that miss Gozia stepped to one side allowing miss Shariya to move closer again to slave Ernesto so that the young police officer was standing directly to his right. Slave Ernesto realised that whatever other feminine footwear he would be seeing that day, he would always have sight of the still dusty, and creased, well-worn, black ankle boots of mistress Shariya beneath her blue, police-uniform trousers as she stood guard over him.

His probation officer, mistress Gozia, however soon left. She clearly had other, better things to do.

Slave Ernesto didn’t have to wait long for the public to do their duty and start tormenting him. His first tormentors were a free man of about his own age who appeared to have two pretty young women in their early twenties with him – one on each arm. Some men have all the luck!

‘Ha! Ha! Look at him! What a loser!’ the man was saying.

His two girlfriends appeared to be just giggling and chewing gum. The one on the man’s left was wearing multi-coloured, polka dotted leggings which came down to her shapely, white ankles; bright red ankle socks; and flat, shiny, black leather slip-on shoes. The young woman holding onto his right arm was wearing either a mini-skirt or shorts, and black ankle socks inside white stilettos on her long, bare, white legs.

Slave Ernesto wondered whether the two young women may be call-girls? They certainly seemed to look the part, and he found it hard to believe that they would be with the much older man for any other reason. Whatever, he could tell already that were definitely both pretty ‘vacuous’ in the brain department as the one on the left, with the polka-dot leggings and bright, red socks, spoke for the first time:

‘Make him smell our ankles, honey!’ she whined, in between chewing noisily on her gum.

‘Yeah, tell him to sniff our sweaty socks!’ exclaimed the other young woman in the white stilettos, giggling and raising her right foot coyly behind her in the air as she apparently kissed her man friend on the right cheek.

Not to be outdone the girl with the bright red socks did the same on his left cheek.

‘Ha! Ha!’ laughed the free man, ‘whatever you say, girls! Slave – you heard my girls – sniff their sweaty socks!’

The girl with the bright red socks and shiny black, flat, slip-on shoes - perhaps because it had been her original idea – obligingly stretched her right foot forward first, still holding on to her ‘boyfriend’s’ arm, and positioned her foot directly below the kneeling slave Ernesto’s face so that the side of her ankle sock was almost touching his nose as her shoe rested on the ground.

Slave Ernesto could now see the individual stitches in her bright red, thin, cotton sock, and the creases in the stitching around her inner ankle bone caused by the positioning of her foot, as he obediently touched the side of the young, gum-chewing woman’s sock with his slave nose and audibly sniffed.

As he did so, he noticed too that her shiny, black shoe was not as pristine as it had appeared from a distance. There were definite traces of mud along the lower rim of the shoe. That perhaps explained why, somewhat to his surprise, he could detect a faint aroma of feminine socksweat – even though the young woman still had her shoes on. She was clearly not too fastidious about her foot and footwear hygiene! Either that, or she had simply been up all night and had not bathed that morning!

So, you, a 58 year old man, are having to publicly sniff the sweaty, red ankle sock of a young female ‘tart’ in her early twenties, on the say so of her middle-aged ‘boyfriend’, who is possibly even her pimp, slave Ernesto thought to himself. And yet, even if she is a tart, and even if he is a pimp, they are both your betters – for you are nothing but a convicted pervert! You must, therefore, sniff the young woman’s dirty, sweaty sock with proper respect!

He audibly sniffed it a second time.

The man and the two women all burst out laughing:

‘Ha! Ha! How does it feel, sweetie? Does his nose tickle?’ asked the man.

‘Nah,’ replied the young woman, ‘it feels good! Like he’s just a pathetic, little puppy dog sniffing around my ankles!’

‘Ha! Ha! That’s all he is, sweetie! Eva – make him smell your sock!’ exclaimed the man excitedly, clearly now dizzy with macho-power.

Eva, the other young woman who was holding on to the man’s right arm, giggled, chewed on her gum, and positioned her white-stilettoed left foot beside the other girl’s outstretched right foot so that slave Ernesto now had a close up view of her black, ankle sock also.

Unlike the red sock the black sock was quite thick with heavy, latticed stitching. It was also much more scrunched up and would probably have reached the young woman’s mid-calf if pulled up straight. Her black-socked foot also seemed to wobble in its white, high-heeled shoe. It really was a very ‘tarty’ combination in slave Ernesto’s opinion – thick, black ankle socks with white, scuff-marked, stiletto heels – but be that as it may, it was the chosen footwear of a superior mistress, and he had to pay his respects to it every bit as much as if she was wearing posh, designer shoes and finest denier nylon stockings.

‘Smell my sock too!’ the young woman barked down at slave Ernesto.

He dutifully moved his nose over to the side of mistress Eva’s black sock, buried his nose in the folds around her outer ankle, and sniffed.

‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, boy – sniff my girl’s ankles. Get all her sweaty sock-stink up your nose where it belongs!’ shouted the free man, totally uninhibited and relaxed in the presence of both his girlfriends and the nearby WPC – mistress Shariya. And indeed, whether he was a pimp or a punter, right now he had every reason to feel relaxed. He and his two girls weren’t doing anything wrong. In fact – quite the opposite! They were assisting the forces of law and order in punishing and humiliating a convicted pervert!

Mistress Shariya smiled as the two girls started rubbing their socked feet, still in their shoes, together all over slave Ernesto’s nose.

The free man however, it seemed, wasn’t satisfied with just this minor humiliation:

‘You know what, slave? I want to know if you can detect any difference in the taste of my two girlfriends’ socks! I’m going to make you suck on their dirty socks, and you can then tell me if the red sock tastes any different from the black sock!’

The two girls - mistress Eva, and the other one whose name slave Ernesto still didn’t know - both gave a little jump in the air and appeared to clap their hands with glee:

‘Ha! Ha! What a brilliant idea, honey!’ exclaimed the young woman in the red socks. ‘I wonder if my nice, red sock will taste of strawberries?’

‘Ha! Ha! Yeah, and my black sock might taste of blackcurrants!’ quipped mistress Eva.

‘Ha! Ha! I’ll bet they don’t!’ exclaimed their male friend, ‘I’ll bet they both taste of sweaty cheese!’

Mistress Eva playfully pretended to be offended and to hit him:

‘Well there’s only one way to find out!’ she declared, kicking off her left shoe so that she was now balancing on one white stiletto heel, and pushing her black socked foot towards slave Ernesto’s lips:

‘You, the slave, suck on my black sock. Suck out all the juice and tell us what it tastes like!’

And with that she forced her socked toes into slave Ernesto’s mouth.

‘Ha! Ha! Gross!’ exclaimed the free man.

He was right. The taste that now assaulted slave Ernesto’s mouth was truly gross – salty, vinegary, cheesy, feminine socksweat – not a hint of blackcurrant! He could smell it too.

But he sucked – for he had no choice in the matter, until such time as mistress Eva decided to withdraw her sweaty-socked foot from his slave mouth:

‘Well, slave, what does it taste like? Does my black sock taste of sweet blackcurrants?’

‘Wait a moment, Eva, let him compare the taste of Angelica’s red sock first,’ suggested the free man.

And, needing no further encouragement, the girl with the red socks who was still hanging on to her boyfriend’s right arm, wasted no time in kicking off her right , shiny black slip-on shoe and exposing her dirty red sock to slave Ernesto’s mouth.

Just before the red sock entered his mouth slave Ernesto noticed how the sock had a hole in it at the corner of the big toe area. Indeed, humiliatingly, he could feel miss Angelica’s big toenail scraping against the roof of his mouth as her red-socked foot entered his mouth.

Not surprisingly it tasted much the same as mistress Eva’s black-socked foot, although the material of the thin cotton red sock felt quite different inside his mouth.

Slave Ernesto must have sucked on mistress Angelica’s socked toes for about 60 seconds whilst she continued to suck on her chewing gum, before she eventually withdrew her foot from his mouth and replaced her now sodden socked foot back into her flat, leather shoe.

‘Well, sock-sucker, what’s the verdict?’ asked the free man, ‘What do my girls’ socks taste of? Does Eva’s black sock taste of blackcurrant and Angelica’s red sock taste of strawberry?’

Slave Ernesto decided he had no choice other than to be honest. Honesty is nearly always the best policy – especially for a vulnerable and helpless slave:

‘Oh pray master, if it pleases you master, this slave could not detect any discernable difference in the tastes of the two beautiful mistresses’ socks, if it so pleases you master and mistresses.’

The two girls yelped with delight! Such cringing obsequiousness! It wasn’t often that men spoke to them or about them like that!

‘Ha! Ha! I knew it,’ screamed the man triumphantly , ‘I’ll bet they both tasted of sweaty cheese – just like I said! Isn’t that right, slave?’

Slave Ernesto knew that the absolutely correct thing to do at that moment was to let the free man revel in his little victory:

‘Yes master, if it pleases you master, you are correct. Both mistress Eva’s black sock and mistress Angelica’s red sock tasted of sweaty cheese, if it so pleases you master and mistresses.’

The free man, seemingly easily pleased, punched the air with delight!

Mistress Shariya meanwhile, who had until now kept a professional silence, but was nonetheless immensely enjoying the prisoner’s sock-sucking humiliation, bent down to pull up her own socks inside her black, flat-heeled ankle boots as the trio of tormentors moved away, kissing and hugging each other.

Slave Ernesto now saw from the corner of his eye that miss Shariya, like mistress Eva, was wearing black socks as she tugged on the elasticated tops. So she had changed her socks since the last time they had met! He would be prepared to wager, however, that they were nevertheless still moist and sweaty inside her heavy police boots.

Miss Shariya, it seemed, was keen to give him the opportunity to find out:

‘You can suck my socks too later on if you like, slave…innit?’ she whispered into his ear enticingly.

Slave Ernesto noticed not for the first time that she had mildly bad breath. But before he had the chance to confirm that he would indeed be honoured to suck the sweat out of miss Shariya’s stinky, black socks his next tormentors approached the pillory, causing the latter to suddenly stand to attention and salute.

Part 5 – The Laughing Stock (ii)

The reason why WPC Shariya was standing to attention and saluting was that one of the two ladies now approaching the slave in the stocks was the honourable Lady Judge Priscilla – the very lady judge who had sentenced slave Ernesto, as evidenced by the placard on the wall behind him.

40 year old Justice Priscilla was accompanied by her 23 year old niece, Abigail, whom she was escorting to the shops to buy a smart dress for her up and coming graduation ceremony. Abigail had just graduated in Media Studies and had a bright career ahead of her in film and television. Lady Justice Priscilla was very proud of her niece!

As the two black women approached the pillory slave Ernesto recognised the dulcet tones of the all-powerful woman who had passed sentence on him. It sent a shiver down his confined spine:

‘Good morning, Shariya. How are you?’

‘Fine, thank you, Ma’am!’ replied the young, asian policewoman.

There was a lot of mutual respect between the black, female Judge and the young, asian policewoman. Both, in their own way, had fought hard to achieve their respective positions of power over men, and both very much enjoyed that position.

‘Allow me to introduce you to my niece, Abigail,’ continued the Lady Judge.

‘Pleased to meet you, miss’ responded WPC Shariya politely. She was, after all, addressing her boss’s niece, even if she wasn’t much older than the WPC herself!

‘Likewise,’ responded miss Abigail, keen to behave equally politely in front of her aunt, although she actually hated cops!

‘And how is the dirty criminal faring today?’ asked Lady Judge Priscilla.

Slave Ernesto, mistakenly, thought the good Lady Judge was addressing him, and was about to respond when mistress Shariya answered for him:

‘I think he’s already starting to ache even though he’s only been in the stocks for some 30 minutes or so, Madam!’

She was right. Now that she mentioned it, slave Ernesto was beginning to feel an unpleasant and persistent dull ache in his neck and shoulders, caused by the enforced confinement of his bent neck in the stocks. To make matters worse his knees, which he was equally unable to move, were starting to ache also.

He remembered the kindly words of advice from miss Penelope earlier that morning: ‘You really must try to concentrate on all the ladies’ boots and shoes – I’m sure that’s the only way you’ll be able to take your mind off the pain!’

He therefore concentrated on the feet and footwear of the two black women now standing directly in front of him as he knelt in the pillory.

Lady Justice Priscilla was wearing a black, knee length skirt, dark, nylon tights, and a pair of very smart, black patent leather, high-heeled, knee-length boots. She looked like she could be dressed to go into Court even though it was evidently her day off!

Her niece was wearing purple, corduroy jeans with matching purple, suede, low-heeled pumps, and black socks.

Slave Ernesto found himself wishing that the two black ladies would move even closer to him so that he could study their footwear close up, and it was the lady Judge Priscilla who obliged first. She stepped forward and stretched out her right, booted foot until it was directly under the kneeling criminal’s nose:

‘Kiss the top of my boot, you dirty piece of no-good, criminal filth!’ ordered the good Lady Judge.

It was the kind of intemperate and injudicious language she would not be able to get away with in court, but that was precisely why she felt able to express herself freely now – today she was just another civilian woman teasing and tormenting a dirty, convicted felon in the stocks.

The ‘no-good, criminal filth’ Ernesto at first wondered why the good Lady Judge had specifically ordered him to kiss the top of her boot, as opposed to the, presumably dirtier, bottom part of her boot – the inevitably dust and mud marked toe of the boot, for example, which was the part most likely to be covered in street dirt. But as he now strained his neck up as far as he could to place a respectful kiss just below the knee-high rim of Justice Lady Priscilla’s black, patent leather, spike-heeled boot he soon realised her motivation.

Pain suddenly shot down the muscles of his neck and shoulders, causing him to audibly grimace.

‘Ha! Ha! Did you hear that, Abigail?’ shouted the good Lady Judge gleefully. Can you see how the muscles in his neck are going into spasm with the pain?’

‘Ha! Ha! Yes aunt Priscilla, I can see it!’ replied the younger black woman, who was still standing a few feet away.

‘Come and feel his neck muscles, Abigail. You should be able to feel the criminal’s muscles dancing with pain under his skin!’

Miss Abigail, it seemed, needed no further encouragement as, through a haze of pain, slave Ernesto saw the younger black woman’s purple, suede pumps and black socks coming towards him and standing beside her aunt’s outstretched, knee-length, black leather boot. He then felt the young woman’s soft but cold, feminine fingers touching the warm, throbbing muscles in his neck and shoulders. She seemed to be pressing down on the muscles, making the pain even worse:

‘Ha! Ha! You’re right, aunt Priscilla, I can feel his neck muscles twisting and contorting under his skin. His neck feels really hot and warm!’

‘Ha! Ha! That’s because I’m making him strain up his neck to kiss the top of my boot. It causes prisoners in the stocks absolute agony!’

‘Ha! Ha! Oh you are so clever, aunt Priscilla!’ exclaimed miss Abigail flatteringly (well, her aunt was about to splash out on a new dress for her. Best to keep her sweet!)

Mercifully, the good Lady Judge withdrew her boot from slave Ernesto’s face and did not replace it with her left boot. Instead she stepped away from the stocks and ordered the slave to kiss her niece’s feet:

‘Slave, kiss miss Abigail’s feet, and thank her for feeling the agony in your neck muscles!’

The young woman happily stretched out her right foot directly under slave Ernesto’s nose. For his part, the latter was feeling nothing but a sense of relief as he was able to lower his face to just above ground level once again. He now had a truly close-up view of the young, black woman’s pretty purple shoe. He noticed that the purple suede leather had tiny bits of white fluff, and even a hair, stuck to it, and there were one or two areas around the toe that evidenced traces of ground-in street dirt. They must be difficult shoes to keep clean, he thought to himself – suede leather can’t exactly be polished! Only brushed.

He could smell the suede leather as he lowered his lips to touch the dirty toe of the young black woman’s purple, low-heeled, pump-style shoe.

He then lifted his lips off the shoe and remembered to thank the young woman for feeling his torment:

‘Oh pray, miss Abigail, this dirty slave thanks you and blesses you for feeling the pain in his very sore neck muscles, if it pleases you, mistress Abigail.’

‘Kiss my sock as well!’ she barked back with a tone of youthful arrogance as she pulled up the thick hem of her purple corduroy jean-leg in order to afford him a better view of her black, cotton ankle sock.

Lady Justice Priscilla smiled. She was really extremely proud of her 23 year old niece – and not just because of her successful graduation in media studies, but, even more importantly, because she was turning into a proper little slave-tormentress.

As slave Ernesto obediently lowered his lips to the girl’s sock he noticed how little pieces of white fluff had seemingly attached themselves to her sock also. He wondered whether they were perhaps little pieces of white sock-lint from another pair of her socks? Whatever, he lowered his lips to touch a piece of white fluff in the very centre of her black-socked foot. He could also feel a crease in the black girl’s black sock under his lips as he kissed it.

Unlike her aunt, miss Abigail wanted her left foot kissed as well, and so he was obliged to repeat the process with her outstretched left foot – first kissing her purple, suede leather pump, then her slightly creased, black, cotton ankle sock.

You may wonder why I have described such a simple, humble act as kissing a young black woman’s shoes and socks in such detailed terms. But, like slave Ernesto, you have probably now forgotten about the pain in his neck and shoulders. Miss Penelope’s advice was correct – ‘concentrate on all the ladies’ boots and shoes… that’s the only way you’ll be able to take your mind off the pain!’

‘Ha! Ha! I think he likes kissing my socks, aunt Priscilla! I think they feel nice and soft under his parched lips!’ exclaimed miss Abigail.

58 year old slave Ernesto thought she was a very perceptive young woman. His lips were indeed parched - not so much from thirst, but from fear. He had never felt so vulnerable in all his life. Everyone – even a young, 23 year old girl – seems to tower above you in a position of absolute power when you are on your knees and confined in the stocks!

‘Ha! Ha! Well, dear, let’s see how he likes it when you sit on his neck! You sit down on the cross bar and wrap your legs around his face while I take a picture on my cell-phone!’

Slave Ernesto gulped. This was precisely the position he had earlier imagined the sweet and gentle miss Penelope being in – sitting on top of him whilst he knelt in the stocks. But instead of 19 year old miss Penelope’s soft, black and grey stripy kneesocks enveloping his cheeks, it would be the rough, ribbed, purple corduroy trousers of 23 year old miss Abigail.

Oh well! Beggars and convicted criminals can’t be choosers!

A soon as miss Abigail plonked herself down on the thick, wooden crossbar above his neck he felt another surge of almost indescribable pain coursing through his neck and shoulders and down his spine. She wasn’t a heavy girl by any means – she was of quite average build. But the extra weight was truly unbearable.

He once again let out an involuntary grimace of pain, to the great amusement of both the good Lady Judge and her niece – not to mention WPC Shariya, who was still standing dutifully to one side of the stocks – her black, leather police boots always visible from the corner of slave Ernesto’s eye.

Miss Abigail exacerbated his pain by shuffling around in order to make herself more comfortable as she sat on the heavy, wooden crossbar of the low pillory. She then wrapped her legs around his face, crossing her feet directly below his kneeling nose – giving him another close-up view of her white-fluff marked, slightly creased, black cotton ankle socks inside her dirt-stained, purple, suede leather pumps.

She swung her legs back and forward slightly causing the muscles in slave Ernesto’s neck to strain even more as she did so, though, if truth be told she wasn’t deliberately causing him extra pain this time. She was just happy to be having her picture taken as she sat in a position of power over the convicted male criminal in the stocks.

For his part slave Ernesto accepted his place was under the superior young woman. He accepted that she was his superior in every sense – not just his physical and sexual superior, as he was an inferior old, male and she was a superior, young female – but also his moral superior, as he was a dirty, convicted male pervert and she was the niece of the good Lady Judge who had had the pleasure of sentencing him.

Little did slave Ernesto know that miss Abigail had, in fact, broken the Law on even more occasions than he had. She already had convictions for shoplifting; being drunk and disorderly; and aggravated bodily harm. But, unlike slave Ernesto, she had never been, and would never be, punished for her crimes. Like all women in this particular society she could, as far as the Law (and even her aunt) was concerned, quite literally, do no wrong – in the sense that whenever she was convicted of a crime an anonymous male slave was simply punished in her stead.

It was a system of ‘whipping-boys’ if you like, and miss Abigail was, like all women, quite literally, above the Law, just as she was now, quite literally, above slave Ernesto.

‘Smile!’ ordered the Lady Judge Priscilla.

Slave Ernesto assumed she was talking to her niece.

Having photographed him with his face trapped between her smiling niece’s calves, the Lady Judge, her Worshipfulness Lady Justice Priscilla, decided to slave Ernesto’s immense relief that it was time for her and her niece to hit the shops. The sense of relief he felt in his aching neck muscles when miss Abigail climbed off the heavy, wooden crossbar was quite overwhelming.

As soon as the two black women had gone miss Shariya crouched down to congratulate the slave on his good fortune:

‘Ha! Ha! You’re a lucky slave, innit? Gettin’ to kiss the shoes and socks of Lady Judge Priscilla’s niece! You’re not worthy, innit?’

Slave Ernesto had to agree with the young, asian police officer:

‘Yes mistress Shariya. Thank you mistress Shariya.’

If he was in a position of good fortune, then his cup was about to ‘runneth over’, for the next pair of boots to approach his pillory were the unmistakeable black, patent leather, pointy-toed, high-heeled ankle boots of mistress Arrabella under her frayed, blue denim jeans.

Slave Ernesto recognised her voice instantly:

‘Hi, Shariya! Gozia said you’d be here!’

‘Good morning, miss!’ replied the always polite and professional, demurely headscarfed, asian police woman.

‘This is my boyfriend, Peter!’ continued mistress Arrabella.

Slave Ernesto now realised that the young man who had ‘picked up’ miss Arrabella in the pub the previous evening was accompanying her.

Boyfriend! Boyfriend! He somehow doubted it would last! But then, it was really none of his business what the two, free, young adults got up to. He assumed miss Arrabella was skiving off work to be with her new man.

‘Good morning, sir!’ said WPC Shariya.

Again slave Ernesto flinched somewhat in his stocks. How his social status was now so different from that of the still unconvicted, free man he had been just a week ago! However, now that he had been sentenced to 5 years’ community servitude, no woman would be calling him ‘sir’ for the foreseeable future. Just ‘slave’ or ‘dirty slave’!

‘Ha! Ha! Just look at him, Peter! Look at the strain on his ugly face. He looks like he’s in agony! Ha! Ha!’ exulted miss Arrabella, clearly referring to slave Ernesto.

‘Ha! Ha! Yeah, make him kiss your boots, honey. I want to see him swallowing the toe of your pointy boot!’

Arrabella kissed Peter on the lips before stepping forward. She loved him!

The next thing slave Ernesto felt was his lips being prised open by the sharp, pointy toe of miss Arrabella’s black, leather ankle boot as it penetrated his mouth. As she did so she pulled up the hem of her blue denim jean leg to expose the scrunched-up top of her navy blue bootsock. Slave Ernesto wished it was the soft, feminine sock inside his mouth rather than the harsh, pointy toe of the leather boot, which he feared may damage the roof of his mouth.

That, however, appeared to be precisely what master Peter wanted:

‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, darling, go on! Push the toe of your spiky boot all the way into his mouth. Make him gag on it! Ha! Ha!’

Fortunately for slave Ernesto the toe of the boot wasn’t long enough to cause him to gag. But it was still a deeply unpleasant experience, particularly as he felt a globule of female boot-mud slithering down his slave throat.

‘Ha! Ha! I can’t get it in any further!’ exclaimed mistress Arrabella. ‘His mouth just isn’t big enough!’

‘Ha! Ha! Maybe you should break open his jaw!’ joked master Peter.

At least, slave Ernesto hoped the young man was joking.

Mercifully, miss Arrabella withdrew the pointy-toe of her boot from slave Ernesto’s mouth without doing too much damage:

‘Well, at least he’s given the toe of my boot a nice shine!’ remarked miss Arrabella. ‘Just look at it compared to the other one!’

And with that she stood with her two booted feet side by side so that everyone, including slave Ernesto, could see the difference in the shine on the boot that had recently been deep inside his mouth.

Slave Ernesto, not unnaturally, assumed that his young mistress would want her left boot to be similarly mouth-shined, but he assumed wrongly! Miss Arrabella wasn’t in the least bit concerned about the state of her boots. She had wanted merely to torment slave Ernesto – not to have her boots shined. That was just a side effect.

Besides, she and her boyfriend Peter were in a hurry to get back to his flat for some more, passionate love-making:

‘I’m afraid we have to go, Shariya, but make sure he does a good job on all the other ladies’ boots and shoes, won’t you?’

‘No problem, miss,’ replied miss Shariya, saluting the young, civilian, female citizen and her boyfriend as they walked off hand in hand.

Slave Ernesto, needless to say, wasn’t going anywhere – not for another 7 hours or so! As he watched miss Arrabella happily strolling off with her newly polished boot it dawned on him that whilst she, and all the other free men and women around him, were at liberty to go where they liked and do what they liked, he was confined in his pillory-prison until such time as his female probation officer, mistress Gozia, decided he should be released. And until that time he would also be at the mercy of every passing female.

That thought did worry him for, even at such an early stage of his 5 year sentence, he was quickly coming to realise that the quality of feminine mercy was, rather like the muscles in his aching neck, strained.

And so, for the rest of the day he kissed feminine shoes, licked feminine boots and sniffed feminine socks, tights, stockings and bare feet. The whole, vast array of female feet and footwear seemed to pass before his eyes – feet and footwear in various conditions; some clean; some dirty; some smelly; some smooth; some rough.

And, of course, as a slave confined in the stocks, he had no choice as to which type of female feet he serviced. Be they the slender, shapely ankles of a young woman in her twenties, or the fat, podgy ankles of a perhaps more mature woman in her forties – he had to pay his respects to them all. For he had effectively been reduced to the role of a public footslave for the day. How glad he was that he hadn’t been sentenced to life as a public footslave! He appreciated now that those guys really did have it hard!

The only other ‘highlight’ of his miserable day in the stocks came late in the afternoon when two hispanic women in their early thirties, both laden down with shopping bags, approached his pillory. One was wearing black, patent leather, court shoes with two-inch heels on dark, nylon, finest-denier stockings under a knee-length, black skirt. The other was wearing black trousers and a pair of pink, cotton socks inside black, soft leather, ballet flats.

Slave Ernesto didn’t recognise the first hispanic woman until she was standing directly in front of him in her patent, leather heels and spoke to him:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave like view from wooden window?’

It was miss Marguerita , the Tahani family maid. He hadn’t seen a lot of her since he had been sent to live with Madam Tahani and her two daughters as their slave, but then miss Marguerita wasn’t a ‘live-in’ maid and only worked for the family part-time. Slave Ernesto’s first thought was how nice it was to see a ‘friendly’ pair of feet. Surely his ‘fellow-servant’ would have some degree of sympathy for him in his predicament?

Be that as it may, she was still his social superior, and must be responded to with the respect she deserves:

‘Oh pray, miss Marguerita, if it pleases you, miss Marguerita, this slave is indeed honoured to be able to view the pretty, feminine feet and footwear of all the superior women who stop in order to have him pay homage to their superior feet, if it so pleases you, mistress Marguerita.’

‘Ha! Ha! Slave kiss my feet then!’ she ordered, stretching forward her right foot until it wobbled in its high heel directly under his nose. He noticed how the fine nylon material in her stocking momentarily creased around her inner ankle bone as her foot wobbled.

‘Yes mistress. At once mistress.’

He lowered his lips to the shiny toe of her patent, black leather shoe and witnessed how his slave breath temporarily turned the toe of her shoe misty just before his lips touched the leather. Miss Marguerita then replaced her right foot with her left for him to repeat the slavish gesture.

She then made way for her companion:

‘This miss Consuela – my friend. Consuela work as cleaner in office. Slave kiss miss Consuela feet. Pay respects!’

The giggling, office cleaning-lady of latina origins then shoved her pink-socked, black ballet-shoed foot directly under slave Ernesto’s nose for him to kiss. As he had previously done with miss Abigail, the Lady Judge’s niece, he initially kissed the toe of the young cleaning-woman’s soft, leather shoe, rather than her sock. A slave must never presume to kiss a lady’s sock without her express permission!

And miss Consuela, it seemed, didn’t want her pink sock to be kissed. For no sooner had he kissed the top of her black, leather ballet flat than she withdrew her foot laughing hysterically. She clearly wasn’t used to having her feet kissed by a man.

Somewhat exasperated at her friend’s undignified behaviour, miss Marguerita decided to demonstrate to her innocent and naïve fellow-worker just how far a lady could go with a footslave – even in public:

‘Ha! Ha! Marguerita feet tired. Marguerita on feet all day. Feet sweaty; stinky. Marguerita want slave massage stockinged feet with face!’

Miss Shariya wasted no time in bringing over a chair for miss Marguerita, the hard-working, hard-shopping, maid to sit on directly in front of the pillory. The latter then kicked off her black, leather, high-heeled pumps and stretched out her right, nyloned foot in order to rub it all over the kneeling and imprisoned slave Ernesto’s face.

