The Public Footslave

Part 1 – The Minder

He awoke early that morning. As he lay face down in the dark compartment in which he was confined he could hear the first stirrings of activity in the town square directly outside. The free citizens of Barbaria were beginning to go about their daily business, which meant he would be starting work soon also.

She would be here soon to open up the hatch - ready for him to stick out his head. He was familiar with the routine by now. Sure enough he heard footsteps approaching outside, followed by a bright shaft of light suddenly engulfing the gloomy confines of his prison.

Miss Julianna, a young black girl about 20 years old, was his 'minder' - the one who fed him in the morning, washed his face and shaved him and prepared him each day for his public service.

As soon as she had lifted up the hatch he stuck his head out into the warm, fresh air. His head was now about 12 inches off the ground, hovering directly over a strip of wood known as the footblock - where his 'customers' would be placing their feet all day for cleaning.

As his eyes accustomed themselves to the light they focussed on Miss Julianna's feet. She was wearing her usual dirty white sneakers and white ankle socks, with the cuffs folder over at the top. He watched as her socks creased as she moved in front of him, preparing a basin of water in order to wash and shave his ugly slave face. He had never actually seen her face, but he sensed that she was a good looking girl. She had such pretty feet and ankles, and her black calves were so shapely, he could not believe that she would be anything other than beautiful. He guessed that she must be wearing either shorts or a very short skirt, as, from his admittedly lowly vantage point, her legs seemed to stretch up forever.

Of course, she, for her part, despised him. A public footslave is considered the lowest of the low in Barbaria. She always made sure that hers were the first feet he kissed every day, and she spoke to him only to give orders or to mock him. Being a 'minder' to a footslave was just a part time job for her, before she headed off to college every morning and again when she was required to lock him up in the evenings, but she did enjoy her job and the feeling of power it gave her.

She stretched out her right foot until the top of her sneaker was on the wooden block situated directly under the footslave's nose. They both knew that she didn't need to order him to kiss her dirty sneaker; but equally they both knew that she wanted to give that order. So he respectfully waited.

"Kiss my foot, dirty footslave". Her voice was young, high-pitched, but dominant.

He immediately lowered his face the few inches to the top of her sneaker. He noticed lots of small details. The dirt on her shoelaces. Scuff marks around the toe of her sneaker. The contrast between the dirty white of her sneaker and the bright whiteness of her ankle sock. Yet even that sock had little imperfections - a tiny tear in one of the stitches just where it stretched over her ankle bone; a speck of dust on the cuff of the sock. They were, of course, imperfections that nobody else, not even Miss Julianna herself, would notice, or even care about, that day or any other day - but the footslave has no choice but to notice them.

He saw her sock crease slightly and felt her foot flex as he gently and reverentially placed his lips on the top of her sneaker covered toes. His first kiss of the day - and there would be many more like them.

Julianna giggled with delight. Such power! What a pathetic creature a footslave is. She would really like to punish him in some way - whip him or something like that. But there just wasn't time. She had to wash him, feed him, and then get herself to college. There was only time to humiliate him a little further by getting him to kiss her other foot.

As she withdrew her right foot and replaced it with her left the slave raised his head slightly thereby getting a fleeting glimpse of the contrast between the smooth black skin of her lower calf and the creamy whiteness of the top of her sock. But soon he was lowering his lips again ready to place a respectful and humble kiss on her left sneaker.

Again he awaited the command,

"And this one, slave". She sounded truly at ease in her dominance - and why shouldn't she? He was nothing but an inconsequential footslave - fit only to kiss, lick and clean the dirty feet and footwear of the female citizens of Barbaria.

After he had paid his respects to his young mistress in this way, she quickly washed and shaved him and then spoon-fed him the bowl of cold slave gruel that would be his only meal of the day. Within 10 minutes everything was finished and she was ready to leave. Before she did so, however, Miss Julianna couldn't resist teasing him. She reminded him that whilst he, the footslave, would be spending the entire day with his ugly head sticking out of a hatch and would be tasting and smelling the dirty boots, shoes and socks of whichever young ladies chose to place their feet on his wooden 'footblock', she, by contrast, would be free to sit, stand up or walk around as a superior human being, enjoying the warm spring sunshine.

