Sentenced To Footslavery
Part 1 – The convicted prisoner
He lay shackled on the floor of his gloomy, windowless cell. Only the single, bare light bulb in the ceiling kept him from being in total darkness. The only sign of life was the occasional sound of the voices of the female guards outside the cell door as they patrolled the corridors.
It was more of a dungeon than a cell - straw on the ground for a bed; a hole in the ground for a toilet. The sole item of furniture was, somewhat bizarrely, a thick, heavy wooden chair in the middle of the room – a chair he couldn’t even reach far enough to sit on due to the chain connecting him to the wall. All he could do was lie or kneel in front of it. Why was there a chair in the middle of the room? It obviously wasn’t for his use. Who was it for?
He was naked apart from his chains and a pair of leather ‘slave shorts’. He felt low. In the dimness of the cell and to pass the time he picked up the leaflet he had been handed earlier by one of the pretty, female guards.
He thought he may as well read it. He had nothing else to do at that moment:
‘Information for Males Sentenced to Footslavery.
You have been sentenced by the Courts to footslavery for life. The decision of the Courts is final. There is no right of appeal against this decision and no remission.
The purpose of this leaflet is to help you adjust to this new reality and to explain how your life will be from now on until the day you die.
You must begin by realising that you are no longer a free male with human rights. You are now nothing more than a lowly slave and will be regarded as such by everyone you encounter. Whoever and whatever you may have been in the past is now irrelevant. You no longer have a name and will be addressed by everyone as ‘slave’ or ‘footslave’. For your part you will be required, henceforth, to address every free human being as either ‘master’ or ‘mistress’.
Moreover, as a male footslave in particular, you are regarded as the lowliest of all slaves – fit only to serve the feet of superior women. You must come to terms with this fact both physically and psychologically.
Physically you will be living your life from now on on your hands and knees. You will never be permitted to walk upright again, but will instead spend the rest of your life either crawling or lying at the feet of your female betters. You will be kept shackled at all times and will shortly be fitted with a heavy wooden collar known as a ‘cangue’. The purpose of the cangue is to keep your head bowed at all times as is befitting in a footslave. You must concentrate at all times on the feet and footwear of those mistresses with whom you come into contact. You are no longer permitted to look a woman in the eye, or to raise your head above a superior woman’s knees.
Psychologically you must accept your new lot with humility and resignation, as befits a slave. Be under no illusions; the female guards and trainers in your prison will ensure your compliance with the use of corporal punishment if necessary. Their role is to prepare you for your new existence as a footslave and they will be successful in this role. Failure to co-operate with your allocated guards and trainer will merely prolong your stay in prison and result in you experiencing a great deal of unnecessary pain.
Your allocated trainer is …….Mistress Paula ……. and she will introduce herself to you within the next few days. Your trainer will be the one to decide when you are fit to be released from prison in order to serve as a footslave in the community. It is very much in your own interests to show complete and total submission towards your allocated trainer as you will be completely in her power throughout the period of your confinement in this prison.
Upon your release from prison you will be put up for auction as a footslave in the male slave market. This will result in one of the following:
• You may be purchased by the state in order to serve as a public footslave in one of the town squares or in the lobby of a public building; or
• You may be purchased by a private company to serve as a footslave in an office or private building; or
• You may be purchased as a personal footslave by an individual mistress
Whatever the outcome you must come to terms with the fact that you will have no say in your future fate and can be bought and sold at any time by your female masters and betters.
Your trainer will explain to you in more detail the nature of the training you are about to undergo. Suffice it to say that by the end of your training you will be familiar with all aspects of how to serve a lady’s feet and footwear, and you will know the meaning of pain, humiliation and degradation. It is only through this harsh regime that you can be properly prepared for the wretched existence of permanent slavery at the feet of superior women.
For now, you must observe the following rules at all times. Failure to comply will result in severe punishment:
1. You must not speak unless you are spoken to
2. You must obey without question every order given to you by the female guards and trainers
3. You must look only at the feet of all those women with whom you come into contact whilst in prison
4. You must remember at all times that you are now nothing more than a lowly footslave.’
So that was that – he was now a footslave for life! As the leaflet said – no appeal; no remission. And his only crime? – being in debt to a female loan-shark. If she had just given him more time he could have paid off all the money he owed. He was still sure of that. But it was too late now. He would be paying off his debt in another way – by a lifetime of foot-servitude.
Suddenly he heard the high heels of some female boots clicking outside his cell door, and then the keys jangling in the lock.
He got straight onto his hands and knees. Like the leaflet said, ‘you must look only at the feet of all those women with whom you come into contact whilst in prison’.
Two young, female guards entered the cell.
They were at one and the same time frightening and yet attractive – both in their early twenties; dressed in their somewhat forbidding uniforms of black leather jackets, short black leather skirts and black, zip-up knee length leather boots with spiked heels. Even in the dimness of the cell their boots shone. One of the girls was blonde and had a pony-tail (he couldn’t help having a furtive glance at her pretty face); the other was a long-haired brunette, slightly chubbier than her colleague, but sexy with it. Both girls had evil-looking, brown leather straps hanging from their belts. They had equally evil-looking grins on their pretty faces. They exuded power and dominance. It was clear that in this place they were the rulers, and he was the ruled.
He didn’t need the leaflet to tell him that he was fit only to look at their feet and footwear. He lowered his eyes vowing to himself that he would never again be so disrespectful as to look, however fleetingly, at the female guards’ beautiful, superior faces.
The two girls had come to check out the new prisoner on their wing. They wanted to make sure he understood fully his position – that he was now completely in their power and at the mercy of their feminine whims.
The blonde guard walked forward to the kneeling prisoner/slave and stretched out her booted foot under his bowed head:
“You must kiss our boots every time we enter your cell, footslave”, she snapped.
The new footslave lowered his lips for the first time in order to pay his slavish respects to a superior female. As he did so, he noticed how the shiny black boot, even though it looked pristine from a distance, was in fact, close-up, stained with mud and dust from the cell floor along the top of the sole and even on the area covering the toes. He quickly realised that the combination of dirt, mud and female boot-leather was going to be a familiar taste for him from now on.
There was silence in the cell as the two guards watched intently as the new footslave placed his lips onto the toe of the blonde guard’s dirty, outstretched boot. Her boot wiggled slightly on its high-heel as his lips made contact with the dusty leather.
He kissed.
“Not good enough slave!" barked the guard’s young female voice. “I couldn’t hear it or feel it!" Do it again!”
Her chubby colleague laughed and unhooked the brown leather strap from her belt, as she too moved forwards towards the kneeling slave:
Whack!
A shaft of pain shot through his right shoulder and down to his ribs. The brunette had hit him with her strap.
He was unaccustomed to physical pain, but it had its desired effect. He kissed the blonde guard’s outstretched boot again – this time properly; harder and audibly.
The two female guards laughed:
“That’s better, slaveboy”, chirped the blonde, “Now try the other one”.
She withdrew her right boot from under his nose and replaced it with her left, even dirtier boot. The slave now observed how the leather creased around the ankle as she stretched out her booted foot for his attention.
He kissed the toe of the left boot, hard and loud.
“I think he’s learning, Antoinette”, the brunette spoke for the first time, her strap still poised threateningly in her right hand.
“Yeah, the pain of the strap seems to have gotten through to his thick skull”, replied the blonde. “Here, you come and have a go, Lucy”.
The slave now knew his guards’ names – mistress Antoinette and mistress Lucy. Of course, as the leaflet had so eloquently explained to him, they didn’t need to know his name. He was just another trainee footslave.
It was mistress Lucy’s right boot that was now outstretched under his kneeling nose – a wider boot than mistress Antoinette’s covering her thicker legs; but equally as dirty and dusty and, dare he think it, sexy.
He kissed the leather boot-toe and tasted mistress Lucy’s boot dirt on his slave lips. She withdrew her right foot, extended her left, and again he kissed, hard and loud. He felt her toes wiggle with pleasure inside her boot. How tall she seemed as she towered over him, even though she was in reality quite petite, certainly shorter than her colleague, mistress Antoinette.
Mistress Lucy then withdrew her left boot and refastened her leather strap to her belt. She was evidently satisfied with his first efforts at kissing her boots:
“We’ve come to fit your cangue, footslave”, she announced, much to the apparent amusement of her colleague who giggled evilly.
The two girls always loved this part – fitting the heavy, wooden cangue to a new prisoner’s neck. It was such a shock to their system – a permanent and painful reminder of their new, lowly status, forcing them to bow their necks at all times. The girls loved it! They particularly liked the fact that once it was fitted it would never come off. The pathetic footslave was forced to wear it for life!
Mistress Antoinette went briefly outside the cell door returning with the heavy, dark brown, wooden neck-collar with the word ‘footslave’ engraved on it. Mistress Lucy positioned herself behind the slave so that she could grab hold of his hair and hold his head steady whilst mistress Antoinette fastened the heavy collar around his pathetic, scrawny, male neck and secured the metal lock at the back.
The moment mistress Lucy let go of his hair the footslave felt the wooden collar’s terrible weight. It wasn’t as large and as impractical as the heavy, wooden cangues used in Ancient China to punish and public ally humiliate criminals; but it was almost unbearably heavy nevertheless. Within seconds his neck and shoulders were aching. But it did its job – he now had no option but to keep his head bowed and to look at the dirty boots of his mistresses.
“Ha ha!. How does it feel, footslave? How do you like your new necklace? Is it comfortable?”, asked mistress Antoinette gaily.
The slave already knew that he must show complete respect and submissiveness towards the two all-powerful young women in whose charge he now was. They had gone to the trouble of carrying the heavy collar all the way down to his cell and then fitting it onto him. It would be churlish of him, not to say dangerously stupid, to complain that it was extremely uncomfortable. On the other hand, he sensed that they wanted to know he felt humiliated and degraded in the collar – for that was its purpose. He therefore had to choose his words carefully:
“Mistress, if it pleases you mistress, it is a collar befitting a humble footslave such as myself”.
Both girls laughed out loud:
“I think he’s a natural!”, exclaimed mistress Lucy, “he seems to know his place already!”
“Yeah”, agreed Antoinette, “he just needs some guidance on the technicalities of how to serve a woman’s feet and footwear. What do you think, slave, do you think you’ll make a good footslave?”
The slave found that the weight of his wooden ‘necklace’ had already caused him to lower his face even closer to the ground. He could just see the tips of mistress Antoinette’s boots as she deigned to speak to him.
“Mistress, if it pleases you superior mistress, I hope to be able to serve all women’s feet in a satisfactory manner”.
For some reason mistress Antoinette was angry and dissatisfied with his answer. She immediately unclipped her leather strap and gave him a stinging blow across his left shoulder:
“Never refer to yourself as ‘I’, filthy, dirty slave!. Just who do you think you are? Do you think you are somebody? Do you think you deserve to refer to yourself in the first person!”
“I can’t believe he just said that!”, added mistress Lucy, apparently equally as shocked at the slave’s ‘arrogance’.
The slave cried out in pain:
“Please, forgive me mistress!”.
This earned him another stripe from mistress Antoinette’s strap:
“I can’t believe he just did it again!”, exclaimed mistress Lucy, “He used the word ‘me’! The dirty, arrogant footslave actually refers to himself as ‘I’ and ‘me’! Hit him again, Antoinette, harder!”
Mistress Antoinette duly obliged, drawing another sharp intake of breath from the slave, as his natural reaction to the pain of throwing back his neck was prevented by the heavy, wooden collar.
“Dirty, ignorant slave! You refer to yourself from now on as ‘this slave’. Got it?” barked mistress Antoinette.
Yes, the trainee slave now got it. How could he have been so stupid? Had the leaflet not made it clear that he was now a nothing, a nobody? He must learn how to speak in a way befitting a humble footslave. That was lesson number one.
“Now answer mistress Antoinette properly, footslave”, ordered mistress Lucy.
The slave pulled himself together:
“Please forgive this dirty footslave, mistress Antoinette. It begs its mistress’s pardon for such rudeness towards its mistress. This slave hopes to serve all its superior mistresses’ feet in a satisfactory manner.”
“Hmm. That’s better”, opined mistress Antoinette.
It occurred to the footslave that the two female guards were nothing if not reasonable. He had made a mistake; they had corrected him; and had accepted his grovelling apology. How could they be fairer than that?
“I still think he’s a natural”, chirped mistress Lucy. “I’ll bet he likes the smell of women’s sweaty feet and socks!”
“Let’s ask him!”, giggled mistress Antoinette. “Well, slave, do you like the smell of women’s dirty, sweaty feet? Do you like the thought of having to sniff and kiss them? Do you yearn to lick them clean and polish their toenails with your dirty, slave tongue?”
The footslave realised, of course, that mistress Antoinette was teasing him now. But he was obliged, as a humble slave, to respond respectfully and truthfully:
“If it pleases you mistress, this slave regrets that it has never had any experience of smelling women’s feet. But it fully realises that to lick and smell the feet of superior women is an inestimable privilege and honour for a lowly footslave”.
“Aw, the poor slave has never had the chance to smell a woman’s feet before?”, laughed mistress Lucy. “We’ll have to put that right straight away, won’t we Antoinette?”