The dark nylon had a black, reinforced sole, heel and toe area. Slave Ernesto quickly realised that miss Marguerita must indeed have been on her feet all day – for her nyloned foot was really dreadfully hot and sweaty. He could feel the sweat rubbing off her nylon stocking and onto his face, and his nostrils were suddenly assailed by the unpleasant, but increasingly familiar, aroma of female footsweat.

He heard both miss Shariya and miss Consuela laugh at him as miss Marguerita vigorously rubbed the nylon-stockinged soles of first her right foot, and then her left foot, all over his slave nose and face. To his horror, slave Ernesto noticed that the reinforced, black nylon on the sole of her left foot had the beginnings of a small ladder in it. It horrified him because it ‘reinforced’ the message that these were no new pair of stockings freshly on, but had been worn by the maid many times before. How humiliating! How degrading! Having a superior maidservant rubbing the sweat from the soles of her well-worn nylons onto your inferior slave face! No wonder the various women passing by joined Miss Shariya and miss Consuela in their laughter. The convicted criminal, slave Ernesto, truly was a laughing stock!

Sadly, he never did get to suck on miss Shariya’s black bootsocks inside her police boots, as she had so kindly offered him to do earlier in the day, for when his probation officer mistress Gozia arrived back at 6:00 PM to release him from the stocks he was driven in the prison van straight back to the Tahani family home.

Later that evening, as he lay in his boxroom cell, ruminating on the events of the day, the delightfully sweet 19 year old miss Penelope came in to see him. He immediately adopted the kneeling position, head dutifully bowed, even though such a position now caused his neck to ache terribly following its long hours of confinement in the stocks.

‘Poor Ernesto! How are you feeling? Was it truly horrible in the stocks? Was my sister beastly towards you?’

Miss Penelope was still wearing the same calf-length, floral dress and knee-length, stripy, black and grey socks inside soft, suede, beige ankle boots that she had been wearing that morning. How he longed for her to wrap her socked legs around his neck! He was sure that would help to relieve the throbbing muscles in his neck. Bravely he decided to ask miss Penelope to do just that!

‘Oh miss Penelope, if it pleases you miss Penelope, please will you help to ease the tension in my sore neck and shoulders by wrapping your socked legs around my neck?’

Whack!

Miss Penelope gave him a stinging slap across his right cheek that sent him flying to the ground, the wooden slave-collar landing hard on the floor and causing the muscles in his neck to spasm even more painfully.

Slave Ernesto hadn’t been expecting that!

‘How dare you speak to me like that, slave!’ she barked. ‘Really, I do sometimes think that you are seeking to take advantage of my kind nature. I’ll bet you wouldn’t talk to my sister or mother like that! Asking me to ease your pain, indeed! Just who do you think I am? Your friend?’

Slave Ernesto immediately realised the justness of miss Penelope’s wrath! How dare he talk to a mistress like that! Such disrespect for his better! He was truly contrite:

‘Oh pray, mistress Penelope, please forgive me, mistress Penelope, please forgive this dirty, slave for his rudeness and downright arrogance!’ and with that he picked himself up off the floor, resumed his kneeling position and began showering miss Penelope’s soft, beige ankle boots with humble and respectful kisses, as he should have done the very moment she had deigned to enter his room.

Amongst the many valuable lessons he had learnt that day, slave Ernesto had just learnt another one: never presume to know the mind of a superior mistress!

Part 6 – Penelope’s New Harsh Regime

The following morning things were still tense. There was a definite ‘atmosphere’ around the breakfast table. As slave Ernesto knelt at miss Penelope’s bare feet under the kitchen table whilst she breakfasted she was unusually quiet. She was clearly still upset at his impertinence the day before, and slave Ernesto had a lot of grovelling and fawning to do in order to get back into the charming miss Penelope’s good books.

His only consolation was that today it was Penelope’s turn to have him as her personal slave the entire day—so he would have plenty of opportunity to make amends.

After she had breakfasted slave Ernesto was ordered to follow her on his hands and knees upstairs to her bedroom where she selected her footwear for the day. Miss Penelope kindly explained to the kneeling slave at her feet the reason for her choice of footwear:

‘You’re going to accompany me to my riding club today, slave, so I want you to fetch my brown leather riding boots and argyle-patterned, woollen kneesocks. Crawl over to the wardrobe and then bring them back and put them on my feet.’

It was an unusually abrupt and curt order from the normally loquacious miss Penelope. Slave Ernesto obeyed immediately, but as he was humbly rolling the first, thick woollen, patterned knee-sock up mistress Penelope’s outstretched right leg as she sat on the edge of her bed in her calf-length, black riding breeches, slave Ernesto felt that he had to just break the ice by apologising once more to his charming, 19 year-old mistress for his outrageous presumption the evening before:

‘Oh pray, mistress Penelope, please forgive this dirty slave for his insolence and arrogance yesterday evening in asking you to help relieve his pain. This slave is truly sorry for his presumption and will endeavour to serve you as your humble footslave throughout this coming day, if it so pleases you superior, all-powerful and most merciful mistress Penelope.’

His sycophantic obsequiousness seemed to work:

‘That’s okay, slave Ernesto, I forgive you. But you really must learn to show me proper respect as your mistress. Always remember that I have total power over you, and that I am your owner – not your friend. You really must be at your most humble today in front of my girlfriends at the riding club. I will not tolerate you being disobedient or disrespectful either towards me or my friends. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes mistress Penelope, I obey you mistress Penelope. You are my master.’

Miss Penelope chuckled:

‘Ha! Ha! Very well then, slave, you may kiss the toe of your female master’s sock!’

Slave Ernesto was only too happy to kiss the grey toe of miss Penelope’s argyle-patterned, woollen knee-sock. His ‘relationship’ with the charming miss Penelope was back on course.

Or so he thought.

He carefully ensured the argyle-patterned knee socks were neatly covering the lower ends of miss Penelope’s black, calf-length, riding breeches, so that when he pulled her knee-length, brown leather riding boots onto her socked feet the patterned tops of the woollen kneesocks were just visible. Her white, frilly blouse, black riding helmet and black leather riding crop completed the outfit, and the bespectacled, frizzy-haired miss Penelope looked every bit the consummate and dominant young riding-mistress that she was.

Miss Penelope could not yet drive (although she was taking lessons) and so her mother gave her a lift to the Riding Club. Slave Ernesto was permitted to lie on the floor in the back of the car underneath miss Penelope’s riding-booted feet. As her boots were resting on his upturned face he could see little streaks of dried-on mud in the treads of the bootsoles. He resolved that he would lick out that dry dirt later that evening when he would doubtless also be tasked with tongue-cleaning the upper parts of miss Penelope’s dirty riding boots.

As soon as her mother had dropped her off outside the riding club stables, miss Penelope and her boot-slave were approached by a young, blonde woman who was wearing blue denim, heavily-frayed jeans and the filthiest pair of mud stained, white sneakers that slave Ernesto had yet seen. She looked a few years older than miss Penelope – perhaps in her mid twenties.

‘Hi, Penelope!’ exclaimed the young woman in the sneakers.

‘Hi, Gabrielle!’ responded Ernesto’s charming, young mistress.

‘This must be the fool you were telling me about on the phone? The dirty prisoner-pervert?’ enquired the young blonde.

‘Yes! His name is slave Ernesto. Slave, kiss miss Gabrielle’s sneakers. She is the stable hand here at the club, and you will show her proper respect, is that clear?’ asked miss Penelope, authoritatively.

‘Yes, mistress. At once, mistress!’

Slave Ernesto, anxious as he was to remain in miss Penelope’s newly rediscovered good books, and mindful of her earlier admonition, didn’t hesitate to crawl over to the now outstretched right sneakered-foot of the stable girl, and to lower his lips to the toe of the truly filthy, grey-rather-than-white, mud encrusted, well-worn sneaker.

The stable girl was wearing black track suit bottoms with a red stripe down the sides. The track-suit bottoms also had a small, black strap at the end of each leg which should have gone underneath the young woman’s socked feet inside her sneakers, keeping them relatively neat and tidy, but instead the young woman had left the straps dangling on top of her sneakers. Her socks were, like her sneakers, nominally white, but slave Ernesto could now see as he placed a respectful kiss on the dirty toe of the right sneaker that the side of her white ankle sock was also smeared in mud. This young woman was clearly none too fastidious about the cleanliness of her footwear. Then again, working in a stable, how could she hope to keep her feet and footwear clean?

She appeared to giggle as she felt slave Ernesto’s lips on her sneaker toe:

‘Ha! Ha! What a loser! Does the fool have to kiss your shoes and socks all the time, Penelope?’ asked the stable girl as she replaced her right foot with her left directly under slave Ernesto’s nose.

‘Ha! Ha! Yes – and my mother’s and sister’s’ replied miss Penelope, gleefully. ‘In fact, we made him spend all day in the stocks yesterday in the central shopping mall – kissing and licking ladies’ boots, shoes and socks!’

As he kissed the equally filthy toe of miss Gabrielle’s left sneaker, slave Ernesto thought he detected a certain edge in miss Penelope’s tone that hadn’t been there before yesterday. ‘We made him…’ she had said. Was that strictly speaking true? Had not miss Penelope expressed her disquiet at slave Ernesto having to spend the whole day in the stocks yesterday? Yet now she apparently found it funny! He hoped she was just wishing to appear tough in front of the slightly more mature stable hand.

‘Ha! Ha! I wish I’d been there to see that!’ exclaimed miss Gabrielle. ‘Gosh, Penelope, you’re so lucky having your very own prisoner-slave. If he was mine I’d make him kiss and lick my sneakers and socks continuously throughout the day. I’d make sure that every last morsel of dirt and muck from my shoes and every yellowy sweat stain on my nice, white socks went into his mouth and down his throat. His ugly mouth would taste of nothing but my sneaker-muck and sock-sweat by the end of the day!’

‘Ha! Ha! You can make him lick your socks if you wish, Gabrielle. Just pull up the hem of your tracksuit bottoms and order him to lick clean the side of your dirty sock!’ suggested miss Penelope, bending her black, leather riding crop between her slender hands.

Again slave Ernesto was struck by the change in miss Penelope’s tone and attitude. What worried him was he didn’t know whether this was just a show of bravado on her part in front of her friend, or whether she was still, in actual fact, angry with him. Or was she just getting used to having a middle-aged, male slave to boss around? Was she developing a taste for domination and humiliation?

Yes, for slave Ernesto these were worrying times.

Miss Gabrielle, it seemed, was keen to take miss Penelope up on her offer. She duly pulled up the hem of her still outstretched left trouser leg and barked her order at slave Ernesto:

‘You, the slave, lick the side of my white, cotton ankle sock! Make sure you lick off all the dirt and sweat from the side of my sock!’

Although the black strap on the hem of the tracksuit bottom was now hanging down around miss Gabriele’s ankle bone, and was somewhat in the way, slave Ernesto could nevertheless see a muddy stain on the side of the blonde, stable girl’s white, cotton ankle sock that was just crying out to be licked off by a humble footslave. He was already becoming conditioned to his new life as a young women’s foot and sock slave, and found himself actually wanting to lick clean the female stable hand’s white sock for her:

‘Yes, mistress Gabrielle. At once, mistress Gabrielle!’

And so miss Gabrielle enjoyed the pleasant, if slightly ticklish, sensation of slave Ernesto’s tongue licking the side of her socked ankle-bone as he desperately tried to remove the offending mud from the superior, female sock onto his inferior male tongue. He was, unfortunately, having only limited success. Indeed his slave saliva appeared, if anything, to be making the mud stain worse – smudging and spreading it.

It wasn’t really his fault. He was only doing what he had been told. But miss Gabrielle it seemed, did not see it that way!

‘Just what do you think you’re doing slave! You’re making it worse!’ she spat at him, suddenly withdrawing her foot from under his mouth.

Miss Penelope appeared to be mortified:

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Gabrielle! Slave – apologise to miss Gabriele at once!’ she snapped.

Slave Ernesto realised that miss Penelope could actually sound quite scary when she was genuinely upset or annoyed. As miss Gabrielle was inspecting the now wet, muddy stain on the side of her white ankle sock slave Ernesto offered his apologies for carrying out her orders:

‘Oh pray, mistress Gabrielle, if it pleases you mistress Gabrielle, please forgive this dirty, useless slave for making the dirty stain on your superior, white ankle sock even worse, mistress. Please have sweet, feminine mercy on me, mistress Gabrielle!’

‘Mercy? Ha! Ha! I don’t think so! Any slave who dirties my socks is going to get whipped, isn’t that right Penelope?’ proposed miss Gabrielle.

Miss Penelope seemed to hesitate for a second:

‘Erm…yes…I…I suppose so,’ she replied.

‘Ha! Ha! God, Penelope, don’t be such a wimp! Honestly, you sound like you couldn’t dominate a packet of chocolate-chip cookies! Who is the master and who is the slave? You have to abuse power whenever you have it – otherwise you’ll lose it! Now - this useless slave has deliberately dirtied the side of my nice, clean, white sock with his mouth, and I want you, his master, to punish him for me. I want you to whip him, Penelope! Use your riding crop! Beat him for me! Beat him hard! Go on, it’s your perfect right to do so! He’s your slave!’

Miss Gabrielle was clearly getting more and more excitable. She was, in point of fact, quite breathless with excitement. Unfortunately for slave Ernesto her enthusiasm for the hapless slave to receive a whipping appeared to be infectious:

‘Yes! Yes! You’re right, Gabrielle. I am his mistress, and I will have his respect and obedience. I will have him fear me! My God, I shall punish him. I shall whip him!’ declared the normally mild-mannered miss Penelope. ‘Slave, come over here and kneel with your back towards me. You’re my slave, you’ve embarrassed me in front of my friend Gabrielle with your total ineptitude, and as a result I’m going to whip you! I’m going to whip you hard!’

Slave Ernesto gulped. The black, leather riding crop in the bespectacled miss Penelope’s soft hands may not be the most lethal-looking of whips, and she may not have the strongest of arm muscles, but his back was bare, and any strokes at all across his bare back from the riding crop would be sure to sting. Besides, miss Penelope seemed genuinely angry.

He therefore quickly assumed the requested punishment position. He had no choice.

Miss Gabrielle kindly moved forward a few paces so that as he was kneeling with his back to miss Penelope, he had a clearer view of the former’s dirty, white sneakers and socks, including the offending stain on the outer side of her left ankle sock, as miss Penelope delivered the first, stinging blow with her leather riding crop across his bare back.

He had expected no more than about three punishing strokes. Egged on by miss Gabrielle, however, miss Penelope gave him twenty. He cried out with each stroke. It was his first real flogging as a convicted slave - the first instalment of the ‘occasional corporal punishment’ element of his 5 year sentence had well and truly been delivered. And who would have believed that it would be the kind and gentle miss Penelope who would be the one to deliver it?

The slave-whipping had attracted several other curious young women to come over. They too, like miss Gabrielle, had been urging miss Penelope on throughout the public punishment with cries of:

‘Harder! That’s right, Penelope! Give him what for! Beat him! Thrash him!’

One female observer in particular appeared to relish the scene. She was dressed, like Penelope, in her riding gear, except that her riding breeches were light brown in colour and tucked into the tops of a pair of muddy, black, rubber Wellington boots. It transpired that her name was Mary, for after the flogging had finished she got into a conversation with Penelope:

‘Wow, Penelope, that was awesome! Just look at the stripes on your slave’s bare back! Where did you learn to whip like that?’

If it was flattery, it worked. Penelope beamed with pride at her handiwork as she looked down herself on her kneeling slave’s freshly whipped back:

‘Oh, thanks Mary! I suppose it must just come naturally to me,’ she gasped, still somewhat breathless both from her physical exertion and the excitement of seeing slave Ernesto suffering under the power of her riding whip. She looked at the criss-crossed stripes on slave Ernesto’s back and thought ‘I did that!’ She was almost surprised at herself, at her own power, and yet the feeling she now had about herself was the best feeling she could ever recall! She – the all powerful mistress Penelope, had whipped her lowly slave in public!

Slave Ernesto, for his part, was surprised – surprised at just how much each cut of the riding crop had really stung; surprised at how many strokes he had received; surprised at the apparent jubilation of miss Penelope! He did what came naturally to a whipped slave, and blubbered repeated respectful kisses all over the dusty toes of his punisher’s brown, leather riding boots.

‘I’ll tell you what, Penelope,’ suggested mistress Mary in a mischievous tone as she observed the slave’s fear and gratitude, ‘now that you’ve given him a nice, new, stripy-red shirt to wear on his bare back why don’t you saddle him up and ride him like a horse. He can be your ponyboy! I’m sure he’d appreciate having you sitting on his sore back and riding him around the paddock! I’ll help you if you like!’

‘Oh yes, Penelope,’ interjected miss Gabrielle, encouragingly. ‘Being saddled up and ridden would be total agony for him after the whipping you’ve just given him! Let’s do it! I’ve got a spare saddle in the barn over there! It’s a really heavy one as well!’

Miss Penelope, it seemed still on a punishment high, didn’t need any further encouragement, and the three young women, with slave Ernesto on his hands and knees in tow, made their way over to the nearby barn.

It was miss Gabrielle the expert stable hand, who attached the saddle over slave Ernesto’s bare, freshly whipped, back and tied it under his stomach. She stood in front of him with her legs on either side of his face so that he had a nice view of the tops of her dirty, white sneakers as she did so. The offending mud-stain on the side of her left sock was now covered up by her tracksuit bottom again. It did strike slave Ernesto as somewhat ironic that the muddy, wet sockstain underneath the red-striped, black tracksuit bottoms appeared to have been forgotten even though it was responsible for the stinging, red stripes currently gracing his saddled back.

The additional pain caused by the saddle was as nothing, however, to the pain that coursed through him when miss Penelope sat herself down in the saddle. As has been noted elsewhere, miss Penelope was only of slight build – a mere ‘slip of a girl’ some might say. But to slave Ernesto’s tenderised back she seemed like a veritable giantess.

A metal bit was inserted roughly into his mouth and tied securely by miss Gabrielle, who then helped miss Penelope to place her increasingly muddy, brown leather, riding-booted feet into the stirrups that were dangling from the bit on either side of slave Ernesto’s face.

His wish of the previous day had, partially, come true – insofar as the delightful miss Penelope’s legs were now wrapped around his neck. But these were the harsher legs of a harsher miss Penelope. It wasn’t the soft black and grey striped kneesocks that she had been wearing yesterday, or even the thick, woollen argyle-patterned kneesocks that she was wearing today, that were rubbing his aching shoulders and the sides of his cheeks, but rather the coarse, brown leather of her muddy riding boots. He couldn’t even see her pretty, argyle-patterned kneesocks - just the leather creases in the flat-heeled, brown riding boots as they stretched out in front of him, dangling in the metal stirrups on either side of his slave nose.

Mistress Mary in her black, rubber wellies and light brown riding breeches then moved in front of slave Ernesto and picked up the slave chain attached to his heavy, wooden, slave neck-collar (now fulfilling the role of a ‘bridle’), whilst mistress Gabrielle took ownership of miss Penelope’s black, leather riding crop and moved to stand directly behind the pony-slave who was kneeling on all fours under the full weight of his female oppressor:

‘Ready when you are, Penelope!’ said the stable girl excitedly, and the next thing slave Ernesto felt was the creased leather on the sides of miss Penelope’s brown riding boots squeezing into his cheeks:

‘Giddy-up, slave!’ she shouted.

He then heard the now familiar swish of the riding crop, felt a sharp sting across his buttocks under his white, slave shorts, courtesy of the dirty-sneakered mistress Gabrielle, and felt the slave chain tighten and pull on his collar as the black-rubber booted miss Mary led him off behind her muddy-booted heels out of the barn and onto the dusty mud track of the paddock outside.

As the trio emerged from the barn a round of girlish cheering and applause broke out as other members of the female-only riding club appreciated the scene of the whipped footslave being forced to act as miss Penelope’s horse.

‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, Penelope, ride him! Dig your ankles into his temples. Make him neigh and whinny!’ shouted one young woman.

Slave Ernesto felt his impressionable young mistress do just that, and dutifully neighed in some discomfort through the bit in his mouth as his riding mistress increased the pressure on his temples with the sides of her brown, leather boots.

He was experiencing pain in his temples, pain in his shoulders, pain in his back, pain in his mouth, and pain under his hands and knees as miss Penelope’s weight pushed the skin on his bare hands and knees into the gravel and stones of the stable yard. Unlike the real horses, he hadn’t been shoed!

Miss Mary, however, had no such problems. Her delicate, feminine feet were adequately protected from the gravel inside her black, Wellington boots. Slave Ernesto felt compelled to stare at the lower heels of her black wellies as she walked along in front of him. They were, as you would expect, muddy and dirty, and he only wished the saliva that was now dripping from his mouth, caused by the uncomfortable pulling on the bit, would fall onto the backs of mistress Mary’s Wellington boots and clean them for her as she pulled him along. Although he was now a horse, he was still very much a footslave, and his slave-instincts were still to clean dirt off feminine boots and shoes.

He even wondered if miss Mary was wearing socks inside her rubber boots. There were no tell-tale signs of any socks, no elasticated top peeking out from the top of her boots over her light, brown riding breeches. But, it was a natural question for any down-at-heel footslave to ask himself. Is the mistress whose boots I am staring at wearing socks, and, if so, are they knee-length, thick woollen socks like my mistress Penelope’s? Are they patterned or plain socks? Are they sweaty or clean? At that moment he would have given anything to be allowed to pull off miss Mary’s black, knee-length, rubber Wellington boots and study her socks. Such pathetic thoughts preoccupied him as he crawled on his hands and knees behind the rubbery creases and folds in miss Mary’s muddy boots. They helped to take his mind off the continuous stinging blows he was receiving across his buttocks and the backs of his legs from the unseen mistress Gabrielle, and from the pain in his temples caused by miss Penelope repeatedly digging her brown-booted ankle bones into his forehead.

Later that evening, as he was kneeling at miss Penelope’s knee-socked feet under the dining room table, her sister, miss Arrabella, was curious to know about the stripes on slave Ernesto’s bare back:

‘God, Penelope, what happened to slave Ernesto? What did you do to him?’

‘Oh, I just flogged him with my riding crop for dirtying Gabrielle’s white, ankle sock with his slave mouth! It really was frightfully rude of him!’ declared miss Penelope proudly.

‘Ha! Ha! Well done, darling!’ exclaimed her mother, ‘I knew we’d make a proper slave-owner of you sooner or later!’

‘Yeah … about time too!’ added Arrabella. ‘Welcome aboard, sis!’

‘Thank you, Arrabella. I do feel much more confident now. I even got to saddle up Ernesto - sorry, slave Ernesto! – and ride him around the stables! Oh Arrabella, you should have seen it! All the girls were cheering me on and laughing at him!’

‘Huh! Glad you enjoyed it, sis!’ replied miss Arrabella, sounding a little jealous. ‘I suppose you’ll be wanting to keep him for the rest of the day, then?’

‘Oh yes!’ declared miss Penelope decisively. ‘He is mine for the whole day, isn’t he mother?’

‘Yes darling, that’s right, though I will be taking him to the salon all day tomorrow – so make the most of him this evening!’

‘Ha! Ha! I will, mother! I’m going to make him sniff my dirty socks all evening whilst I relax in front of the television. They were inside my riding boots practically all day and must be quite smelly by now!’ explained miss Penelope.

Slave Ernesto couldn’t help feeling this was a very different miss Penelope from the seemingly sensitive 19 year old girl he had been introduced to just a few days previously. That girl would, if anything, have been embarrassed at the thought of making him sniff her stinky socks, let alone by the thought of having to whip him or ride him like a horse! She had clearly been seduced by the thrill of absolute power over another, inferior, human being and had crossed the line – the line that turns a compassionate young woman into a passionate virago! And all within the space of just a few days!

Later that evening, as slave Ernesto knelt at the end of the sofa in the lounge sniffing the sweaty, moist, grey-coloured toe-ends of miss Penelope’s argyle-patterned, thick woollen kneesocks, she made it clear to him that she was now instituting a new, harsh regime:

‘I feel I have been too lenient with you hitherto, slave Ernesto. I have been negligent in my duty to properly punish and humiliate you under the law and in line with the sentence of the courts. This has confused you, and led to you getting ideas above your station. Well, I can assure you that all that is about to change!

We must neither of us forget that I am your better. From now on you will address me as ‘mistress Penelope’, not ‘miss Penelope’, and I shall address you as ‘dirty slave’, for that is all that you are – a dirty, common slave. Furthermore you will never raise your head above my knees and will look only at my feet whenever I am in your presence. You will kiss my feet every time I enter or leave the room, and, whenever we are in the presence of others, you will demonstrate your total submission to me, and my superiority over you, by kneeling by the side of my feet and keeping your nose pressed humbly against the outer ankle bone on my right foot at all times.

As you are supposed to be my ‘footslave’, you will also obsess yourself with my feet and footwear, and will study the very patterns in the stitching of my socks and tights whilst I am wearing them - if they can be seen. If they can not, you will instead concentrate on the tiny lines and creases in the very fabric of my boot or shoe. Whenever I am bare foot you will study carefully each and every sweat-excreting pore in my beautiful, soft feet.

I have come to realise over the last few days that my mother, my sister and my friends are right - you are nothing but a pathetic, dirty, low-life piece of criminal scum, not fit to be in the presence of superior women like me. You will therefore respect all women as you will respect me; you will kiss their feet and obey their every command as you will obey me. You will never speak unless you are spoken to, and when you address a mistress you will speak with humility and the utmost respect for your female better, whoever she may be. If you fail to live up to these standards you shall be whipped – as you were today, only harder, and with a proper slave-whip which I shall buy in the whip shop. Either that or you shall be caned by our maid, Marguerita. It will be entirely at my discretion as you are now my total slave and completely at my mercy. I promise you - you shall learn to fear me, and the power I have over you, or you shall suffer the consequences!

Now continue sniffing my socks whilst I watch television, dirty slave. Don’t stop until I tell you to, and make sure you smell the whole sock – not just the toe areas. I want to feel your nose running up and down the patterned stitching in my kneesocks and I want to hear you sniffing away all the sweaty aroma from my socks. After that you can lick all the muck and dirt off the soles and uppers of my brown, leather riding boots – and let’s see if you can do a better job of licking clean my boots than you did of licking clean mistress Gabrielle’s white, ankle sock! You useless, no-good, stupid fool of a dirty footslave!’

It was quite a speech – the speech of an articulate and now supremely confident, not to say arrogant, young mistress to her rightly despised and subdued pathetic footslave. It outlined eloquently miss Penelope’s – mistress Penelope’s - new, harsh regime. The erstwhile flibbertigibbet had been transformed into an eloquent and powerful slave-owning mistress whom slave Ernesto now did truly fear. For the first time she had tasted absolute power over another human being (albeit just a lowly convicted criminal) and she liked it!

As he nervously ran his slave nose along the latticed stitching down the front of mistress Penelope’s left, argyle-patterned kneesock, audibly sniffing in the smell of her thick, woollen sock, slave Ernesto actually found himself wishing that he could serve once again under the relatively benign regime of her fashion-model sister, mistress Arrabella!

But it was their glamorous and exotic 46 year-old mother, Moroccan-born Madam Tahani, who would be his salvation the following day, for he had been allocated to spend the next day serving her customers in the beauty salon which she owned and managed.

A respite of sorts from the abuse of power by young women - or would it just be a case of ‘out of the frying pan and into the fire?’

Part 7 – The Beauty Salon

So it was Madam Tahani’s day to have slave Ernesto at her beck and call.

He was lying on his belly under the passenger seat of Madam Tahani’s car staring dutifully, as befits a footslave, at her brown, shapely, bare feet inside her flat-heeled, black patent leather, court shoes as they pumped the pedals.

As he studied the delicate creases and folds in her light brown, North-African footflesh as she pressed down on the accelerator, it occurred to slave Ernesto that he still knew relatively little about Madam Tahani. He knew only what his kindly probation officer, mistress Gozia, had gleefully intimated to him.

Consequently he knew that Madam Tahani was Moroccan born; that she was 46 years old (and therefore 12 years his junior); that she had been married to a white Englishman of a similar age to himself, but was now divorced; that she had two beautiful mixed race daughters from her marriage – they being, of course, mistresses Arrabella (22) and Penelope (19); and that, perhaps because of her marital breakdown, she despised men like him who perhaps reminded her of her former husband. Even though slave Ernesto was Italian born, he was nevertheless a white, European, middle-aged, onetime arrogant male whom the Courts had decided needed taking down a peg or two – just what Madam Tahani would like to see happening to her ex-husband!

Perhaps that was why she had answered the advertisement from the Probation Service asking for a family in which to place a convicted male criminal for the purposes of community servitude – after all, it provided a golden opportunity for her to legally exact revenge on the male of the species for the wrong that had been done to her by her cheating husband.

And the ‘beauty’ of the arrangement with the Courts was that she could legally punish and humiliate him not only within the privacy of her opulent home, but also at her place of work – the city-centre beauty salon of which she was the owner-manageress, which was precisely where she was taking him now.