She added that, because the weather was already quite warm, she anticipated that it would turn out to be quite a hot day, meaning that her feet and socks would be getting quite sweaty. However, she explained to him that this didn't concern her as she could always leave her sweat-stained socks in his mouth overnight for a good wash when she returned that evening to lock him back in his compartment.

For his part, the slave could only thank his mistress for taking the time to wash and feed him. In spite of her obvious cruel streak, he knew that as a publicly-owned footslave he was lucky to have such a beautiful young mistress as his 'minder'. Some footslaves were 'minded' by much older and even crueler women.

As he pondered on this she was gone - heading briskly towards the college that was situated two blocks away from the town square.

His 'footbooth' was situated on the right hand side of the main square in the centre of the town. It was a busy spot, guaranteeing him lots of 'custom' throughout the day. In the mornings he would serve office girls on their way into work, with their stockings and their black stiletto pumps or ankle boots; by mid morning there would be more female college students heading off to their morning lectures in jeans and sneakers. In the afternoons the housewives and single mothers would be placing their tired and aching feet in their flat shoes onto his wooden footblock. And in the evenings it would be the party girls, all dressed up in their party frocks, bare-legged and in strappy sandals.

However, that particular morning his first customer (or rather 'customers') did not fit into the usual trend. His heart sank somewhat as he saw them both approaching - a young man and woman of oriental appearance, presumably boyfriend and girlfriend, walking merrily arm in arm up to his booth.

He of course could only see their legs approaching from his lowly vantage point, but he knew they were asian for two reasons. Firstly they were speaking in what sounded like Japanese or Chinese, and secondly the girl was wearing purple knee-socks and black baseball boots. It only ever seemed to be oriental girls who wore knee socks nowadays. Western girls invariably seemed to prefer ankle, calf-length, or even 'no show' socks with their shoes and sneakers.

His heart sank because of the presence of the boyfriend. It was unusual for young couples to come along to torment him first thing in the morning - that usually happened at night after they had had a few drinks. The slave knew from bitter experience that the presence of free 'boyfriends' would inevitably lead to more suffering and humiliation on his part. Young men loved to show their machismo in front of their young ladies - and what better way to demonstrate your machismo and power than by ordering a captive male footslave, more than twice your age, to clean your girl's dirty shoes?

The footslave guessed the couple to be in their early twenties -the girl may have been a bit younger even - perhaps just 18 or 19. They stopped a few feet away from him for a few minutes, talking in their foreign language, and then suddenly both bursting out laughing as they came closer towards him.

The girl stood just inches in front of the wooden footblock, affording the slave a better view of her purple knee-socks. They looked quite heavy for a summer's day, but the stitching formed a nice pattern down the front of her calves. Although she had them fully pulled up he could see that there were, inevitably, creases just above the top of the ankle-length baseball boot, and the left sock was also creased at the top just below her knee. She was still too far away for him to notice any specks of dirt or dust on the socks, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the socks may not have been fresh on her this morning. Lots of girls would deliberately wear their socks for several days before visiting a footslave as they enjoyed the additional anguish and humiliation their smelly socks would cause him.

The young master approached the footslave from the side and spoke in a thick oriental accent:

"Siu Lee's boots dirty. Slave lick. Clean!"

With that, Siu Lee giggled, stepped forward and placed her right foot onto the footblock directly under the slave's nose. He now had his first close up look at her black, canvas baseball boots. The young master was not lying. Even though they were black, the slave could see dried-on mud around the lower edge of the boot, and dust and grime covering the top of the boot. He could also now see that her sock, or at least the lower part of the sock, had faint traces of mud splattered onto it. He guessed, correctly, that the young couple had deliberately arranged for Siu Lee to walk through a muddy field last night precisely in order to humiliate the footslave the following morning. This was planned domination and humiliation - not 'spare of the moment'.