“Yeah, would you like to smell our feet, slaveboy? To see if you like it? Would you? Would you?”, asked Antoinette, feigning mounting excitement.
The trainee slave thought there was only one possible answer to this rhetorical question:
“Yes please, most gracious mistress Antoinette”.
Whack!
Another stroke from mistress Antoinette’s leather strap across his bare shoulders:
“I didn’t say you could address me by my name, dirty slave-pig!. That’s a privilege you have yet to earn! Just refer to me as mistress!”,
“Yes, mistress. Sorry mistress. This ignorant slave begs your pardon, mistress”.
The slave realised he had indeed got a lot to learn about submissiveness.
“Alright if I go first, Antoinette?”, asked Lucy. “I’ve been wearing the same socks inside my boots for three days now and I want the slave to get a good whiff of my personal foot-sweat – plunge him in at the deep end, so to speak!”
“Perfect!”, laughed Antoinette, “I didn’t like to say anything in the changing room this morning, Lucy, but I did notice that your feet do stink today!”
Lucy laughed:
“Yeah, you’re not wrong! But like I said, I reckon this footslave’s a natural pervert – I think he’s going to love it!”.
Mistress Lucy then sat herself down in the wooden chair in the middle of the cell and instructed the footslave to crawl over and kneel in front of her.
Of course! So that’s what the chair is for! It’s for superior women to sit in whilst he serves at their feet! What else would it be for? He felt really dumb!
“Unzip my boots, slave!”, ordered mistress Lucy , as mistress Antoinette stood behind him running her leather strap through her delicate, soft, feminine fingers.
The slave, forced to keep his head low by the wooden collar around his neck, painfully reached up to the top of mistress Lucy’s right ,knee-length black, leather boot, found the zip, and somewhat gingerly pulled it down the side of her boot, revealing a pair of short, black ankle socks as he did so. He pulled off the boot, and then repeated the process with her left boot.
When the boots were off the smell was quite overwhelming – pungent and sour; like the smell of putrid cheese mixed with ammonia; the smell of dirty, sweaty female socks.
“God, Lucy, I can smell those filthy socks from here!”, exclaimed Antoinette.
Mistress Lucy laughed and wiggled her toes to release more of the smell up the kneeling slave’s nose:
“Come on, slave, Get your nose onto my socks and sniff! You know you want to!”, she shouted animatedly.
The new footslave wasn’t so sure that he did want to! But one thing was already crystal clear to him – he had no choice in the matter. If a female prison guard orders you to sniff her sweaty socks – you sniff them!
And so he lowered his nose until it touched the socked toes of her right foot and sniffed the sweaty, black ankle sock.
He sniffed the sock as he had earlier kissed the boot – loud and hard. The smell was appalling! Momentarily, he felt that he would even lose consciousness. He felt humiliated and degraded.
For her part, mistress Lucy felt elated. Powerful and dominant. This male slave really was completely at her mercy, obliged to sniff her dirty, sweaty black socks for no other reason than the fact that she wanted him to. How she loved her job!
“Come on, slave, get that slave nose deep into my sock! Vacuum up all the stink into your slave nostrils!”, she barked.
Mistress Antoinette was laughing and enjoying the spectacle of her colleague humiliating the slave and having her socks sniffed. But she wanted a piece of the action too!
“Come on, Lucy, shove over, it’s my turn now!”, and with that Lucy obligingly, if somewhat reluctantly, picked up her boots and removed herself from the chair.
Antoinette took her place in front of the kneeling slave:
“Well, slave, did you like the smell of mistress Lucy’s socks?”, she enquired politely (although, needless to say, it didn’t really matter whether the footslave had liked it or not).
The slave felt he had to lie:
“Yes, mistress, if it pleases you mistress, this slave feels privileged to have had the honour of smelling mistress Lucy’s socks”.
He braced himself for a possible strapping at the use of mistress Lucy’s name, but none was forthcoming. It was apparently acceptable to refer to a mistress by name providing one wasn’t addressing her directly by name without permission.
“And what colour of socks do you think I might be wearing inside my boots, slaveboy?”, asked mistress Antoinette.
This was a tricky one for the slave to answer. How could he possibly know? Were the female guards required to wear black socks as part of their uniform, or had that just been mistress Lucy’s personal choice? He had no way of knowing.
One thing he did know, however, was that from now on such matters would be of the utmost importance to him as a footslave. He would have to concern himself with such seemingly inconsequential questions as he would be spending the rest of his miserable life dealing with the feet and footwear of superior mistresses.
He had to give some sort of answer to the blonde, pony-tailed mistress Antoinette:
“Mistress, if it pleases you mistress, this slave believes that mistress Antoinette may also be wearing black socks”.
Antoinette and Lucy both laughed:
“Is that what you think, slave? Is it really?”, teased mistress Antoinette. “Well, there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there? Unzip my boots!”.
Of course, it occurred to the slave that there wasn’t only one way to find out. Mistress Antoinette could have simply told him what colour of socks she was wearing. But why should she? Why should a superior mistress bother to inform her slave of anything? It’s not like he was anyone important who had a right to know – even if he was her sock-slave!
As he unzipped the right boot, however, all was duly revealed – mistress Antoinette wasn’t wearing any socks; she was bare foot inside her warm, leather knee-length boots!
Again the slave smelt the intoxicating aroma of feminine foot-sweat – although not as cheesy as mistress Lucy’s sock-sweat.
As he took off her other boot mistress Antoinette ordered him to ‘get his slave nose between her sweaty toes and sniff’.
He obeyed, for he was now more than one hour into his new life as a women’s’ footslave. As mistress Antoinette, egged on by her colleague mistress Lucy, pinched his pathetic slave nose between her superior, feminine toes he realised that this was now his future – female feet, sweat, socks and boots. It had all only just begun.
Part 2 – The Footslave-Trainer
The trainee footslave was feeling increasingly depressed. It was largely the result of boredom. He had been languishing in his gloomy, windowless, dungeon-cell for some three weeks now, and there was still no sign of his official trainer, mistress Paula.
Where was she? Why had she not started his training? He found himself increasingly anxious and keen to get his training over with so that he could get back out into the community and serve his life sentence as a women's footslave.
Perhaps a large part of his motivation was purely selfish - just to escape the dismal confines of his sparse and dirty cell; to experience some light and fresh air again after what seemed like an eternity stuck in the gloom of the training dungeon. But another part of him genuinely wanted to serve as a footslave. He knew there was no point in resisting his fate. The Courts had decided, and psychologically he had come to accept, that he would never again be a free man who could regard, or who would be regarded by, members of the fairer sex as his equals. He would spend the rest of his natural life crawling on his hands and knees, kissing female feet, being mocked and verbally abused by his female betters. He now accepted all that. He now wanted nothing other than to be a good footslave. So why weren’t the authorities, why wasn't mistress Paula, getting on with his training?
To be fair, his two female guards, mistresses Antoinette and Lucy, were doing their best to help him. They would regularly allow him to kiss their boots, sniff their dirty socks, and even, on one or two occasions, wash their bare feet in a basin of warm water. Mistress Lucy was being particularly kind, often taking off her dirty socks at the end of her shift and leaving them in his cell for him to suck on and sniff -- 'to get him used to the taste and smell of feminine footsweat’, as she so delicately put it. Furthermore, his relationship with the two guards had been steadily improving. Of course, they still despised him – what woman wouldn’t have contempt for a boot-licking, sock-sniffing footslave? But they did now allow him to address them by their names i.e. as ‘Mistress Antoinette’ and ‘Mistress Lucy’, rather than just ‘Mistress’. It was progress of a sort.
The trainee footslave was grateful for these small mercies, but he knew that the longer he had to wait for mistress Paula to begin his formal training, the longer he would be incarcerated in the dungeon. Only she could sign his release order into the community as a fully fledged footslave, and the guards had warned him that she was something of a perfectionist who had been known to keep trainee footslaves incarcerated for years because they did not meet her exacting standards. Mistresses Antoinette and Lucy had laughed when they told him this, as the expression of disappointment and horror on his stupid face had greatly amused them. He was hoping that his training would last a mere matter of weeks.
The other thing that was, quite literally, getting him down was the heavy, wooden cangue, inscribed with the word 'footslave', which was permanently secured around his neck. The cangue, or his ‘wooden necklace’ as mistress Antoinette liked to describe it, was designed to help the virtually permanently kneeling slave keep his head bowed and low -- as befits a footslave. It was designed to be a physical reminder to him that he had no business looking anywhere other than at the feet of his superior mistresses. However, the pain it caused in the muscles of his neck and shoulders was becoming oppressive, and if that wasn’t enough the heavy wood was constantly rubbing against his neck causing it to cut and chafe. It all added to his overwhelming sense of humiliation and misery.
What the ignorant slave didn't realise, of course, was that this period of isolation, and the pain and frustration caused by the heavy cangue, were all part of his training. Mistress Paula was not ignoring him or neglecting her duty. Although he had not yet met her, she had already begun his training. It was the first and most important lesson he had to learn - that his fate was entirely in the hands of others, specifically of women, and even more specifically it was in her hands. This trainee slave was quite literally at her mercy. She could keep him there for the rest of his natural life if she so wished it.
Fortunately for the slave, mistress Paula was not a cruel or vindictive woman. She was in her early thirties and happily married. Both Paula, and her husband Leroy, were of Afro-Caribbean origins. They both worked in the Prison Service and both loved their jobs as much as they loved each other. He was the Governor of a prison (not the same one), and she was a full-time slave-trainer. They both believed fervently that criminals should be harshly punished, and in particular they supported the sentences of slavery imposed on those who fell foul of the law. At home, they would often talk about their work; about how they had ordered a slave to be flogged; or the progress of a particular trainee slave; or the leniency or otherwise of a particular sentence handed down by the courts.
Mistress Paula did not just train male footslaves. She also trained male slaves sentenced to hard labour in the mines as well as those, relatively privileged, slaves who had been sentenced to be the personal body-slave of a woman. But strangely enough, the ones that she enjoyed training most were the humble footslaves. Quite simply, Paula loved having a male slave grovel at her feet. At home, lying in the arms of her strong and macho husband Leroy, she felt loved; at work, with a pathetic male footslave humbly kissing her feet in abject fear and respect, she felt all-powerful. The combination, or perhaps more accurately the contrast, between her home life and work life was what made her so happy and contented.
Meanwhile her latest protégé, the trainee slave sentenced to footslavery for life for getting into debt, had endured another restless night in his cell. At least, he assumed it had been night-time – the light inside his cell had been turned off, but without a window, it was difficult to tell when daytime ended and night-time began. However, other clues that it had been night-time were the lack of activity by the guards, and the fact that mistress Lucy had again left him her dirty, black boot socks to sniff and ‘mouth-wash’. Lying on his back on the straw-covered stone floor that constituted his bed, with one of mistress Lucy’s socks covering his nose and the other in his mouth, the slave was resigned to yet another ‘day’ of kissing and groveling to the two female guard’s knee-length leather boots whilst he awaited his ‘proper’ training to begin. Little did he know that today would, at last, be the day when mistress Paula would deign to introduce herself to him.
After what seemed like several hours of trying, and failing, to get some sleep, the constant throbbing in his neck and shoulders caused by the heavy cangue not helping, the light suddenly came on in his cell, momentarily hurting his eyes, and he heard the key turning in his cell door. It must be breakfast time – his only meal of the day.
It was a routine he was now well used to. As Mistress Lucy entered the cell he remained lying on his back. This was the only time he was not required to assume the normal footslave position on his hands and knees. It was to enable mistress Lucy to enjoy the sight of her dirty sock covering his slave nose, and to inspect it in order to make sure it was exactly where she had left it. Any sign that it had moved, or even worse that the prisoner had removed it from his nose, would be her excuse to punish him severely with the brown, leather strap hanging from her belt.
Mistress Lucy, although quite petite and dumpy, always looked so tall as she smiled cruelly down at him first thing in the mornings. She laughed happily, knelt down and removed both the sock covering his nose and the sock inside his mouth:
“Well, slave, did you enjoy your night-time snack sucking all the sweat out of my nasty, stinky sock?”
The trainee footslave, his taste buds still overwhelmed with the salty taste of her sweaty sock, responded in the only way a humble trainee footslave could to its superior guard-mistress:
“Mistress Lucy, if it pleases you mistress Lucy, this worthless footslave is grateful to its most gracious mistress for allowing it the privilege of sucking its mistress’s superior footsweat out of her dirty, black boot-sock. It hopes that its humble efforts have left the sock in a satisfactory condition for its mistress, and begs to be punished if its mistress is not so satisfied”.
He was becoming quite good at ‘slave-speak’ – another sign of his progress and psychological adjustment to his new circumstances.
Mistress Lucy laughed:
“Well, I can hardly wear it with your dirty, slave saliva on it, but at least it no longer smells as bad as the other one that was covering your slave nose. Thank me for letting you smell my other sock all night”.
“Yes, mistress Lucy, if it pleases you mistress Lucy, this slave is indeed grateful for the privilege of having had its mistress’s sweaty black sock over its pathetic, slave nose all night, and for having had the opportunity to familiarize itself with the odour of its mistress’s superior feet”.