She ordered him to crawl behind her smart, white slacks and shiny, black, low-heeled court shoes as they entered through the front door of the salon. Slave Ernesto immediately established from his kneeling-cum-crawling position that there were two women already inside the salon.

One was young, a white girl, perhaps in her early to mid twenties, who was wearing white, tight-fitting trousers with black polka dots which came down to just below her knees; plain grey ankle socks that were fetchingly turned over at the cuffs; and shiny, red, high-heeled shoes with shiny black toes and thick, black stitching around the uppers. She was sweeping the floor with a broom.

The other woman was older – about Madam Tahani’s age, perhaps even a little older, and was wearing a calf-length, black skirt and white stilettos on her otherwise bare, brown feet. Like Madam Tahani she appeared North-African, judging by her skin tone. The fact that she then moved forward to kiss Madam Tahani on the cheek and greet her in Arabic confirmed to slave Ernesto that she must almost certainly be Moroccan also.

Slave Ernesto focussed on the backs of Madam Tahani’s low-heeled black courts under her white slacks as the conversation between the two middle-aged, Moroccan women switched to English. Two things immediately became apparent: that the other Moroccan woman was Madam Tahani’s sister; and that, unlike Madam Tahani herself, the sister spoke only limited English, and with a heavy Moroccan accent:

‘This - dirty criminal?’ the older Moroccan lady in the white stiletto heels was asking.

‘Ha! Ha! Yes, sister – this is the prisoner I was telling you about. We need to make him work hard today in the salon. It is all part of his community servitude.’

‘Ha! Ha! Tahani not worry! Fatima and Jessica make criminal work hard! Make dirty criminal sweat like slave!’ responded Madam Tahani’s sister. Slave Ernesto surmised that the sister’s name was, therefore, Fatima – and Jessica was presumably the beauty-salon assistant: the young woman in the red and black stilettos and grey socks who was currently sweeping the floor clean.

‘Ha! Ha! I certainly want his face to be covered with sweat today, but I would prefer it to be the footsweat of our female customers, sister dearest!’ exclaimed Madam Tahani.

All three women laughed at Madam Tahani’s funny joke. But the time for joking was soon over:

‘Slave kiss Madam Fatima foot! Kiss Fatima shoe!’ barked Madam Fatima, extending forward her right, white-stilettoed foot until it was resting on the tiled floor directly under slave Ernesto’s nose.

Her voice was the voice of a superior, North-African woman who brooked no disobedience. Slave Ernesto immediately lowered his lips to respectfully touch the pointy, white toe of Madam Fatima’s stylish stiletto shoe. He deliberately kissed an area that contained a miniscule, black scuff mark. It seemed only right to him that he should avoid the cleanest, most pristine areas of the superior woman’s shoe. After all, he was dirty himself, and dirt is attracted to dirt.

As he raised his lips from the toe of the shoe Madam Fatima appeared to squeal with delight:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave-man kiss woman shoe! Slave not a man! Slave a dirty pig!’

‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, sister – he is just a dirty pig. Do you know, I think he actually likes kissing women’s feet – especially young women’s feet! Watch this!’ Madam Tahani exhorted her sister. She then addressed the shop-girl:

‘Jessica, darling, put the broom down and come over here – I want to introduce you to your footslave for the day!’

The young white woman, it seemed, needed little encouragement to obey her Moroccan manageress’s orders. She duly set the broom down to one side and her red and black stilettos were soon clicking across the tiled floor of the salon towards the kneeling and head-bowed slave Ernesto.

‘That’s right, dear, come over here and stretch out your foot. My slave is going to kiss your pretty shoe for you!’

‘Ha! Ha! Make slave kiss Jessica sock, Tahani!’ suggested Madam Fatima excitedly, clearly of the view that making the humble male footslave kiss the young female shop assistant’s plain, grey, turned-over-at-the-cuff ankle sock would be somehow more humiliating for him than just making him kiss her shiny, red and black stiletto shoe.

‘Ha! Ha! I really think that’s up to Jessica, dearest sister. Which would you prefer, Jessica darling? Would you like my slave to kiss your shoe or your sock?’ asked madam Tahani.

‘Erm…my sock, please,’ responded young mistress Jessica, anxious to please her immediate superior, Madam Fatima , by taking her up on her helpful suggestion, and duly stretching forward her right foot so that it was just inches away from slave Ernesto’s kneeling face.

‘Ha! Ha! That right, Jessica – make dirty slave-man kiss young woman sock!’ shouted Madam Fatima, jubilant that the young shop assistant had liked her suggestion.

‘You heard mistress Jessica, slave – kiss her sock!’ barked Madam Tahani, anxious that her newly acquired family footslave should be just as respectful towards her female employees as he was towards her immediate family members.

The outstretched positioning of the young woman’s foot had caused her plain, grey sock to crease and fold inside her red stiletto shoe. Slave Ernesto’s lips felt drawn to the creases which had formed on the arch of her socked foot. He lowered his lips and respectfully kissed the creased, grey cotton material of the feminine sock.

‘Ha! Ha! Slave-man nothing but young woman sock-kisser!’ exclaimed the excitable Madam Fatima, clapping her hands with apparent glee. ‘Slave-man like kiss miss Jessica sock?’

‘Well, answer my sister, slave! Do you like having to kiss our salon-assistant’s sock?’ snapped madam Tahani, the contempt palpable in her voice.

Slave Ernesto, as he always sought to, spoke only the truth:

‘Yes, Madam Fatima, if it pleases you, Madam Fatima, this slave does like having to kiss mistress Jessica’s grey sock, if it pleases you, Madam.’

Madam Fatima, Madam Tahani, and miss Jessica all laughed at the pathetic footslave.

‘Well, in that case, thank miss Jessica for letting you kiss her sock, and beg her to let you kiss her other sock!’ barked Madam Tahani down at him.

Slave Ernesto lowered his face until it was hovering over miss Jessica’s red-stilettoed, grey-socked feet and duly begged:

‘Oh pray, mistress Jessica, if it pleases you,, mistress Jessica, this dirty footslave blesses you for allowing him the privilege of kissing your grey ankle sock, and begs his mistress for the honour of kissing her other sock, if it so pleases you sweet, feminine mistress Jessica.’

Sweet, feminine mistress Jessica giggled as she looked down on the middle-aged slave from on high as he grovelled pathetically at her feet, begging her for the privilege of kissing her left sock. She was much too kind and sweet a mistress to deny a male slave such a humble request. Emboldened by the evident approval of her employers she stretched forward her left foot under slave Ernesto’s nose:

‘You may kiss the cuff of my sock, slave, but make sure your lips don’t touch my bare skin!’ she replied.

‘Ha! Ha! That right, Jessica, you tell him! Tell dirty slave-man where to kiss sock! Make slave obey! Ha! Ha!’ screamed Madam Fatima exuberantly.

Slave Ernesto did obey the younger woman – to the letter. He obediently lowered his lips to the creased cuff of her left, plain grey ankle sock and kissed it, taking great care not to brush his dirty slave lips or even his ugly slave nose against the superior young woman’s bare skin beneath her knee-length, white trousers with the black polka dots.

‘Ha! Ha! You see, sister, I told you he likes kissing young women’s feet! What a wimp!’ exclaimed Madam Tahani. ‘Jessica, now that you’ve been introduced to the slave, why don’t you grab him by the hair and drag him around the salon on his hands and knees making him clean the rest of the floor with his tongue? Make him lick the floor clean, and make sure you guide his tongue over the bits that have been soiled by the dirty soles of our female customers’ shoes and boots.’

‘Yes, Madam. It will be my pleasure, Madam,’ responded the junior employee respectfully. Having a slave to lick clean the floor was going to be great. No more sweeping with the broom or scrubbing with the mop!

For the next 15 minutes or so slave Ernesto found himself crawling after the red stilettos and grey ankle socks of mistress Jessica as he tasted female boot and shoe dirt off the beauty salon floor. Somehow, it seemed right and proper that he should be made to do this - ladies’ boot and shoe filth was all he was fit for. However, when Madam Fatima next deigned to speak to him , she made it clear that when the customers started arriving he would have the inestimable honour of tasting their inner foot dirt as well as their outer foot dirt.

After Madam Tahani and miss Jessica had gone into the back of the salon to sort out some stock-taking, Madam Fatima made slave Ernesto lie face down on the ground as she sat at a table in the front of the salon drinking coffee, and she kindly explained to him how things were going to be that day whilst resting one of her white stiletto-heeled feet on top of his upturned left cheek as his right cheek rested in turn on the freshly licked-clean floor. Her other white stiletto heel was resting just inches in front of his face – close enough for him to see the individual stitches along the rim of her white shoe just below her creased, light brown, North–African footflesh - as she, quite literally, spoke down to him:

‘Slave-man serve Tahani and Fatima lady customers today.

Lady customer say “slave lick shoe” – same second slave lick lady customer dirty shoe!

Lady customer say “slave sniff sock” – same second slave sniff lady customer sweaty sock!

Lady customer say “slave suck toes” – same second slave suck lady customer dirty, sweaty toes!

Slave-man obey superior lady customer, or Madam Fatima punish slave – many pain; many whip!’

She may have been speaking to him in broken English, but the message from Madam Fatima was perfectly clear. The lady customer was not only always right - she reigned supreme, and any failure to obey a female customer’s orders would result in severe corporal punishment. Slave Ernesto hadn’t actually seen a whip anywhere in the beauty salon, but, as we have witnessed before, he was fundamentally a coward when it came to physical pain, and the mere threat of the whip by Madam Fatima was more than sufficient to ensure his compliance.

It wasn’t long before the first lady customer arrived for her appointment.

She was a young woman in her early thirties, blonde and casually dressed in a white blouse, blue denim jacket and matching ankle length jeans. More importantly from slave Ernesto’s point of view, she was wearing black, block-heeled, slip-on shoes on her pretty, bare feet.

‘Hello, miss Susan!’ exclaimed Madam Fatima. ‘You here for pedicure, yes?’

‘Hi, Fatima – yes, just a quick pedicure today, please. I’m going out clubbing with my new boyfriend tonight and I want my feet to look their best!’

‘Ha! Ha! No problem, miss Susan – please to lie down here while I call Jessica,’ responded Madam Fatima, guiding the young woman onto one of several, black leather, reclining chairs in the salon on which the female customers could relax and stretch out their feet whilst they received their pedicure.

Madam Fatima could see that the customer had now spotted slave Ernesto, still lying face down on the floor near the coffee table where Fatima had been sitting, and rushed to reassure her:

‘Miss Susan, this dirty footslave. You like we use footslave mouth to soften miss Susan cuticles before Jessica file and paint miss Susan toenails?’

Miss Susan, it seemed, did like the idea of this ‘extra’ service:

‘Wow! That sounds brilliant, Fatima! Yeah, I’m up for that, but I’m afraid my feet might taste a bit cheesy. They always seem to smell no matter how much I bathe them – just ask poor Jessica! I always feel a bit sorry for her whenever she has to work on my feet!’

‘Ha! Ha! Miss Susan not worry – slave-man like woman stinky feet. Slave-man even like kiss Jessica stinky sock! Fatima go and get Jessica. Miss Susan relax – make slave take off shoes and suck dirty toes!’

‘Ha! Ha! Okay, Fatima. Thanks!’

Miss Susan was clearly a much valued and regular customer:

‘Well, slave, you heard Ms Fatima, take off my shoes and suck on my toes. I want you to not only soften up the cuticles, but also to suck off any remaining bits of old toenail paint. Oh, and make sure you swallow any gunk and toe jam that you find – I want you to make my feet nice and clean and ready for Jessica to give me my pedicure.’

Yes, mistress Susan. At once, mistress Susan’

It was fast becoming evident to slave Ernesto that he was not to be entrusted with the delicate and skilled task of giving the actual pedicure to the female customer. Rather, he was to perform the preparatory work – softening her toenails with his slave saliva and removing her toe jam, ready for the talented and highly skilled miss Jessica to then file and paint them.

Keeping his head respectfully bowed, he crawled over towards the end of the black, leather recliner on which mistress Susan was now relaxing and gently removed her black, leather, block-heeled shoes.

One thing he quickly learnt about mistress Susan was that she was no liar. Whilst her bare, pink and white feet were far from being unkempt, apart perhaps from the residual traces of chipped, pink toenail paint on some of the toes, and the inevitable little balls of black toe cheese under the larger toenails, they nevertheless did, as she had warned, smell quite a bit! His nostrils almost immediately detected the (increasingly familiar to him) delicate but distinctive aroma of young woman footsweat. Perhaps it was because she wasn’t wearing socks or stockings? He could even see some freshly moist yellow and brown sweat stains on the white inner linings of the heavy, black, slip-on shoes.

He braced himself, and then lowered his mouth first to the sweaty, bare toes of the young, blonde woman’s right foot. The pretty, feminine toes felt warm and soft as they entered his mouth – apart, of course, from the toenails which scraped somewhat roughly against the roof of his mouth. The overwhelming taste was of salty sweat.

‘Ha! Ha! Be careful, slave! That tickles!’ squeaked mistress Susan, who was now lying back fully reclined, staring at the ceiling, and secretly enjoying the feel of the footslave’s tongue wrapping around her toes as they penetrated his prone and vulnerable mouth. Slave Ernesto dreaded to think what the punishment would be if a lady customer complained about being tickled by a slave’s tongue! But he was unable to say anything by way of an apology as his mouth was full of feminine toes.

He felt mistress Susan wiggle her toes inside his mouth and then deliberately scrape her big toenail against the roof of his mouth:

‘You really need to get all that old paint and varnish off, slave,’ she explained. ‘Suck harder and make sure you swallow all the debris from my foot!’

Again, slave Ernesto was in no position to respond verbally to mistress Susan’s order, but his neck did all the talking as he tasted a combination of bitter toenail paint, salty toe jam and vinegary, dead footskin sliding down his throat.

Having withdrawn her right foot, mistress Susan barely gave slave Ernesto time to catch his breath before inserting her left foot into his slave mouth. Same tastes, same sensations, same smell.

Mistress Jessica emerged from the back of the salon just as mistress Susan was withdrawing her saliva-covered left foot from slave Ernesto’s now foul-tasting mouth.

‘Hi Sue!’ she chirped happily.

‘Hi, Jess! How’s it goin’? I’ll tell you what, I like your new foot-washer! He’s really done a great job in cleaning off all the cheesy gunk from my feet!’

‘Ha! Ha! Yeah – he’s actually Madam Tahani’s slave. She’s just brought him to the salon for the day so that we can make him serve our customers’ feet. She even had him kissing my socks earlier!’

‘Yeah, I heard! That’s so cool, Jess! How did it feel though? Did it tickle at all? I’m only asking because I find his tongue a bit ticklish on my bare toes!’

‘Nah – it just felt nice. Like it made me feel all superior to him, or something. Do you know what I mean?’

‘Ha! Ha! Yeah, I reckon I do, Jess. After all, a girl has to feel superior over any man who has no choice but to kiss her dirty socks or suck on her dirty toes, doesn’t she?’

‘Too right, Sue! Here, let me dry your feet for you,’ and with that mistress Jessica made to dry her customer’s slave-saliva sodden feet with a small, white, fluffy towel.

‘Don’t be silly, Jess!’ exclaimed mistress Susan raising herself up slightly on the leather recliner with her elbows. ‘What do you think footslaves have hair for?’

And with that mistress Susan began rubbing her bare feet and toes all over slave Ernesto’s grey hair. In his previous life as an arrogant businessman he had always taken great pride in his head of hair. Few other 58 year olds could rival him for such thick hair, even if he had let it go naturally grey over the years. Now, it seemed, its only purpose was to dry his slave-saliva off a superior young mistress’s bare feet. He was, pathetically, equally proud of that fact.

Having dried miss Susan’s feet with his hair slave Ernesto was banished to kneel in a corner of the salon whilst miss Jessica expertly performed the pedicure on her friend Susan’s feet, beautifying them in order to impress miss Susan’s boyfriend later that evening. Would the boyfriend have any idea of slave Ernesto’s role in preparing the young woman’s feet for her night out dancing in strappy, open-toed stilettos? Probably not – but then mistress Susan’s feet would probably not be uppermost in her boyfriend’s mind. He was, after all, a free man – a real man, doubtless more interested in his girlfriend’s breasts than her feet. Slave Ernesto, by way of contrast, wasn’t allowed to look at women’s breasts. He was a footslave – fit only to admire their feet and footwear.

And he truly did admire the footwear of the next customer who entered the salon – a tall, stunning black girl of about Jessica’s age – early twenties or thereabouts. Her footwear consisted of brown, heavily-stitched, calf-length cowboy boots (rather like the pair his mistress Arrabella owned – but darker, and with clumpier heels) over dark blue denim jeans, with just a hint of white sock showing over the tops of the boots. She truly looked like an imperious Amazonian goddess, albeit in normal, everyday casual clothes.

The tinkling of the bell hanging inside the salon door had alerted Madam Fatima to the arrival of the new customer. She seemed to know all the customers by their first names. Madam Fatima was, evidently, the day to day operational manageress of the salon, with her sister Madam Tahani taking more of an executive role:

‘Ah…miss Oruwa! How are you today?’ enquired Madam Fatima.

The girl responded to Madam Fatima’s distinctive North African accent with an equally distinctive West African accent:

‘I am fine, thank you. I am just coming in for a foot massage today!’

‘Yes, of course, miss Oruwa. Please to take off your coat and lie down on this seat,’ fawned Madam Fatima, pointing to another black, leather recliner in the salon. ‘Fatima offer you either normal foot massage or slave-man foot massage today, miss Oruwa,’ she declared proudly, pointing to slave Ernesto kneeling in the corner.

The black girl’s hitherto rather severe features suddenly lit up:

‘Ha! Ha! What is that?’

‘This salon-footslave. Serve feet of all our lady customers! If miss Oruwa like, Fatima make slave rub miss Oruwa feet with face!’

The ebony goddess laughed:

‘Ha! Ha! Yes I like it! Make him take off my boots and rub my feet with his face, please!’

Now it was Madam Fatima’s turn to laugh with delight:

‘Ha! Ha! Miss Oruwa feel free to order slave herself! Tell slave what want slave to do! Slave will obey!’

Madam Fatima was, of course, thanks to her earlier words of advice to the slave-man, perfectly correct to have confidence that slave Ernesto would obey the female African customer.

‘Ha! Ha! You, the slave, come over here and take off my boots. You’re going to massage my feet!’ barked the black mistress matter-of-factly.

The same second slave Ernesto obediently crawled over to where the long-limbed, young black mistress was lying on the recliner – her upper torso propped up so that she could watch what the slave was doing – and began pulling off her exotic, calf-length, brown leather, pattern-stitched cowboy boots.

They each came of with a ‘whoosh’, enveloping him in the aroma of her sweaty, plain white, cable-knit, boot socks:

‘Do not take off my socks, slave. I want you to rub your face on my socks!’

‘Ha! Ha! Miss Oruwa - clever mistress! How know slave-man like woman sweaty socks?’ asked Madam Fatima, clearly fascinated by the thought of the slave having to worship women’s socks, as opposed to just their bare feet.

Miss Oruwa just laughed. She did not, of course, know (or care) whether the salon-footslave liked the smell of young women’s sweaty socks; she only knew that she didn’t want his face touching her bare feet as that would be, in her opinion, too ticklish. She liked the idea, however, of having a male slave rub his stupid-looking face all over the dirty, sweaty soles of her socked feet. And the soles of her white socks were truly stained and dirty. As he moved his face over towards the soiled soles of the young black woman’s white socks the aroma of feminine footsweat not only became stronger – but the brown sweat stains on the white socks also loomed ever larger.

No matter, his face was soon where it belonged – on the dirty, sweaty soles of a beautiful black girl’s white, cable-knit socks.

He dutifully rubbed his ugly slave nose up and down the soft soles of his superior mistress’s pretty, white-socked feet, all the while being observed avidly by both an intrigued madam Fatima and a giggling miss Jessica, whilst a smiling Madam Tahani continued with her stocktaking out the back - happy in the knowledge that the male prisoner in her care, when he was not being directly dominated and humiliated by herself and her daughters in line with the wishes of the Courts, was nevertheless being suitably degraded at the feet of the female customers and staff of her city-centre beauty salon.

Part 8 – The Whipping Boy

Whilst slave Ernesto was nose-massaging the soles of West African mistress Oruwa’s stinky, white-socked feet in Madam Tahani’s city centre beauty parlour, his blonde, 25 year old, East-European probation officer, miss Gozia, was sitting at her desk in her office near the Court House just a few streets away reading through his case file – reference no. GOZ / 54791.

She was concerned that whilst he was undoubtedly suffering sufficient humiliation at the feet of Madam Tahani and her daughters, certain other aspects of his ‘Community Servitude’ sentence were being overlooked.

She read again some of the stipulations of his sentence as handed down by the Lady Judge Priscilla:

“That you be assigned to a female household in which you reside as a footslave and are subject to corporal punishment as deemed appropriate by your mistresses;

That periodically you be allocated foot-service related tasks outside the aforementioned household as directed by your probation officer;

That you undertake periods of hard labour in the State Penitentiary under the supervision of female prison officers as directed by your probation officer.”

Hmm. Gozia was deep in contemplation. Whilst it was true that she had already managed to arrange for prisoner Ernesto to spend a whole day being publicly humiliated at the feet of women in the town pillory, he had not, to her knowledge, yet experienced any significant corporal punishment, nor any ‘hard labour’. She definitely had to get her thinking cap on and come up with some new ‘foot-service related tasks’ which would involve case no. GOZ / 54791 in serving the feet of other women other than the women of the Tahani household, and which simultaneously would involve elements of either corporal punishment, or hard labour, or both. After all, it was the clear desire of the Courts (or, at least, of the good Lady Judge, Her Worshipfulness the Lady Priscilla) and miss Gozia was nothing if not conscientious about her job.

A mischievous smile suddenly appeared on her pretty, East-European features and she reached for the telephone…

The next day slave Ernesto found himself once again in the back of a prison van being driven by the 20 year-old, Asian, uniformed prison guard, mistress Shariya, and his hard-working probation officer, mistress Gozia, towards the town centre – although this time they weren’t heading towards the pillory in the Shopping Mall, but rather back to the Court House. As he knelt shackled in the back of the van all that 58 year old slave Ernesto knew, thanks to a passing comment delivered with some glee by miss Shariya, was that he was to be some sort of ‘whipping boy’.

A whipping boy! Isn’t that someone who is punished (usually whipped) instead of someone else? It sounded ominous, but just how ominous slave Ernesto could never have guessed.

His stomach felt a bit sick as he crawled behind the now familiar, low-heeled, black leather, police-uniform issued, ankle boots of miss Shariya, who was, as ever, looking resplendent and totally dominant in her specially adapted policewoman uniform consisting of navy blue baseball-style cap with the white headscarf underneath, crisp, white blouse, navy blue jacket and trousers, and ubiquitous brown, leather punishment strap hanging from the belt around her slightly podgy waist.

Despite his sense of foreboding, however, slave Ernesto was still focussed enough to once again find himself wondering what colour of socks mistress Shariya might be wearing inside her heavy police boots today – the somewhat manky, white pair he had been obliged to kiss shortly after his sentencing in the Court cell? Or perhaps the smarter looking black pair she had kindly allowed him a furtive glance of whilst he had been confined the other day in the stocks? Or perhaps another colour altogether? Pathetically, such slavish thoughts occupied his mind even though he was about to be whipped!

Just to add to his frustration he couldn’t even tell this time whether or not mistress Gozia was wearing socks for, unusually for her, she wasn’t wearing sneakers with her black denim jeans but a pair of knee-length, black leather, block-heeled, zip-up ankle boots, with the jeans tucked into the top of them. How he ached to lick miss Gozia’s boots from top to bottom, to show her that he was learning his lesson; that he was now learning to appreciate the supremacy of the female over the male; that he was truly very sorry for his self-indulgent, male crime.

It seemed that miss Gozia, however, was not yet convinced of his penitence for, as she and miss Shariya led him in to one of the punishment cells in the basement of the Court building, the probation officer explained to her charge what was going to happen:

‘Prisoner Ernesto, I have arranged for you to suffer some corporal punishment today in line with the sentence of the Court. You will serve as a whipping boy and will be caned at the feet of convicted female criminals in their stead. Miss Shariya shall carry out the punishments… if that’s okay with you, officer Shariya?’

The headscarfed, Asian prison guard laughed:

‘Ha! Ha! Yeah! I’ll enjoy doing it, innit?’

‘Ha! Ha! Thank you, Shariya! Slave – kiss my boots and thank me for arranging this extra punishment for you, and then kiss miss Shariya’s boots and thank her for taking the time to apply the official cane to your bare buttocks!’

Slave Ernesto’s head was in a whirl. He could scarcely take in what his female probation officer was saying. He knew, of course, that all women were above the law and that male slaves were often punished by the Courts in their stead. But it hadn’t occurred to him until this morning that as a convicted criminal himself he would also have to undergo additional punishment on behalf of female law-breakers! Where was the justice in that?

Ha! Ha! You do have to laugh at slave Ernesto’s naivety sometimes, don’t you?

At least he was getting his wish to kiss mistress Gozia’s delicious, knee-length, black leather boots:

‘Thank you, mistress Gozia, God bless you mistress Gozia for arranging to have me caned,’ he fawned rather unconvincingly in between showering respectful kisses to both of mistress Gozia’s booted feet. Her boot leather really did taste bitter, and yet, because it was the boot leather of a superior young woman who had total and absolute power over him, it also tasted sweet. Bittersweet boot leather!

Unlike the boot leather of mistress Shariya. It just tasted musty – as you might expect of a well-worn pair of heavy police boots used to pounding the beat for hours on end and in all weathers. Nevertheless, he afforded the uniformed female police officer the same grovelling respect as he had his all-powerful female probation officer – particularly as it was miss Shariya who, it seemed, would be wielding the cane. The cane, mind you, and not the strap!

‘Oh pray, mistress Shariya, if it pleases you, mistress Shariya, please have sweet, feminine mercy on this dirty, convicted criminal. Please spare me the full force of the rod!’ he whined, in between showering her black, ankle length, zip-up, police boots with respectful and hopeful kisses.

‘Ha! Ha! Spare the rod and spoil the slave!’ quipped mistress Gozia. ‘Don’t listen to him, officer Shariya. Do your duty and lay the strokes on hard!’

Mistress Shariya, it seemed, knew of no other way of delivering a judicial caning:

‘Ha! Ha! No problem, miss Gozia!’ laughed the police officer, taking the three foot long, thin, whippy, official punishment rod out of the bucket of brine in the corner of the punishment cell.

Apart from the bucket of brine, the only other ‘furniture’ in the punishment cell was a raised, purple leather chair – a kind of throne - on which the female offender would sit, resting her feet on two metal footrests, whilst the male slave was bent over a wooden trestle with his face hovering just inches above her feet during the caning of his exposed buttocks. Slave Ernesto was quickly ordered to take off his slave shorts and was expertly secured over the punishment trestle by the ever efficient miss Shariya. He watched the black leather crease and fold on her ankle boots as she crouched down to secure the leather straps over his arms, upper torso and lower legs - all designed to make sure he couldn’t escape what was coming to him. He watched also as the powerful and dominant, knee-length, black leather boots of mistress Gozia left the cell. As always, her role was merely that of facilitator – and she had other cases to deal with upstairs in Court. Slave Ernesto never would know if she was wearing socks inside her boots that day.

There were a few minutes delay until the first female petty criminal was brought in – or rather, strolled happily in of her own accord would be a more accurate description. She appeared to be a ‘regular’:

‘Hi officer Shariya, are you doing the honours today?’ queried the young, female criminal. She sounded no more than about 20 years old – about the same age as the law-abiding and law-enforcing miss Shariya herself:

‘Hi Lucy! Ha! Ha! Back again? What was it this time? Shoplifting?’ responded the cane-holding miss Shariya.

‘Yeah, ‘fraid so! Won’t you guys ever give me a break? Ha! Ha!’

‘Ha! Ha! Sorry, Lucy, but shoplifting is against the law, innit? Better luck next time! What’s your sentence?’

‘Erm…I’m not sure, honey, I was just asked to come down here. Now, where did I put my sentencing slip?’

The convicted shoplifter, miss Lucy, then appeared to be fumbling through her handbag looking for the piece of paper handed to her by the Court clerk which detailed her sentence. She eventually found it and handed it to miss Shariya (miss Lucy couldn’t read or write so she genuinely couldn’t be expected to know what her sentence was).

‘Ha! Ha! Only 4 strokes this time. You got off lightly, innit?’ opined miss Shariya.

‘Yeah…suppose so!’ giggled miss Lucy. ‘Listen, can we crack on it with it? I’m meeting my boyfriend later and we’re planning to hit the shops again this morning – if you know what I mean? I have to get him another MP3 player now that you’ve confiscated the other one I nicked for him!’

Being arrested for shoplifting was clearly a major inconvenience to the young woman, who somewhat resented having to watch the slave being punished in her stead. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy seeing male slaves suffer for her misdemeanours at her feet, it was just that the longer she spent in the punishment cell the less time she had to go out shoplifting again.