The young woman squealed with delight as the middle-aged, male footslave lowered his slave face and began licking the top of her dirty boot. The young master laughed as well as he enjoyed seeing an older man humiliated and degraded at his girlfriend's feet. The slave licked hard. He knew that he had to keep the young master and mistress happy or they would be sure to hurt him. He tasted canvas; he tasted rubber; he tasted mud and dirt as his tongue did what it was designed for and removed the offending dirt from the young woman's shoe. She moved her foot around on the footblock, positioning it to afford him a better view in order that he could be sure to get all the dirt off. As she did so her sock creased around the calf. From his lowly vantage point the purple knee-sock towered above him. Even her sock was better than him and he was lower than her sock.

The young mistress got even bolder, reaching down to point with her slender, manicured finger to the parts of her boot that she wanted cleaned.

"Slave lick here! Kiss Here! Worship here! Dirty slave obey!". She laughed in triumph as he did just that, first with her right foot, then with her left.

For some fifteen minutes he licked both the dirty boots. But there was more to come.

The young master intervened and invited his girlfriend to step back from the block and then take off her boots. As she did so, he lowered his face close to that of the humble footslave and said:

" Siu Lee's socks dirty. Socks sweaty. Slave smell!"

With that the young mistress placed her socked, right foot onto the wooden block under the slave's lowered nose. The smell was quite overwhelming. Very tart. Very vinegary. She must have been wearing them in those boots for days. She wriggled her toes to release more smell as the slave prepared to give an audible sniff.

"Slave sniff ten times" the young mistress barked.

"Slave sniff hard! Loud!", added the young master in a threatening tone. He wanted this slave to know who was in charge and who had all the power.

The slave obeyed, taking ten audible sniffs of the socked toes, raising and lowering his head slightly each time to ensure the young master and mistress both saw and heard each sniff.

He then had to repeat the exercise with her left foot. How the young couple were loving every minute of his humiliation. And rightly so, for they were both better than him.

"Ha! Ha! Slave smelling stink of Siu Lee's sock! Slave a dirty sock-sniffer!" mocked the young oriental master.

"You my sock-slave. You nothing but a worthless foot-lick!" added the young mistress.

She was now clearly becoming emboldened and did something on her own initiative for the first time without being prompted by her boyfriend. After the slave had finished his tenth humiliating sniff of her left sock, she left her foot in place, resting on the wooden footblock, and slowly rolled down her sock to just above her ankle.

"Slave roll up Mistress's sock with his face!" she ordered.

Her boyfriend was ecstatic. He clapped his hands with joy and shouted excitedly,

"Slave obey Siu Lee. Slave roll up sock with face!"

Of course, the footslave had no choice but to use his nose and face. His hands were immobilised behind his back. But he knew that if the young lady wanted her sock rolled up he had no choice but to obey or be severely punished by her and her boyfriend. They could easily report him and have him whipped. And so he placed his slave nose under the rim of the rolled down sock and slowly sought to roll it back up again. It was proving very difficult, but the young couple were urging him on, mocking his powerlessness at such a degrading task and exalting in their power.

Eventually he managed to get the sock half way up her calf, but the collar and chain around his slave neck just would not allow him to lift his nose and head any higher. The young mistress appeared to accept this. After all, it was only right and proper that a footslave should be prevented from raising his head too high off the ground - the ground that she walked on.

The young master and mistress had had enough fun for now. Siu Lee withdrew her foot from the footblock and finished off what the good-for-nothing footslave was incapable of doing - she rolled her left sock back up to her knee. She then put her baseball boots back onto her feet, straightened both her knee socks, and placed first her right foot, and then her left foot, onto the wooden footblock for one last parting kiss from the miserable slave.

The young couple then departed hand in hand, talking excitedly in their own language about the fun they had just had, and what they would do to the slave next time.

As they left, the footslave's next customer approached.

Part Two – The Asian Businesswoman

His next customer was one of his favourites - a regular by the name of Lisa. He knew a lot about Mistress Lisa, purely because she loved to chat to him whilst having her footwear cleaned. She was a lovely, bubbly young woman of about 25, and, he surmised, a bit of a 'stunner' to look at.

The slave knew this, not because he had ever had the privilege of seeing her beautiful face, but because of the reactions of the free men as they walked past whenever he was shining her shoes with his tongue. There would be wolf-whistles and lewd comments from the men, commenting on her shapely ass and inviting her to perform all manner of sexual acts with them - acts which the footslave, of course, would never be in a position to carry out. He was permanently confined in his footbooth - for life. Indeed, the humble footslave was embarrassed to even think about such things. Sexual intercourse with a Mistress was out of the question for a mere slave such as he. No woman would ever dream of intimacy with a down-in-the-dirt footslave.