Mistress Lucy laughed again, and appeared satisfied at the slave’s humility and self-deprecation. With every passing day she was more and more convinced that he was a ‘natural’ footslave. Her gut instincts about prisoners were rarely wrong.
At this point the other guard, the blonde and very beautiful mistress Antoinette, entered the cell, carrying the cold mush that constituted his one and only meal of the day. It was supposedly nourishing but it tasted foul. At least it would take away some of the taste of mistress Lucy’s sock-sweat.
“God, Lucy, put away those socks would you? They still stink!”, exclaimed Antoinette as she extended her booted foot under the, now kneeling, footslave’s face.
The slave kissed the dusty toe of Antoinette’s black, leather knee-length boot.
“Only one of them still stinks!”, laughed Lucy, “The other one has been in his mouth all night and the sweat has disappeared down his throat!”.
The two female guards laughed, as mistress Antoinette switched feet extending her left boot under the slave’s nose.
Again he kissed, hard and loud enough for her to feel and hear his humble act of subservience, as well as see it – just as they had trained him to.
“Has he paid his respects to your boots yet, Lucy?”
“Not yet. Move over and give me some room”, responded Lucy petulantly.
As mistress Antoinette’s slender booted leg was withdrawn from his field of vision the slightly broader right-booted leg of mistress Lucy replaced it.
Again he kissed the mud-stained toe, and then waited for her left boot to be positioned for him to pay his humble respects to it also. As he did so it occurred to the slave for the first time that he would never again get to kiss the lips of a woman. From now on he would only be kissing women’s feet and footwear. He wasn’t worthy to kiss them anywhere else.
Mistress Antoinette than shoved the bowl of mush directly under his nose and ordered him to eat. Meanwhile mistress Lucy poured him his one bowl of water that he was allowed to lap up during the day (except when he was required to wash their feet; the girls kindly allowed him to lap up their dirty foot water on the relatively rare occasions when he had been required to wash their sweaty feet in a basin).
As he was munching up his meal of nourishing mush like a dog, mistress Antoinette dropped the bombshell he had been waiting for:
“You’d better eat it all up today, slave, for your trainer, mistress Paula, will be visiting you for the first time today - and there’s nothing she hates more than an ungrateful slave who won’t eat up all his food!”.
The slave almost choked, much to the two guards’ amusement.
“Ha ha! That’s right, slave, mistress Paula wants to begin your training today”, added mistress Lucy. She then crouched down to lower her face close to the kneeling slave’s face. As she did so the slave had a rare view of the top of her boot and her bare knee:
“I know you won’t let us down, slave, and that you’ll remember everything that we have taught you about how to show respect to your betters. I mean, haven’t we been kind enough to teach you how to kiss a woman’s boots properly; how to sniff her dirty socks; how to taste and appreciate her superior footsweat? You’ve already got a head-start, thanks to Mistress Antoinette and me, and don’t you forget it! We want mistress Paula to see that we’re good at our jobs”.
Her tone contained an unmistakable element of threat in it.
“Yeah”, added mistress Antoinette, crouching down beside him on the other side, “We’re both hoping to be promoted to full-time slave trainers ourselves one day. If you mess things up for us we’ll make your life a living hell – do you understand what we’re saying, slave?”.
The slave gulped down the remaining mush in his mouth. He was in absolutely no doubt that these two guards were in a position to make his life a living hell:
“Yes, mistress Antoinette. Yes, mistress Lucy. This slave is indeed grateful for all the help and assistance its mistresses have given it and will endeavour to put into practice all the valuable lessons its mistresses have taught it”.
Mistress Lucy chuckled as she pinched his right ear-lobe between her thumb and forefinger, digging in her sharp nails and causing him to wince.
“You better had, slave, or I’ll personally make you wish that you could shed your skin and slither away into the dirt like the worm that you are!”.
The slave wasn’t entirely sure that worms did shed their skin. Surely that was snakes? But, either way, the message was clear. Mistress Paula, as the official trainer, was an important person in the prison hierarchy, perhaps even more so given that she was married to a prison governor – albeit of another prison. She clearly could have influence on the promotion prospects of other prison staff, and would be making a mental note of how well or otherwise the two guards, Antoinette and Lucy, had prepared the new footslave for his training.
It was some two hours later that mistress Paula entered his cell, flanked by both mistress Antoinette and mistress Lucy. The slave immediately assumed the kneeling position.
The first thing that struck the footslave about his trainer was that, unlike the two guards, she was in civilian clothes. In fact, she was dressed like a very smart businesswoman - the very type he had been used to negotiating with in his previous life, and whom he had fallen foul of by getting into debt - how distant that previous life now seemed; like it had belonged to someone else, not him. Mistress Paula was wearing a grey pin-striped trouser-suit over a white blouse, and flat, black leather, loafer-style shoes. She was quite ‘petite’ (certainly shorter than mistress Antoinette), but was undoubtedly one of those women who exuded self-belief and power – a strong, self-confident black woman in a position of absolute power over the lowly male prisoners. Even Antoinette and Lucy were clearly in awe of her and were somewhat nervous in her presence.
“Slave, this is your trainer, mistress Paula”, mistress Antoinette had announced – no hint of laughter or levity in her voice now. “You will kiss her feet to pay your humble respects to her. Mistress Paula, please be so kind as to present your foot to the slave for kissing”.
“Thank you, Antoinette”, replied mistress Paula. For all her power, her voice was soft and kind.
The slave felt his heart start to race as the big moment came when he had to kiss his trainer’s feet for the first time. So much depended on this moment! First impressions are so important. His whole future was in this woman’s hands – not to say the possible future promotion prospects of the two female guards who were now watching him intently. He mustn’t let them down!
Mistress Paula approached her new trainee footslave slowly, her shoes squashing the dirty straw of the floor as she did so. When she was about a metre or so in front of him she stopped, pulled up her right trouser leg at the knee, and elegantly stretched forward her right foot until it was positioned directly under the footslave’s kneeling nose.
As he nervously lowered his lips to the top of her black leather shoe, he noticed, even in the dimly lit cell, that she was wearing the finest denier nylon stockings under her grey, pin-striped trousers. In fact, the positioning of her foot and the raised trouser leg was even affording him a glimpse of her nylon-covered, shapely ankle. He found himself longing to kiss that nylon-covered ankle bone, for it was the ankle of an all-powerful woman in whose hands his life now depended. But he knew, of course, that any such move would be interpreted as gross insubordination, and would probably lead to him being incarcerated in the ‘training’ dungeon for the rest of his natural life. No, it was the top of the leather shoe that he must kiss, near the toe, just as he had earlier paid his respects to the leather boots of his two female guards.
He kissed the leather, hard enough to be felt and loud enough to be heard.
Mistress Paula withdrew her right foot, and replaced it with her left.
Again, he was mesmerized by the shapeliness and power of her nylon covered ankle bone. He kissed the shoe leather, which smelt strongly of shoe polish.
To everyone’s relief, mistress Paula appeared reasonably satisfied with his efforts. She only had one minor criticism, which she addressed to Antoinette and Lucy:
“He kisses well. But his lips did not touch my shoe simultaneously. I believe his upper lip touched my right shoe momentarily before his lower lip. I shall have to correct that!”.
Mistress Antoinette responded apologetically to mistress Paula:
“I am sorry, mistress Paula. We do find that he responds best to the strap. Would you like me to give him twenty lashes?”.
The slave flinched. Twenty lashes for such a minor imperfection in his performance?
Fortunately for him, mistress Paula seemed to share his view that this would be over-the-top:
“Oh no, Antoinette, that’s quite alright. It’s very early days. I always allow my trainee slaves to make a mistake once. I find that they never make the same mistake again. If they do, that’s when I have them punished!”.
“You are most kind, mistress Paula”, responded Antoinette, relieved that the official trainer had clearly not seen the slave’s error as a particularly serious matter. Nevertheless she would make the dirty, useless slave apologise to mistress Paula for his carelessness and disrespect:
“Slave, apologise to your mistress Paula for your insolence and thank her for showing you such undeserved mercy!”,
The slave, now sweating with fear, not at what mistress Paula might do to him but at what mistresses Antoinette and Lucy might do to him later, groveled obediently at the young, black woman’s feet:
“Oh mistress”, (thankfully for him he remembered not to address mistress Paula by her name as he had not yet been given permission by her to do so), “Please forgive this dirty, worthless footslave for its crass stupidity and insolence in not kissing its mistress’s superior feet in a proper manner befitting a lowly footslave. This slave throws itself abjectly at its mistress’s mercy and begs its mistress to accept its heartfelt apology”.
Mistress Paula laughed:
“Well, you can certainly talk the talk, slave. Now let’s see if you can walk the walk!”.
The mood of the three superior women in the cell immediately lightened, and not just because of the irony of mistress Paula’s comment (the footslave would never be permitted to ‘walk’ upright ever again). More than that it was clear that, despite his flawed attempt at kissing his trainer’s feet for the first time, the footslave had actually passed his first test to mistress Paula’s satisfaction. She could work on him, mould him into a good footslave. She would, in short, ‘take him on’.
She bade the two guards to leave the cell, and sat herself down in the one item of furniture the cell contained – the wooden chair in the middle of the room directly under the ceiling light. She crossed her legs and ordered the trainee footslave to kneel in front of her, with his face lowered to her left foot which was the one resting on the dusty, stone floor. It was the classic footslave position – staring humbly at his seated mistress’s left foot whilst her right foot dangled in the air above his head, ready to use the top of his head as a footrest if it so wished – emphasizing her complete dominance and superiority over him.
The slave focused his eyes on a tiny crease in his mistress’s nylon stocking across her outer ankle bone as she spoke down to him:
“You may call me mistress Paula, slave”, she graciously condescended. “I intend to see to it that you leave this place as a fully fledged, fully competent footslave, one who not only understands his position in life, but who relishes it. It is the only way you can possibly hope to survive the life of humility and servitude you are now destined to lead. By the time I have finished with you, you will wish for nothing else than to please your mistresses and to serve their feet and footwear in a manner that is befitting of a pathetic, helpless footslave such as yourself.
Although I will be enlisting the assistance of other women during the course of your training, you will be practising, primarily, on my feet , so it is important that you familiarize yourself with my feet and footwear right from the start. I shall be wearing a wide variety of footwear to give you practice in how to serve the many different kinds of feminine boots and shoes that you will encounter throughout your service as a footslave.
As you can see, today I am dressed as a businesswoman, and I want you now to take off my shoes and to smell my nylon-covered toes. I want you to get your first experience of what my feet smell like when they have been encased in nylon, and I want to see if you know how to sniff a lady’s feet properly”.
With that, mistress Paula uncrossed her legs and placed her right foot down on the ground beside her left foot under the slave’s kneeling face.
The slave was actually quite excited. In the three weeks he had been incarcerated he had only ever experienced what it was like to sniff the female guards’ sweaty socks. Now, for the first time, he was to sniff an elegant, young black lady’s nylon-stockinged toes! What an honour! What a privilege!
Mistress Paula positioned her right foot slightly in front of her left, indicating that he was to remove her right shoe first of all.
The trainee footslave gingerly lifted her right foot off the floor to enable him to slip off her black, leather shoe. As he did so he heard the whoosh of stale air escaping from her shoe – air that had been permeated by the warmth and smell of her feet and which now engulfed his slave nose.
He then placed his mistress’s stockinged foot onto the dusty, stone floor. He wasn’t entirely sure that this was the right thing to do but could see no other option whilst he lifted her left foot in order to remove her left shoe. Again he smelt the warmth of her foot as the warm air escaped from inside her shoe. It mixed with the smell of her shoe polish.
Then, he returned his slavish attention to her right foot, gently lifting it to his nose. It felt soft; the nylon stocking in particular felt sheer and soft, but it was reinforced with an area of heavier stitching around the toes. He knew it was this area that he must concentrate on sniffing. He could also see her painted toenails beneath the mesh of the nylon. They appeared to be painted red.
“Audibly sniff each foot three times, slaveboy”, ordered his mistress, her voice still calm, but authoritative – the voice of a woman who was used to being obeyed, and who saw nothing incongruous in addressing a male slave who was considerably older than herself as ‘boy’ – for he was no longer a man.
He pressed his nose into the folds of the nylon stocking between her toes and sniffed, loud and hard – once, twice, three times .
The aroma was, simultaneously, unpleasant yet intoxicating; sharp yet mellow; familiar yet unique. For it was the very personal foot-smell of his very personal trainer, similar to the smell of mistress Lucy’s feet or mistress Antoinette’s, but, as with all women’s feet, not identical. The young woman whose superior foot he now humbly held in his hands was the woman who held his whole future in her hands. He had an overwhelming sense of how honoured, how privileged he was to be sniffing this young woman’s nylon-stockinged foot and to be familiarizing himself with her very personal foot-odour, and yet, at the same time, the smell was degrading and humiliating – fit only for a humble footslave. What must she think of him? Surely she must despise him?
As he lowered her right foot to the ground and lifted her left foot for sniffing, mistress Paula did indeed look down on the trainee footslave with contempt. He was indeed pathetic – completely at her mercy and in her power. It made her feel aroused. It made her want her husband, Leroy, to take her in his big strong arms and ravish her. She wanted to make passionate love with a real man whilst the dirty footslave worshipped her stockinged feet!