‘Sure, Lucy, no problem. Just take a seat, innit?’

The young white woman now climbed up into the punishment chair and sat herself down. As she adjusted herself to make herself more comfortable slave Ernesto, who, being bent over the punishment trestle in front of her was far from comfortable, got his first sight of the shoplifter miss Lucy’s feet and footwear. She was wearing tatty, old black and white canvas sneakers with dirty, white laces, and low-cut, thin, cheap-looking, white sneaker socks under frayed, equally cheap-looking, mud-splattered dark blue denim jeans. Only the elasticated tops of the white socks were visible, the one on the right a bit more than the one on the left, but these too appeared to be somewhat dusty and dirty. Slave Ernesto wondered if the young woman had stolen the socks? Surely she could have stolen a better pair than these?

There was also a small, scabby looking sore on the young woman’s outer, left ankle. All in all the impression was of an unkempt pair of feminine feet, but then mistress Lucy had more important things to do than keep her feet clean – like shoplifting!

Slave Ernesto gulped as he suddenly became aware of the booted feet of mistress Shariya moving behind him to take up her caning position. He could just see the tip of the dark brown rod hovering in the air above her right ankle boot:

‘Slave, miss Lucy has been sentenced to 4 strokes of the cane for shoplifting. That means you must also kiss her foot 4 times and thank her for committing the crime and having you punished, innit?’ explained miss Shariya.

In such circumstances Shariya’s word was law, so slave Ernesto obeyed. He stretched forward his neck as far as it would go whilst miss Lucy kindly stretched forward her right, black-and-white sneakered foot – the one without the sore - so that it was resting on the very edge of the metal footrest (if truth be told miss Lucy had no particular desire to help the dirty, male slave kiss her foot but she genuinely wanted the procedure to get a move on as her boyfriend was waiting for her impatiently outside, and he did not like to be kept waiting).

Slave Ernesto kissed the dirty, rubbery white toe of the young woman’s outstretched black, canvas sneaker 4 times, before pronouncing his gratitude to her for getting him into his current predicament:

‘Thank you, mistress Lucy. Bless you mistress Lucy for committing your crime and for allowing me the privilege of suffering your punishment, if it pleases you most beautiful mistress Lucy!’

Mistress Lucy laughed. It wasn’t often men complemented her on her beauty. Certainly her boyfriend never did. But for all his lack of gallantry he was still miles sexier than this pathetic old slave who was bent over the punishment trestle in front of her feet and about to be whipped:

‘Ha! Ha! My pleasure, slave!’ smiled mistress Lucy. ‘I hope it really stings. Lay it on hard, Shariya!’

Since his sentencing to community servitude as a women’s footslave slave Ernesto had already been disabused of many of his former, extremely arrogant, illusions about women. But this was yet another one: he had previously thought that soft and compassionate young women would baulk at the idea of witnessing a slave being flogged. Women were such kind and gentle creatures, opposed to all forms of cruelty, were they not?

Yes of course! But what he hadn’t realised was women’s equal commitment to seeing justice being done – a crime had been committed by a sweet and innocent young woman and a dirty, male slave had therefore to be punished for it. And the punishment had to fit the crime – so what more appropriate punishment for shoplifting could there be other than a flogging? After all, mistress Lucy undoubtedly ‘flogged’ many of the items she stole from the shops. It was, therefore, only natural justice that a male slave should in turn be ‘flogged’ for her crime of female shoplifting! Slave Ernesto was only just beginning to get this unassailable feminine logic into his thick male skull!

His inferior male brain, preoccupied as it was with these thoughts, was as a consequence totally unprepared for the sudden first stroke of the cane. Indeed, his stupid, male brain’s first reaction to the sound of the cane cutting through the air, the subsequent crack, and the sudden rush of pain across his fat, middle-aged buttocks was: ‘What was that?’; quickly followed by the realisation of what it was, and an involuntary, and most unmanly, cry of disbelief mixed in with acute distress.

It was a cry that caused both mistresses Lucy and Shariya some not inconsiderable pleasure:

‘Ha! Ha! Nice one, Shariya!’ complemented mistress Lucy, just seconds before the pretty, young uniformed and headscarfed policewoman brought the cane crashing down on her victim’s bare buttocks for a second time.

Pain! All was pain!

Slave Ernesto had forgotten the first rule of a male slave undergoing punishment – you must concentrate on the feet and footwear of the woman at whose feet you are being thrashed. It’s the only way to take your mind off the pain.

Fortunately, the second stroke brought him back to his senses and he did just that – he lowered his face in pain and shame until his lips were once again caressing miss Lucy’s dusty, dirty black and white canvas sneakers. Mercy! Mercy! Please have sweet, feminine mercy on me, mistress Lucy, he thought to himself – even though he was too shocked to actually cry out for mercy. Oh the pain!

Some 30 seconds, and two more strokes, later it was all over – at least for miss Lucy. As she gaily hopped down from the punishment chair slave Ernesto was still blubbering with the pain.

‘Thanks, Shariya! I enjoyed that!’ proclaimed the young shoplifter, now free to shoplift again.

‘No problem, Lucy! Take care. See you again soon, innit?’

‘Yeah...bye!’

And with that mistress Lucy was gone, without a word of thanks to her personal whipping boy. But then, why would any young woman feel the need to thank a whipping boy? Was he not merely a dirty, male slave? Did he not deserve to be whipped?

Of course he did! Even slave Ernesto was coming to realise that!

What he didn’t deserve was the soothing ointment being applied to his buttocks by miss Shariya prior to his next caning. And the Courts were evidently busy upstairs that day, for the next female convicts entered the punishment cell after a mere 20 minutes or so.

There were two of them – both ‘ladies of the night’ – and they were dressed accordingly. Through his tearful eyes, and from his prone and vulnerable position bent double over the wooden punishment trestle, slave Ernesto could again only see the ladies’ feet and footwear, not that he would have been allowed to look them in the eye even if he hadn’t been bent over double. He was just a ladies’ footslave after all - hardly worthy to look superior, female prostitutes in the eye.

The first young woman, who was in her early thirties, was black and was wearing a leopard-print, fake-fur, short-length coat with dark, fancy stockings and sheer, black patent high-heeled shoes. The pattern in the stockings consisted of a trellis motif of black flowers running all the way up her legs from her ankles to the tops of her thighs – not that slave Ernesto could see above the superior young woman’s knees. Even though slave Ernesto distinctly remembered seeing a sign saying ‘No smoking’ as they had entered the Court building, the black, female prostitute was puffing on a cigarette.

Her companion-in-crime was white, of a similar age, but had something of the look of a drug addict about her. She was quite thin and wiry, with a pasty complexion and her dirty, mousy-blond hair was tied up in a pony-tail. Again, slave Ernesto couldn’t see any of this – only the white female prostitute’s somewhat spindly, bare legs and black, zip-up, spiked heeled ankle boots with the elasticated tops of a pair of purple, ankle-length boot socks just visible inside the tops of her boots.

Needless to say, they were another couple of regulars to the Courthouse, and miss Shariya was therefore good friends with them:

‘Hi Marcia! Hi Sandra! Ha! Ha! You’ve been caught soliciting again, innit?’ laughed miss Shariya.

‘Nah – not this time!’ replied the black prostitute. ‘We were fighting in the street, innit?’

‘Fighting? Who with?’ enquired miss Shariya, somewhat surprised.

‘With each other!’ laughed the white prostitute (slave Ernesto still wasn’t sure which was mistress Marcia and which was mistress Sandra).

‘Yeah? That’s quite serious, innit?’ suggested the legal expert, mistress Shariya.

‘Yeah, the lady Judge just sent some slave-dork down for life in the footholes because of our scrapping!’ stated the black prostitute nonchalantly.

‘Yeah, and she sentenced us to 6 lashes each!’ added the not-too-contrite sounding white prostitute. ‘What was we fightin’ over anyway, Marcia?’

‘Dunno! I was too stoned to remember, honey!’ replied the black prostitute in the fancy, black stockings, whom slave Ernesto now knew to be mistress Marcia.

Great, thought slave Ernesto to himself. So some poor, innocent male slave has just been sentenced to life in the foothole dungeons, and I am about to be severely caned, and all over a fight that these two tarts can’t even remember!

Slave Ernesto was clearly not yet completely broken in as a slave and still had some lessons in humility to learn! It was just as well, therefore, that his probation officer, mistress Gozia, had arranged for him to be a female criminals’ whipping boy for the day!

‘Do you wanna go first, Marcia?’ asked the white prostitute, mistress Sandra, of her colleague in a matter-of-fact, almost bored tone. The two women had clearly been here many times before.

‘Nah, you go first, sweetie, while I finish my fag!’ replied mistress Marcia in between taking drags on her illicit cigarette.

WPC mistress Shariya was a conscientious upholder of the law, but only, it seemed, when it came to punishing male slaves. She certainly had no desire to prevent her friend Marcia from enjoying her cigarette.

‘Cool!’ said the spindly and pale-legged mistress Sandra, clearly now best of friends again with her former sparring partner on the streets, as she climbed up into the punishment chair and positioned her black ankle-booted feet on the metal footrests under slave Ernesto’s nose.

Even though she was wearing boots, slave Ernesto was sure he could detect the aroma of sweaty socks coming from the tops of her boots. The purple socks certainly looked a bit ropey, with some of the stitching hanging loose from the elasticated tops – especially from the sock inside her left boot. It was a detail that reminded slave Ernesto of his new station in life as a women’s footslave and made him feel suitably humble again. You are staring down at the purple socks of a female prostitute and drug addict inside her street-walking, dirty, black ankle boots, he thought to himself. She is your better and you are about to be whipped on her behalf. He found himself actually looking forward to paying homage to mistress Sandra’s dirty, black, zip-up, spike-heeled leather ankle boots, and only wished she would take off her boots so that he could sniff her socks properly. The aroma of a prostitute’s stinky, purple bootsocks was all he was fit for.

The thought even occurred to him, however fleetingly, that mistress Shariya might commute his sentence to sniffing mistress Sandra’s purple socks and mistress Marcia’s fancy, black stockinged toes instead of receiving a dozen more painful cuts of the cane. But, of course, that was a truly forlorn hope as mistress Shariya always believed in upholding the letter of the Law – except when it came to her fellow women smoking.

I don’t really want to describe the ensuing punishment endured by slave Ernesto at mistress Sandra’s feet in any great detail as this is a foot-fetish story as opposed to a corporal punishment story. Suffice it to say that by the time mistress Sandra stepped down from the chair to be replaced by mistress Marcia, slave Ernesto’s mind was swimming in a sea of pain to such an extent that he had actually started hallucinating and thinking that the flowery patterned motif running all the way up mistress Marcia’s black stockings was some sort of elongated sea creature!

Pain can do strange things to the mind of a slave undergoing punishment!

The experienced mistress Marcia, aware that the slave undergoing punishment was in need of some revival, kindly slipped off her shiny, black, high-heeled shoe as she sat above him and wiggled her dark-stockinged toes under his nose. The stench of the black prostitute’s stale footsweat, caused by walking the streets the previous night, acted as a form of smelling-salts, and helped slave Ernesto to recover enough to once again have the presence of mind to kiss mistress Marcia’s superior, black-stockinged feet and to thank her for brawling with her fellow prostitute in the street and consequently having him whipped.

And so, what lessons was slave Ernesto in the process of learning that day in his capacity as a women’s whipping boy? Well, he was learning that the pain of the judicial cane as wielded by miss Shariya was a truly terrifying instrument of correction. He was also beginning to appreciate that it was right and proper that he should be lashed in place of superior mistresses for whatever crimes they had committed. But, above all, it was being impressed upon him that he was an inferior being, fit only to stare at young women’s dirty, white sneaker socks, or torn purple boot socks, or fancy-patterned, black stockings whilst he took his justly deserved punishment.

He also felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude to both mistress Gozia and mistress Shariya. He was grateful to mistress Gozia for ensuring that his sentence of community servitude was being implemented in full. And he was grateful to mistress Shariya for being the physical enactor of that sentence.

Indeed, several hours, and several beatings at the feet of other female criminals later, just as soon as she had released him from his bonds, slave Ernesto spontaneously crawled over to mistress Shariya’s now dusty, black leather ankle boots under her navy blue police-uniform trousers, and kissed them.

He kissed them many times as he blubbered his genuine and heartfelt thanks to mistress Shariya for taking the time to spend the day caning him. And to his amazement the young female police officer rewarded him for his contrition:

‘Ha! Ha! You’ve now been well and truly broken in by the cane, innit slave? You’re truly humble now, innit? I’m gonna let you worship my socks for that!’

And with that the kind, gentle and modest mistress Shariya moved the wooden punishment trestle out of the way, climbed up herself into the punishment chair, and instructed her beaten prisoner to crawl over to her feet which were now resting on the two metal footrests:

‘Unzip my boots and take them off my feet, slave!’ she ordered.

Slave Ernesto could scarcely believe mistress Shariya’s magnanimity towards him. This young policewoman was actually going to permit him to sniff, kiss and lick the dirty socks that had been inside her police boots all day – the socks that were undoubtedly drenched in sweat caused by her strenuous exertions with the cane. And he didn’t even have a clue yet what type or colour of socks she was wearing inside her boots today!

He soon found out – they were plain navy blue; it appeared that, for once, she was wearing her regulation, uniform-issue police socks!

As soon as both her boots were off mistress Shariya gave slave Ernesto the order he had been dreaming of all day – the order to worship a superior young woman’s, any superior young woman’s, sweaty socks:

‘Kiss my socks! Sniff them! Lick them! You’re nothing but a women’s sockslave, innit?’ barked the all-powerful, Asian WPC, modestly adjusting her white headscarf under her navy blue, police baseball cap.

Slave Ernesto noticed once again, as he had done when confined in the stocks a few days before, the superior, young policewoman’s slight halitosis problem.

‘Yes, mistress Shariya,’ he agreed, as he swapped the smell of her slightly stale breath for the sharp, pungent aroma of her regulation, police-issue, navy blue socks, and then lowered his slave lips to a particularly damp patch along the side of the wriggling-with-pleasure, socked toes of her right foot.

Part 9 – Sock Shopping

Back in the Tahani household relations had greatly improved between the two sisters, Arrabella (22) and Penelope (19), thanks largely to miss Penelope’s ‘new, harsh regime’ vis-à-vis their family footslave, slave Ernesto. Arrabella very much approved of her younger sister’s change of heart!

Indeed, her relationship with her sister had improved to such an extent that miss Arrabella was now prepared to share slave Ernesto even when, according to the family rota, it was her day to have the footslave exclusively for herself had she so wished.

The fact was that Arrabella did need his services that particular day as she was planning to go sock-shopping. It was imperative that slave Ernesto be there in his capacity as her footslave so that he could not only help her try on her new potential purchases in the sock shop, but should also experience the humiliation of having to assist his all-powerful mistress in selecting the feminine socks that he would be spending much of his time kissing, sniffing and washing over the coming months and years. It wasn’t that the bright, young fashion model Arrabella needed his opinion on the various new pairs of socks – the opinion of a dirty, male slave counted for nothing – it was more a case of wanting to see how the socks looked as she smothered his ugly, slave face with them.

Her sister Penelope, however, even though it wasn’t her day to have him, also wanted to borrow slave Ernesto in order to buy the slave-whip she had promised herself as part of her no-nonsense, new, harsh regime – and slave Ernesto was needed for measuring in the whip shop. The shop assistant would want to ensure the whip was not only comfortable for miss Penelope to use, but was also the right length for her – i.e. that when she was standing an appropriate distance from her victim the tip of the whip would be just long enough to wrap around his torso, thereby causing additional pain. Penelope wanted to make sure whatever whip she bought would really sting – no point in buying a punishment whip that didn’t hurt!

The erudite English language and literature student miss Penelope also wanted slave Ernesto to serve as her public footrest in the evening when she attended her monthly bookclub which was held at her friend Jane’s house. It would be so cool to show off her slave in front of her fellow students and friends. They’d be so jealous!

Arrabella therefore agreed that Penelope could share slave Ernesto on this particular day, including using him as a footrest in the evening, on three conditions: that Penelope accompany her to the sock shop to help her choose her new socks; that she be allowed to help Penelope choose the new slave-whip in the whip shop; and that she should have the right to use Penelope’s whip on slave Ernesto should the need ever arise.

Penelope, needless to say, was happy to agree to Arrabella’s conditions, and the threesome consisting of the two young mistresses and their middle-aged male slave were soon setting off for the train into the town centre. She was in such a good mood, miss Arrabella even allowed her sister to use slave Ernesto as a footrest on the train, meaning that slave Ernesto had a golden opportunity to study the footwear of his youngest mistress during the journey.

He had already come to realise that the studious, bespectacled miss Penelope definitely had a preference for soft, sensible shoes. She was not really fashion conscious like her elder sister, and so when it came to her footwear she tended to opt for comfort over style - flats over heels. As was her perfect right - for she was now a supremely powerful young mistress, and she would ensure that slave Ernesto respected and admired her footwear however conventionally ‘unstylish’ it may be.

Today, for example, she was wearing flat, purple, mary-jane style, suede leather sandals with a single strap across the top of the foot, and thick, black, woolly tights under a purple calf-length skirt. She looked quite ‘grungy’, as though she were deliberately dressing down to try to look as unsexy as possible. And yet, at least as far as slave Ernesto was concerned, if that was indeed miss Penelope’s intention, it hadn’t worked – for 58 year old slave Ernesto was immensely impressed by the shapeliness of his 19 year old mistress’s ankles inside her thick, black woolly tights.

He particularly liked the cable-knit pattern of the stitching in the tights, and the way the stitching stretched over her ankle bones to reveal the tiniest glimpses of her soft, brown, mixed-race, ankle skin underneath. He also liked her flat, no-nonsense, purple, suede leather sandals with the single ‘T’ strap. He liked the way the strap allowed more of her black, woolly tights to be visible on the top of her foot. He also liked the contrast between the purple suede leather of the sandals and the rich blackness of the young woman’s woolly tights.

But above all, as he lay flat on his stomach on the dirty floor of the train carriage under miss Penelope’s seat, with the sole of her right sandal resting on top of his upturned left cheek and her left sandal resting just millimetres from his face, he admired the tiny creases in the thick, black, woolly material of her tights around her inner ankle bone. Pathetically, it actually filled him with a sense of slavish pride to think that at that moment in time nobody else, not even miss Penelope herself, was aware of the folds and creases in her tights around her left ankle.

Yet they so dominated his field of vision, and so obsessed him, that he could even count them. He actually began to count the individual stitches in each of the three major creases. And whenever his mistress involuntarily flexed her foot muscles inside her black, woolly tights - causing the creases to temporarily break up and disappear, and meaning that he had to start counting the individual stitches all over again once her foot returned to its static position - he silently blessed his mistress for her unconscious interruption of his pathetic, self-imposed footslavish task.

But before you rush to condemn, what else can a footslave, lying under his mistress’s feet on a train, be expected to concentrate on? Yes, it’s pathetic, but he had to do something to pass the time. (For the record, he counted 26 individual stitches in the upper crease, 21 in the middle crease, and just 15 in the lower crease – in case you were wondering.)

As they alighted from the train slave Ernesto was required to crawl along the city centre pavements directly behind miss Arrabella’s feet. What a stark contrast to the footwear of her sister, miss Penelope – a stylish pair of white, stiletto heels on white, cotton ankle socks with a lacy frill at the top, under calf length white leggings and a long, black poncho-style blouse. Miss Arrabella was turning male heads as she strode confidently and dominantly along the catwalk – sorry, sidewalk.

Not that slave Ernesto was turning his head – his gaze was fixed firmly and dutifully in front of him, admiring the backs of miss Arrabella’s pristine-white ankle socks. Again, he was obsessed by the folds and creases in her white, ankle socks – not that there was any chance this time of counting the individual stitches, or even the creases, as she walked along the pavement. The creases and folds just came and went too fast. But just the fact that he was privileged to see them so close up was satisfaction enough for the pathetic girls’ foot-cum-sock slave.

As soon as the trio entered the specialist women’s sock shop they were greeted by a young, oriental, female assistant of about 20. Slave Ernesto observed that the pretty, young assistant was wearing pink and white track suit bottoms with matching pink and white sneakers. The hems of the track suit bottoms were elasticated meaning that they came down only as far as her shapely, feminine ankle bones, allowing slave Ernesto a sneaky peek of her white, sports socks with a logo of a pink heart on each outer ankle. How appropriate, he thought to himself, that the female assistant working in a ladies’ sock shop should be wearing such pretty, white socks.

He did indeed feel privileged as he was now surrounded, in his kneeling position, with his head humbly bowed, by the pretty, feminine feet and footwear of three, very attractive, young women – the thick, woolly, cable-knit black tights and purple, suede mary janes of miss Penelope; the white stilettos and lacy, white ankle socks of miss Arrabella; and the pink and white sneakers and white sports socks, with the pink heart logo on the ankles, of the female shop assistant.

“Good morning miss Arraberra; miss Penerope!’ greeted the dark haired, petite, oriental shop assistant in a heavy japanese accent. ‘How you today?’

The young, female shop assistant evidently knew his two mistresses well. Slave Ernesto surmised that misses Arrabella and Penelope must be regular customers to the exclusive and very plush looking shop.

‘Hi, Mitsuko!’ responded miss Arrabella, actually reaching forward to kiss the oriental girl on the side of the cheek, followed soon after by miss Penelope.

‘This is our new footslave-criminal I was telling you about,’ continued miss Arrabella. ‘I hope you’ve got a nice selection of socks for me to try out on his stupid face!’

‘Ha! Ha! Oh yes, miss Arraberra,’ the oriental shop assistant assured her valued customer. ‘I have many sock for miss Arraberra to try on. Mitsuko sure srave-o rike new sock!’

‘Ha! Ha! It doesn’t much matter whether he likes them or not, Mitsuko – my socked feet are going to cover his face and he’ll just have to like it or lump it!’ laughed miss Arrabella.

‘Ha! Ha! Very good, miss Arraberra! Miss Penerope want try new sock also?’ enquired miss Mitsuko politely.

‘Oh, no thank you, Mitsuko,’ responded the bespectacled miss Penelope. ‘I’m saving my money in order to buy a whip for the slave’s back!’

‘Ha! Ha! That good, miss Penerope! Srave need pain – keep srave-o humble. Mitsuko like watch srave get whip on TV!’

Both sisters knew she was referring to the famous ‘Punishment Hour’ on the Femdom Channel – it was just about every young woman’s favourite programme on the box!

But it was time to dispense with the small talk and get down to business:

‘Prease, miss Arraberra, miss Penerope, you take seat while Mitsuko get sock for miss Arraberra feet. Miss Arraberra make srave take off shoe and sock. Mitsuko come back with nice, new sock for miss Arraberra try on!’

Mistresses Arrabella and Penelope duly sat down on a white, leather bench in the middle of the shop whilst the pink and white sneakers and white sports socks of miss Mitsuko temporarily disappeared from slave Ernesto’s field of vision as she went to get the specially pre-selected pairs of socks for miss Arrabella to try on.

‘Slave, you heard miss Mitsuko – take off my shoes and socks, and make sure you kiss each of them before you touch them with your dirty, slave hands!’ barked mistress Arrabella, dominantly stretching out her right leg under slave Ernesto’s kneeling face, and twisting her white-stilettoed, white, lacy socked foot coquettishly under his eyes and nose.

Miss Penelope smiled as she watched her sister expertly and so naturally humiliating the footslave. There was still so much she could learn from her big sister.

‘Yes, mistress Arrabella. This slave obeys you, mistress Arrabella’, grovelled the pathetic, middle-aged slave, as he lowered his slave lips to respectfully touch the pointy toe of the swivelling, shiny, patent-leather, white stiletto shoe. He noticed a tiny, black scuff mark on the extreme edge of the pointy toe of the shoe and, of course, kissed that.

Having paid homage to the superior, high-heeled feminine shoe, the down-at-heel, male footslave then gently slipped the shoe off his superior mistress’s pretty, arched foot to reveal her pristine white ankle sock in all its glory. At least, the sock looked pristine enough – but he was nevertheless sure he detected the faint aroma of feminine footsweat, perhaps inevitable when ones nose is so close to a superior young woman’s white-socked foot, however clean it may be.

Again, he saw creases and folds appear in the thin, white, lacy cotton sock as miss Arrabella wiggled her socked toes in the air:

‘Kiss my toes through my sock, foot flunkey!’ she demanded imperiously, cocking her pretty head to one side in order to get a better view of the slave humbly kissing the reinforced toe of her white ankle sock. Her sister Penelope was watching and learning. How right Arrabella was to insist that slave Ernesto kiss the toe of the sock – it was bound to be the smelliest part! She made a mental note.

Slave Ernesto felt miss Arrabella’s big toenail underneath the soft, cotton material of the girly, white sock as his lips dutifully paid their respects to the sweatiest, smelliest part of her sock. He was then ordered to repeat the process with her left foot, before respectfully peeling off her socks from the lacy ankles downwards until the inside-out socks were lying crumpled on the floor beside miss Arrabella’s discarded, white stilettos. Her feet were now bare under the elasticated, calf-length hems of her plain, white leggings, and ready for the new socks to be tried on.

As if on cue miss Mitsuko arrived back with what appeared to be three pairs of new socks – all ankle length, but of different colours. She first presented a pair of black, cotton ankle socks with numerous, white ‘skull & crossbones’ motifs running up the entire length of the socks:

‘Miss Arraberra – these new ‘pirate’ sock; just in. Make miss Arraberra feet rook sexy; cool! Miss Arraberra rike try on?’

‘Oh yes, Mitsuko! I do like those – and they will go well with my white stilettos! Footboy, put those socks on my feet this instant!’ snapped miss Arrabella impatiently, as a smiling miss Mitsuko handed the pirate socks down to the kneeling footslave. Miss Mitsuko was pleased. She could tell already that she had made at least one sale!

Slave Ernesto, spurred on by the evident excitement and impatience in miss Arrabella’s voice, immediately started to roll up one of the fresh, new, black socks in his slave hands before pulling it over the warm and slightly sweaty toes of the seated miss Arrabella’s outstretched right foot and then gently rolling it up to the top of her shapely ankle bone, revealing more and more of the white skull & crossbones motifs as he did so.

Miss Arrabella liked the idea of being a pirate – a female pirate on the high seas with a male footslave cowering at her pirate feet, begging her for mercy! Begging not to be made to walk the plank! As soon as both socks were on she ordered slave Ernesto to lie over on his back so that she could rub the soles of her pirate-socked feet all over his pathetic, upturned face. Slave Ernesto may have been imagining it, but he couldn’t help feeling that the skulls in the skull and crossbones motifs on the bottoms of her socks were laughing at him as she did so. It was if the very socks themselves were aware of their superiority over him.

He was soon ordered to put miss Arrabella’s shiny, white stiletto shoes back on her feet so that she could see how the black and white pirate-themed socks looked in the mirror with her favourite pair of shoes on. As he knelt behind her feet slave Ernesto had to admit that, from his perspective at any rate, the socks looked good.

More importantly, all three women seemed to agree that they looked good, as, indeed, they did with the other two pairs miss Mitsuko had pre-selected for miss Arrabella – a pair of dark blue, ribbed ankle socks with red cherry motifs on the ankles and a pair of white towelling socks with two pink stripes on the cuffs. All were duly tested out on slave Ernesto’s face and deemed fit for slave consumption. Miss Mitsuko had chosen well!

‘Kiss miss Mitsuko’s feet and thank her for choosing my new socks so well, sockboy!’ barked miss Arrabella as she was ready to leave. ‘Thank her for choosing such pretty socks to go with your ugly, slave face!’

Miss Mitsuko laughed as she handed back miss Arrabella’s credit card and stretched forward her right, pink-and-white-sneakered foot for kissing:

‘Srave kiss side of miss Mitsuko sock. Kiss pink heart!’ she stipulated, clearly well used to having her pretty, oriental feet worshipped by other women’s slaves.

Slave Ernesto was delighted to have permission to kiss the sexy, pink, heart- shaped motif on the side of miss Mitsuko’s otherwise pure white, sport sock. As soon as his lips were off the pink heart he humbly thanked her, as instructed by his mistress Arrabella, for her excellent choice of new socks for him to worship:

‘Oh pray, mistress Mitsuko, this dirty, ugly footslave blesses you and thanks you for choosing such pretty socks for his mistress Arrabella’s superior feet, and promises that he will honour and adore those socks as befits a young woman’s obedient sockslave, if it so pleases you most beautiful mistress Mitsuko.’

Miss Mitsuko, it seemed, had heard it all before and wasn’t that impressed. She merely clicked her teeth and extended her other sneakered and socked foot:

‘Srave-o kiss Mitsuko other sock!’ she commanded, the smile now gone from her pretty Japanese face as she was addressing a despised, male slave, and not a valued, female customer.

And so mistresses Arrabella and Penelope, and their slave, Ernesto, next headed off to the nearby whip shop to buy a whip for his back.