However, it was clear from her reactions that Mistress Lisa was not at all distressed by the profanities and lewd behaviour of the 'free' males, the real men, as they passed by. In fact, she was clearly quite flattered by them and enjoyed the attention she generated, often giving the men as good as she got verbally.

What else did the slave know about Mistress Lisa? Well, he knew that she was blonde - again, not because he had ever seen her long blonde hair cascading down from her pretty face - but because she had spoken to him of her occasional 'blonde moments', when she had been forgetful or behaved stupidly. The slave knew also, because she had told him so, that she was very much in love with her young man - a solicitor called Robert - and that she was going to be marrying him in a few months' time. The slave actually knew quite a lot about the details of the wedding plans as Mistress Lisa loved nothing more than to talk about her forthcoming big day. Yes, Mistress Lisa was a truly sweet girl, full of the joys of life and happy to share her joy with anyone who cared to listen. The footslave actually enjoyed serving her, and felt that he knew her better than any of his other customers.

For her part, Lisa knew nothing about the footslave. What was there to know? He was a slave, and he cleaned feet. She didn't hate him, but she had no respect for him either. In fact, she rather despised him. To be perfectly honest, she didn't even think of him as a human being. He was a slave, an object, a thing - there to perform a service: to clean her dirty boots and shoes. That's just the way it was. Lisa was such a sweet-hearted girl, that she really could not see how ordering a public footslave to clean her dirty boots was in any way degrading to him. It was, after all, what he was there for. Nor did she see any cruelty in informing the slave of the excitement and happiness in her own life - which was, of course, in sharp contrast to his wretched existence. As far as Lisa was concerned slaves were not entitled to happiness. They were there to work and to obey.

As Mistress Lisa approached his booth the slave could see that she was wearing her pin-striped trousers and black leather, zip-up ankle boots with spiked heels. He guessed that she was on her way into work, and he knew that was in some sort of office in the town centre, but he didn't know exactly where as this was one area of her life the young Mistress seemed to prefer not to talk about.

"Hi, slave" came her cheery voice. The slave knew that these next few moments really would be the highlight of his otherwise miserable and humiliating day. How many Mistresses were prepared to say 'Hi' to a public footslave? Not many! The most he could expect from other mistresses was a series of perfunctory orders - "Clean my feet"; "Lick my shoes"; "Suck my toes" etc. But Mistress Lisa truly was different. The slave thought, wrongly, that she quite liked him.

"Good morning, Mistress Lisa", he humbly replied, as she positioned her booted foot onto the wooden block beneath his nose.

"Just a quick shine today, please."

'Please!' This all-powerful young mistress was saying 'please' to the lowly footslave! Truly this girl was a one-off!

As she spoke to him, she pulled up her trouser leg to just above the top of her boot. The slave's heart started to beat a little faster. He knew that he was about to serve a beautiful young goddess, and he thought that she had raised her trouser leg to afford him a glimpse of her beautiful white skin just above the top of her black bootsock. In fact, she had pulled up her trouser leg merely to ensure that the slave was able to shine the whole of her boot with his dirty slave tongue - not just the lower part. But the ignorant, pathetic slave didn't know that.

The slave also felt privileged at the glimpse of the top of his young mistress's sock. Not all Mistresses would raise their trouser legs to reveal the top of their socks in this way - yet, in his own mind, it was important for the slave to see the socks. Even though a mistress may simply want him to clean her outer footwear, the slave knew that he was always the potential servant of her inner footwear too, and beyond that, of her very footflesh itself.

Besides, he admired young women who wore socks. His job as a footslave perhaps meant that he could not avoid becoming obsessed with ladies' footwear. He had come to admire and to wonder at the sheer variety of female footwear, the many different styles of boots and shoes and of hosiery. But socks were his favourite. There were just so many different styles and colours, they literally brought colour into his otherwise restricted and miserable world. Moreover socks with boots or sneakers were the preference of young women nowadays and he did very much prefer serving at the feet of young women in their twenties and early thirties - young women like the goddess who now towered over him, Mistress Lisa.