That was what being a superior, free woman was all about – love and cruelty, submission and domination, all rolled into one. Yes, she loved her life, and she loved her job.
And she was going to love training this humble footslave!
Part 3 – The Students
During the course of the following weeks and months Mistress Paula engaged in a period of intensive training of the new footslave. She wore as many different types of feminine shoes, boots and sandals as she could in order to familiarise him with the vast variety of feminine footwear that he was destined to spend the rest of his natural life kissing and cleaning – everything from shiny, thigh-length, black patent leather, spiked-heel boots through to her humble flip-flops with her sweaty toe marks on them.
At various times she had him sniff, lick and suck on her bare feet and on her stockinged or socked feet. She taught him how to remove sweat from a superior lady’s feet with his slave tongue; how to swallow dirt from the soles of a lady’s boots; how to appreciate the smell of a lady’s foot odour. She even taught him how to massage a lady’s bare and socked feet with his face, and how to give a woman a full pedicure.
She taught him how to have the proper attitude of a footslave – she taught him total humility and respect for his female masters.
She instructed him in the art of how to kiss a woman’s feet with due reverence and respect – slowly and thoughtfully, with both lips touching the lady’s shoe simultaneously; hard enough for her to feel his humble act of obeisance through her shoe leather; loud enough for her to hear the contact of his inferior male slave lips on her superior female shoe; and yet gently enough to convey his utter sense of awe at the privilege of touching her superior shoe with his dirty, undeserving lips.
She taught him how to have a simultaneous look of disgust, humility, respect and shame on his ugly slave face every time he had to kiss her shoes or sniff her sweaty feet. She explained that his mistresses would want to see all four such qualities etched on his features every time he serviced their feet and footwear, that they would want to know that he was both repelled and eager to serve the humblest, dirtiest and smelliest part of their beautiful bodies – their feet.
She taught him that the lady’s wishes were paramount – that he must subject himself to their every whim, and worship and honour whatever type of footwear they were wearing, whether he found it appealing or not – for it was the chosen footwear of a superior mistress. She taught him what it meant to be in the absolute power of a dominant woman. She taught him the meaning of feminine cruelty.
Above all she brought him to the realisation that, in the eyes of all the women he would be serving, he was now no longer a man, or even a human being; he was nothing more than an object; a ‘thing’ to be used and abused as the lady saw fit; a shoe-cleaning, foot-licking, sock-sniffing machine that his female masters could switch on and off at will.
In short, she taught him that he was nothing.
And Mistress Paula was pleased with her trainee-slave’s progress. By the sixth week of his training she had decided that it was time to introduce him to the feet of other women – stage two of his training. Of course, in addition to her own feet, he had been continuously serving the boots and feet of his two, pretty female guards – mistresses Antoinette and Lucy. However mistress Paula also had her contacts outside the prison, who supplied young women to assist with the training of footslaves – civilians who were prepared to spend a few hours of their time having their feet worshipped by the footslave-trainees for a small financial remuneration. They were mainly college students eager to earn a few extra bucks and it was easy money for them.
After just one phone call to the local university mistress Paula had secured the services of three such college girls, Angelica, Ruby and Constance.
When the door to his dingy cell was opened the trainee footslave could immediately tell that today was going to be different. In addition to the two guards, mistresses Lucy and Antoinette, and mistress Paula, three young giggling women entered his cell. It was actually quite crowded – 6 superior women standing haughty and proud on the dusty, straw-covered stone floor of the dimly-lit, windowless cell and one grovelling male footslave, shackled and kneeling in the dirt.
Mistress Paula was the first to speak:
“Slave, this is mistress Angelica, mistress Ruby and mistress Constance. They have kindly agreed to help with your training today. You may address them by their names. You will begin by kissing each of their feet and thank them for taking the time to assist me”.
She then addressed the three, still giggling, girls:
“Girls, would you care to step forward one at a time and present your feet for kissing by the dirty footslave?”
Mistress Angelica appeared to be the most keen to have her feet worshipped:
“Cool!”, she exclaimed, walking forward to place her right foot directly under the kneeling slave’s nose.
The footslave now had a close-up view of a dirty white platformed sneaker, with dirty white laces, and a multi-coloured, patterned, ankle sock under the turned-up bottom of a pink trouser leg. The turned-up cuffs of the trouser legs ensured a good view of the young woman’s multi-coloured socks even when she was standing straight with her feet together, but it also meant that when her right foot was pointed forward for kissing, as it was now, he could see the whole of her stripy ankle sock, right to the elasticated top. The footslave could just sense that this was a feisty and dominant young woman, one who was going to enjoy every second of his humiliation at her superior feet.
And he wasn’t wrong. At 18, Angelica was the youngest of the three girls. A pretty and petite red-head, she was much too young to have ever owned her own footslave, and this was the first time she had put her name forward to assist with the training of the prisoners. From the moment she had set foot in the foreboding surroundings of the footslaves’ dungeon, however, she had felt a sense of thrill run through her. This was going to be such fun! Humiliating and degrading a male slave – and being paid for it! She was naturally ‘bossy’ and this was the stuff of her dreams!
The slave respectfully lowered his lips to the dirty top of the superior, young woman’s sneakers and placed a reverential kiss on the white leather under the watchful eyes of mistress Paula and the two guards, and the curious eyes of the three, young, female guests. He then withdrew his lips from miss Angelica’s sneaker top and thanked the young woman as he had been ordered to by his mistress Paula:
“Thank you, mistress Angelica, for volunteering to assist mistress Paula with the training of this dirty, low-life, footslave”.
Angelica laughed out loud, as she extended her other sneakered foot for kissing:
“This is so cool! Does he have to wear that heavy, wooden collar thing all the time? It must really hurt his neck!”, she exclaimed gleefully.
She was referring, of course, to his ‘cangue’, a thick, wooden collar, engraved with the word ‘footslave’ that had been permanently secured around his pathetic, slave neck.
“Yes”, answered mistress Paula, “He has to wear it at all times. It makes it impossible for him to raise his head above a lady’s knee and forces him to concentrate on his superior mistresses’ feet and footwear ”.
“Ha! ha! It’s like he’s in the stocks staring at socks!”, quipped the alert and ever wide-eyed miss Angelica. All the ladies laughed, for the slave was indeed being forced to stare at miss Angelica’s white sneakers and multi-coloured socks.
Mistress Paula then invited Ruby to step forward. Ruby, although a year older than Angelica, was a very different personality – quiet and shy. But this was precisely what mistress Paula wanted – the trainee footslave could end up with any kind of mistress when he was put up for auction; he could be purchased by a feisty young dominatrix like miss Angelica, or a quiet and serious-minded young woman like Ruby. Or, he might be purchased by the State as a public footslave – in which case he would be servicing the feet of all different types of women. The whole point was that he wouldn’t have any say on the matter – and so his training had to prepare him for every eventuality.
Ruby, like mistress Paula, was of Afro-Caribbean origins, with beautiful, long
shiny, black hair. She was wearing black sneakers with white stripes down the side, and blue denim jeans. As she extended her right foot under the kneeling slave’s nose for kissing he saw that she was wearing thick, grey socks. Unlike with mistress Angelica, however, he could not see the top of her socks as they disappeared up her denim trouser leg. As the slave lowered his lips to the top of mistress Ruby’s black sneaker he saw that it too was quite dusty and dirty, although the dirt didn’t show up as much as it had done on mistress Angelica’s white sneakers.
Mistress Ruby’s shapely ankle seemed to flex slightly under her grey sock as the slave placed his first kiss on her sneaker, and then repeated his slavish words of thanks to his new ‘assistant trainer’.
Once again it was Angelica who made the only comment:
“Ha! Ha!. You look really cool Ruby. Why don’t you spit on him? He’s nothing but a dirty footslave, after all!”.
Ruby looked momentarily shocked and embarrassed at her friend’s suggestion, but a glance towards mistress Paula confirmed that spitting on the kneeling footslave’s head would be perfectly in order if she so wished to.
Not wanting to appear weak, Ruby decided to adopt her friend’s suggestion. She pursed her lips, gathered up some saliva in her beautiful mouth, and ejected it down onto the top of the footslave’s head.
Angelica clapped her hands with delight:
“Well done, Ruby! Now make him kiss your other foot!”
Mistress Paula was increasingly impressed with Angelica’s attitude. She would make a natural slave-trainer. She had already decided to approach the young woman about her future career after today’s session.
Ruby duly obliged and the slave kissed her outstretched left foot as her saliva dribbled down his hair.
The last of the three girls to step forward was miss Constance. At 21, Constance was the eldest of the three college mates. It has to be said that one’s first impressions of Constance would be of a young woman who doesn’t much care about her personal hygiene or appearance. She was pretty enough, but her tousled, blonde hair always looked a bit dirty, and her casual clothes always looked somewhat scruffy.
Her footwear was no different. The slave now had a close-up view of miss Constance’s dirty, scuffed yellow, flat ballet-style slippers on her bare feet. She was wearing jeans that came right down to the ground and were dirty and frayed as a result.
As the footslave lowered his lips to touch the toe of her outstretched right foot he could smell the strong aroma of musty, soft leather mixed with the unmistakable aroma of feminine foot-sweat. He could also feel her toes wriggling underneath the soft shoe in reaction to his humble kiss.
Paula was pleased at the fact that Constance wasn’t wearing socks or sneakers. The slave needed to experience variety; he had to learn how to deal with every type of feminine footwear. And the fact that Constance’s feet and shoes were clearly unkempt, sweaty and dirty was another bonus.
With the initial greetings over mistress Paula asked the three girls if any of them would like the slave to lick clean their dirty shoes. Needless to say it was Angelica who volunteered to have her dirty sneakers licked clean.
Mistress Paula invited her to sit on the wooden chair which was situated like a throne in the centre of the cell. She then ordered the footslave to shuffle forward and kneel at miss Angelica’s feet.
“Slave, you will now clean the dirt off mistress Angelica’s sneakers. Make sure you pay particular attention to the dirty platformed soles”, ordered mistress Paula.
Angelica giggled again as the slave carefully and respectfully raised her right sneaker in his manacled hands and began to lick the underside of her dirty, white sneaker.
“Ha! ha! How long has this slave been stuck inside this dirty cell?", Angelica enquired of mistress Paula.
“About three months now”, replied Paula.
“Cool! You mean he hasn’t seen daylight or had any fresh air all that time?”
“That’s right!”, confirmed mistress Paula.
Miss Angelica then addressed the slave with mock pity, as he continued to lick the bottom of her sneaker:
“Aw, poor slave. Stuck indoors all this time, and the weather has been so lovely outside. Still, at least you can now taste the great outdoors as you are tasting where I have been. I went for a walk in the park this morning, because, unlike you, I’m free and I can go wherever I like and do whatever I like. Can you taste the grass and the leaves on the soles of my shoes, slave?”, she teased him.
The slave could indeed taste the dead grass and leaves, mixed in with fresh mud:
“Yes, thank you, mistress Angelica, if it pleases you mistress Angelica, this worthless slave is indeed privileged to taste the dirt on which you have been walking”, he replied humbly.
Angelica was clearly loving this, and Paula was increasingly impressed at her attitude.
As the slave turned his attentions to the dirt on miss Angelica’s other platformed sneaker, the petite red-head continued with her taunting:
“And do you like the taste of my sneakers, slave? Do you like the taste of the dirty, white leather, or is it too bitter for you?”.
The slave, thanks to mistress Paula’s expert training, knew that he had to be ultra-careful how to answer this question, for the young lady would want to know that he both felt honoured to taste her shoe leather, and yet at the same time was repulsed by it:
“Please, mistress Angelica, if it pleases you mistress Angelica, this slave is truly honoured to be allowed to taste its superior mistress’s dirty, white sneaker, and it does like the bitter taste of it’s mistress’s sneaker - although not that much”.
Angelica and the other two girls squealed with delight at the humble footslave’s pathetic, abject response to Angelica’s humiliating question.
More importantly, mistress Paula was satisfied with his answer.
The slave licked both the tops and the bottoms of miss Angelica’s sneakers for some five minutes, although he had no chance of getting anything more than the
outer layer of mud and dirt off her shoes with his tongue. The ingrained dirt on the well-worn sneakers would require days of licking to remove it. But , of course, the whole purpose of the exercise wasn’t to clean up Angelica’s sneakers. It was to humiliate the slave.
Angelica’s dominating attitude and sense of fun was beginning to rub off on the much quieter and shy mistress Ruby. When Paula next asked the girls which of them would like to have their feet sniffed, she even beat Angelica to it:
“I’m wearing thick, grey knee-length socks, Paula”, she exclaimed. “Can I make him sniff those?”
“Of course, Ruby. I’m sure the slave would be honoured to sniff your dirty, grey socks”, replied Paula encouragingly, pleased to see that Ruby was also coming out of her shell.
“Yeah”, interjected Angelica, “Why don’t you make him smell the top of your socks and then the bottom, and see if he can describe the difference, Ruby!”
It was yet another impressive brainwave from the young red-head, which met with all the ladies’ approval, including Paula’s.