Once again, slave Ernesto found himself having to kiss the feet of a young, female shop assistant in her twenties, although the girl in the whip shop was wearing soft, black, leather, ballet flats on her bare, white feet under black, cotton slacks. As he kissed the rounded toe of her right ballet flat, and observed the blue vein that ran along the top of her foot and down into her instep pulsating slightly inside her shoe in reaction to his humble ministrations, slave Ernesto realised that the young woman really knew her stuff when it came to whips.

She was explaining to an intrigued miss Penelope that a three-tailed whip would cause the most pain. Too many tails tended to deaden the pain, even if they had little knots tied in them, such as with a cat-o-nine tails. A single-tailed whip was, apparently, very stinging indeed if used properly, but required a lot of dexterity and effort on the part of the mistress. For a beginner, such as Penelope, therefore, the sales assistant would recommend a three-tailed leather whip, as the tails would naturally splay out on impact with the slave’s back causing three, sharp, stinging red weals across his back and stomach with every stroke!

Miss Penelope was happy to take the shop assistant’s advice, and slave Ernesto soon found himself in the now unusual position of being up off his knees and tied to a wooden whipping post in the middle of the shop with his hands high above his head, whilst miss Penelope stood behind him so that the female sales assistant could measure the distance between the whip-wielding mistress and the slave’s back, thereby ensuring some degree of ‘wrap-around’ whenever the whip would strike.

Miss Penelope, of course, had to try out a few practice strokes, but, fortunately for slave Ernesto, his bare back was covered with a protective leather girdle during these practice strokes. It was not the shop’s policy to allow mistresses to punish the slaves in effect for free on the shop’s premises, and possibly then deciding not to buy the implement of punishment after all!

Not that miss Penelope, or, for that matter miss Arrabella, had any doubts as to their impending purchase. Slave Ernesto’s back was just made for the whip, and as he observed miss Penelope’s black, woolly tights and purple, suede leather mary janes positioning themselves behind him for the practice strokes of the whip, the convicted criminal-cum-footslave, hanging by the arms from the wooden whipping post, was overwhelmed by a sense of gratitude towards his young mistress for making sure to buy a whip that properly fitted his back!

It was with the same sense of gratitude, mixed with a healthy dose of fear, that he lay under miss Penelope’s feet during her bookclub session with her dozen or so friends later that evening. Humiliatingly for him, she was still wearing the same black, woolly, cable-knit tights and purple, suede leather, strappy mary janes that she had been all day. It was humiliating for him because he knew that her feet must be sweaty by now inside the thick, woollen tights and enclosed, leather sandals, and yet he wasn’t being permitted to unstrap those sandals and sniff her woolly-tights-covered toes. He desperately wanted to, but miss Penelope, it seemed, didn’t want to impose the smell of her sweaty, black-woollen tights on her bookclub friends.

She was instead showing them her latest purchase - the brown, leather, three-tailed slave-whip, allowing them all to enthusiastically run the leather strands through their fingers, as slave Ernesto stared dutifully and silently once again at the creases and folds in the black tights covering the outer ankle of her right foot:

‘I’m glad I’m not a slave!’ one young man was saying. ‘I really don’t fancy having this leather whip wrapping itself around my ribs!’

‘Ha! Ha! Don’t worry, Steve, that’ll never happen – unless you break the law and get sentenced to 5 years’ community servitude like slave Ernesto here!’ laughed Penelope.

‘Ha! Ha! Not much chance of that!’ exclaimed Steve, ‘I’m not a pervert like him! What was it you said he stole – some ladies’ knickers?’

Slave Ernesto felt himself redden with embarrassment as miss Penelope and her intellectual student-friends discussed his pathetic crime and well-deserved punishment:

‘Ha! Ha! Yeah – he probably likes sniffing ladies’ underwear, or something!’ opined a young, asian woman who was wearing a pair of black, lace-up ankle boots under blue, denim jeans. Slave Ernesto just caught a glimpse of the tops of her white bootsocks under the raised hems of her jean legs.

‘Well, I sure hope he likes the smell of ladies’ tights, Penelope! I mean, his face is so close to your feet he must be able to smell them!’ quipped a young, black woman who was wearing black jeans, rather tatty white sneakers and stripy, red and white ankle socks.

‘Oh yes, Jane, he gets to smell lots of ladies’ socks and tights as part of his community servitude!’ explained miss Penelope. ‘Would you like me to make him smell your socks?’

‘Cool!’ exclaimed the young black woman known as Jane. She made to untie her shoe laces.

‘Ha! Ha! Don’t do that, Jane! My slave will take off your sneakers for you, otherwise he’ll get his first taste of my new whip!’ laughed miss Penelope.

‘Ha! Ha! Sorry, Penelope. I wasn’t thinking! I’m not used to having a slave about the house like you are!’

Penelope beamed with pride – the world was at last acknowledging that she was a natural born slavemistress. Her new harsh regime was paying off! Learning from her sister, she addressed slave Ernesto in the most demeaning and humiliating way she could muster:

‘Dirty footpig, crawl over to mistress Jane’s feet and take off her sneakers. You’re going to smell her socks for her!’

Miss Penelope could sound confident and matter-of-fact because it was a matter of fact. Slave Ernesto was going to smell miss Jane’s stripy, red and white ankle socks because miss Penelope had ordered him too. And she now, quite literally, held the whip-hand!

He therefore crawled humbly on his hands and knees over to where miss Jane was seated in a comfortable armchair and, having first respectfully kissed the dirty and somewhat flaky leather toe of each of her grey-white sneakers, proceeded to untie the equally grey laces and to pull the sneakers off her shapely, feminine feet.

The young woman’s red-and-white-striped socks did stink! Miss Jane, it seemed unlike her friend Penelope, was not at all embarrassed about her sweaty feet. In fact, she thought it was funny when her bookclub-friends all held their noses and waved their hands in front of their faces in exaggerated disgust. Their disgust was ‘exaggerated’ because their noses were nowhere near miss Jane’s stripy-socked feet. Only slave Ernesto’s nose could truly claim to be assailed by the young woman’s overpowering sock stink:

‘Ha! Ha! Smell my instep, slave!’ ordered miss Jane who, like her friend Penelope, wore glasses.

Slave Ernesto, to the delight of all the young people gathered, then had no choice but to place his nose on the socked instep of the young, bespectacled, black woman’s right foot and to audibly sniff.

‘Ha! Ha! Make him take off your sock and lick the sweat off your bare foot, Jane!’ suggested the young man known as Steve.

‘Yeah! Yeah!’ screamed all the other young men present – clearly keen to see as much of miss Jane’s bare flesh as they could, even if it was only her bare feet!

‘Ha! Ha! Do you mind, Penelope?’ enquired Jane politely, conscious that she was using another woman’s footslave.

‘Be my guest!’ responded Penelope happily, and with a certain degree of irony since she was actually the guest in Jane’s house! She then watched intently as her host Jane ordered slave Ernesto to remove her sock and lick clean her bare foot:

‘You heard master Steve, slave! Take off my stinky sock and lick the sweat off my bare foot, or I’ll have your mistress Penelope give you 30 lashes with her new, leather slave whip!’ barked the allegedly inexperienced slave-owner miss Jane.

‘Ha! Ha! Better do as mistress Jane says, slaveboy, or that’ll mean 90 red stripes across your bare back to match the thin, red stripes on her socks!’ exhorted another young man in the room.

The girls all giggled. They liked it when their men-friends were so manly and dominant towards the much older, but pathetically submissive male slave who was now removing Jane’s stripy, sweaty sock from her right foot and preparing to lick away her stale footsweat. Yes all the girls in the room were excited and jealous: excited to witness the humiliation and degradation of the male slave; jealous of their slave-owning friend Penelope.

Ironically, the bookclub members had temporarily forgotten all about the wonderful story they were supposed to be discussing that evening: ‘Venus in Furs’ by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch.

Part 10 – Servitude at the Police Station

Slave Ernesto’s probation officer, mistress Gozia, was, as ever, keen to ensure that the convicted criminal Ernesto served at the feet of not just Madam Tahani and her two daughters, but of the community in general – in line with the wishes of the Female Court which had, after all, passed a sentence on him of five years community servitude.

She therefore used her contacts in the police service to arrange for her charge to spend an entire day servicing the hard-working feet and footwear of the female police officers in the town’s main Police Station. In particular, she arranged for the WPC who had initially arrested slave Ernesto, WPC Mariella; the woman police detective who had compiled the case against him, DC Georgina, and the female custody officer who had guarded him at the Courthouse, WPC Shariya, to have their feet attended to by slave Ernesto. She thought it would be especially humiliating and degrading for slave Ernesto to have to humbly serve the feet of the female law-enforcers who were responsible for bringing him to court, and who had all received credit from their respective line managers for securing his conviction.

Early the next morning, therefore, slave Ernesto was once again collected from the Tahani household by the grim prison van, and driven straight to the main police station in the centre of the town.

Chillingly, mistress Gozia escorted him into the same ‘punishment’ room where he had previously served, quite literally, as a whipping boy for various female petty criminals. Slave Ernesto, because he was a coward who feared physical pain, hoped that further pain was not going to be on the agenda today.

That was the problem with being a convicted criminal however – you had no rights and no control over your own destiny, and were entirely at the mercy of your female probation officer who had it in her power to decide how your life would be each day; she could make your day an easy one, perhaps kissing the feet of lots of beautiful and kindly young women; or she could have you beaten and publicly humiliated. It was entirely up to her. Slave Ernesto had learnt, therefore, that it was best to display continuous respect to all those young women who now had power over him – and especially to his probation officer, the striking East-European blonde, mistress Gozia.

She was once again wearing her favourite pair of somewhat scruffy black and white sneakers with black trousers, and, when she positioned her right foot forward in the punishment cell of the police station for slave Ernesto to respectfully kiss, he also caught a glimpse of the elasticated top of a short, plain, white, ‘footie-style’ ankle sock – the sort that only just shows above the tops of a young woman’s sneakers.

He could have been kissing the sneaker of any one of a thousand young women, were it not for that distinctive little, red sore on miss Gozia’s outer ankle bone – the same sore he had noticed on the first occasion he had been required to kiss her sneakered foot in the court cell-room immediately following his sentencing. That little red sore helped to personalise, to individualise the feet of his all-powerful probation officer.

She had been wearing short, black sneaker-socks on that first occasion he had kissed her feet, and he recalled how he had admired then the contrast between the black, elasticated top of her short sock and her fair skin. Yet he now thought that he liked the white socks even more – so pure and feminine, in complete contrast to him – dirty and male. As he respectfully kissed the toes of mistress Gozia’s black and white sneakers, he found himself wishing he could place his lips on the elasticated tops of her pure, white socks.

But that wasn’t to be. Mistress Gozia soon had him kneeling, with his head bowed, in front of the same ‘throne’ that the female, petty criminals had sat in before whilst he was being caned at their feet. The difference this time was that there was no wooden trestle in front of the throne. He was not, therefore, in a position whereby he could be caned on his bare buttocks. Slave Ernesto breathed a sigh of relief (it never occurred to him that they might cane him on his kneeling back!)

He guessed that he was going to be occupied primarily in footworship today, but whose feet? Mistress Gozia, ever seemingly able to read her charge’s confused mind, put him out of his misery:

‘Slave, I have arranged for you to service the feet and footwear of those female police officers who put you where you are today - your arresting officer; the officer who investigated and successfully prosecuted your case; and WPC Shariya who so kindly ensured that you remained in custody immediately following your sentencing until my arrival at the Court-house.

You will service their feet and footwear in whatsoever way they wish, and you will do so with complete humility and resignation as befits a dirty, convicted, male slave.

On that last point, I have had reports that you have been failing to show an appropriate degree of respect towards your female masters…,’

Slave Ernesto wondered who could have made such a complaint about him to mistress Gozia. Surely not mistress Penelope? He may have behaved presumptuously towards her at first, but that had soon changed with the introduction of her new, harsh regime!

‘…and I have therefore arranged for you to be injected with “slave serum” to help you adopt a proper attitude towards your female betters,’ continued miss Gozia.

Slave serum! Ernesto had read about it when he had still been a free man (which seemed so long ago now!). It was some sort of chemical that, when injected into the bloodstream, induced strong feelings of humility, subservience, fear and depression in the victim. Even the most ‘uppity’ of male slaves could be made compliant by the powerful serum – it was supposed to be used only on unruly or rebellious slaves.

I’m not unruly or rebellious, thought slave Ernesto to himself (rebelliously!). Why are they going to use the serum on me?

His heart sank.

It sank even further when he heard who was going to be administering the injection - WPC mistress Shariya, who, as if on cue, at that very moment entered the cell, looking resplendent as always in her smart police uniform consisting of a navy blue police cap over a white headscarf, white blouse, navy blue jacket and trousers, and black, zip-up ankle boots. Although slave Ernesto, fortunately for him, could not see it she was also wearing an evil grin on her slightly podgy face and was carrying a small phial of yellowish liquid, together with a large, nasty looking syringe in her petite, asian hands.

‘Hi, Gozia!’ she chirped happily.

WPC Shariya was in a particularly good mood at that moment because she just loved administering injections to prisoners – not from some caring desire to be a nurse, but because injecting a prone and vulnerable male prisoner amounted, in her mind, to a penetration, a violation, of the prisoner’s helpless body. She knew that so many of them were wimps when it came to needles! How she loved the look of fear on their pathetic faces when she forewarned them that they were about to experience a ‘sharp scratch’.

Miss Shariya always made sure that ‘scratch’ was as long and as sharp as possible.

‘Good morning, Shariya! How are you today? Looking forward to having your feet serviced by the prisoner?’ enquired mistress Gozia.

‘Yeah, innit?! I think I’ll start by having him lick my boots clean ‘cause they’re filthy, innit?’

From his kneeling position slave Ernesto could just see out of the corner of his eye the familiar, well-worn pair of black ankle boots that belonged to mistress Shariya. It occurred to him that, even after only a few weeks of foot-servitude, he could now recognise superior mistresses just from their feet and footwear. And WPC mistress Shariya’s boots were as dusty and dirty as ever. They did tend to let the rest of her smart uniform down!

‘Ha! Ha! Well, he’s all yours for the first hour, Shariya, so you can do what you like with him. WPC Mariella isn’t due until 10:30,’ confirmed mistress Gozia.

I must be ‘by appointment only’ today thought slave Ernesto with an inappropriate degree of pride. Mistress Gozia’s next words reminded him that he was about to get a dose of humility:

‘I see you’ve brought the serum. Would you like to inject it into his neck, please?’

‘You bet!’ miss Shariya squealed enthusiastically, as she duly opened the lid of the small phial and then inserted the large syringe into it, filling it up with the yellowish liquid that was the, much feared amongst prisoners and convicts, infamous slave serum.

Her evil grin seemed to broaden even further as she moved to stand next to slave Ernesto who had been expertly secured and immobilised by mistress Gozia into his kneeling position in front of the raised chair or ‘throne’ in which mistress Shariya herself would soon be sitting.

She bent down to rest the sharp needle of the syringe against a prominent vein on the side of the kneeling slave’s neck just above his heavy, wooden, slave-collar, and then, after several tense and probably unnecessary seconds, uttered the obligatory warning:

‘Sharp scratch, slave!’

She then pushed the needle slowly and deeply into his neck-vein, before, equally slowly and deliberately, pushing down on the end of the syringe with her thumb until all the yellow liquid had entered the helpless slave’s body.

Cruelly, she left the syringe in him for several seconds longer than was strictly necessary – just because she could!

By the time she pulled it out of him slave Ernesto was already beginning to feel the effects of the serum – an overwhelming sense of powerlessness and desperation; a total feeling of worthlessness and an unstoppable desire to submit. Suddenly, everything was clear to him – he was a slave, and mistress Shariya was a goddess – an asian goddess in whose presence he wasn’t fit to live and breathe.

As she took up her seat on the throne in front of him, each and every one of his 5 senses seemed more potent than they had ever been before:

He could smell nothing but the all-enveloping, musty odour of her black leather, zip-up ankle boots, mingled with her halitosis, and he knew it was a smell befitting the nose of a humble footslave;

He could see the minute little creases in the well-worn leather of her ankle boots, and knew it was a fitting sight for a humble footslave’s eyes;

He could hear her superior, feminine voice ordering him to lick the filth off her dirty boots, and knew that his mistress’s commands were the only sounds he was worthy to hear as a humble footslave;

As he lowered his mouth to the leather uppers of her ankle boots he could feel each and every grain of dirt on his slave lips, and knew that his mistress’s boot-dirt was the only thing a humble footslave’s lips were worthy to touch;

And as he licked her dirty, police-boot leather he tasted the only taste that a humble footslave is worthy to have in his mouth – that of dirty, feminine shoe and boot leather.

Truly, he was in the presence of a goddess, and was the most privileged slave on earth to be permitted to lick her dusty, dirty boots!

And yet, joy of joys, there was more to come, for the next sound he heard was mistress Shariya’s goddess-like voice uttering her next command from high above him:

‘Slave, take off my boots and smell my dirty socks, innit?’

Her socks! He was to be permitted to smell her dirty socks! At last! At long last! Oh mistress Shariya I truly am not worthy, he thought to himself.

And he truly believed that he wasn’t worthy. To be permitted to sniff the inner footwear of a young, asian goddess – whilst she was still wearing it! And yet, unworthy though he may be, he had no choice but to obey. For she was the superior mistress and he was the inferior slave.

The drugged slave therefore respectfully unzipped and removed first her right ankle boot, and then her left, from mistress Shariya’s beautiful, podgy, besocked goddess-feet. To his consternation he saw that she was wearing what appeared to be a very old pair of well-worn, navy-blue, police uniform issue bootsocks. Both the socks had holes in them, and, thanks to his drug-enhanced sense of smell, they truly stank.

Fortunately his drug-enhanced sense of humility only made him grateful to be allowed the privilege of smelling close up goddess-mistress Shariya’s damp, sweaty, holey, navy blue socks. As she rested her socked feet on the two metal footrests in front of his face, the kneeling footslave Ernesto sniffed them repeatedly, and audibly, with mistress Gozia looking on from the far side of the cell where she had discreetly moved in order to distance herself as much as possible from the acrid stench of WPC Shariya’s sweaty-socked feet.

The latter was quite clearly unabashed about the cheesy aroma emanating from her socked feet:

‘Ha! Ha! My socks stink, innit slave?’

Again her goddess-like voice seemed to permeate through his whole being, and he answered his goddess-mistress in the only way a fully submissive and humble male footslave-mortal can answer his female superior:

‘Oh pray, goddess-mistress Shariya, if it pleases you, goddess-mistress Shariya, this dirty slave is not worthy to inhale the stink of your sweaty-socked feet, if it so pleases you, most beautiful and divine supreme goddess-mistress Shariya.’

‘Ha! Ha! Kiss them dirty socks, slave!’ barked supreme goddess-mistress Shariya.

Slave Ernesto’s cup ranneth over. He lowered his lips to kiss the very stink he had just been inhaling.

Miss Shariya laughed again:

‘Ha! Ha! Now kiss the hole in my sock, innit?’ she decreed, holding up her left foot to reveal a particularly large hole in the sole of her left sock.

Slave Ernesto, thanks in part to his drug-enhanced sense of sight, could clearly make out the individual sweat pores in mistress Shariya’s brown, asian footflesh underneath the hole in her navy-blue sock. His nose rested on an area of worn and thinning sock whilst his lips kissed her soft, bare footskin. He could now taste her very footsweat, and never had a young woman’s footsweat tasted so good!

He was now so overwhelmed with feelings of submissiveness that he didn’t even mind when goddess-mistress Shariya ordered him to put her boots back on her feet. He didn’t mind because it was the will of his goddess – and her will was his will. He was her footslave – a mere appendage to her feet, and if he could he would live inside her boots as a tiny mini-man, surviving on her toe-jam, bathing in her footsweat and drying himself on the insides of her well-worn socks.

Who says the drugs don’t work?!

Slave Ernesto wasn’t really aware of the time anymore, but it must have turned 10:30 as goddess-mistress Shariya’s black ankle boots were suddenly replaced by another similar pair of police boots in front of him – similar, but not identical, for these boots were newer; the creases in the leather, he noticed, were in different places, and there was a small hair caught in the zip on the left boot. There was no such hair caught in the zip of mistress Shariya’s left boot!

So these must be the boots of my arresting officer, WPC Mariella, he surmised.

Ernesto had not paid much attention to his arresting officer’s boots at the time of his arrest, for he had still, at that point, been a free man – albeit on the cusp of losing his liberty. He had instead clocked her pretty blonde hair tied up in a pony tail, and her voluptuous figure.

Now that he was a slave, however, he could do nothing else other than admire WPC Mariella’s police-issue boots.

He remembered with shame how he had resisted arrest, forcing WPC Mariella to handcuff him and sit on his back with his arm twisted painfully behind him whilst she waited for back-up. He must apologise to her now. He must kiss her boots and thank her for overpowering him and arresting him.

Unprompted, he therefore lowered his slave lips to the toe of her right boot as it rested on the metal footrest in front of him, and humbly and respectfully kissed it:

‘Oh pray, WPC mistress Mariella, please forgive this dirty convicted criminal for struggling against you when you justly arrested him and took him into custody. Please forgive this unworthy slave, if it so pleases you superior mistress WPC Mariella. This slave is truly sorry!’

Superior mistress WPC Mariella just laughed:

‘Ha! Ha! It would take more than a dried-up old prune like you to get the better of me, foot-faggott!’ exclaimed the 19 year old, fit and healthy, blonde WPC.

Slave Ernesto remembered that he was 58 years old, and a ‘has been’ in every sense of the term. He certainly had been no match for the fit and healthy young officer when she had floored him and cuffed him, and now he was unworthy to even allow the tips of his lips to brush against her superior boot leather.

Nevertheless, magnanimous as she was, WPC Mariella was allowing him to do just that – and she even went on to allow him to respectfully run his nose along the elasticated tops of her navy-blue uniform socks above the rims of her ankle boots. How soft the socks felt on the ultra-sensitive tip of his humble, slave nose!

After what must have been another hour or so of boot and sock worship, WPC Mariella’s uniformed feet were replaced by the civilian-clothed feet of the female detective who had successfully achieved his conviction in Court – Detective Constable mistress Georgina.

Mistress Georgina was wearing soft, black leather ballet flats - with pretty black bows made of laces on the uppers - on bare feet, under black trousers. She was not visiting him in the cell alone, however, for slave Ernesto heard her introducing another female officer to mistress Gozia:

‘Gozia, allow me to introduce DC Wing Shi from the Hong Kong Police. She’s shadowing me for a month on secondment, so I thought it would be nice for her to come down to the punishment room and witness how we punish male criminals who have been sentenced to community servitude. Wing Shi, this is probation officer Gozia.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Wing Shi. I hope you are enjoying your secondment?’ asked mistress Gozia politely.

‘Pleased to meet you! Yes, Wing Shi like watch how DC Georgina work. Especially like see how dirty male criminals punished in your country. This dirty criminal who steal lady’s knickers?’

‘Ha! Ha! Yes, that’s right, Wing Shi,’ confirmed mistress Georgina, to slave Ernesto’s undying shame. ‘As I was telling you earlier he’s been sentenced to five years community servitude as a women’s footslave, and Gozia here has been making sure the wishes of the court are fulfilled. How long has he been in bondage to the Tahani family now, Gozia?’

‘Just under 3 weeks,’ responded the probation officer.

Is that really all, thought slave Ernesto to himself. It seems so much longer! So much has happened to me in those three weeks; so many female feet I have come to know and admire! So many feminine boots and shoes I have had to kiss!

‘Ha! Ha! What that mark on slave’s neck?’ enquired the visiting detective constable from the Hong Kong police.

‘Oh, I’m afraid we had to inject him with some slave serum, Wing Shi,’ explained miss Gozia.

‘Ahh… slave serum. Yes, I hear of this. Make criminal-slave humble and obedient, yes? Unfortunately we not allowed to use in Hong Kong Police!’

‘That’s right, Wing Shi,’ confirmed Detective Constable Georgina. ‘We are only allowed to use it sparingly ourselves. We tend to only use it on recalcitrant slaves, such as slave Ernesto here!’

So, I am a recalcitrant slave, thought slave Ernesto to himself. He was horrified. He must be more humble towards his female masters and betters.

For her part, Detective Constable Wing Shi had already made up her mind to somehow smuggle a phial of slave serum back with her to Hong Kong. She was sure she could find some personal use for it!

‘Wing Shi, would you like to sit in the chair and have your feet kissed by the slave?’ enquired DC Georgina.

‘Ha! Ha! Please, you go first, Georgina. Wing Shi watch first. Wing Shi never have feet kissed by man before!’

‘Ha! Ha! That’s alright, Wing Shi! There’s really nothing to be frightened or embarrassed about,’ DC Georgina reassured her visiting guest. ‘Look, I’ll show you what to do!’ and with that DC mistress Georgina climbed up into the raised chair and positioned her feet, in their black ballet flats with the lace bows, on the two metal footrests in front of slave Ernesto’s kneeling face:

‘You, the slave, kiss my shoes – and don’t let your dirty lips stray onto my bare footflesh unless I tell you to, do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, mistress Georgina. This slave obeys you, mistress Georgina.’

Even though the effects of the slave serum were now beginning to wear off, slave Ernesto knew that he must be nothing other than ultra-humble vis-à-vis mistress DC Georgina in front of her foreign colleague. DC Georgina was, after all, fully deserving of his respect as she had been the one to successfully prosecute him in court. She was the female winner, and he was the male loser; and it was only right and proper that the loser should kiss the winner’s feet.

And such dainty feet they were, with tiny blue veins pulsating underneath the smooth skin on the top of her feet – skin that, for the time being, was forbidden to him to touch. Only the soft leather skin of her black ballet flats was currently open to him to kiss. He duly kissed the lacy toes of detective constable Mariella’s ballet-style shoes.

Miss Wing Shi squealed with delight:

‘Ha! Ha! In Hong Kong dirty, male criminals never kiss lady police officers’ feet. Wing Shi like! Kissing lady officer’s feet make criminal humble. Make criminal respect lady police officer!’

‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, Wing Shi! Look I can even order him to take off my shoes and suck the dirt between my toes. We call it shrimping!’, and with that mistress detective constable Georgina demonstrated just that to her fascinated colleague:

‘Hey there, foot-flunkey, you heard me – take off my shoes and suck away all the cheese between my bare toes!’

Slave Ernesto, of course, obeyed immediately, and soon his mouth was indeed ‘shrimping’ Detective Constable mistress Georgina’s bare toes as mistress Wing Shi clapped her petite, oriental hands in delight, and squealed her approval:

‘Ha! Ha! Criminal like sniff ladies’ knickers but instead have to suck ladies’ toes like slave! Ha! Ha!’

After DC mistress Georgina had dried her feet on slave Ernesto’s hair she slipped her ballet flats back on and stepped down from the raised chair in order to make way for her now eager oriental colleague.

As officer Wing Shi sat down in the chair slave Ernesto had his first sight of her shapely, oriental feet and legs. She was wearing a cream-coloured knee-length skirt, white, nylon tights or stockings, and cream-coloured, low-heeled, court shoes. She was really very smartly dressed for a ‘plain-clothes’ police officer.

Mistress Wing Shi made herself comfortable and rested her feet on the two metal footrests. Her feet only just reached.

‘Go ahead, Wing Shi, order him to kiss your feet – just like I did,’ prompted DC mistress Georgina.

‘Ha! Ha! Wing Shi ready now!’ she replied. She then took a deep breath and looked down at slave Ernesto kneeling with his head bowed at her feet – ready to serve the feet of any young woman who deigned to sit on the throne before him:

‘Slave kiss Wing Shi feet! Kiss toe of shoe! Not touch Wing Shi stocking!’

The young Chinese woman really was following the example of her mentor in specifying exactly which part of her pretty feet and footwear the slave was permitted to kiss. Slave Ernesto therefore lowered his lips to the shiny, cream-coloured, pointy leather toe of the young woman’s right shoe, and audibly kissed.

Miss Wing Shi again squealed with a mixture of disbelief and delight!

‘Ha! Ha! Now kiss Wing Shi other shoe, slave! Obey Wing Shi! Wing Shi better than male slave-criminal. Wing Shi superior, free woman! Ha! Ha!’

Nobody in the cell, not least slave Ernesto himself, could argue with that.

And so, as he lowered his slave lips to the shiny, leather toe of mistress Wing Shi’s cream-coloured, left shoe, slave Ernesto could only look longingly at the tiny creases in the fine nylon of the white stocking around her delicate, feminine ankle, and hope against hope that she would subsequently grant him the inestimable honour of respectfully kissing her stockings also.

And he didn’t even need the slave serum coursing through his veins to make him wish for such an honour!

Part 11 – All in a day’s servitude

The days passed into weeks and the weeks into months. As time went on, 58 year old slave Ernesto only became more and more worn down and more and more submissive. It was, perhaps, an inevitable consequence of having to live life on ones knees, at his age, at the feet of seemingly ever more arrogant and dominant young women. But the ‘harsher’ miss Penelope, in particular, became - the humbler slave Ernesto became. The constant grovelling at young women’s feet, and the sting of miss Penelope’s newly acquired leather whip, were his ultimate teachers.