He knew that convention stated he must begin at the upper part of her ankle boot and work down to the bottom, where most of the dirt usually was. As he lowered his slave lips to the upper edge of Mistress Lisa's boot, his slave nose brushed the elasticated top of her black bootsock. Many a mistress would have been furious at such an 'indiscretion'. The slave had not been ordered to touch her sock with his nose. But Mistress Lisa let it pass. She knew that this lowly footslave worshipped her, and she enjoyed it. If brushing his nose against the top of her sock gave him a cheap thrill, so be it. Besides, her sock deserved to be worshipped. Was she not a goddess?

Her boot was not particularly dirty, just a few specks of mud and some grass stains on the lower part, plus some dust had accumulated in the zip area. As the slave eagerly sought to please his kind young mistress by removing the grime and the dust and by licking her black boot into a nice shine, she spoke to him. Not, of course, with him. But to him. No young mistress, not even Mistress Lisa, would ever condescend to have a conversation with a slave.

She told him that there were now only 33 days left until her wedding day, and that her fiancé, Robert, or 'Master Robert' as she referred to him in front of the slave, was getting measured later that afternoon for his wedding-day suit. Mistress Lisa then, as was her wont, went off into a dreamy monologue about her man, about how wonderful he looked, how strong he was.

As she replaced her right boot with her left boot on the footblock she then took pleasure in telling the kneeling footslave about how she had witnessed Master Robert punish a recalcitrant slave yesterday afternoon with his bull-whip. Lisa was genuinely not a cruel girl, but she did enjoy watching slaves being whipped, especially when it was by her 'man' - their fear, their helplessness their faces racked in pain as the whip struck across their bare backs. She thought it was quite funny the way they squirmed at the whipping post as if that was going to help them avoid the blows. She had never whipped a slave herself, but she knew that she would like to - one day - and she assumed that the humble slave that was currently licking clean her boot would be interested to hear about the whipping. After all, he was a slave, and slaves get whipped. So she told the kneeling footslave all the gory details of what she had witnessed.

The slave redoubled his efforts. He feared the whip, and hearing Mistress Lisa talk so excitedly of seeing a slave being whipped reminded him that she was not his friend, nor his equal, but his master, who could have him severely whipped if it so took her fancy.

Having been a slave all his life he had, of course, felt the whip's sting on several occasions - although mercifully not for several years now. Nevertheless the experience of being whipped was deeply emblazoned on his mind and it was an experience he did not want to repeat. In fact, immediately after his last whipping, some 3 years ago, he had resolved to be a good, humble slave and to serve his betters however they wished and whenever they wished. The whip had taught him his place, and it was at the feet of women, so that was where he would stay.

Mistress Lisa pulled her left foot away from the footblock and inspected her boots, which now glistened in the sun with the slave's saliva. She was happy with his work, and told him so. Then she bade him farewell, and left.

She did not thank him, of course. Not even the angelically sweet Mistress Lisa could ever bring herself to thank a slave. But he still felt good. His Mistress had expressed satisfaction with his humble work. For a few seconds, he revelled in that thought.

His next customer, however, soon brought him back to earth with a bump!

He heard her approaching before he saw her. It sounded like a young Pakistani woman, talking animatedly on her mobile phone. He recognised that she was speaking Urdu, and the tone of her voice caused his slave's instinct for danger to kick in. This young woman was not in a good mood, and someone, perhaps he, was going to suffer because of that.

She was in view now, having approached his booth hurriedly from the left hand side. He saw shapely legs covered in dark nylons and ending in patent black leather high-heeled shoes. She was wearing a smart business suit consisting of a black pin-striped jacket and skirt. In one hand, held up to her right ear, was the mobile phone she was shouting into. In her left hand she was carrying a black briefcase.

The slave guessed her to be about 30 years old, and she was clearly a young woman in a hurry. He started sweating. Experience told him this would be a difficult customer.

The young Pakistani woman slammed her right foot onto the wooden block under his nose. She temporarily interrupted her tirade down the phone in Urdu, to give her orders to the footslave in English:

"Clean the filth of my shoe, boy!"