As Angelica made way for Ruby in the chair, Paula gave the slave his new orders:
“Slave, you will now untie mistress Ruby’s shoe-laces, remove her black sneaker, and then sniff around the top of her grey knee sock, followed by the bottom”.
She then politely requested Ruby to pull up her right trouser leg to the top of her knee-sock so that the slave could sniff it.
In his heavy, wooden collar the slave, much to the amusement of the ladies present, found it quite a strain to reach his pathetic nose to the top of Ruby’s thick, grey sock. Bu he just about managed it and gave three audible sniffs, before lowering his face to sniff her socked toes.
“Well, slave, can you smell any difference between the top of mistress Ruby’s sock and the bottom? Describe the different smells!”, ordered mistress Angelica, now almost taking over the scene with her infectious enthusiasm.
As mistress Ruby looked down intently at the kneeling slave, with an evil grin on her pretty face, he did his best to respond to mistress Angelica’s question:
“Please, mistress Angelica, if it pleases you mistress Angelica, this slave does detect a difference in the odour between the top of mistress Ruby’s superior knee-sock and the bottom. The top of the sock smells warm and fresh, whereas the bottom smells of mistress Ruby’s superior, damp, feminine foot-sweat”.
Mistress Ruby laughed at him:
“Come on, slave, spit it out! Does the bottom of my sock stink or not ? Just tell us!”
“Yes, mistress Ruby, if it pleases you mistress Ruby, this slave is honoured to confirm that the bottom of mistress Ruby’s knee-length sock does indeed stink”.
Mistress Ruby continued to laugh:
“And so it should, slave!. I’ve been wearing these socks for three days now and I haven’t even taken them off in bed as my feet get cold at night. I want you to sniff up and suck off as much of the stink as you can – I don’t want my friends to suffer the same stink that you are!”.
The slave duly obeyed, concentrating now on sniffing and sucking the area around mistress Ruby’s socked toes, before taking off her left shoe and doing the same with her left foot.
After some 10 minutes of this humiliating and degrading treatment at mistress Ruby’s socks it was clear who was going to be next to sit in the chair when mistress Paula asked the girls who wanted to have their dirty, bare feet licked and sucked clean. Mistress Constance was in the chair like a shot.
As the slave slipped off her yellow, lightweight ballet-style slippers, his nostrils were assailed with a smell of feminine foot odour that was much stronger than mistress Ruby’s. Even in the dimly-lit cell he could clearly see dirt on this young woman’s feet, especially under her unpainted toe-nails.
“Suck all the dirty, sweaty toe-jam out from between my toes, foot-licker”, shouted the hitherto relatively quiet mistress Constance, clearly also now getting into domination-mood. Mistress Paula was pleased – it confirmed her theory that all women are naturally dominant – even the quieter ones like Ruby and Constance.
The slave gently lifted mistress Constance’s right foot with his left hand and pushed her dirty, big toe into his slave mouth. The toe was dirty when it went into his mouth, but was clean when it came out. He was impressed at how ultra soft it was, even though the hard toe nail was rubbing against the roof of his mouth. Mistress Constance’s feet were actually very soft and beautiful, if only she could be bothered to wash them every now and then.
The ever observant and highly aroused Angelica had noticed how dirty and worn her friend Constance’s slippers were on the insides:
“God, Constance, just look at the inner lining of your ballet-flats! They’re filthy! Look at the sweat stains! Why don’t you make the slave lick out the sweat from them after he’s cleaned your feet?”.
Yes, Paula was now convinced. Angelica was a natural footslave-trainer, just like herself. She would definitely be offering her a job!
It took the slave some 10 minutes to lick the considerable amount of dirt off both Constance’s bare feet, as well as gently removing some of the black toe-jam from under her toe nails with his teeth (a skill mistress Paula had spent hours training him to do). By the time he had finished her feet were wet and sticky with his slave saliva, but they didn’t smell as bad.
Constance liked Angelica’s idea about making him clean the insides of her soft, yellow ballet-flats as well:
“Slave, now use your tongue to lick out the dirt and sweat from the insides of my shoes. Make sure you don’t rip off any of the inner lining with your tongue or I’ll have you whipped!”.
The mere suggestion of a whipping seemed to send Angelica into a frenzy of excitement as she asked the two guards, Antoinette and Lucy, who had been quietly enjoying the scenes of footslavery from the back of the cell, how often the slaves got whipped, and what sorts of whips were used. The two guards showed her their brown, leather straps, used for day to day discipline, and explained that a single-tailed cowhide was used for more serious correction in the ‘punishment room’.
“Oh, please can we see the punishment room?”, implored Angelica.
“You certainly can”, smiled mistress Paula. “In fact, I believe a recalcitrant slave is due to receive twenty lashes later this afternoon. Is that right, Antoinette?”
“Yes indeed, Ma’am, slave no 765 – the trainee body-slave”, replied the guard.
“Great!. Would you like to witness his punishment, girls – by way of a thank you for all your assistance today?”.
All three girls answered excitedly in the affirmative, although it was clearly mistress Angelica who was most excited at the thought of witnessing a slave’s flogging.
As he continued to lick the insides of mistress Constance’s dirty, smelly ballet slippers, spurred on in his efforts by the mere threat of a whipping, the slave could only feel glad that he was not the one who had been sentenced to twenty lashes that afternoon.
He was soon ordered to finish licking mistress Constance’s shoes and to put them back on her now much cleaner feet. The inside of his slave mouth tasted of her dirty shoe and her toe jam.
But he was pleased – for he knew he had done well. And the three guests were pleased as they had enjoyed humiliating him with their feet and footwear. And mistress Paula was pleased because she had found a new, budding footslave-trainer in miss Angelica. And the two guards were pleased because mistress Paula was pleased.
Everyone was pleased. In fact, as she escorted her three ‘assistants’ out of the trainee footslave’s cell and down the corridor towards the punishment room, Mistress Paula had already decided that the slave was now ready for stage 3 of his training – day release into the community. She would have to contact the various institutions with whom she did business to see which of them would be prepared to take him for a day – perhaps one of the many office buildings in the town.
But all that was for another day. As mistresses Antoinette and Lucy shackled him again to the wall of his cell and then slammed the cell door shut on him, the slave was content to lie on the straw-covered stone floor and to savour the lingering taste of mistress Angelica’s sneaker-dirt, mistress Ruby’s sock-sweat, and mistress Constance’s foot-dirt in his slave mouth.
Part 4 – The Day Release
It took a week for Mistress Paula to make all the arrangements for the trainee footslave’s day release. There was a lot of paperwork involved; lots of phone calls etc. But eventually she secured him a place in one of the local offices in the town centre – a publishing firm specialising in women’s’ magazines – and with an all-female staff. It would be just the perfect environment for the footslave’s first experience of servitude at the feet of women in the real world.
The footslave was, quite literally, kept in the dark about his proposed day release right up until the morning of the day in question. As he lay on his back on the cold, stone floor of his gloomy, windowless cell, he had no idea that he was about to leave that cell for the first time in over 3 months and would actually see some daylight and smell some fresh air again.
The exciting news was broken to him by one of his pretty guards, mistress Lucy, as she opened his cell door as usual first thing in the morning in order to give him his breakfast of nourishing, but foul-tasting, slave ‘mush’.
As he knelt at her feet and placed his first respectful kiss of the day on the dirty toe of her black, knee-length boot, she uttered the words that lifted his spirits to a height they had not known since the court had passed sentence on him and sent him down to a lifetime of footslavery:
“You’re to serve in a women’s office on day-release today, footslave!”.
Lucy enjoyed the look of stunned surprise and disbelief on the stupid slave’s face. How pathetic that he can be excited at the prospect of licking women’s’ feet and shoes in an office all day long! His wretched existence was now so miserable that such a prospect was a real treat for him. She laughed at him:
“Ha! ha! Don’t think you’re in for an easy ride, slaveboy. You’re about to experience what slavery is really like in the outside world – what it means to be a humble footslave, despised and held in contempt by free women who are your betters. Believe me, by the end of this day you’ll be glad to crawl back on your hands and knees into your nice, safe cell! Now eat up all your slave mush, for you’ll need all the energy you can get!”
With that, she pushed the bowl of unappetising mush under his nose with the tip of her boot, and looked down on him with contempt as he guzzled away obediently like a dog.
Just as he was finishing his ‘breakfast’ his other guard, mistress Antoinette, arrived at the cell door with a long chain:
“Is he ready yet, Lucy?”, she enquired.
“Yeah, he’s just finished his mush. You can attach the chain to his collar”.
Mistress Antoinette moved forward and crouched down to attach the heavy chain to a metal loop on the bottom of the slave’s heavy wooden collar known as a ‘cangue’ – the collar that was engraved with the word ‘footslave’ and was designed to ensure that it was impossible for him to raise his head above a lady’s knee.
Mistress Lucy simultaneously undid the shackles that normally kept the slave shackled to the wall of his cell and mistress Antoinette then ordered him to follow her ‘to heel’.
As he crawled behind mistress Antoinette’s boots out of his cell door for the first time in 3 months, the slave knew that he should be feeling an enormous sense of relief that he was at last leaving the horrible, dank, stuffy cell – albeit temporarily. But, so conditioned had he become by his weeks of footslave-training, he actually found himself humbly concentrating on the backs of mistress Antoinette’s knee-length boots. He was fascinated by the way the black leather creased at the back of her heels as she walked; at the way the sole and heel of her beautiful boot picked up dust and dirt as she walked along the corridor; he found himself yearning to lick the offending dirt off the soles of her boots. So successful had his training been, he now felt comfortable only when he was concentrating on the feet or footwear of women. It boded well for his future existence as a fully-fledged footslave.
Even when they reached the prison van in the yard outside, and he got his first glimpse of daylight in 3 months – so bright that it hurt his eyes - he found himself squinting so that he could better concentrate on the backs of mistress Antoinette’s dirty boots.
The two guards led him into the back of the van that was to transport him to the office where he was to perform his ‘community service’ on day-release. Mistress Lucy then sat in the front in the driver’s seat. Meanwhile mistress Antoinette made the footslave lie on the floor on his stomach in the back of the van and sat on a bench above him, her right boot resting on the side of his face. His neck was stretched at an awkward angle because of the heavy wooden collar, but even so he could feel the vibrations through the dirty floor on his cheek when mistress Lucy revved up the engine.
And so he was transported to his place of servitude in a manner befitting a footslave – lying in the dirt under the booted foot of a female prison guard, staring at the dirt on the side of her boot.
On arrival at the office building mistress Antoinette led the slave on his hands and knees up to the reception desk in the front lobby at which a young woman was sitting, chewing gum, and filing her finger-nails:
“Hi. I’m Guard Antoinette from the Slave Training Detention Centre, and I’ve brought this prisoner-footslave for his day release”.
The young receptionist peered over the edge of her desk and looked down at the kneeling slave over her metal-rimmed glasses with an air of contempt:
“Oh, yes, Miss”, she responded politely to Antoinette. “We are expecting you. I’ll just see if our Managing Director, Madame Selena, is ready for you”.
With that, the girl lifted her phone and rang through to the Managing Director’s office:
“Yes, she’s ready to see you now. Please go on up to the third floor”.
“Thank you”, replied Antoinette. “Slave, crawl round and kiss the receptionist’s feet and thank her for allowing you to proceed”.
Mistress Antoinette then led the footslave by his collar and chain round to where the female receptionist was sitting. The footslave could now see that the young woman was wearing strappy, light brown stiletto sandals over tan stockings, and a very short white skirt. As the young woman, who was seated on a raised chair with her feet on a metal footrest, obligingly extended her right foot into the air and under his kneeling nose for him to pay his respects to it, he could see the reinforced stitching of the stocking across her red-painted toe-nails. She continued to chew her gum, with a nonchalant look on her face, as the slave pressed his lips to that reinforced stitching, puckered them, and kissed.
No sooner had he done so than she extended her other foot under his nose for him to repeat the humble act of obeisance. Her feet smelt perfumed and looked very clean. He remembered to thank the young woman:
“Thank you, mistress-receptionist, for checking that Madame Selena is ready to receive this humble footslave”.
The young woman said nothing, and swung her feet away from the slave again to continue filing her finger-nails.
Antoinette was delighted with the girl’s attitude. If the footslave was still in any doubt as to the contempt with which he would now be regarded by ordinary women, the receptionist’s attitude should have dispelled any such doubts.
Antoinette led the slave to the lift and then up to the third floor where the Managing Director’s office was located. Several of the office girls giggled at the sight of the near-naked male slave crawling behind the guard’s leather boots as they made their way down the corridor towards Madame Selena’s office. From the corner of his eye the footslave could see the office girls’ legs and shoes, but he continued to concentrate on the back of mistress Antoinette’s boots, as he had been conditioned to do.
Antoinette, knocked on the door of Madame Selena’s office and waited for a voice to respond:
“Enter! – Ah, welcome! You must be Guard Antoinette?”
The voice was husky, powerful and sexy. It was undoubtedly the voice of the Managing Director herself, Madame Selena:
“Yes, Madam. And I’ve brought the prisoner-footslave for his day release”, responded Antoinette.
Madame Selena had by now moved out from behind her executive desk to shake hands with Antoinette:
“Slave, kiss Madame Selena’s shoes!”, ordered Antoinette abruptly.