If truth be told slave Ernesto was already truly penitent and reformed and had learnt his lesson in full – that of respect for the superiority of all women. However, the good lady Judge Priscilla in her wisdom had sentenced him to a full five years’ community servitude as a women’s footslave. And so his sentence, and his humiliation, continued – whether he needed it or not. There would be no remission for good behaviour. He would continue to live on his hands and knees, wearing only the State-supplied white, slave shorts, and the State-supplied wooden collar around his enslaved neck for all to see, and for all to exploit.

The following is a description of a fairly typical day in footslave Ernesto’s life:

In the morning he was required to accompany miss Penelope (recently turned 20 years old) to her teacher training college. She had decided to become a lecturer in English literature, and as part of her training was required to undertake a presentational skills course. Today she was due to give a presentation to her fellow students on a subject of her choice.

She had chosen as her subject the convicted criminal Ernesto, who as we know had been placed by the Courts in her family’s custody as a personal footslave. Her fellow students were always curious to know more about what it was like to have a male footslave in one’s power, and Penelope was confident she could easily fill the 20 minutes allocated to her presentation, particularly if she included a question and answer session at the end. Moreover, she could bring slave Ernesto along as a visual aid, and make him kiss the audience’s feet. They would love it, just as she now loved having her feet kissed by him in public!

And so slave Ernesto found himself kneeling at the front of the classroom behind miss Penelope’s feet and in front of a select band of her fellow 20 year old, female students all of whom were training to be lecturers or teachers of English language or literature. A collection of bright, intelligent, superior young women. Slave Ernesto felt truly humble in their presence – and rightly so.

Their professor was also female – Madam Marcia – still a young woman herself from slave Ernesto’s middle-aged perspective, as she must only have been in her early to mid thirties. He noticed, as she was setting up the camera that would film Penelope’s presentation, that she was dressed ‘young’ as well – casually, in blue, denim jeans and a white T shirt, and with black and grey sneakers on her feet.

Frustratingly, he couldn’t see if she was wearing any socks as the jeans covered the tops of her sneakers and, indeed, were so long that the hems dragged on the floor and were tatty and torn as a result. She looked just like one of the students -quite a scruffy look for a female, university professor! But slave Ernesto now had nothing other than feelings of admiration for the scruffy footwear of superior young women – be they university professors or undergraduate students. They were all his mistresses and betters. He had actually come to develop a taste for such casual, female footwear.

Which was just as well as his own mistress, miss Penelope, was today wearing a white, knee-length skirt, thick, black, woolly tights, and scruffy, white sneakers with gold stripes on the sides. She had worn the tights many times before and, kneeling directly behind her feet as she sat on a wooden chair in front of the class, he had a clear view of the numerous little balls of black, woollen lint that peppered her well-worn tights around her shapely ankles, as well as the brown scuff marks on the sides and along the rims of her sneakers. He watched lovingly as the black, woolly material of her tights folded and creased around her ankles as she criss-crossed her feet under the chair directly in front of his face, and somewhat nervously tapped the floor repeatedly with her white-sneakered feet as she read through her notes in preparation for her presentation.

Slave Ernesto was nervous as well. He hoped miss Penelope’s presentation would go well because, if it didn’t, she was sure to blame him and whip him.

The young professor in the scruffy black and grey trainers called for silence and slave Ernesto crawled humbly on his hands and knees behind the backs of miss Penelope’s white and gold trainers as she walked over to the laptop where she had prepared a PowerPoint presentation.

She cleared her throat, adjusted her spectacles, took a deep breath and began:

‘Good morning, everyone!’

‘Good morning, Penelope,’ echoed back a chorus of about a dozen or so, young female voices, some giggling. They were all good friends here, really.

Penelope continued:

‘As most of you already know a few months ago my mother, my sister and I were asked to host a convicted criminal who was sentenced by the Female Court to 5 years’ community servitude as a women’s footslave.’

She stood to one side so that her right sneakered foot appeared to be pointing accusingly at slave Ernesto:

‘This is the criminal concerned. He is called slave Ernesto, and I thought I would tell you a bit about what life is like with a personal footslave in the home.’

A murmur of girlish excitement seemed to flow through the female audience.

‘As you can see, the criminal-slave, because he has been sentenced specifically to footslavery, is forced to stay on his hands and knees at all times, and has to wear a heavy, wooden collar around his neck, and a pair of white slave shorts. The collar helps to keep his neck bowed and low, so that he finds it difficult to look above a lady’s feet and ankles. The shorts mean that his bare back and legs are constantly exposed to the whip or cane.’

Slave Ernesto could now detect murmurs of approval in the audience.

Penelope now appeared to be referring to one of the slides in her PowerPoint presentation:

‘His daily, routine tasks include the following:

• Washing our bare feet first thing in the mornings
• Providing us with a full pedicure
• Putting our shoes and socks, or tights, on our feet
• Removing our shoes and socks from our feet
• Tongue-polishing our dirty boots and shoes
• Mouth and hand washing our dirty socks and tights
• Massaging our bare or socked feet
• Acting as our footrest whilst we relax in front of the television

In addition to these everyday tasks, slave Ernesto is allocated to one of us in turn each day on a rota basis, and has to follow his allocated mistress for the day on his hands and knees, in order to wait on her, quite literally, hand and foot. I’m sure some of you must have seen slave Ernesto crawling behind my feet in and around the College from time to time?’ she asked her audience.

‘Yes!’ chorused a number of happy, female voices.

Penelope had seemingly brought up another slide in her PowerPoint presentation – not that Ernesto could see it. His field of vision was filled with the backs of miss Penelope’s white-sneakered heels, and he was focusing, as befits a young woman’s personal footslave, on a tiny, white piece of fluff that had attached itself to the back of her thick, black woollen tights just above the heel of her left ankle. Slave Ernesto was conscious that he was being watched intently by the female audience who would be expecting him to focus humbly on the backs of his superior mistress’s heels.

Penelope continued:

‘As for punishments, and I know a lot of you are particularly interested in this, the Courts have delegated to us the authority to administer corporal punishment on him. I, together with my sister Arrabella, have therefore developed a fixed penalty system as follows:

• For incompetence, we give him 20 strokes of the cane across the backs of his bare legs
• For impudence, he gets 30 strokes of the cane on his legs
• And for disobedience he gets 50 lashes with the single-tailed, leather slave-whip across his bare back.

As you may be able to see he carries several traces of cane and whip marks on the backs of his legs and his back respectively.’

Slave Ernesto was faintly aware of some of the audience members leaning forward in their seats, or even standing up at the back, in order to get a better view of his whip-marks.

To the immense approval of the audience miss Penelope then produced the two aforementioned instruments of punishment, the cane and the whip, and passed them around the room. There was the sound of the cane being swished repeatedly through the air, and gasps of feminine pleasure as the whip, particularly, was run through soft, feminine fingers as it was passed round.

After a further 5 minutes or so of talking, during which time miss Penelope went on to explain to the audience of her peers about slave Ernesto’s probation officer, miss Gozia, and the additional elements of his punishment – the periodical public humiliation in the stocks; shoeshine duties at the Police Station etc - she then opened up the discussion to the floor, and invited questions from the audience.

There were many questions, all asked by young, genuinely curious, excited female voices:

‘What crime was the criminal convicted of?’

‘Was Penelope in Court to hear the sentencing?’

‘Does she accompany the slave when he has to go the Police Station to shine the lady police officers’ boots?’

‘Is he more frightened of uniformed, lady police officers than he is of civilian mistresses?

‘How many times does he have to kiss feet in an average day?’

‘Does Penelope whip him herself, or get someone else to do it for her?’

‘What’s it like to whip a man?’

‘Does he cry out and beg for mercy under the whip?’

‘Which causes him the most pain – the cane or the whip?’ etc etc

One young woman of Indian origins, who was apparently called Anita, simply wanted to know what it was like to have someone kiss her feet, and so miss Penelope invited her to come forward and find out for herself.

Slave Ernesto was ordered to crawl out from behind miss Penelope’s white-sneakered heels and black-tighted ankles, and to kneel with his head bowed at miss Anita’s feet.

Although he could only see her feet, he could just tell that she was a truly stunning looking girl. An ‘asian babe’ as a free man might describe her – but not, of course, slave Ernesto. To him she was an ‘asian goddess’, and he was fit only to kiss her typically scruffy, young-student-woman footwear.

Miss Anita was wearing the ubiquitous denim jeans - although these were light grey in colour - thick, grey, ribbed socks, and rather dusty, black, ballet-style, slip-on flats, with a black leather bow motif on the toes. Intriguingly for slave Ernesto, the young asian goddess’s tight, grey jeans had zips running from her shapely calves down to the hems. He found himself wishing he could undo the zips from the bottom with his slave teeth and thus get a view of her grey-socked, shapely, asian ankles under her jeans.

But miss Anita, it seemed, was not interested at that stage in showing the slave her socked ankles. Urged on by her fellow students and friends, she merely ordered the prostrate slave to kiss the leather toe of her right shoe:

‘Kiss my toe, innit slave?’ she squeaked in a high-pitched voice as she stretched forward her right foot, thereby, at least, revealing a little more of the top of her thick, grey sock.

Slave Ernesto thought she didn’t particularly sound like a well-educated and articulate trainee English language teacher! She sounded more like the young, asian prison guard, WPC Miss Shariya, who, it has to said, was not over-imbued with intellectual prowess! But, be that as it may, miss Anita, like miss Shariya, was a superior young woman, was therefore better than slave Ernesto, and was therefore deserving of his slavish respect.

As he lowered his lips and gently kissed the leather bow on the toe of her black, leather ballet-flat, the young asian woman let out a little exclamation:

‘Innit though?!’

Slave Ernesto guessed it was meant as an exclamation of both surprise and pleasure at the feeling of absolute power the young asian goddess must now be feeling over the middle aged manslave at her feet. That certainly seemed to be miss Penelope’s interpretation of her classmate’s reaction

‘Ha! Ha! You can order him to kiss your sock as well, if you wish, Anita!’ she counselled.

‘Go on, Anita, make him kiss your dirty sock!’ shouted an unknown female voice from the audience encouragingly.

Anita’s socks were not, actually, all that dirty. But everyone knew what the female voice in the audience was getting at – to have to kiss the sock of any young woman, while she is still wearing it inside her shoe, while it is still doing its job of absorbing the sweat emanating from the warmth of her soft, feminine footflesh, is a ‘dirty’ and humiliating task for any male footslave to have to fulfil – especially in public in front of an audience of rude and arrogant young women.

All the more reason why Anita wanted to take up her friend Penelope’s suggestion. She pulled up the hem of her jean leg ever so slightly to reveal yet more thick, ribbed, grey, feminine sock, and even her bare, brown footflesh directly above the top of the sock, as she ordered slave Ernesto to kiss the sock in her cute, asian-english accent:

‘Kiss the top of my sock on the ankle, and don’t touch my bare skin, innit slave?’ she commanded, her voice sounding totally authoritative even though the command had been phrased almost as a question!

I really am nothing but a young woman’s sockslave, thought slave Ernesto to himself – not even fit in her eyes to touch her bare footflesh with my dirty, slave lips! He was, however, pleased that at least he could now see the young asian goddess’s grey socked anklebone, and would have the honour of brushing it with his lips, even if he would not, seemingly, get his slavish wish of undoing the zip at the bottom of her jeans with his slave mouth to expose her socked foot even more fully.

He felt miss Anita’s foot twitch with delight through her sock under his lips as he placed his reverential kiss on the thick, grey, creased, woollen material.

‘Cool!’ was her only verbal reaction this time.

‘Awesome!’ was the response of at least one of the onlookers.

And, of course, once one young woman has had her foot kissed in public, they all want it! Only the strict time-limitation of 20 minutes placed on miss Penelope’s presentation restricted him to publicly kissing just two more pairs of female feet

The first were clad in a pair of lacy, fancy-patterned, black, ankle length, nylon hose and brown, peep-toe sandals. They belonged to a young woman who went by the name of Georgina. She was also wearing loose, beige, pleated trousers which came down to the tops of her ankles, but left the tops of her lacy nylon socks exposed.

Slave Ernesto, as he kissed the flowery-patterned nylon stitching on the young woman’s toes, was intrigued to see a pretty, red-ribbon bow at the top of her short, nylon hose just above her sweet ankle– very girly; very feminine. He wanted to kiss the bow, as a sign of his respect for her feminine superiority, but was instead asked for his opinion on the fragrance of the young woman’s nylon-covered toes:

‘Ha! Ha! How do my toes smell, slave? Do they smell like the nice flowers on the lacy pattern of my nylon socks, or do they smell of cheese and onion?’

The audience laughed at the young woman’s question. But slave Ernesto always dreaded such trick questions from a stranger. As he was a mere slave, he desperately needed to avoid offending the young woman, but had no way of knowing what would offend her the most: being told her feet smelt sweet like fresh roses, which might upset her as she may want the slave to feel degraded and humiliated by having to smell her ‘stinky’ feet; or being told her feet do smell sweaty (which they did a bit), which might embarrass her in front of her friends if she was actually angling for him to say that her feet were clean and fragrant like pretty roses.

He therefore gave her the only answer a desperately humble footslave could in such circumstances, even though it didn’t really answer her question:

‘Oh pray, mistress, if it pleases you mistress, this slave finds the pungent and distinctive smell of the superior mistress’s toes fitting for the nose of a humble footslave such as myself, if it so pleases you sweet, kind, feminine mistress.’

The audience erupted into laughter at the cringing obsequiousness of the slave’s humble, slave-speak reply.

‘Ha! Ha! How does he know if you’re a “sweet, kind, feminine mistress” Georgina? You might be a right bitch for all he knows!’ screamed one of the female audience, poignantly.

‘Now, now, ladies – language please!’ interjected the, young female professor, sensing a potential argument brewing amongst the competitive younger women. Slave Ernesto was grateful for the professor’s intervention, even though he was still feeling a bit disappointed that he had not yet had the chance to pay his slavish respects to her grey-and-black-sneakered feet and still did not know whether she was wearing socks inside her sneakers.

If she was, he guessed they would be dark grey, to match her sneakers.

He didn’t need to speculate about the inner footwear of the second female member of the audience who stepped up to the front of the class to have her feet kissed. She was a girl of oriental appearance, dressed in a long, dark blue woolly jumper that came down to the tops of her shapely thighs; tight, blue, denim jeans cut off just below her equally shapely knees; and heavy, black, biker-style, calf-length boots, with the tops of her thick, black bootsocks obligingly peeping out above the tops of her boots.

‘Slave, lick my boots!’ was all she said in impeccable English and without any hint of an oriental accent.

And so, aching though he was to kiss the exposed, elasticated tops of her thick, black bootsocks, slave Ernesto instead concentrated on licking the dusty, musty-tasting-and-smelling leather of the young oriental woman’s heavy, calf-length, biker boots – taking care to ensure his slave tongue got fully under all the various straps and buckles in order to extract any ingrained dust and dirt.

The rest of the girls enjoyed watching the ‘bootblack’ at work. Penelope was awarded 10 out of 10 for her presentation by her professor, and received a standing ovation from her approving audience.

She dumped slave Ernesto back at the house around lunchtime as she was going down the pub to relax with her mates and didn’t want him ‘cramping her style’ (the phrase miss Penelope normally used when she was ‘on the pull’ – i.e. looking for a man!)

And so in the afternoon slave Ernesto was left in the custody of the Tahani family’s part-time, hispanic maid - 30 year old miss Marguerita. Slave Ernesto was frightened of miss Marguerita. She worked him hard, partly because she was too lazy to do much of the work herself, and was very fond of using the cane on his backside. As the maid she had complete authority over the slave, and madam Tahani had made it clear to her that she had totally free rein over the family footslave, and was to treat him as if he were her own, personal footslave.

Marguerita, as usual, was wearing her smart, maid’s outfit consisting of black, knee-length dress, white top, frilly white apron, dark, sheer nylon, stockings and shiny, black, low-heeled pumps. She was self-evidently superior to slave Ernesto who was still wearing nothing other than his white slave shorts and wooden slave-collar. Furthermore, he was on his hands and knees whereas she was standing up, as a free human being should.

As he knelt with his head bowed over her black, patent leather shoes on the cold, tiled floor of the Tahani family kitchen he awaited his orders from the superior maidservant standing over him:

‘Ha! Ha! Today slave clean miss Arrabella dirty socks; miss Penelope dirty tights. Wash with mouth!’ and with that she presented him with a plastic laundry basket containing a pair of miss Arrabella’s dirty, red bootsocks and a pair of miss Penelope’s thick, woollen tights – rather like the ones she had on today, only dark brown in colour. Miss Penelope liked wearing thick, opaque tights in the winter.

Of course, the Tahani family had an automatic washing machine. It was spinning away at that very moment as miss Marguerita had been doing the family’s washing all morning. But she had deliberately set aside the two girls’ hosiery from the previous day – that was always washed by mouth, by slave Ernesto. Or at least, the ‘pre-wash’ was by mouth; the main wash was by hand – again by slave Ernesto.

Ernesto the onetime successful and arrogant middle-aged businessman – now a girls’ socks and tights washer!

Socks were, understandably, easier to mouth-wash than tights. He was permitted to suck on the whole sock, as it was a garment designed to cover specifically and exclusively his mistress’s foot – which was his only area of jurisdiction. Tights, by way of contrast, covered not only a mistress’s feet and lower legs, but also her more intimate areas, and slave Ernesto, despite his (un)natural predilection for women’s feminine undergarments, no longer had any business tasting or smelling where young women’s undergarments had once been. Only women’s residual foot tastes and smells were permitted to him now. And so he had to be extra careful when mouth-washing dirty tights – not to touch, or even look at, the crotch area – just the feet and toes.

How pathetic he looked with a young woman’s dirty tights hanging out of his mouth as he knelt on the floor sucking the residual, feminine footsweat out of the soles and toes of miss Penelope’s thick, dark brown, woolly tights!

Miss Marguerita, justifiably, laughed at him and mocked him:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave like taste and smell of miss Penelope dirty tights?’ she jeered.

Slave Ernesto, his mouth full of young-woman hosiery, assumed it was a rhetorical question not requiring a verbal response.

He assumed wrongly!

Miss Marguerita bent down to slap him hard across his tight-engorged right cheek:

‘Dirty slave answer miss Marguerita when Marguerita ask slave question!’ she barked.

Slave Ernesto noticed how the sheer nylon in the maid’s dark stockings had creased around her ankles as she had bent down to slap him.

‘Aagh! Yeth, mithtreth Margueritha, thank you mithtreth Margueritha, thith thlave likth the tathte of hith mithtretheth tightth, if it pleatheth you, mithtreth Margueritha,’ he managed to mumble through the thick woollen tights.

Maid Marguerita was amused at the slave’s woollen-tight-enforced lisp, and mimicked it:

‘Ha! Ha! Yeth, Mithtreth Margueritha! Ha! Ha! Slave a dork! Slave a fool! Look like jester in old-fashioned court! Look like clown! Ha! Ha!’

She despised him and accordingly kicked him in the thigh with the pointy toe of her black, patent leather shoe.

Just at that moment miss Arrabella, Penelope’s elder sister, entered the kitchen-cum-utility room. She saw the maid kicking the slave:

‘Ha! Ha! Well done, Marguerita! Glad to see you’re keeping a close eye on him! Has he mouth-washed my dirty red socks yet?’

‘Oh – good afternoon, miss Arrabella,’ the maid greeted her young, 22 year old mistress, somewhat caught out by the latter’s sudden and unexpected arrival in the kitchen, but nevertheless pleased that she had apparently chosen an opportune moment to kick slave Ernesto!

‘Erm…slave wash miss Penelope dirty tights first. Wash miss Arrabella socks next,’ she explained, hoping miss Arrabella wouldn’t mind that her younger sister’s tights had been given priority for no particular reason.

‘Ha! Ha! That’s fine, Marguerita, just make sure he has a good sniff of my socks first, will you? I was wearing them inside my brown, calf-length boots all day yesterday and I think they must be very ripe!’

‘Ha! Ha! No problem, miss Arrabella. Miss Arrabella use slave tonight, or slave stay with miss Penelope this evening?’

‘No, my sis’ has kindly agreed that I can borrow him this evening. I’m going for my weekly work-out down the Gym and need him to come with me in order to stare at my feet while I exercise on the treadmill!’

‘OK, miss Arrabella. What time I bring slave to you?’

‘Oh…about 5 o’clock? I’m skipping tea this evening. Got to keep in trim, you know?’

It was not uncommon for miss Arrabella to skip meals. As a fashion model she was very body-conscious. In slave Ernesto’s opinion she may even have been suffering from an eating disorder – not that slave Ernesto’s opinion counted for anything.

‘Very good, miss Arrabella!’

Marguerita the maidservant certainly didn’t think it was her place to protest at miss Arrabella missing another family meal!

And so, shortly after miss Arrabella went back up to her room to relax and listen to pop music on her MP3, slave Ernesto found himself, under the direction of the maidservant miss Marguerita, first sniffing, and then sucking the stale footsweat out of miss Arrabella’s dirty, red bootsocks.

Mistress Arrabella had been very astute – her filthy red bootsocks were indeed truly ripe!

Later that evening, in the well-equipped ladies’ gym in the centre of town, he found himself kneeling beside miss Arrabella’s shapely, white-slouch-socked ankles, which contrasted so nicely with her mixed race English-Moroccan calf muscles, as she ran on the treadmill. He was never sure why it was so important for her to have him kneeling and staring at her white socks and sneakers as she worked out in the Gym. Perhaps she just wanted him to actually see her work up a footsweat. Perhaps he was just there for show – an accessory to her feet, rather like the silver ankle bracelet she now wore somewhat ostentatiously over her right sock.

One thing he knew for sure was that he would be sniffing and mouth-washing those same, feminine, snowy-white, thick, sports-slouch socks the following day.

What he could not have known, however, was that in the not too distant future he himself would be ‘working-out’ on a treadmill, courtesy of his probation officer, mistress Gozia – although his treadmill would be deep in the bowels of the State Penitentiary, and would require a lot more effort to make it move. For his treadmill would not be powered by electricity – but rather by slave-power.

He was at last about to experience some genuinely hard labour. Gozia, who took her job very seriously, had decided his community servitude punishment, as handed down by the Female Court, would not be complete without it!

Part 12 – The Treadmill

Convict Ernesto’s probation officer, miss Gozia, had been increasingly concerned at the lack of any ‘hard labour’ element to her charge’s punishment of community servitude. She did not regard footslave-service in the Tahani household, or the licking of female police officers’ boots, or even his service as a ‘whipping boy’ for female petty criminals, as hard labour, and, after all, in passing down sentence on Ernesto the good lady Judge, the lady Priscilla, had specifically stipulated that he “undertake periods of hard labour in the State Penitentiary under the supervision of female prison officers as directed by your probation officer.”

Gozia’s opportunity to put this right came when the Tahani family were due to go off on their summer holiday – two glorious weeks relaxing on the beautiful tropical island of Mauritius in the Indian ocean. Needless to say there could be no question of a convicted criminal, undergoing a sentence of community servitude, being allowed to leave the county with his mistresses.

Normally, in such circumstances, a prisoner would be temporarily placed with another family. But Gozia had kindly made other arrangements for slave Ernesto – he would spend the two weeks that the Tahani family were away on holiday undertaking a period of hard labour on the treadmill in the State Penitentiary.

Gozia laughed as she thought about it. For an ‘old’ man of Ernesto’s age (58) it would be a real struggle. If he thought the sweet and naïve miss Felicity’s ‘new, harsh regime’, the regime of which she was so proud and had boasted about repeatedly to Gozia, was tough, he would soon realise that it was like a picnic in the park compared to the two weeks of hard labour he was about to undergo.

For it wouldn’t just be a case of continuous, soul-destroying, back-breaking toil. The whole system was based on the ‘Separation and Silence’ regime formerly used in Victorian prisons, where prisoners were kept in single cells, in complete isolation from other prisoners, masked or hooded, and completely forbidden to speak to anyone – even their guards, who in turn would only speak to the prisoners to give them orders.

Yes, Ernesto was about to discover what real punishment was like, not that Gozia felt in any way sorry for him. She really didn’t care, for miss Gozia was that sort of girl - uncaring. All she cared about was to ensure that the will of the Court, as expressed by the good Lady Judge Priscilla, was fulfilled to the letter. That was why Gozia was so good at her job.

And so, as the taxi whisked Madam Tahani and her two daughters, Arrabella and Penelope, off to the airport for the start of their well-deserved two week break on the island of Mauritius, the prison van whisked convicted slave Ernesto off to the State Penitentiary on the outskirts of town to begin his two weeks of hard labour on the treadmill.

The State Penitentiary was a building that slave Ernesto had managed to avoid hitherto. Grim and grey it oozed despondency. The regime of enforced solitude and silence only served to make the place seem even more eerie and quiet. Like it was at the end of the world.

Slave Ernesto, feeling even more frightened and vulnerable than usual, was initially deposited in the reception area where he was immediately fitted with a black, leather hood by a young, uniformed, female guard. The hood had slits for his eyes, nose and mouth, but nevertheless helped to dehumanise him. It meant the female guards could concentrate on treating him as an object, a thing - and that in turn made it easier for them not to have to communicate with him. For the duration of his stay in the Penitentiary, therefore, slave Ernesto would be clad in only his slave collar, black leather hood and white leather slave-shorts –as well as, of course, the chains and shackles that were are an inevitable part of prison life.

From his ubiquitous kneeling position slave Ernesto could see through the eye-slits in his leather hood that the female guard was wearing the same style of navy blue, uniform trousers and black, leather, zip-up ankle boots as the many female police officers and prison guards he had encountered following his arrest and conviction several months previously. The girl herself he guessed to be in her mid to late twenties, and judging by the size of her feet, she was quite petite in build. She was of asian origins and somehow reminded him of mistress WPC Shariya, although he quickly realised it wasn’t mistress Shariya by the gentleness with which she secured the leather hood over his face. She was also, unlike mistress WPC Shariya, softly spoken when she uttered the only words that had yet been addressed to him in the bleak Penitentiary whilst she was pulling the hood over his face:

‘Keep your head still, darling.’

Darling! She had called him darling! No woman had called him darling since his conviction. Perhaps the next two weeks in the State Penitentiary wouldn’t be so bad after all if all the female guards were this nice and sympathetic!

Any such illusions were, however, quickly shattered when the prison governess arrived in the reception room. Slave Ernesto could just tell from her very gait that she was a brash and domineering young woman – and not to be trifled with.

She was smartly dressed in a navy blue, pin-striped suit consisting of a jacket and above-the-knee skirt, and on her legs she was wearing knee-length, shiny black leather, stiletto-heeled, zip-up boots. He also somehow managed to observe that she was blonde and had her hair tied up in a pony-tail. She did not appear to be wearing any tights or stockings, so slave Ernesto, conditioned as he was to now perpetually thinking as a footslave, found himself wondering whether she was wearing socks inside her boots. He speculated that she might be wearing dirty, white socks:

‘Kiss my boots, prisoner!’ barked the young prison governess, whom slave Ernesto estimated to be a bit, but not much, older than the more softly spoken, uniformed, slightly-built, female asian guard who was still standing by his side.

He immediately shuffled forward on his hands and knees a pressed a respectful and frightened kiss on the toe of the pony-tailed prison governess’s outstretched right boot. The hard toecap was dusty and dirty, but this young, blonde woman’s voice was the voice of a mistress who demanded, and no doubt received, instantaneous obedience from all the male prisoners in her charge.

The dusty, right, knee-length, stiletto-heeled boot was soon replaced under his nose with an equally dusty and similar-looking left boot. Again he respectfully tasted the superior young prison governess’s harsh boot leather.

Satisfied that he had accorded to her the respect she was due, the all-powerful, pony-tailed prison governess then explained to her latest prisoner the nature of the regime he was about to undergo:

‘Prisoner no GOZ/54791, you have been assigned two weeks of hard labour in my prison. You shall be kept in solitary confinement in one of the treadmill-cells, where you will turn the treadmill 16 hours a day from 06:00 in the morning until 22:00 hrs, 7 days a week. You shall receive one meal at the end of each day consisting of stale bread and water but only if you achieve the requisite number of turns on the treadmill. In your case, and having regard to your advanced age, I am setting the target at a mere 3000 turns per day...’

Slave Ernesto gulped inside his leather hood. A ‘mere’ 3000 turns! He had never liked physical exercise and he knew he was deeply unfit. If this young woman was being merciful in assigning him a target of a ‘mere’ 3000 revolutions of the treadmill per day he dreaded to think how many she would stipulate if she were disinclined to show mercy!

She continued with her introductory words of welcome to the new prisoner:

‘…If you fail to achieve that number of turns you will forfeit your meal and will starve. You will turn the treadmill for 45 minutes of each hour and the remaining 15 minutes of each hour you will spend kissing the feet of the female guard who is seated above you…’

Slave Ernesto gathered, therefore, that the treadmill contraption would in some way allow a female prison guard to sit above and in front of him so that he would be obliged to stare continuously at her feet as he laboured on the treadmill. It would, therefore, be a fitting form of hard labour for a humble footslave!