Then she was back on the phone again, shouting, almost screaming at someone, in Urdu.

Although he recognised the language, the slave didn't understand Urdu, but if he could have understood it, he would have heard Miss Shaheda complaining down the phone to her husband about their lazy good-for-nothing house slave, who had failed to clean her shoes properly ahead of her important business meeting that morning. She wanted that house slave soundly whipped and then put in the stocks for three hours. How dare he neglect his duties in this way. Her husband was promising his beloved young wife that the slave would be staked out on the ground for her to trample all over when she returned home from work that evening. He assured his beautiful wife that by the time he had finished with him the slave would truly wish he had never been born.

Of course, what Miss Shaheda and her husband did not care about, was the fact that her shoes had been perfectly clean when she had left the house that morning. The unfortunate fact was that Miss Shaheda had stepped into a puddle of mud on her way into work- and that was what had caused the muddy streak down the side of one of her shiny high-heeled shoes. Their house slave was entirely innocent of all charges of neglect, but in Miss Shaheda's household that would make no difference. That slave would be severely punished, and, it has to be said, rightly so. For a slave should always anticipate his Mistress's distress.

As the public footslave now lowered his face to the offending shoe he could not help but focus momentarily on the young mistress's shapely ankle. Her stockings were of the finest denier, and he observed the way the fine stitching of the material stretched over and around her beautiful ankle. Of course, the slave could not be sure they were stockings. They could have been pantihose. But for a footslave this was a complete irrelevance. Only real men, free men, needed to know whether a lady was wearing stockings or pantihose. For the footslave all that mattered was the material covering the area of the foot and the lower leg. He would never need to concern himself with what a lady was, or was not, wearing over her private parts. His only legitimate concern was with her feet and footwear.

The second or so that he spent admiring this young woman's stockinged ankle was, unfortunately, for him long enough to upset her even further.

The young Mistress kicked him hard in his right cheek with the pointed toe of her leather shoe.

"Get a move on, dirty footlick! Get that muck off my shoe now!"

"Yes Mistress ! At once Mistress!" he cried out in pain and shock.

Miss Shaheda was now ranting in Urdu down the phone to her husband about how she was having to rely on a useless, dirty public footslave to get the filth of her shoe. She made her husband promise to start their house slave's punishment straight away, and with that hung up.

The footslave was now furiously lathing the side of the young Pakistani businesswoman's shoe with his tongue, which, unfortunately, was quite dry with fear.

Unlike his previous customer, this young woman was clearly not satisfied with his efforts.

"Useless wretch!" she shouted down at him.” Get that tongue around my heel. Lick off all the filth. I want my shoe gleaming! Do it now!"

She graciously twisted her foot to allow him access to the heel. He saw her stocking crease around the shapely ankle as she did so, but he realised now that he had no time to admire this particular young lady's foot. The heel of her shoe needed a good sucking to get off a short blade of grass that had become wedged between the metal at the bottom of the shoe heel where it joined with the leather spike.

"Lick it!" she screamed, "Suck my dirty heel. Useless, worthless pig! Get that muck off my shoe now or I'll have you flogged!"

Her heel was now deep in his throat, causing him to gag, but still he did his utmost to comply with her demands. He knew he must satisfy this angry young mistress or face a lot of pain. And if he didn't satisfy her he would deserve that pain. She was the Mistress. Her shoe was dirty. He was the footslave, and his job was to lick clean her shoe. There were no excuses for a slave. A slave either did exactly as he was told or rightly suffered the consequences.

Perhaps luckily for him, at this point in the proceedings Miss Shaheda's mobile phone rang. It was her husband again, informing her that the house slave was currently suspended from the whipping post in their back garden awaiting the first of 50 hard lashes. Miss Shaheda, to the relief of the footslave, withdrew her foot from his footblock and stormed off, listening down the phone to the sound of her house slave's screams as her husband's whip tore into his lazy bare back.

The public footslave heaved a sigh of relief. How lucky he was, how glad he was, that another slave was bearing the brunt of Miss Shaheda's wrath.

However, he was unable to relax for too long, as his next customers were now approaching the booth.