Madame Selena stretched forward her right foot for the slave to kiss. She was an attractive woman with a good figure and was wearing a black jacket over a white blouse, black knee-length skirt, dark stockings and black patent leather pumps. Very businesslike, as one would expect of the female managing director of a publishing company. The slave guessed her to be in her late thirties. As he humbly lowered his lips to the top of her shiny, black shoe he saw his distorted reflection in the patent leather. He placed a reverential kiss on the black leather, and then waited for Madame Selena to withdraw her right foot from under his nose and replace it with her left:
“I’m glad to see that he knows how to kiss a lady’s shoes with proper humility and respect, because I can tell you now that my girls will accept nothing less!”, commented Madame Selena to Antoinette.
Antoinette was pleased that Madame Selena was happy with her first impressions of the slave:
“And rightly so, Madame Selena. I can assure you that if this dirty slave fails to meet your high expectations today he will be severely punished on his return to the Detention Centre. We always value your honest feedback”.
“Don’t worry, my dear. Mistress Paula and I go way back, and I’ve always found her trainee slaves to be adequate. I’m sure he’ll make a good office shoeshine- boy for the day. Please leave him with me, and I’ll arrange for him to begin his day’s servitude by going around the office and licking the girls’ shoes”.
“That’s great. We’ll be back to pick him up at 6:00 P.M. Goodbye, Madame Selena”.
With that, mistress Antoinette handed over the end of the slave’s chain to the managing director, and left.
There was silence for a few moments as Madame Selena surveyed the slave kneeling at her feet. The slave was now concentrating on her elegant, black pumps and shapely, stockinged ankles.
“Mmm, let me make one thing perfectly clear to you, slave. As far as I’m concerned you are nothing but a piece of filth, fit only to lick the dirty shoes and boots of my female employees. And lick them you will! My God, you’re going to have a sore, dry tongue by the end of today! For if I detect just one speck of dirt on any of my girls’ shoes at the end of the day I’ll see to it that your mistress Paula strips the remaining flesh from your scrawny back with her bull-whip! Do I make myself clear?”
The slave was somewhat shocked at Madame Selena’s aggressive tone. Best to assure her of his good intentions:
“Oh pray, Madame, if it pleases you Madame, this slave wishes only to serve all its mistresses to the best of its ability”
“I don’t give a damn what you wish for, you dirty, no-good pig!”, barked Madame Selena, “I’m telling you how it’s going to be. Every single woman in this office is your better, your superior, and by God you’d better show them proper respect!. And one more thing. After you’ve shined my employees’ shoes this morning you will be required to help me greet a high ranking delegation of businesswomen from China. Be in no doubt, slave, if you mess that up for me you’ll wish you had never been born. I’ve got a potentially lucrative contract with their Chinese company, and if it all falls through I’ll know who to take it out on, won’t I? Won’t I, slave!?”
The footslave sensed that Madame Selena was a natural authoritarian. Difficult to work for, demanding and hard to please – especially if you were a humble footslave like him:
“Yes, Madame, if it pleases you Madame, this dirty, worthless footslave will do its utmost to ensure that your Chinese guests are greeted with proper respect and humility”.
Madame Selena then paged her personal secretary, asking her to come into her office. From the corner of his eye (he was still very much concentrating on Madame Selena’s shapely, stocking-covered ankles), the footslave saw a younger woman in a white trouser suit and white stilettos on her bare feet enter the room:
“Ah, Jane. This is the piece of filth who is going to be shining everyone’s shoes today with his slave tongue. Would you like to take him around the various girls in the office, please, and offer his services to them?”.
“With pleasure, Madame Selena”, replied the young personal secretary, and with that she took the slave’s chain and ordered him to follow her on his hands and knees.
As he crawled humbly behind her, the slave liked the way the bottoms of her white trousers swung from side to side, revealing treasured glimpses of her bare, creased heels above the tops of her white stiletto shoes – shoes which he couldn’t help noticing were slightly scuffed at the back.
This young woman couldn’t be much more than 20 years old, but she was clearly aware of her superiority over him:
“Keep your eyes on the back of my shoes, dirty footlick!”, she snapped in her piercing young voice.
She took him first to a woman in her late twenties who was sitting at her desk working on her computer:
“Hi, Petra, fancy a shoe-shine?”, miss Jane asked her colleague.
The slave could see that mistress Petra was wearing black high-heeled shoes with a T bar strap across the top of her foot, and dark stockings under a black dress. Curiously, there was also a pair of dirty, white sneakers under her desk.
Petra momentarily stopped what she was doing and glanced first at Jane, then at the kneeling footslave. She laughed:
“Ha! Ha! What a dork! What is he some kind of work experience trainee, or something?”
“He’s a prisoner on day release from the local slave-training centre”, explained Miss Jane. “Madame Selena has instructed that he’s to clean all the women’s shoes with his tongue”.
“Well, he better had then!”, exclaimed mistress Petra, swivelling round on her chair to extend her right foot onto the carpet under the kneeling slave’s nose.
The slave was fast learning one new thing about what it meant to be a humble footslave to women – one tended to be spoken about, rather than spoken to. If one was spoken to in person, it was invariably just to be given orders, or to be admonished. But it was clear that his female masters and betters did not regard him as worthy of having a meaningful conversation with them.
The slave couldn’t help but notice a small tear in the stitching of mistress Petra’s stocking on her outer ankle as he lowered his face to the top of her outstretched shoe and began to humbly lick the leather. He hoped he wouldn’t be blamed for that pre-existing tear. He hoped that mistress Petra was already aware of its existence. What he didn’t appreciate, of course, was that nobody else, let alone mistress Petra herself, was aware of the tear – for it was just that, a tiny, insignificant little tear in her stocking which was of no consequence to anyone – except to a humble, down-in-the-dirt footslave such as he.
“Make sure you give them a nice shine, footslave”, mistress Petra shouted down at him. “I want to see all the dirt transferred from my shoes onto your pathetic tongue and down your wooden-collared throat!”
The slave licked the top of mistress Petra’s black leather shoe ever more vigorously, before she ordered him to pay his slavish attentions to her other high-heeled shoe. He could smell the leather as he licked it, and, in all honesty, the shoes did not appear to be all that dirty. Mistress Petra’s next pronouncement explained why:
“Jane, I normally wear these sneakers on the way into work, and they are truly filthy. Do you think he could give them a lick and a polish for me as well?”
She pointed with her foot to the white sneakers lying under her desk.
“Sure, Petra. I’ll have him lick them until you can see your reflection in them!”
The two girls laughed as they both knew that would be an impossible task. Nevertheless, they expected the slave to make substantial progress in cleaning the dirty sneakers with his tongue, as that was what his slave tongue was designed for.
Jane ordered the footslave to stop licking miss Petra’s leather high heels as Petra picked up her sneakers and placed them on the floor again directly under his nose:
“Slave, clean Miss Petra’s dirty sneakers. Lick off all the filth and make them look as good as new!”, ordered mistress Jane.
The Managing Director’s PS was clearly enjoying her special duties for the day – escorting a footslave around the office! What fun!
As the slave dutifully began to lick on mistress Petra’s dirty white sneakers the latter returned her attentions to her computer to continue with her work. The slave was very conscious of the fact that her work was much more important than his, and that he was worthy only to lick the dirt off her discarded sneakers, whilst she continued with her important emails which could generate lots of additional income for the company and earn her a large bonus.
Of course, however well he cleaned mistress Petra’s dirty sneakers, the slave would not be receiving any bonus – or any financial remuneration at all.
Next, mistress Jane took him to one of her best friends in the office – Miss Courtney, the ‘office junior’. Courtney was just 18 years old and, if truth be told, was not that popular amongst the other women in the office. Jane liked her, because they were of a similar age and they socialised together. But many of the ‘older’ women in the office, those in their late twenties or early thirties, found Courtney a bit irritating – arrogant and even, on occasions, downright rude.
Blonde Courtney was certainly a feisty young woman, ambitious and self-confident. She did not intend to remain the office junior for long.
She was by the photocopying machine when her friend Jane approached with the footslave in tow:
“My God, what have you got there, Jane?”, exclaimed Courtney excitedly.
“He’s a trainee footslave from the prison. Would you like him to clean your boots with his tongue?” asked Jane.
“Yeah – you bet!”, shouted Courtney, attracting the attention of several of the other women in the office with her excited tone. They all smiled. Courtney may be an arrogant and over-confident young upstart, but, even though she was the most junior employee in the office, they were all agreed that she was better than the footslave and deserved to have her boots licked by him.
Miss Courtney sat down on a high stool beside the photocopier resting her dainty feet on the metal footrest. She was wearing black trousers, and when she sat down the trouser legs raised to reveal the tops of her black socks above her black, zip-up, chunky-heeled ankle boots. The footslave was ushered forward by mistress Jane until his face was just inches away from miss Courtney’s boots.
“Kiss the tops of my socks first, boy!”, ordered miss Courtney in her sharp, high-pitched voice – the voice many of the other women usually found so irritating.
The slave realised that there was no other reason for him to be given this order other than to humiliate him, just as her use of the word ‘boy’ was designed to put him in his proper place. He must have been at least 20 years her senior, after all, and in his previous life girls like this had been making cups of tea for him whilst he had negotiated business deals with the likes of ‘Madame Selena’. How things had changed! How far he had fallen! He was now reduced to kissing the female office junior’s socks!
He placed his lips on the soft, black cotton material at the top of her right boot and humbly kissed.
“And the other one!”, snapped mistress Courtney impatiently.
He kissed the top of the other sock, sensing how the other women in the office were watching with great amusement and approval.
“Now clean my boots, foot-flunkey. Lick them clean with your dirty, slave tongue. Make sure you get all the dirt out from between the stitches on the soles, and don’t forget the dirt and the dust on the zips at the sides”.
Mistress Courtney certainly knew how to give orders to a slave. She clearly was a natural ‘master’. She truly believed in her own superiority and in the footslave’s complete inferiority. As the slave licked her dirty ankle boots vigorously, mistress Courtney and mistress Jane, the two youngest women in the office, giggled and chatted about their respective boyfriends and spoke excitedly of a pop concert they would be going to that coming week-end. The footslave was largely ignored by them until mistress Courtney decided he had cleaned her boots to her satisfaction.
“Slaveboy, my feet are hot and tired. You’re going to take off my boots and massage my socked feet with your ugly face. Use your mouth to unzip my boots”.
The slave was impressed with the matter-of-fact way in which mistress Courtney had given her orders to him –‘you are going to do this; you are going to do that’. But why shouldn’t she? After all, he was going to do it, because she had so ordered it. So her matter-of-fact tone was entirely appropriate.
Mistress Courtney kindly positioned her right foot on the stool footrest and pulled up her trouser leg so that the slave could get a good grip of her boot-zip with his mouth and pull down the zip to reveal her black-socked foot. He then did the same with her other boot.
Then, as mistresses Courtney and Jane continued to gossip away, ignoring him, he duly massaged the soles of mistress Courtney’s socked feet with his slave nose and face. The socks did feel warm, and there was a faint aroma of feminine footsweat, but he doubted that mistress Courtney’s feet were really as hot and tired as she had made out. As he massaged her socked feet, he concentrated on the pieces of fluff and sock lint, endeavouring to remove them from her socks so that the socks would feel extra soft and smooth on her delicate, soft, feminine feet when he put her boots back on for her. He couldn’t help feeling what a privilege it was to perform such a degrading and humiliating task for such a beautiful and superior young woman as she towered above him on the office stool.
And he served various other women throughout the office in similar ways during the rest of the morning – always under the direction of mistress Jane. By the end of the morning he was very familiar with the taste and smell of female shoes and ankle boots, female socks and stockings, and soft, bare feminine feet.
After mistress Jane’s lunch break (the slave wasn’t offered any lunch), it was time to greet the delegation of Chinese businesswomen.
As he knelt by the front door in the Reception area ready for their arrival, Madame Selena and mistress Jane flanking him on either side, the footslave’s mouth was dry with nervousness. He knew he must not mess this up. His whole future could depend on how he performed over the next few minutes.
Thankfully, the delegation, when it arrived was small – just two Chinese businesswomen and their interpreter. All three women were soberly but smartly dressed. The head of the delegation, Madame Selena’s counterpart if you will, was called Madame Li Tang – a petite woman in her early thirties wearing a cream coloured jacket and knee-length skirt, and with white pumps on her white- stockinged feet. Her deputy, Madame Fu Wong, who must have been about the same age, was wearing a dark, navy blue jacket and skirt, with matching navy blue high heels on dark stockings. The interpreter, Miss Chi Yung, was wearing a smart, bright red trouser suit with shiny red pumps on bare feet.
“Welcome Madame Li Tang, Madame Fu Wong”, said Madame Selena, in a somewhat fawning tone. In fact, Madame Selena’s tone made the footslave even more nervous. These were clearly very important potential business partners.
“Please allow our footslave to kiss your feet by way of a welcome to our company”, continued Madame Selena.
‘Our footslave?’, thought the slave. Had Madame Selena actually purchased him? He suspected not. He suspected (rightly) that this was why the company had agreed to take him for the day – to impress the important visitors from China.