‘…You will sleep on the treadmill and you will observe a strict code of silence throughout your period of confinement here. You will concentrate your mind on your work and on the feet and footwear of your guards if you know what’s good for you!’ concluded the pretty, but strict, blonde female prison governess.

She then addressed her petite, uniformed asian colleague:

‘Officer Tara will you please take the prisoner to his cell and get him started?’

‘Yes, Ma’am,’ responded the softly spoken guard.

Welcome to hell, thought slave Ernesto to himself!

But he only had himself to blame.

He tried to think positively. As mistress Tara shackled both his arms to the upper part of the wooden treadmill in his tiny, dimly lit, windowless cell, he, at least, would not be spending the next two weeks on his hands and knees. His knees had been getting increasingly swollen and painful as he was obliged to crawl everywhere on all fours, as befits a community footslave, but at least on the treadmill he would be standing up – if only to enable him to turn the heavy, wooden wheel with his feet. Sadly, even this tiny, comforting thought was swiftly dissipated as the strain on his shoulders of having his arms shackled above him began to kick in after only 5 minutes or so!

Still, it wasn’t the soft and gentle officer Tara’s role to make him comfortable. Quite the opposite. She was his prison officer – not his friend.

Officer Tara, he noticed, wasn’t saying much – but then he was now living under a regime of silence.

The ‘separation’ aspect of the ‘Separation and Silence’ regime was confirmed when he heard officer Tara slamming the cell door closed behind him. He was now alone in this tiny, gloomy cell along with officer Tara – and was completely at her mercy.

She climbed up onto the treadmill contraption to sit in front of him – her petite, booted feet resting on a small wooden board just inches in front of his face. Even though her feet were genuinely dainty and petite even inside her rather heavy, police-issue, ankle boots, officer Tara seemed like a veritable giantess to him now as she towered above him in her comfortable, leather padded seat on top of the treadmill. Through the eye-slits in his leather hood he saw her detach a brown, leather strap from her belt, and he realised for the first time that his bare back and shoulders were now well and truly exposed to the strap should she wish to bring it down on him for any reason.

‘Begin by kissing my boots, dear,’ ordered officer Tara in the softest of voices.

Again, slave Ernesto found her mode of addressing him somewhat incongruous and even disconcerting. ‘Dear!’ Why was she calling him ‘dear’? ‘Kiss my boots, dear!’ Those words just didn’t seem to go together! I mean, it wasn’t like they were two lovers playing some sort of kinky sex game. They were prison guard and prisoner; mistress and slave; and this was no game.

Slave Ernesto never had, and never would, understand women!

But he had understood her order well enough. Guard Tara was seated with both her pretty, petite booted feet resting primly side by side on the wooden platform in front of his face, and so he obediently stretched his neck forward to enable his convict-lips to respectfully touch the dusty toe of her right, block-heeled, black leather, zip-up ankle boot, followed by the toe of her left ankle boot. The hems of her navy blue uniform trousers brushed against the top of his head as he did so.

Having kissed guard Tara’s boots once each, he stopped and awaited his next order.

The softly spoken, gentle and petite asian guard miss Tara then suddenly brought her brown leather strap down hard across his exposed right shoulder.

A wave of stinging pain flashed all the way down his spine, causing him to break the rule of silence as he cried out in some shock and pain.

‘Continue kissing, dear! Don’t stop until I tell you to,’ explained guard Tara.

Prisoner Ernesto didn’t know whether to be grateful to the young woman for her clarification and her kind cut of encouragement with the prison punishment strap, or whether to be truly afraid of her. Either way, the point had been made – he was completely at the female guard’s mercy and in her power.

He therefore kissed the toes of guard Tara’s boots, alternating all the time between her right boot and her left boot, and determined that he would do so until she ordered him to stop. The thought occurred to him, however, that if he didn’t start turning the heavy, wooden treadmill soon he would stand no chance of reaching his target of 3000 turns on his first day in the Penitentiary. After all, by now it must have been nearly midday.

Surely the governess would make allowances for that?

Erm….?!

Slave Ernesto needn’t have worried too much, however, if he was genuinely anxious to start his hard labour, for guard Tara was merely establishing her mastery over the new convict, ensuring he knew who was boss, before the hard, nugatory work really began. After some fifteen minutes of having the toes of her dusty, prison-service-issue ankle boots kissed, she finally gave the order to begin:

‘Start walking, darling!’

Slave Ernesto, who by now was almost getting used to guard Tara’s rather idiosyncratic manner of addressing the prisoners in her care, pushed down with his feet on the thick wooden board below him.

Nothing happened – nothing, that is, apart from yet another stinging cut across his bare back and shoulders from mistress Tara’s prison-issue punishment strap:

‘Move, slave!’ she barked, insofar as miss Tara’s softly-spoken, asian voice was capable of barking.

Slave Ernesto realised to his horror that the heavy, wooden treadmill was going to require a massive physical effort on his part not just to get it started, but also to maintain the turns. Indeed, had it not been for the several encouraging blows of the strap which mistress-guard Tara now kindly rained down on him he might never have got it going. But he did – eventually. There can be a lot of motivation at the end of a punishment strap!

After some half a dozen painful, agonising steps he heard a loud click, and realised to his utter despair that the clicking mechanism signalled one complete turn of the treadmill. Therefore each turn required 6 steps. He did a quick calculation in his slave head: 3000 turns per day at 6 steps each; that’s 18,000 steps! 18,000, or he wouldn’t get any supper, which, of course, he realised would leave him weakened for the following day and therefore even less likely to make the target of 3000 turns.

He tried to put on a brave face. At least I’ll be losing some weight, he told himself. But in truth, if he had been allowed to make a sound, slave Ernesto would have sobbed!

For her part mistress Tara, still seated above him, her boots so close to his face that he could smell the pungent, black leather, said nothing. She merely watched contentedly his discomfort and distress as he struggled to move the heavy treadmill under his feet. She did nothing to help him – not even giving him some more cuts of encouragement with her brown, leather strap.

Eventually, after what seemed to Ernesto like an eternity, but which was actually only 45 minutes, guard-mistress Tara spoke:

‘Stop, slave!’

He could barely hear her soft voice over the cranking noise of the treadmill and his own breathlessness. He had already built up quite a sweat, and wondered how many turns of the treadmill he had managed to achieve in that first 45 minutes. It must be more than a hundred he thought to himself. The clicking mechanism on the side of the treadmill, however, which never lied, showed 56!

He barely had time to catch his breath before the next order emanated from guard-mistress Tara’s pretty, asian lips as she was seated imperiously above him:

‘Now kiss my boots again, darling,’ she cooed.

Still gasping for breath, slave Ernesto was just glad to have some respite from walking on the treadmill as he dutifully kissed the kindly guard-mistress Tara’s boots. Ever the submissive footslave, he found time to speculate about whether she might be wearing socks inside her boots, as he now did with all women whose booted feet he was obliged to kiss, and concluded that such an orderly and tidy young woman would be wearing regulation uniform dark navy-blue socks inside her boots. Such a thought made him kiss the outside of his guard Tara’s boots all the more respectfully.

Soon – all too soon – came the order to resume turning the treadmill. Was his fifteen minutes of blessed respite and boot-kissing really up so soon?

And so it continued, hour after hour, with guard-mistress Tara amusing herself by listening to music on her MP3 player, reading a gossip magazine, occasionally climbing down from the treadmill to stretch her legs, and drinking the refreshing tea that was thoughtfully brought in for her by another female guard midway through her shift; whilst all the while prisoner-slave Ernesto toiled on the treadmill under her supervision, without any tea breaks, and with only one 15 minute ‘boot-kissing break’ each hour, right through until the end of officer Tara’s 8 hour shift. She didn’t bother to use the strap on him any more. It was his look-out whether or not he reached his target.

She didn’t much care.

At the end of her shift officer Tara was, of course, free to go – free to leave the tiny, claustrophobic cell, unlike prisoner Ernesto. And, unlike guard-mistress Tara, he had not finished his work for the day. It was only 8:00 PM. He still had two more hours of turning the treadmill to complete.

There was, therefore, a changing of the guard, and who should enter his cell but yet another female guard of asian origins – except that this time as she climbed up to sit on the seat of power above him he instantly recognised the shape of the booted feet, and the faint aroma of bad breath.

It was WPC mistress Shariya!

That girl got everywhere! It was almost as if she was following him around! Stalking him! Of course, what Ernesto didn’t realise was that miss Shariya had indeed specifically requested probation officer Gozia to authorise some overtime for her at the Penitentiary so that she could observe for herself slave Ernesto’s labouring in the treadmill. If truth be told WPC mistress Shariya had taken quite a shine to prisoner Ernesto – in the sense that she enjoyed watching and making him suffer.

Whatever her motives, it was nice for slave Ernesto to see a familiar pair of friendly, female police-boots again. In the excitement of the moment he quite forgot where he was:

‘God bless you, WPC mistress Shariya. How nice to see you…’

Whack!

WPC Shariya’s brown leather punishment strap came crashing down on his bare back adding yet another painful, red stripe to those already painted by guard-mistress Tara’s strap:

‘No talking, innit slave?’

Slave Ernesto gasped with pain, but then immediately fell silent. How thick could he be? And how indebted he was to the superior young mistress WPC Shariya for reminding him of where he was! Having kindly and professionally reminded him of the no-talking rule, WPC mistress Shariya then effectively tempted him into breaking the rule again by asking him a question:

‘Ha! Ha! How are you liking the treadmill, slave? It’s hard work, innit?’

Luckily for prisoner-slave Ernesto it was, like most questions asked by a superior mistress to an inferior, male slave, a rhetorical question. She did not, therefore, require him to actually answer.

What she did require him to do at the start of her paid overtime shift was to kiss her feet, or, more specifically, her socks – for WPC Shariya was well aware that slave Ernesto was fascinated by women’s socks, and by her socks in particular. Arrabella had told her as much.

And so, as the demurely headscarfed WPC Shariya sat on the padded, leather seat above him, her black-leather-ankle-booted feet resting just inches in front of her victim’s hooded face, she pulled up her trouser legs to reveal the elasticated tops of her non-uniform issue, thick, black bootsocks:

‘Kiss the tops of my socks, slave,’ she snapped down at him.

Slave Ernesto felt much more comfortable being ordered about by WPC Shariya. She knew how to talk down properly to a slave, not like the well-intentioned, but disconcertingly confusing, guard-mistress Tara. As the saying goes, ‘you sometimes have to be cruel to be kind’, which is just as well – for WPC mistress Shariya loved being cruel.

As slave Ernesto stretched out his neck to touch the tops of WPC mistress Shariya’s black socks with his slave lips she gave him an ominous warning:

‘Don’t touch my bare skin, innit though?’

Of course not, goddess-mistress WPC Shariya, thought slave Ernesto to himself. I am not worthy to touch your soft, smooth, feminine leg with my dirty, slave lips.

Almost as if she could read his mind, goddess-mistress WPC Shariya laughed at him as he obediently and submissively kissed the elasticated tops of her thick, black bootsocks inside her ankle boots, taking great care not to let his upper lip stray onto her bare flesh.

He kissed the socks alternately and repeatedly for some 15 minutes, just as he had previously kissed guard-mistress Tara’s leather toecaps, before the uniformed and headscarfed WPC mistress Shariya kindly allowed him to resume his hard labour and endeavour to earn his supper of stale bread and water by achieving the near impossible target, set for him by the young, pony-tailed, blonde, prison governess, of 3000 revolutions of the treadmill.

Whilst prisoner Ernesto worked and sweated on the heavy, wooden treadmill in front of WPC Shariya’s boots and socks, Madam Tahani and her two daughters, miss Arrabella and miss Penelope, were working up a sweat of their own as they sunbathed in their bikinis on the beach in Mauritius - refreshing glasses of ice-cold fruit juice set on a tray on the ground beside their respective pairs of sand-encrusted flip-flops.

However, they hadn’t forgotten about their slave Ernesto. They could see him labouring away in his black, leather hood on the treadmill via their laptop thanks to a webcam positioned in the far right-hand corner of slave Ernesto’s cell.

‘Cheers, Ernesto,’ mocked Penelope as she raised her glass of mango and pomegranate juice to her pretty, feminine lips.

Her mother and sister both laughed.

Part 13 – The Music Festival

No slave had ever been so glad to see the return of his mistresses from holiday as slave Ernesto was to see Madam Tahani and her two charming daughters, Arrabella and Penelope.

Whilst he had admired the uniform ankle boots and socks of the various female correctional officers who had so professionally supervised his hard labour on the treadmill in the Penitentiary for the two weeks’ of his incarceration there, he had truly missed the sheer colour and variety of his own mistresses’ footwear – the exotic, pointy-toed, designer pumps and finest denier stockings of Madam Tahani; the expensive and ever so fashionable collection of ankle, calf and knee length leather boots of her eldest daughter, miss Arrabella; and the flat, sensible, soft ballet flats and moccasins of her youngest daughter, the now just turned 20-year-old miss Penelope.

How he had lavished kisses on those three pairs of female feet on their return from Mauritius, wagging his slave behind like an excitable puppy dog as he followed behind their heels on his hands and knees out of the Penitentiary.

For their part the three Tahani ladies were gratified to see that their personal footslave, now once again unhooded, looked pale, had lost weight and was clearly physically shattered and exhausted as a result of his penal labour in the gloomy Penitentiary. It was a nice contrast to their own feelings of being fully refreshed and relaxed after their exotic holiday in the sun. They laughed at the sight of him.

A few days later, since it was still the summer vacation, Arrabella and Penelope arranged to go away on another mini-break down to the South coast where they intended to meet up with some friends at a music festival. This time they decided to take slave Ernesto with them – after all, someone would have to take care of their feet and footwear during the long weekend away from home!

Given the vagaries of the North European summer weather, the two girls had, wisely, decided to pack their Wellington boots with them. Summer music festivals had a reputation for being wash-outs and turning into mud-baths as they invariably took place in some farmer’s muddy fields.

Sure enough, almost as soon as the first rock band had plugged in their guitars, the heavens opened and the green fields turned to mud under the feet of the thousands of young people who had gathered to chill out in front of their favourite bands. None of them really cared about the mud, however. In fact – it all added to the sense of fun and adventure, getting all wet and muddy. It somehow added to the feelings of youthful rebelliousness and freedom that coursed through their young, vigorous veins.

By way of contrast 58 year old slave Ernesto, it has to be said, did not enjoy getting wet and muddy- which was unfortunate because his place was, of course, to be on his hands and knees, down in the dirt, at his two young mistresses’ feet.

As he humbly observed their increasingly muddy Wellington boots at close quarters he couldn’t help thinking how the two girls’ choice of wellies eloquently demonstrated the differences in their respective personalities. Miss Penelope, the bespectacled, curly-haired, English Literature student and trainee teacher was wearing sensible, functional, plain, black wellies (apart from a thin, pink trim along the tops of the soles which served to confirm they were indeed ‘girly’ Wellingtons) over plain, grey bootsocks. He knew she was wearing grey socks not because he could currently see them, but because he had, as always, dressed her feet that morning inside the girls’ tent. Miss Penelope’s wellies were not, therefore, the most flattering, but they would do a good job, along with her thick, practical socks, of keeping her feet warm and dry.

Miss Arrabella the fashion model, on the other hand, had opted for her favourite pair of multi-coloured, flower-motifed, designer Wellingtons, complete with fashionable, white drawstrings at the top to ensure a tighter, sexier fit over her designer jeans. Inside her boots she was wearing much-too-flimsy-for-bootwear, low cut, white ‘sneaker’ socks with a bright, yellow trim. She looked fabulous, as always, but the Wellington boots, it has to be said, were flimsy, and slave Ernesto could see that the thinner rubber of miss Arrabella boots, whilst it would help to keep the thick globules of wet mud off her pretty, socked feet, would not necessarily stop the damp from penetrating through. Miss Arrabella’s boots were a triumph of style over substance.

Not that miss Arrabella much cared about that. She looked good, and was turning male heads – which was pretty much all that Arrabella cared about. She was absolutely determined to ‘pull’ on this trip (her erstwhile boyfriend Peter had long since disappeared from the scene), and no amount of mud or rain was going to prevent her from looking her very best.

And so slave Ernesto knelt in the mud and quietly and submissively observed as his two mistresses’ Wellington boots became wetter and wetter and muddier and muddier as they danced to the music in the thick, wet mud of the field. He appreciated the way the soft rubber in their boots, which he was close enough to smell, creased and folded around their ankles as they tapped and moved their pretty, feminine feet. He imagined their respective socks creasing and folding inside their rubber boots – the no doubt still dry, plain grey bootsocks of miss Penelope and the increasingly damp, thin, white and yellow sneaker socks of miss Arrabella. He wondered if their socks smelt of the rubber insides of their boots, for, hitherto, they had not worn their Wellingtons in his presence. It was a new experience for him (although it did remind him of the time he had been obliged to crawl across the harsh gravel of the stable-yard behind miss Mary’s muddy, black Wellington boots when miss Penelope had ostentatiously ridden him in front of her friends at her riding-club).

Pathetic though it was, slave Ernesto also appreciated it when splashes of muddy water, and even the occasional globule of mud, splattered onto his humble slave face. He appreciated it, not because he liked mud per se, but because it was mud from his superior mistresses’ Wellington boots, and was therefore fit for the face of a footslave.

The first band’s set seemed to go on for an eternity, and he could tell from her girlish excitement that miss Penelope was a particular fan - not that slave Ernesto had any idea who the band were. He was just a sad, old footslave.

Or, at least, that’s how he was clearly perceived by a young woman in her early twenties and her boyfriend who approached his two mistresses. Slave Ernesto’s first impression of the unknown couple was that they were particularly ‘scruffy’ looking. ‘Grunge’ is how he might have described them in his ignorance – but the young woman, in fact, would have described herself as an ‘emo’ girl. She was wearing low-heeled, black leather pumps, a short black skirt, day-glo pink leggings, knee-length, black nylon, fishnet pop-socks, and, on top of those, a pair of stripy, multicoloured ankle socks! Her feet were, therefore, well wrapped up – but it was hardly suitable footwear for a muddy, music festival – at least in slave Ernesto’s pragmatic, middle-aged eyes. Already her black shoes and multicoloured, stripy ankle socks were covered in sticky, wet mud.

The young woman was clearly known to his own two young mistresses:

‘Hi, Rosie! We wondered when we’d bump into you two!’ screamed miss Arrabella above the din of the music.

Slave Ernesto watched as miss Arrabella’s flowery, multicoloured wellies creased around the heels and ankles as she reached forward to kiss her friend Rosie on the cheek:

‘Hi, Arrabella! Hi Penelope! Yeah, we only just got here! Dean’s van broke down on the way! Typical! Ha! Ha!’ responded Rosie, ‘miss Rose’ to slave Ernesto.

‘Ha! Ha! Hi, Rosie! Hi, Dean – I told you the other day to get that van seen to!’ laughed miss Penelope.

Master Dean seemed suitably rebuked:

‘Yeah, alright girls! Point taken – but we did manage to get here in the end!’ the young master defended himself. He sounded a bit older than the three girls – perhaps even in his early thirties, but he was still ‘young’ compared to slave Ernesto.

‘Oh my God!...’ exclaimed miss Rose suddenly.

Slave Ernesto guessed that the conversation was about to turn to him:

‘…You weren’t wrong, Arrabella. Your slave is just a scrawny looking, dirty old man!’

Slave Ernesto, in spite of everything he had been through since the sentence of community servitude had been passed down on him by the Courts, was almost unbelievably still not 100% submissive in his innermost self, and consequently felt an inappropriate twinge of offence at miss Rose’s criticism of his physical appearance. You too, young miss, would look ‘scrawny’ if you’d just completed two weeks of hard labour on the Penitentiary treadmill, he thought to himself. Mind you, miss Rose already looked fairly ‘scrawny’, almost like a ‘druggie’ – the sort of pasty-complexioned girl he wouldn’t have looked at twice when he was still a free man.

Now that he was a slave, of course, he had no choice but to look at her – or, at least, at her feet – for she was female, the friend of his mistresses, and therefore his superior, deserving his respect. He therefore remembered his place and fixed his slavish gaze on miss Rose’s creased, mud-splattered, stripy ankle socks as she continued to verbally berate and belittle him:

‘I don’t suppose he’s any good at cleaning mud off socks?’ she queried, raising her right foot off the ground slightly and twisting it in the air to draw the attention of her friends to the dire state of her mud-spattered ankle socks.

‘Ha! Ha! Just look at the state of those socks!’ chided miss Arrabella. ‘God, Rosie, what were you thinking of wearing those flat shoes? Didn’t you bring your wellies?’

‘Haven’t got any!’ replied miss Rose, proudly. ‘All I’ve got is these pumps and a pair of sneakers, and the sneakers have lots of holes in them!’

Rosie’s boyfriend, Dean, laughed out loud:

‘Ha! Ha! Yeah – and they stink!’

Miss Rose appeared to give her older boyfriend a playful slap:

‘They do not stink, you! Well…maybe just a bit!’ she giggled. ‘Anyway, Arrabella, you’re one to talk – just look at the state of your designer wellies! I mean, I know they’re wellies, and that, but they’re hardly designed to cope with wet and muddy fields like this!’

‘Ha! Ha! True! But I thought slave Ernesto would appreciate the sight and smell of the pretty flower-motif on them. After all, there’s nothing like the smell of fresh summer flowers to brighten up a slave’s day, isn’t that right slave?’

‘Yes, mistress Arrabella.’

Slave Ernesto had, of course, to agree with his mistress: there is nothing like the sweet smell of fresh, summer flowers – and the flowers on the sides of miss Arrabella’s rubber wellies smelt nothing like the smell of sweet summer flowers! They smelt, not surprisingly, of rubber boot!

‘Ha! Ha! Well anyway, to answer your original question, Rosie, slave Ernesto got off to a bad start as a sock-cleaner,’ explained miss Penelope. ‘He even made my friend Gabrielle’s white socks even dirtier when she ordered him to clean some dirt off them down at the riding club. His stupid, dirty tongue just spread the dirt all over the sides of her socks and made them even worse! But I’m pleased to say that I have given him lots of training in sock cleaning since then, and he now knows to suck off the mud and dirt, rather than just lick it, so that the filth goes straight into his mouth and down his throat.’

Miss Penelope was speaking the truth. She had indeed trained slave Ernesto well in the art of sock-sucking over the past few months, since the introduction of her ‘new, harsh regime’, thereby helping him to avoid the embarrassment of smearing mud and dirt over girls’ socks instead of making them cleaner.

‘Would you like him to suck the mud off your socks, Rosie?’ continued miss Penelope.

‘Ha! Ha! Yeah, go on, sweetheart. I want to watch the old dork sucking the dirt off your stinky socks!’ exclaimed master Dean.

Dean got another playful slap from his girlfriend:

‘I told you, my feet don’t smell!’ protested miss Rose, her smile betraying the fact that she knew they sometimes did.

She didn’t think they were smelly today, however. Just dirty and muddy. It would be nice to have a male footslave suck the dirt off her socks, even if they would soon get dirty again in these wet and muddy conditions. Even miss Rose, who had never owned a footslave, realised that that wasn’t the point. The point was to humiliate the slave by making him carry out a demeaning and degrading task – and if that thankless task involved entirely nugatory work, so much the better!

She therefore stretched forward her right foot until it was resting in the mud directly under slave Ernesto’s kneeling face:

‘Okay! What do I say to him?’ she enquired in all innocence.

Penelope, once innocent like her friend Rose, but now a fully-fledged slave owner, gave her friend some guidance:

‘Just order him to suck the mud off your dirty socks, Rosie.’

‘Yeah, but, like, what do I call him? Do I just call him “slave”, or something?’

‘Ha! Ha! You can call him whatever you like!’ interjected Arrabella. ‘”Slave” will be fine; or “dirty slave”; or “filthy footpig” – whatever you like, really. That’s the whole point – he’s at your mercy and you can call him whatever you like and do to him whatever you like!’

Miss Rose felt a surge of feminine power rushing through her veins. If only she could talk down to her boyfriend Dean like this!

‘Okay…here goes. You down there, filthy, dirty slave, suck all the mud and dirt off the side of my ankle sock, and make sure you don’t smudge the dirt!’ she barked in the most authoritative voice she could muster.

‘Yes, mistress. At once, mistress,’ responded the kneeling footslave.

‘Cool!’ exclaimed her boyfriend, master Dean, who stepped forward to get a better view of the humble, middle-aged, semi-naked footslave sucking the mud off his girlfriend’s sock.

Slave Ernesto, who really was by now quite the expert sock-sucker, puckered up his lips to cover a particularly thick globule of mud that was clinging to mistress Rose’s stripy ankle sock just below her outer ankle bone, and audibly sucked.

The sound - audible thanks to a break in the music - made everyone nearby, male and female, laugh with derision, for it was the sound of a helpless male slave sucking the mud off a young woman’s dirty sock. When he withdrew his lips most of the mud stain was gone.

‘Ha! Ha! Not bad!’ declared miss Rose, delighted as she twisted her ankle in the air inspecting the side of her stripy sock once again.

‘Yeah...but not good enough,’ opined miss Penelope. ‘I can still see a trace of the mud stain on the sock.’

Miss Penelope then addressed the mud-swallowing slave:

‘Slave! Suck miss Rose’s sock again – on exactly the same spot! I want to see every last trace of that mud disappear down your slave throat. Don’t let me down, slave...or else!’

‘Ha! Ha! Or else what, Penelope?’ enquired master Dean.

Slave Ernesto was wondering the very same thing.

‘Or else I’ll flay the skin off his bare back with my leather slave-whip!’ explained miss Penelope. ‘Either he strips away the mud or I strip away his skin!’ she clarified further.

Slave Ernesto knew it was no idle threat. Miss Penelope had indeed packed her three-tailed, brown leather slave-whip. And she wouldn’t have packed it if she wasn’t prepared to use it – the same miss Penelope who had once baulked at the idea of him having to spend all day confined in the town stocks! How she had changed! Matured!

Miss Rose and her boyfriend Dean smiled at each other and embraced:

‘Ha! Ha! Let’s hope he fails, darling! I’d quite like to see what a freshly whipped slave looks like!’ said master Dean.

‘Ha! Ha! Give the dork a chance, honey! I mean, it must be nearly impossible to remove all traces of the mud from the lighter-coloured stripes on my socks!’ declared miss Rose with feminine compassion.

‘It doesn’t matter! If there is the slightest trace of mud left on your sock, Rosie, I will whip him!’ declared miss Penelope with feminine cruelty.

‘Ha! Ha! Fair enough, Pen,’ replied miss Rose, not wishing to fall out with either her boyfriend or her girlfriend over the fate of a mere sock-sucking footslave.

At that moment the fickle hand of fate saved slave Ernesto, for a new band had arrived on stage, distracting the superior young people surrounding him, and he was able to remove every last trace of mud from miss Rose’s socks by some vigorous and repeated sock-sucking, unnoticed by the very women who had ordered him to suck the mud off the socks in the first place.

Truth to tell, slave Ernesto felt privileged to have the ‘scruffy’ emo girl’s sock-mud inside his mouth and stomach. His only regret was that the bitter taste of the mud was not mixed with the salty taste of her feminine footsweat, which it might have been were she not wearing her stripy ankle socks over her knee-length, black nylon, fishnet pop socks.

Slave Ernesto was therefore in two minds about miss Rose’s chosen footwear. On the one hand he always genuinely appreciated it when young women took the time and trouble to display their socks in public, rather than hide them inside boots or sneakers. It, quite literally, brightened up his life – so many different styles, colours and textures of female socks to admire from his lowly, kneeling position as a footslave. That was why he had come to appreciate it so much when his mistress Penelope wore socks with sandals.

On the other hand, when young women’s socks weren’t enclosed in boots or sneakers, they tended not to be as smelly or sweaty, and especially when they were worn over tights, stockings or leggings, as miss Rose was doing now. Her beautiful, multicoloured, stripy ankle socks weren’t even in direct contact with her bare skin! The lack of sweat in a girl’s sock always disappointed slave Ernesto, so accustomed had he become to the smell of women’s feet.

But slaves can’t be choosers, and so slave Ernesto was just grateful to be staring at the multitudinous creases and folds in the backs of miss Rose’s stripy, multi-coloured, ankle socks on top of her black, knee-high fishnets on top of her mud-splattered pink leggings.

He was largely ignored by the foursome of miss Arrabella, miss Penelope, miss Rose and master Dean as the festival got into full swing, and so as they concentrated on the music he concentrated on his surrounding mistresses’ muddy footwear (miss Rose’s socks in particular were soon splattered with mud again) as they danced and bopped to the modern music.

It was dark, and late into the evening, before the fab four retreated to their respective tents for the night. Slave Ernesto, of course, accompanied mistresses Arrabella and Penelope to their tent.