The interpreter, miss Chi Yung, translated Madame Selena’s words, and Madame Li Tang duly extended her pretty right foot for the slave to shuffle forward and kiss.
As he did so, he noticed how her white stockings were slightly creased around her shapely and petite ankle. Madam Li Tang laughed, apparently with delight. She then said something in Chinese which the interpreter translated:
“Madame Li Tang say slave wear wooden collar like Chinese criminal. Madame Li Tang like collar on slave’s neck. Keep slave humble. Cause pain!”
Madame Selena smiled in agreement:
“Please explain to Madame Li Tang that the slave is indeed a criminal who is undergoing a life sentence of slavery as he fell into financial debt with a woman”.
Mistress Paula had clearly been giving Madame Selena some background on the slave’s circumstances.
After the interpreter had translated Madame Selena’s words, Madame Fu Wong made a comment in Chinese. The interpreter duly translated again:
“Madame Fu Wong say slave deserve kiss women feet if lose women money. Slave deserve many whip. Many pain!”
“Quite so, Madame Fu Wong”, agreed Madame Selena. “Slave, kiss Madame Fu Wong’s high heeled shoes and thank her in person for her observations”.
The slave duly turned his attentions to the navy blue high heeled pumps of Madame Fu Wong. He noticed how a vein in her foot seemed to flex under her dark stocking in reaction to his subservience:
“Thank you, Madame Fu Wong, for observing that this slave deserves to spend the rest of its natural existence grovelling at the feet of superior women”.
The interpreter, miss Chi Yung, translated his cringing slave-speak as best she could, before presenting her own shiny, red shoe for him to kiss.
As he kissed the interpreter’s right foot she translated something else that Madame Li Tang was saying in Chinese:
“Madame Li Tang ask slave for sale? She like take slave back to China! Make slave kiss Chinese women feet in her office”.
The interpreter was laughing, so it was clear that Madame Li Tang was speaking half in jest. However, it occurred to both Madame Selena and the footslave himself that it was not beyond the bounds of possibility that he could be purchased by Madame Li Tang for her office in China. Once he went up for auction, any woman, from anywhere, could purchase him.
“Please tell Madame Li Tang that the slave will shortly be put up for auction, and that she will be more than welcome to put in a bid for him”, explained Madame Selena.
Once again the slave was listening to his fate being discussed by women – with no right to have any say in the matter himself.
Fortunately, however, when the interpreter had translated Madame Selena’s reply, Madame Li Tang just laughed and said something to Miss Chi Yung who translated:
“Madame Li Tang say slave too ugly for Chinese women. Slave have big nose. Look like pig!”
All the women laughed at Madame Li Tang’s comment, and at the kneeling footslave. Madame Fu Wong then added her comment which the interpreter duly translated:
“Ha! Ha! Madam Fu Wong say slave’s pig-face fit only to wipe dirt off women shoes!”
Again all the women laughed.
Madame Selena was particularly pleased. The use of the footslave had, as she had anticipated, broken the ice.
And, in spite of the fact that he was being mocked and referred to as a pig-face, the footslave was also pleased. For he had noted Madame Selena’s comment to the effect that he would soon be ‘put up for auction’. It was clear that Madame Selena was close to his trainer, mistress Paula, and he had no reason to doubt that Madame Selena’s information was more than just speculation on her part.
He was getting there! He was getting closer to being a full-time footslave. And he was quietly confident that his performance today in Madam Selena’s office would only advance the day when he was deemed fit for sale.
Part 5 – The Auction
It took a further 3 weeks of training in the prison dungeon before mistress Paula, the official trainer, was satisfied that the trainee-footslave was ready to be put up for auction.
When it came to the day of his ‘release’ from the dungeon, the footslave had mixed emotions. On the one hand he was delighted to be leaving the confinement of his dank and gloomy cell; on the other hand he was full of apprehension as to his future fate – being put up for auction meant just that: he would be sold to the highest female bidder, regardless of whether she was cruel or kind; clean or dirty in terms of her personal hygiene; plain or beautiful; old or young; intelligent or lacking in education. And his buyer may not even be purchasing him for herself, but for a friend; or on behalf of a company; or even on behalf of the State.
The whole point was that he was a slave – an object, to be bought and sold as a piece of property; and he would have no say in the matter. Whilst he was resigned to this, it was inevitable that he should also be anxious.
What he hadn’t, perhaps, expected was the feeling of sadness at his departure from the training dungeon. It had been his ‘home’ for over 4 months - apart from his one day on ‘day release’ to Madam Selena’s office - and, strange as it may seem, he was going to miss his two pretty guards, mistresses Lucy and Antoinette. He had taken a shine to mistress Lucy in particular. Perhaps it was just a case of ‘better the devil you know’, but maybe there was a bit more to it than that; perhaps it was because she had had faith in him right from the start – identifying him as a ‘natural’ footslave; perhaps it was because of all the effort she had put into his training – allowing him the privilege of sucking and smelling on her dirty black boot socks every evening; perhaps it was just because he found her powerful and attractive. But whatever it was, he was going to miss mistress Lucy, and as he lowered his head to kiss the dusty toe of her outstretched, black leather knee-length boot for the last time he had to fight back the tears.
What he couldn’t see, because the heavy, wooden slave collar around his neck prevented him from looking at mistress Lucy’s pretty face, was the tear in Lucy’s eye. She would get over him, of course; indeed, a new slave was due in for training that very afternoon. But she doubted that the new prisoner would be as naturally docile and compliant as the departing one had been. Lucy was, if truth be told, quite lazy – unlike some of the other guards she didn’t like arrogant or uppity slaves who needed to be ‘broken in’. She found that too much like hard work. This slave, however, had made her job easy. He was a pathetic, submissive wimp – but that made him a good footslave.
Mistress Lucy wasn’t going to the auction house with him. Mistress Paula would personally escort him there as she was the best placed person, in her capacity as his official trainer, to answer any questions from his potential buyers. The other prison guard, mistress Antoinette, was going to drive the prison van.
Mistress Paula sat with the footslave in the back of the van – or rather, she sat above him as he was again lying on his stomach with his right cheek on the dirty floor whilst mistress Paula rested her foot on top of his upturned left cheek. It was a proper position for a footslave to be in – protecting the sole of his mistress’s brown leather pump from the dirt on the floor by means of his face. The slave was going to miss his mistress Paula also.
For her part, Paula just wanted to get a good price for him. She was concerned only with maintaining her reputation for turning out well-trained, obedient slaves.
On arrival at the Auction House near the centre of the town Mistress Paula accompanied the slave inside whilst mistress Antoinette stayed in the van. For the first time in months the slave suddenly didn’t feel alone, for there were a number of other slaves being brought in for auction – not just footslaves, but ‘personal body slaves’ and ‘work’ slaves. The whole Auction House was a hive of activity.
Mistress Paula had already explained to him that he would be put on display for the potential buyers to examine before the auction proper was due to begin, and she had used her friendship with the auctioneer, 35 year old red-head Georgina, to gain a prime spot for the footslave close to the entrance to the auction room proper.
Mistress Paula ordered the footslave to kiss miss Georgina’s feet to thank her for giving him such a prime location.
As he lowered his lips to the toe of the female auctioneer’s dusty, black, calf-length boot below her knee-length red, summer dress , she enquired of mistress Paula what price she was hoping to get for the new footslave.
“It depends”, replied Paula, “If he goes to the State probably only £300. But I’m hoping a private bidder might give us more – possibly up to £400. After all, he has been trained by the very best!”
Mistress Georgina laughed as she extended her other booted foot for the slave to kiss:
“He certainly seems to know his place. I’ll do my best for you Paula”.
The slave noted that the auctioneer was not concerned with doing her best for him – for example by selling him to a kind and generous mistress. Her only concern would be to get a good price for his mistress Paula’s sake – so that her reputation could be maintained.
And the footslave recognised that that was how it should be. He too hoped he fetched a good price for the sake of his mistress Paula – it would be a fitting reward for all her efforts.
The buyers were starting to arrive now and to inspect the goods on offer. Mistress Paula stood beside the slave who was, as usual, on his hands and knees, staring at the dirty mud floor until such time as a feminine foot was placed under his bowed head for him to kiss. However, the buyers were not just women. They included men looking for a footslave for their wives; young couples ; and, of course, private slave-traders, both male and female, looking to buy cheap with a view to selling the slave on for a big profit.
The first potential buyer to inspect mistress Paula’s footslave was one such private slave-trader, an African lady in her early forties, rather plump, who went by the name of Prudence, and who exported male slaves as novelty items to rich women in her home country. She was well-known to Paula, and the two ladies greeted each other with mutual kisses on the cheeks:
“Paula, darling, I see you have brought a new footslave with you today!”, exclaimed mistress Prudence happily in her thick, West African accent. “I trust he has been fully trained?”
“Of course!”, laughed mistress Paula, “Would you expect anything less from me than a fully trained slave, Prudence?”.
“Oh no, my dear! I know you have very high standards! Let me see how he likes kissing African feet!” – and with that the plump mistress Prudence extended her rather plump foot from under her brightly coloured, ankle-length African dress under the kneeling footslave’s nose.
Mistress Prudence was wearing brown leather Moses-style sandals on her large, brown feet and the slave smelt the mustiness of the leather as he lowered his slave lips making sure they touched the top of her big toe, simultaneously, as he had been taught by mistress Paula. He couldn’t help noticing that the purple painted toe-nail was a bit chipped, and there was definite evidence of some toe-jam under the big toe nail. But there was no noticeable aroma of feminine footsweat.
Mistress Prudence giggled, as she withdrew her right foot and replaced it with her left:
“The boy certainly knows how to kiss a lady’s foot respectfully!”, she commented.
‘The boy!’ thought the slave, ‘I must be about the same age as this woman, and yet she is calling me a ‘boy’. However, he soon realised that this was infinitely preferable to being referred to as an ‘it’ or a ‘thing’, as some women referred to their slaves. And, on reflection, he realised that he was like a ‘boy’ – in the sense that he would never again be a ‘man’.
“Yes”, confirmed his mistress Paula from his right hand side, “and he’s good at kissing boots and socks as well!”.
Mistress Prudence laughed:
“I’m sure he is, Paula darling, but we don’t have much cause to wear boots and socks in my country. If I were to take him to Africa he would be spending nearly all of his time kissing sandals or dirty bare feet – like he is now!”
“Of course”, replied mistress Paula, “well, I’ve fully trained him in the art of pedicure. I can assure you that any African princess who purchases this slave will have well-kept feet and toe-nails!”
“I don’t doubt it, Paula. I can think of many African ladies who would love to have a male slave like this grovelling at their feet. Can he take the whip?”
The footslave was continuing to kiss the top of mistress Prudence’s leathery, black foot as the two superior ladies carried on their conversation about him.
“Well, as you can see his back is not that scarred. To be honest we’ve only had to use the strap on him to discipline him thus far. He is very docile. But there’s nothing to stop any lady from thrashing him to within an inch of his life if it so pleases her!”
“Quite right, my dear. I’m afraid he would have to get used to the whip across his ribs if he ends up in my country. In my country we do believe in the power of the whip!”
The slave flinched slightly at all the talk of whipping. It was a reminder to him that the rigours of the training dungeon might be as nothing compared to what lay ahead for him if he fell into the wrong hands. He kissed mistress Prudence’s left foot even more vigorously.
Both ladies noticed his distress and smiled. How nice it was to have a male at one’s mercy!
Mistress Prudence then moved on. ‘She is definitely interested’, thought Paula to herself, ‘but would she go over £300? Probably not. These private traders were all after one thing only – making a fast buck’. Paula was still confident she would get more than £300 for this slave.
Next a middle-aged Indian couple together with a young woman in her early twenties, presumably their daughter, approached the kneeling footslave. Although the man was dressed in a western suit with collar and tie, both the Indian women were traditionally dressed in what appeared to be Saris.
“Good morning, Sir. Good morning, Madam, Miss ”, Paula greeted them.
“Hello”, replied the Indian man in good English. “We’re interested to know more about this footslave. I’m looking for a house-footslave for my wife and daughter. Can you tell us, is he fully trained?”
“Oh yes, sir”, replied Paula enthusiastically – a rich Indian family; they could definitely be potential buyers, and would probably be prepared to pay good money for the right slave; “I have fully trained him myself in the State Prison. He comes with a certificate of guarantee”.
This was the first the footslave had heard about any such certificate. But then, why should he be aware of it ? It was none of his business – he was just the chattel.
“My wife, in particular, is on her feet all day and needs a foot massage every evening”, continued the middle-aged man. Is the slave particularly trained in foot-massage?”
“Oh yes indeed, sir, he has been trained to massage ladies’ feet both with his hands or, if preferred, with his slave nose and face”.
The man’s wife appeared to be inspired by the idea of a slave having to massage the soles of her sweaty feet with his face. She said something in Hindi to her husband and adjusted her Sari.
“Papa, can we try him out?”, chirped the young woman at the back excitedly, “I want to see what it feels like to have him kiss my feet!”
Paula smiled at her:
“Of course, you can, young lady. If you care to just step forward and extend your foot under his nose I’ll have him kiss it for you”.
The young woman needed no further invitation and her proud parents stepped aside to let her stand directly in front of the kneeling footslave.
As the young Indian woman extended her shapely right foot under his face the footslave saw that she was actually wearing a traditional eastern trouser suit known as ‘salwar kameez’. The white trouser legs appeared elasticated at the bottom and came to just the top of her shapely brown ankles. On her bare feet she was wearing black leather low-heeled court shoes. They appeared well-worn, with several creases in the leather, and were a bit dusty and grimy from the mud floor of the Auction House.
Mistress Paula too had noticed the state of the young lady’s shoes, and as the slave was placing his first reverential kiss on his potential new owner’s shoe-leather, she made a suggestion to the young woman:
“Would you like the slave to polish up your shoes with his tongue, miss?”.
The young woman looked at her father as, even though she was fully 20 years old, she still felt she was of an age where she needed her father’s approval for such things. Her father smiled and nodded at her:
“My daughter is very remiss in keeping her footwear cleaned and polished”, he explained to mistress Paula, almost apologetically.
“No matter”, laughed Paula, “She won’t have to worry about such mundane things in future if she has her very own footslave to take care of her feet and footwear!”
The family all laughed.
“Would you like to give him the order yourself, miss?”, asked Paula politely.
“Oh yes please!”, exclaimed the young woman.
Paula knew this was all a good marketing strategy – get the punter believing that the slave is already theirs to command; then there will just be the small matter of paying for him!
“Footslave, I hereby order you to lick the dirt off my shoes”, came the piercing voice of the young Indian woman, doing her best to sound masterful and authoritative. Paula guessed from her accent that the family probably spent most of the year back in India – another hot country for the slave to have to acclimatise to if this family did decide to purchase him.
As the humble footslave licked away at the young woman’s shoe leather he saw the veins on the top of her brown foot appear to flex and twitch as she helpfully turned her foot from side to side to enable his slave tongue to achieve greater purchase on the dirty shoe leather. The slave tasted a mixture of shoe polish, black leather, and dirt.
He then obediently cleaned the young woman’s left shoe in similar fashion, all the time acutely aware that he may become very familiar with these shoes if the young woman’s father decided to buy him.
“Mama, come and make him lick your shoes as well”, shouted the young woman excitedly, momentarily forgetting that her mother was wearing flip-flops that didn’t easily lend themselves to being licked clean – apart, perhaps, from the dirty soles.
Her mother declined the invitation, and Paula was left unsure as to whether the family would bid for the slave. She had no doubt that, were it up to the younger woman alone, the slave would be purchased. But the mother’s body language was less clear, and Paula suspected that ultimately it was she who would have the final say on the matter.
Nevertheless the Indian family thanked Paula for her help and politely moved off to look at some more footslaves.
Paula took an instant dislike to the next potential customer who approached the footslave. Her sixth sense told her that this young woman was nothing more than a time-waster – one of those girls who likes to hang around the Slave Auction Rooms just for the thrill of humiliating slaves, but who has neither the means or intention of actually buying anything.
Twenty-five year old, blonde miss Gillian was indeed such a ‘time-waster’, although she would probably prefer to describe herself as a ‘slave-teaser and humiliator’; she couldn’t afford her own slave, but she got her kicks by humiliating and degrading public footslaves and footslaves at auctions. She particularly enjoyed tormenting the new slaves who were up for auction for the first time. She knew they were terrified and apprehensive about the whole experience, and she liked to make them feel even worse by telling them how miserable their wretched existences would be from now on, and by contrasting her own freedom with their captivity.
Of course, whilst mistress Paula could see through her and was perfectly entitled to take a dislike to her if she so wished, the humble footslave was in no such position to do so. As far as he was concerned, mistress Gillian was his superior and his potential owner. Because she was a woman, she was better than him, and even Paula would have to grudgingly admit that. She therefore spoke to the young woman politely, if rather curtly:
“Are you interested in purchasing a footslave for yourself, miss?”, she asked Gillian.
“Mmmm, I’m not quite sure”, replied the young blonde, “Is he fully aware of his inferiority to me?”
“But, of course!”, exclaimed mistress Paula, somewhat insulted that any woman could think that a State-trained footslave would be anything other than fully aware of his humble status.
“Do you mind if I put him to the test?”, asked the young woman mischievously. Paula had no idea what the young woman had planned, but she was experienced enough a seller-of-slaves to know that whatever it was it had been pre-planned by the young woman and would be designed to humiliate the slave. She decided just to let the young woman get on with whatever it was she wanted to do to the slave. If nothing else, it would remind the slave at an opportune moment of his helplessness in the face of all-powerful young women. There would be plenty of other ‘serious’ buyers around.
“Sure, go ahead, miss”, replied Paula, “I’m just off to get myself a coffee. You do whatever you like with him – only don’t mark him in any way please – I don’t want to have to sell him as damaged goods!”.
The young tormentress laughed:
“No problem! I just want to see how much of a slave he is!”, she replied somewhat ominously.
Mistress Gillian then approached the, by now very nervous, footslave. She was wearing khaki-coloured shorts and heavy black, lace-up, ankle boots over white ‘slouch’ socks. The slave thought that the scrunched-up tops of her white slouch socks contrasted nicely with the black leather of her boots, but he was also aware that her feet must be terribly hot and sweaty inside those socks and boots.
Paula had been thinking the same as she walked away to get her coffee, but, as she was more intelligent than the slave, she realised that the young woman would have deliberately chosen her footwear on this hot, summer day. It was doubtless all part of the young woman’s plan.
Miss Gillian crouched down beside the slave and began whispering softly, and threateningly, in his right ear:
“Are you frightened, slave?”
She laughed before he could respond. It was clearly meant to be a rhetorical question:
“You should be frightened! Don’t you realise that this hall will soon be full of women who are just dying to purchase you so that they can humiliate you with their superior feet? Don’t you understand that you are nothing but a dirty footlick; a foot-lackey who is fit only to breathe in his mistress’s foot odour?
Take my feet, for example. If I was your mistress I’d keep you permanently locked up in my basement surrounded by all my dirty, sweaty socks – like these ones I have on now. I’d make you sniff each stinky sock a hundred times before shoving it in your mouth and making you suck all the sweat out of it.
Do you like the smell of women’s sweaty socks, slaveboy? Do you think you are worthy to sniff women’s dirty socks, or do you perhaps think that you are too high and mighty to be made to do that?”
This time the young mistress’s question, though still rhetorical, did require an answer from the slave:
“Mistress, if it pleases you most beautiful young mistress, this worthless slave believes it is totally unworthy to smell the socks of its superior mistresses, but always deems it as an honour to inhale the aroma of its superior mistresses’ dirty socks”.
Miss Gillian laughed at his cringing response. The Slave Training Centre did indeed teach slaves how to speak properly to a superior woman!
However she adopted a tone of feigned offence at what she deemed to be a lack of humility on the footslave’s part:
“Yes, but it’s all very well talking about your ‘superior mistresses’, slave. What about the mistresses’ socks themselves? Don’t you acknowledge that their socks too are your superiors? Take my socks, for example”, (at this point she stood up again and positioned her feet directly below his face, her right ankle girlishly tucked in behind her left, affording him a clear view of the tops of both her thick white socks inside her black ankle boots), “don’t you think they are better than you?”.
The slave had to acknowledge the fact that, of course, they were better than him:
“Mistress, if it pleases you mistress, this slave does indeed acknowledge that your socks are superior to this slave as they keep your feet comfortable inside your boots and absorb your precious footsweat in a way this worthless slave is incapable of doing, mistress”.
Again mistress Gillian laughed:
“Well then, slave, I think you owe my socks an apology for implying earlier that you were in some way better than them!”.
The footslave was somewhat perturbed. Had he really implied that? He couldn’t recall such a thought having even entered his head! His mistress Paula had constantly drummed into him the fact that a mistress’s feet and footwear were superior to the footslave, and deserving of his respect. He genuinely did believe what he had just said about the superiority of the young woman’s socks.
But he wasn’t all stupid. A part of him realised also that this young mistress was teasing him and playing with him, as was her right to do, for she was a free human-being, and he was just a down-in-the-dirt footslave. And in any case, if the young woman said he owed her socks an apology, then there could be no question but that he did. A mistress is always right.
Miss Gillian pulled over a nearby chair and seated herself directly in front of the kneeling slave. She then untied her bootlaces and removed both her ankle boots before shoving her dirty-socked feet into his ugly face:
“Sniff my socks, compliment them on their aroma, and apologise to them both for your haughtiness, you dirty, arrogant footslave!”, she barked down at him. “Go on, apologise to Mistress Gillian’s sweaty socks!”.
The thick, white socks were truly ripe. The slave could clearly see the sweat stains on the soles of the socks. They had obviously been festering inside the oven-like conditions of the young woman’s ankle boots. They really weren’t the type of socks that a young woman should be wearing inside boots on such a hot and sultry day. But then, as mistress Paula had surmised, that had indeed all been a part of Miss Gillian’s plan.
Although he was beginning to feel dizzy and nauseous with the sock-smell engulfing him, the footslave managed to remember his place:
“Oh mistress Gillian’s socks, if it pleases you mistress Gillian’s socks, this humble footslave compliments you on your delicious perfume and begs your forgiveness for its arrogance and haughtiness in not acknowledging earlier your superiority over it. Truly this slave is privileged to serve both you and your owner”.
The footslave couldn’t see it, of course, but mistress Gillian had a look of smug satisfaction on her pretty face. She had reduced this slave to a conversation with inanimate objects – with her socks! He was actually apologising to them at her behest. How powerful she felt!
And how humble and degraded the footslave felt. This was what it meant to be at the mercy of a capricious and cruel young woman.
Mistress Gillian continued with her teasing, as she put her boots back on:
“Fortunately for you my socks have accepted your grovelling, apology, slave. And they want me to buy you, so that they can make you smell them and pay your respects to them day in and day out for the rest of your miserable life. Mmm, I’ll have to think about it. I’m still not convinced that you are worthy to be my socks’ slave!”.
Whilst it wasn’t his place to do so, the footslave couldn’t help hoping that this young woman and her socks would not purchase him, and keep him permanently locked up in her basement, surrounded by her foot stink.
By now mistress Paula had retuned with her coffee:
“Everything okay, miss?”, she enquired of the ‘time-waster’.
“Yeah, he was just disrespectful to my socks, but I made him apologise to them”.
“Oh, well I’m sorry to hear that, miss. Rest assured if you do decide to buy him he won’t dare to be disrespectful to your footwear ever again!”
“Too right he won’t!”. And with that, mistress Gillian was off to torment the next hapless slave with her black, lace-up ankle boots and thick, sweaty white socks.
Several other, more serious, potential buyers came up to examine the kneeling footslave during the next hour or so before the Auction proper was due to begin.
The slave was lot no 15, and so didn’t have too long to wait once the auction did start.
When it was his time, mistress Paula led him on his hands and knees up onto the wooden podium beside the auctioneer, miss Georgina. He stared humbly at the backs of the female auctioneer’s black leather calf-length boots as she opened the bidding for him. His fate was now well and truly in her hands:
“Ladies and Gentlemen, we come to lot no 15. A fully-trained footslave. Described as docile and compliant. Would make an excellent personal footslave, or could serve as a footslave on the street or in an office. Can I please start the bidding at £150?”
“150” shouted a male voice from the crowd.
“Than you, sir. I have £150 as an opening bid. Any advance on 150? Do I hear 200?”
“200”, shouted a female voice.
The slave felt a knot in his stomach. He hadn’t recognised either voice.
“250”, shouted the man
“300” replied the female voice.
Mistress Paula smiled. Her reserve price had at least been reached.
“350”, came another man’s voice – not the same one. There now appeared to be 3 bidders, not that the footslave could see any of them. That was none of his business anyway – he must concentrate on the back of the female auctioneer’s boots, as befits a footslave.
“400” replied the female voice again. Some woman appeared keen to get him.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen. I have 400. Any advance on £400?”
“450”, came the second man’s voice again after a pause.
“Thank you, sir. 450. I have 450. Any advance on 450? Do I hear 500? No? We’re still at 450 then. £450. Going once, going twice…….”
The footslave’s heart sank. Was he about to be purchased by a man?
“ – Gone! Sold at £450 to the gentleman on the left!”
The footslave, curiously, thought he heard a young woman squeal with delight.
Mistress Paula wasn’t the one who had squealed, but she was delighted. £450 was a good price for a footslave. It wasn’t the value of the slave per se – he was intrinsically worthless. But it did reflect all the effort she had put into his training. That was what was worth £450.
After a few formalities mistress Paula introduced the slave to his new master, or rather, his new master and mistress as it turned out:
“Slave, this is your new master. He has purchased you for his charming young fiancée, mistress Stacey. You are now her personal footslave. Kiss her feet!”
As the footslave shuffled forward to pay his slavish respects to his new mistress, she was feverishly kissing her boyfriend on the lips by way of thanking him for her ‘present’. As she did so her right leg was lifted up coquettishly behind her, so the footslave lowered his lips first to her left foot.
As he placed a humble kiss on his new mistress’s white stiletto shoe, he noticed that she had a tattoo, just above her left ankle, of a red heart with the word ‘Brad’ written in the middle of it.