Not that he would be sleeping inside the protection of the tent. Even though it had stopped raining, the ground was still wet and sodden - yet it never even crossed the two girls’ minds that slave Ernesto should be allowed to sleep inside the dryness of the tent. Yes, he may have been, as ever, clad only in his thin, white, cotton slave shorts and wooden slave collar, but he would be sleeping outside the entrance to their tent, tethered to the tent pole, as befits a ‘status-symbol’ personal footslave.

You might be thinking, what a shame! How nice it would have been for slave Ernesto to be able to sleep at his mistresses’ feet inside the tent – his slave face perhaps acting as a hot water bottle for their feet. But that just wouldn’t have been practicable. The tent was small, and besides the two girls would be tucked up in their nice, warm sleeping bags. Their feet were therefore already cosy and well covered.

But fear not – slave Ernesto would at least get his wish to smell sweaty, feminine sock as miss Arrabella had noticed that her designer wellies had failed to keep out the damp leading to her white and yellow sneaker socks getting quite wet. She hadn’t brought a change of socks to the three day festival so it was imperative that the socks be dried out by the following morning. The obvious solution was to dry them on slave Ernesto’s breath, and so, before retiring into her sleeping bag, miss Arrabella carefully laid her two, short, musty-smelling, white ankle socks with the yellow trim across her slave’s upturned nose and mouth as he lay on his back on the sodden ground. Providing it didn’t rain again (and the forecast was good in that respect) miss Arrabella’s socks would be dry by the morning, even if slave Ernesto wasn’t.

It had been a long and tiring day and slave Ernesto sensed that his two beautiful mistresses fell asleep quickly inside their tent. Everything was surprisingly quiet. He would have fallen asleep himself had he not been disturbed by a shadowy figure crouching down beside him. He realised it was master Dean. He was on his own, and he was laughing, quietly, at slave Ernesto as he lay on the ground, face up, with his mistress’s musty, damp socks covering his nose and mouth:

‘Ha! Ha! How do you like breathing through your mistress’s smelly, white socks?’ whispered the young master to him.

Slave Ernesto was scared. He had quickly learnt over the past few months of community servitude that free men loved to taunt enslaved men. Women might dominate and humiliate their slaves, but their menfolk seemed to love to ‘rub it in.’

Nevertheless, as a free man, master Dean was slave Ernesto’s better, and the latter therefore had to answer him respectfully and truthfully, as befits a slave:

‘Please master, if it pleases you master, this slave is honoured to breathe through his mistress Arrabella’s dirty, damp socks, if it so pleases you master,’ he whispered back, anxious both not to awaken his mistresses or to dislodge the white, cotton sock covering his mouth.

He needn’t have worried, though, for master Dean carefully lifted Arrabella’s white sock from slave Ernesto’s mouth (whilst leaving the other sock in place covering his nose) and teasingly dangled one of miss Rose’s now familiar multicoloured, stripy ankle socks over slave Ernesto’s lips:

‘And how did you like sucking the mud from my girlfriend’s stripy sock, slave boy? Ha! Ha! Did her sock-mud taste good to your slave-boy palate? Did you savour her sock-mud inside your slave mouth and roll the mud around on your tongue before swallowing it, eh?’ continued master Dean, still whispering.

‘Yes master, if it pleases you, master,’ responded slave Ernesto truthfully to the much younger man.

‘Ha! Ha! I thought as much!’ gloated master Dean, genuinely despising of the humble man-slave who had earlier had to suck the mud off his beloved girlfriend’s dirty socks. ‘But, you see, there’s one tiny problem, slave-dork. In all the excitement we forgot to check that you had removed all the mud as your mistress Penelope had ordered you to. Do you remember?’

‘Yes, master.’

‘And do you remember what your mistress Penelope said she would do to you if you failed to suck off all the mud from my girlfriend Rosie’s socks?’

Slave Ernesto gulped as master Dean continued to flick miss Rose’s dirty, stripy ankle socks against his slave lips.

‘Yes, master.’

Master Dean laughed, quietly:

‘Ha! Ha! And what was that?’

‘Master, if it pleases you, master, my mistress Penelope said she would flay the skin off my back with her slave-whip if I failed to remove every last trace of mud from your beautiful girlfriend’s superior sock, if it so pleases you master.’

‘Ha! Ha! That’s right slave, and, oh deary me, just look at the state of this sock! Look, slave, can you see the traces of mud that are still on it? Look at that yellow stripe there, for instance; can you see that it’s still muddy?’

And with that master Dean helpfully ran the stripy sock over slave Ernesto’s eyes so that he could observe the offending mud stains.

Of course, slave Ernesto realised this was completely ‘unfair’. He had done a good job of sucking the mud off miss Rose’s socks – both of them – but they had inevitably become dirtied again given the state of the muddy field.

Yes, master Dean’s ominous complaint about the state of his girlfriend’s socks was completely unfair. And yet, at one and the same time it wasn’t unfair – for he was a superior master and slave Ernesto was an inferior slave. The master was always right!

‘I just wanted you to know that I will be showing this dirty sock to your mistress Penelope tomorrow morning, and myself and Rosie will enjoy watching you being whipped by your mistress. I’ve even had a word with the festival organisers and they have agreed that you can be whipped on the main stage in front of everyone, with a microphone in front of your pathetic, ugly, old face so that everyone can hear your screams. What do you have to say to that, slave?’

Slave Ernesto had never expected to be taking part in the concert. He was quite flattered that so many young people would get to hear his singing voice as he cried out in pain from the whip:

‘Yes, master. Thank you for arranging to have me corrected in public, master.’

Master Dean laughed and replaced miss Arrabella’s musty, white ankle sock back over slave Ernesto’s mouth:

‘Don’t mention it, slave. I’ll see you, or rather hear you, on stage tomorrow. Ha! Ha! Pleasant dreams, slave!’

And with that, to slave Ernesto’s enormous relief, master Dean was gone – free to walk away; free to rejoin his girlfriend in their tent; free to make love to her in anticipation of witnessing the slave-whipping he had engineered for the following morning.

Free. Unlike slave Ernesto who was unable to go anywhere, unable to even move his head lest his mistress Arrabella’s musty, white socks fall off his face, and thus earn him a double whipping in the morning.

Part 14 – Annual Review

A year had passed and the good lady Judge, her worshipfulness Justice Priscilla, had summoned slave Ernesto back before the Supreme Female Court to review his performance thus far during his sentence of Community Servitude, and to determine whether further remedial action was necessary.

She had also requested the attendance of all the ladies involved with his case so that they could give evidence as to his progress. As he found himself back in the dock, therefore, this time kneeling rather than standing as an already convicted prisoner-slave, and this time clad only in his white, cotton slave shorts and wooden slave collar, slave Ernesto, now 59 years old – not that anyone had noticed or observed his 59th birthday – realised he was surrounded by the all-powerful women who would determine his fate.

In front of him sat the honourable lady Judge herself, Lady Priscilla – the once junior lawyer from the Caribbean made good. From his kneeling position in the dock directly in front of the black Lady Judge’s feet he could see that she was wearing (appropriately enough) smart, spike-heeled, black patent leather court shoes on the finest denier, dark nylon stockings. A beam of light was shining through a window in the Courtroom directly onto the good Lady Judge’s outstretched feet, which were crossed casually at the ankles. The enhanced light caused the patent leather of her black, high-heeled shoes to shine brightly and meant that slave Ernesto could distinguish the individual stitches in her expensive stockings, including those in the tiny creases around her ankles caused by the positioning of her feet.

Beside her, to her right, sat her 24 year old niece, miss Abigail, whom slave Ernesto had previously had the honour of being teased and tormented by in the town stocks. The good Lady Judge Priscilla had arranged for her beloved niece to attend the Female Court for the day and witness proceedings by way of some work experience. She was concerned that her niece was beginning to drift in life. She still hadn’t found a job despite graduating in media studies over a year ago. Justice Priscilla was hoping that her niece might therefore decide on a career in the Courts instead – she could easily get her a job here if she wanted it.

If truth be told, however, Abigail wasn’t really all that interested in finding work. She was going along with her aunt Priscilla’s ‘work experience’ programme just to keep her on board, so to speak, as it was her aunt who basically funded her hedonistic lifestyle of partying and clubbing. Even now as she sat above the kneeling convict Ernesto to the right of her aunt, miss Abigail was suffering from a severe hangover and just wanted to go to sleep. She was not in the least bit interested in slave Ernesto or his fate. But she had to go through the motions, or face having her allowance cut off by her beloved aunt.

For his part, by way of complete contrast, slave Ernesto was very interested in the beautiful, young black woman seated above him beside the good Lady Judge – or at least in her footwear. Unlike her aunt, miss Abigail had not dressed appropriately for Court and was wearing scruffy,blue, denim jeans and a pair of dirty, white keds (which were actually more grey than white) with a hole over the big toe of her left shoe through which he could see a glimpse of dark blue sock. Her choice of footwear eloquently demonstrated that she just didn’t really care about the proceedings, or have any real respect for the Court. Nevertheless, she was clearly, thanks to the influence and power of her aunt, seated in that Court room in a position of considerable power and would doubtless be assisting her aunt in determining slave Ernesto’s future fate. Therefore slave Ernesto had nothing but feelings of awe and respect for miss Abigail and her tatty footwear.

On the honourable Justice Priscilla’s left hand side was seated slave Ernesto’s east European probation officer, the tall, blonde miss Gozia. Miss Gozia was wearing a fetching pair of black, zip-up, stiletto-heeled, ankle boots and black trousers. Because of her seated position the hems of her black trousers were raised slightly above the tops of her ankle boots and slave Ernesto could just see the elasticated top of a bright, pink bootsock on her right calf muscle. The top of the sock wasn’t visible on her left leg – presumably it had slipped down somewhat inside her left ankle boot. They looked like nice, new boots however. Not a mark on them. Slave Ernesto certainly hadn’t observed miss Gozia wearing them before, and he had seen a lot of his pretty probation officer’s feet and footwear over the past year since he had been placed in her charge as part of his 5 year sentence of Community Servitude.

Miss Gozia was rustling some papers above him – presumably her report on his progress which she would later read out to the Court. The twenty-something, pink-socked, female probation officer would be passing judgment on the fifty-something former businessman and now convicted felon. It was exactly how things should be.

The ubiquitous uniformed and headscarfed WPC Shariya was also present in Court. To be fair you might expect to see her here – the Courthouse was, after all, her main place of work. But in addition Justice Priscilla had specifically asked for WPC Shariya to be present at the proceedings as she knew the demurely headscarfed, asian WPC had taken a great interest in slave Ernesto’s case and had been heavily involved in his correction hitherto.

WPC miss Shariya was standing smartly to attention, with her arms behind her back, in the dock to slave Ernesto’s right, and he could just get a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of her black leather, police-issue, still rather scuffed ankle boots under her navy blue, police trousers. Unlike miss Gozia, it seemed, WPC Shariya was wearing the same pair of boots that slave Ernesto had kissed in the court cell immediately following his conviction exactly a year ago to the day. He wondered whether she might even be wearing the same pair of well-worn, white socks inside her boots, perhaps even carelessly put on her podgy feet inside-out as they had been back then! It was a humbling thought.

And finally, seated comfortably behind him, in the public gallery, were the Tahani family – Madam Tahani, her two daughters Arrabella (23) and Penelope (20), together with their maid, Marguerita. All would soon be given the opportunity by the good lady Judge to have their say on slave Ernesto’s performance as a community footslave over the past year – the first year of his 5 year sentence. He really was at the complete mercy of all the superior women in the Courtroom.

Justice Priscilla opened the proceedings by banging her gavel:

‘Order in Court. The Annual Review of prisoner no GOZ/54791 is now in session.’

Everyone settled down and the Courtroom fell silent.

Justice Priscilla continued:

‘The purpose of this review is to determine whether the prisoner Ernesto has shown sufficient penitence and remorse for his crime against women to be permitted to continue his punishment in the community as a women’s footslave, or whether more severe measures are needed to ensure his full contrition and compliance.

I wish to invite all those women who are most closely involved in the criminal’s supervision and punishment to voice their opinion on his progress thus far…’

She then gave a friendly smile towards Madam Tahani in the public gallery:

‘…Madam Tahani, can I ask you to come forward and to stand before the Bench, over the kneeling convict, with your legs on either side of his face?’

Madam Tahani smiled back and made her way out of the public gallery over to where the hapless slave Ernesto was humbly kneeling, head bowed, his eyes still focussed on the good Lady Judge’s sparkling, black court shoes in front of him.

He soon switched his slavish attention, however, to Madam Tahani’s feet and footwear as she positioned herself, as directed by the Lady Judge, to stand above him in the dock with her shapely ankles and calves digging into the side of his temples.

Madam Tahani was wearing a smart, cream, trouser suit and cream coloured, low-heeled pumps on her bare, brown Moroccan feet. She really did have the most beautiful, shapely feet for a woman in her late forties. Even the vein that ran along the top of her right foot, a vein which slave Ernesto had oftentimes been required to lick, only served to enhance the beauty of Madam Tahani’s feet. He felt an overwhelming, submissive urge to pay homage to his mistress’s feet by kissing her brown footskin – but, of course, that was not part of the Court protocol. He could only look and not touch.

‘Madam Tahani, would you please give the Court your assessment of the prisoner’s performance as a footslave in your household thus far into his sentence?’ requested the good Lady Judge in a soft, friendly tone.

‘Certainly, your honour,’ replied Madam Tahani.

As slave Ernesto stared at her brown feet in their smart, cream-coloured pumps, he listened intently to his Moroccan mistress’s assessment of his performance:

‘On the whole I am disappointed with the slave’s performance. He was singularly lacking in respect for myself and my two daughters when he was first allocated to our household by the Probation Service, and I’m afraid that, in my view, his attitude has not improved much over the year. My daughter, Penelope, has even had to purchase a whip at her own expense in order to keep him in line.

I am particularly disappointed, however, at his performance in my Beauty Salon, where he is often perceived as surly and rude by my female customers as he massages and pedicures their feet.

My daughters and I have tried our level best to imbue a sense of male humility and contrition in the footslave, your honour, but I regret to have to inform you that there is still room for improvement in him.’

Slave Ernesto felt shame as he listened to Madam Tahani’s entirely accurate assessment of his pathetic performance as a footslave thus far.

It must be accurate because she is a superior woman and women are always right.

‘Thank you, Madam Tahani. Please return to your seat,’ responded Lady Justice Priscilla, without any further comment.

Her lack of comment, though, was ominous. Even slave Ernesto picked up on that!

‘Miss Arrabella, would you like to take the stand please?’ continued the good Lady Judge.

Slave Ernesto heard the click-clack of high-heeled boots walking across the floor of the Courtroom behind him, and his head was soon surrounded by the familiar blue denim, designer jeans tucked into brown, leather, calf-length boots of his fashion-model mistress, miss Arrabella. He could smell the freshly polished leather of the brown boots. He knew they were freshly polished because he had been ordered to polish them himself that very morning. That was why he couldn’t complain when he felt some of her boot polish rubbing off onto the side of his face as she now dug her booted ankles into his temples. It was yet another example of his sloppy work.

‘Miss Arrabella, would you please give the Court your assessment of the felon Ernesto’s performance as a footslave thus far?’ invited the honourable lady Justice Priscilla.

‘He’s crap!’ replied miss Arrabella.

A ripple of suppressed laughter went around the Courtroom. Even the good Lady Judge Priscilla allowed herself a wry smile at the petulant young woman’s unladylike, and certainly injudicious, language:

‘Perhaps you would care to elucidate, young lady?’ prompted the Lady Judge.

‘He’s a complete waste of space, your honour – lazy; clumsy; disrespectful; disobedient and incompetent. I mean, look at the way the polish is coming off my boots onto the sides of his stupid, ugly face! He just can’t do anything right! He’s a complete numbskull! That’s why my sister had to buy the whip – pain is the only language he understands!’

And with that slave Ernesto felt mistress Arrabella digging her booted heels hard into the sides of his temples, causing him to involuntarily cry out.

Again a ripple of feminine giggles and laughter echoed around the Courtroom. Everyone had to smile at the young woman’s evident frustration at the uselessness of her personal footslave.

Only slave Ernesto wasn’t laughing, and not just because he was in pain. He was also totally ashamed of himself.

‘I see, well thank you, miss Arrabella. Perhaps your sister would now like to take the stand?’

Mercifully, the stylish, but harsh, leather-booted ankles of miss Arrabella removed themselves from his now throbbing temples to be replaced by the much less stylish, but gloriously softer, thick, grey woolly tights and black, canvas, mary-jane style, T-bar strapped moccasins of the bespectacled English Language and Literature teacher miss Penelope.

For all her ‘new, harsh regime’, for all her new-found love of the whip, slave Ernesto still saw miss Penelope as the gentler of the two Tahani girls. He still had a ‘soft spot’ for her, and hoped she still had a ‘soft spot’ for him – albeit now well hidden. Surely miss Penelope would have something nice to say about him?

He watched as her grey, woollen tights creased around the ankles as she positioned her pretty feet on either side of his bowed head.

‘So, miss Penelope, I understand that you have felt it necessary to purchase a whip in order to control the convicted prisoner?’ enquired Lady Justice Priscilla, looking at the bespectacled young woman over her own black spectacles.

‘That’s correct your honour. I’m afraid the dirty criminal totally disrespected myself and my friends to begin with, even demanding at one point that I comfort him by rubbing my socked feet over his aching shoulders after he had spent a whole day confined in the stocks!...’

She paused at this point for dramatic effect and to allow gasps of astonishment and condemnation to echo around the Court room. A dirty footslave demanding comfort, indeed!

Slave Ernesto’s sense of shame only deepened, although the irony was not lost on him that his slave head was currently enveloped in the comforting presence of miss Penelope’s thick, woolly tights.

‘…I therefore felt it necessary to purchase a slave-whip, your honour, in order to instil some discipline in the slave and to beat some respect into him,’ continued miss Penelope, now confident in the art of public speaking thanks to her presentational skills course.

‘Of course, my dear, and you can rest assured that I shall make an order reimbursing you for the expense of your purchase,’ the good Lady Judge reassured her.

‘Thank you, your honour. I must say that the whip has made a difference to the criminal’s attitude, but, as my sister Arrabella has just told the Court, he is prone to incompetence. On at least two occasions now he has embarrassed me in front of my girlfriends by failing to clean their socks properly whilst they were wearing them - either by smudging the dirt on the sides of their socks with his stupid, slave lips and making the dirty stains even worse, or by failing to suck off the dirt completely with his stupid, slave mouth. He just doesn’t seem to realise that his superior mistresses’ socks are more important than he is. I regret that I really don’t think he’s up to the job!’

As slave Ernesto had expected, the kind-hearted miss Penelope had defended him the most vigorously thus far. She had correctly pointed out his failings and ineptitude but ‘regretted’ that she didn’t think he was up to the job. For his part, he regretted letting her down.

He had thought that miss Penelope’s testimony would be the end of the Tahani family’s evidence, but had forgotten, of course, about the family’s hispanic maid, 31 year old miss Marguerita. She was a woman, and therefore his superior too, and her evidence was considered just as important by the Court.

She was wearing the smartest set of clothes she had – her maid’s uniform – and so slave Ernesto found his temples surrounded by the dark, nylon stockings and black, patent leather, high-heeled shoes of the Tahani family maid. He could see his blurred reflexion in the top of her shiny, black shoes – which was appropriate, for that was all that he was: a pale reflection of a superior maidservant.

‘So, Miss Marguerita, in your opinion has the criminal at your feet performed in any way adequately during his period of service under your supervision in your mistress’s household?’

It was a somewhat leading question by the good Lady Judge and, had slave Ernesto been represented in Court, his barrister would doubtless have raised an objection.

But there was nobody representing slave Ernesto in Court.

‘Ha! Slave Ernesto very bad slave, your honour,’ replied the hispanic maid in her broken English. ‘Not work hard; not wash miss Arrabella and miss Penelope dirty socks properly in mouth; not wash Madam Tahani dirty stockings properly; not shine Madam Tahani dirty shoes properly. Marguerita have to use cane on slave many times; cause slave many pain! Marguerita hate slave!’

She had said it all really. She hated the slave even though he admired and worshipped her as a superior woman. Indeed, the same could evidently be said for all the women who had given evidence thus far against slave Ernesto – they all ‘hated’ him in the sense that they despised him and held him in contempt as a lazy, impudent and incompetent footslave.

Lady Justice Priscilla didn’t really need to hear any more evidence, but Court protocol demanded that she also take evidence from the Police (WPC Shariya) and Probation Service (Miss Gozia).

WPC Shariya was next to stand over the kneeling slave Ernesto. As she placed her feet on either side of his temples the hem of her right, navy blue trouser leg caught temporarily on his right ear giving slave Ernesto a brief flash of dirty, white sock inside her boot. He couldn’t be sure, but it may well be that WPC mistress Shariya was indeed wearing the selfsame socks she had worn on the day of his conviction a year ago! At any rate, she wasn’t wearing her regulation uniform, navy blue bootsocks. She was such a rebel – albeit a demurely dressed, headscarfed rebel!

As she gave her evidence to the Court slave Ernesto sensed the now all too familiar mixture of musty, female leather boot mixed with delicate, feminine halitosis wafting up his nostrils.

‘Officer Shariya, would you please give the Police’s assessment of the criminal’s progress thus far?’ asked the good lady Judge politely. Her Honour Justice Priscilla liked WPC Shariya – a fine, upstanding and diligent young officer, destined for promotion in the very near future!

‘Yes, your honour. In my opinion the convicted-criminal has failed his probationary year, innit? During his period of hard labour on the treadmill in the State Penitentiary he managed to complete the required number of turns on only 5 out of the 14 days of his imprisonment…’

Slave Ernesto felt a shudder run down his spineless back as he remembered the horrors of the Penitentiary, No wonder he had lost so much weight in there! As WPC mistress Shariya had correctly said he had achieved his daily target of 3000 revolutions of the heavy, wooden treadmill, set for him by the blonde, pony-tailed, prison governess, on only 5 out of the 14 days he was incarcerated there, thereby failing to earn his daily supper of bread and water for 9 out of the 14 days. And WPC mistress Shariya should know as she had spent two hours sitting in front of him on the treadmill every evening and had therefore had the privilege of tallying up his final score. She must have been rolling in overtime payments that month whilst he went hungry!

‘…We also had to use the slave serum on him on at least one occasion, your honour,’ continued WPC Shariya, referring to the injection of submissiveness-inducing serum she had so lovingly given him during his period of boot-shining in the Police Station.

Of course, the fact that the Police had felt it necessary to inject him with submissiveness did not bode well for his case review today.

Her honour the Lady Justice Priscilla thanked WPC Shariya for her evidence and the latter returned, smiling, to her standing position by the side of the dock.

Last, but not least, it was the turn of the pink-socked, black ankle-booted, blonde probation officer miss Gozia to give the Probation Service’s report on slave Ernesto, or file no. GOZ/54791 as he was known to the Probation authorities. Unlike the other witnesses miss Gozia was not required to stand over the kneeling prisoner as she read out her report. Instead she remained seated on the Bench above and in front of the prisoner, her right leg now crossed over her left thereby revealing even more of her pink sock on her right calf inside her black ankle boot as it dangled in the air.

Miss Gozia read out her damning report in her crisp, clear, East European accent:

‘Prisoner no. GOZ/54791 was convicted of stealing a lady’s undergarments for the purposes of sexual gratification exactly one year ago to the day, and was sentenced by this Court to 5 years’ Community Servitude as a women’s footslave with periodical corporal punishment and incarceration with hard labour.

During the period of his sentence thus far he has shown no remorse for his crime, and has consistently displayed male arrogance and contempt for female authority.

He has failed to reach the required standards in virtually every punitive chore he has been allocated, and has not earned the confidence and support of the women he has been serving.

It is the recommendation of the Probation Service, therefore, that his current sentence of Community Servitude be revoked and replaced by a sentence of indefinite imprisonment, as we see no prospect of the prisoner being reformed or rehabilitated into the polite society of women.’

Miss Gozia sat down to spontaneous applause from the public gallery. Her pink sock disappeared from slave Ernesto’s view as she adjusted the hem of her black trouser leg.

‘Thank you, officer Gozia,’ smiled the good Lady Judge.

Her tone then changed as she, literally, looked down with contempt on the pitiful wretch kneeling in front of her crossed-over feet:

‘Prisoner no. GOZ/54791. You have heard the evidence against you and the report of your charming, young probation officer. Is there anything you wish to say in your defence?’

Slave Ernesto was grateful to the good Lady Judge for giving him the opportunity to apologise to the Female Court for his ineptitude and recalcitrance, and to throw himself on the Court’s mercy:

‘Oh pray, most worshipful Lady Justice Priscilla, if it pleases you, most worshipful Lady Judge Priscilla, this dirty, no-good, slave begs the Court’s forgiveness for his incompetence and his male obstinacy, and pleads with the Court to punish him severely so that he may see the error of his ways and be suitably chastised for the heinous crime he has committed against superior womanhood, if it so pleases you, most worshipful lady Justice mistress Priscilla.’

The irony was that, although everything the lady witnesses had been saying about him in Court was true, their very testimony that day had brought him to the position of sincere penitence, and respect for feminine authority, which they had all hitherto been seeking.

But it was too late.

‘You may kiss my feet,’ declared the good Lady Judge, unfurling her stockinged ankles and stretching forward her right, shiny black, court-shoed foot closer to the kneeling slave’s contrite and bowed head. Miss Shariya quickly stepped forward to assist the now sobbing slave Ernesto in placing his lips on the top of the Lady Judge’s shiny black shoe.

The process was then repeated for her left shoe, before Lady Judge Priscilla ordered the about-to-be-resentenced slave to kiss miss Gozia’s black ankle boots followed by her niece’s dirty-grey and holey keds - with the blue sock covering the big toe on her left foot still peeping through.

An air of anticipation now permeated the Court room. What would the good Lady Judge decide? Would she act on the Probation Service’s recommendation? Would she have slave Ernesto thrown into prison?

His fate was well and truly in the hands of the 41 year-old black Lady Judge, her worshipfulness the Lady Priscilla. Or rather, it seemed, in the hands of her bored, gum-chewing, 24 year old niece, Abigail, for at that moment her aunt turned and spoke to her:

‘Abigail, darling, you have heard all the evidence from the assembled witnesses, and the prisoner’s plea. Do you wish to make a recommendation as to sentencing before I pass judgement on the criminal?’

Abigail yawned again, because she was truly hung-over on a cocktail of alcohol and illicit drugs and didn’t really care what happened to the stupid footslave kneeling in front of her:

‘Erm…life in the foothole?’

And so it was that slave Ernesto’s fate was finally sealed – sealed by a gum-chewing, bored, scruffily dressed, 24 year old, unemployed black girl, although her aunt delivered the formal sentencing for the Court records:

‘Convicted Prisoner no. GOZ/54791. You have heard the evidence against you from all these fine upstanding ladies, and the damning report made on you by the Probation Service.

The Court is grateful to all the women concerned for their sterling efforts in attempting to mould you into a contrite and docile footslave. The fact that you have failed to achieve the requisite standards of servitude is in no way a reflection on them, and reflects solely on the sheer obstinacy and arrogance of your character. This Court will have its way, however, and you will be broken and subdued.

This Court determined at the time of your very first arraignment that you were an arrogant and loathsome male individual who was unfit to be in the polite society of women, but was nevertheless constrained by the Law to offer you clemency and the opportunity to redeem yourself by means of community servitude as a women’s footslave for a period of 5 years.

You were warned by the Court that your sentence would be subject to review, and it is clear today, on the first anniversary of your sentence, that you have manifestly failed to serve as a community footslave to the required standards.

I therefore take great pleasure in adopting the recommendations of your probation officer, and in complying with the wishes of my niece, and hereby sentence you to imprisonment for life in the foothole dungeons.

Officer Shariya, take the prisoner down to the cells please.’

And with that the Court erupted into further, spontaneous female applause as, with a certain sense of deja-vu, slave Ernesto found himself being led once again down the stairs that led from the dock into the prison cells below by WPC miss Shariya – except that this time he was crawling, semi-naked on his hands and knees behind her black, ankle boots and this time also he wouldn’t be coming back out into the world to serve women as a community footslave. He was being incarcerated for the rest of his natural life in a foothole dungeon. Nevertheless he had nothing but feelings of gratitude to the Female Court for showing him mercy. Justice Priscilla, or was it her niece miss Abigail, could have ordered him to also be flogged, and had therefore shown him totally unearned clemency.

Later that afternoon probation officer Gozia was counting the ‘bung’ she had ‘earned’ in advance from the good Lady Judge, her worshipfulness the Justice Priscilla, for compiling a damning report on slave Ernesto that would enable the Female Court to sentence him to life in the foothole dungeons. Gozia smiled to herself as she thought of the exotic holiday she would now be able to book for herself and her boyfriend in the Caribbean. She then pulled up the bright, pink bootsock which had slipped down inside her left ankle boot, before locking away slave Ernesto’s file for good at the back of her filing cabinet.

As far as probation officer miss Gozia was concerned, case no. GOZ/54791, rather like convicted prisoner Ernesto himself, and, indeed, like this story, was now well and truly closed.

The End