Part 3 – Turkish Tourists

Miss Selima and her mother, Mistress Fatima, were making their way across the town square towards the public footslave. Miss Selima was a 20 year old exchange student from Turkey. She was studying medicine at the university as she was a good, kind girl who wanted to devote her life to helping and caring for other people - people, that is, not slaves. She didn't care what happened to slaves.

Her mother was over visiting her from Turkey for the first time, and Selima was in the process of showing her all the tourist sights in the town. They had just been looking around the historic Town Hall and its museum. They were now about to go shopping for gifts for their family members back home. But first, Selima wanted to show her mother the public footslave - a 'must see' on any inquisitive tourist's agenda.

Miss Selima was determined to impress her mother by humiliating the footslave. She wanted her mother to see what a strong young woman she had become. To that end she had deliberately put on that morning her oldest pair of well-worn black anklet socks. She normally wore these socks with her white sneakers, but today she had decided to wear them with her navy blue open-toed sandals as she wanted her mother to witness the slave kissing her socked feet. Moreover, she had been wearing these same socks for the previous two days as she wanted to truly degrade the public footslave in front of her mother - to show her that the slave had no choice but to worship whatever footwear a woman chose to present to him - however manky, however dirty, however smelly.

The footslave saw the two pairs of legs approaching him - a young woman wearing blue canvas sandals and black ankle socks with black trousers cut just below the knee, and a middle aged woman in her forties who was barefoot in a pair of brown leather sandals and wearing a brightly coloured dress that came to just above her ankles. He heard the younger woman speak as they came closer:

"Look, Mama, this is the public footslave I was telling you about".

He heard the older woman giggle, perhaps somewhat nervously. He gathered by the girl's accent that these two women were foreigners - perhaps tourists?

The younger woman wasted no time in stepping up to the footblock and placing her right foot onto the wooden strip beneath the kneeling slave's face.

"Watch this mama!" the girl shouted excitedly.

"You, the slave, kiss my sock".

The footslave, as he always did, absorbed so many details about the young woman's footwear as he lowered his face towards her haughtily extended foot. He could see instantly that her black sock was well worn. It came to just below her shapely ankle, and he noticed that a piece of white fluff had attached itself to an area of the sock just above one of the blue canvas sandal straps that crossed the top of her foot. The stitching of the black sock was minute and he could only start to see the individual stitches when his lips were practically touching the sock. Both the sock and the sandal looked somewhat unkempt, an impression which was reinforced by the unmistakable odour of stale feminine foot sweat as his nose got closer to the young woman's socked foot. However, he did not flinch. He was a well-trained and deeply respectful footslave who was well used to kissing the unkempt and dirty footwear of superior young women such as the young lady now towering over him.

He placed his lips on top of the reinforced area of her sock that covered her toes. He felt the hard nail of her big toe under the soft material of the sock. As a well-trained footslave he made sure the kiss was gentle and respectful - with both his lips touching the dirty sock simultaneously.

The young mistress had not told him how many times to kiss her sock, so the convention was that he would carry on raising and lowering his lips to her sock until she ordered him to stop - crisp but gentle distinct kisses to the toe of her black sock until she was satisfied that he had been sufficiently respectful.

As he lowered his slave lips for the second kiss he heard the girl's mother laugh with delight. How proud she must be of her powerful young daughter who is able to humiliate a 'man' more than twice her age in such a public way. Except, of course, that he wasn't a 'man'. Fatima understood that now - this pathetic foot kissing creature was merely a male slave, fit only to kiss and smell her daughter's dirty socks.

After five kisses of her socked foot the young woman gave him another order:

"Keep your lips attached to the toe of my sock, slave boy".

He obediently rested his lips on the soft, but smelly, material covering her toes. The girl then addressed her mother:

"Mama, take a picture!"

He then heard the older woman take something out of her handbag and out of the corner of his eye saw her step back a few paces, presumably to get the right angle for a souvenir picture of her daughter having her socked foot worshipped. The older woman then invited her daughter to smile as the camera clicked.

"Your sister and your cousins will love that", said told her daughter.

Miss Selima then stepped away from the footblock and desired her mother to step before the footslave.

The footslave suddenly saw a slightly larger and dusky foot placed on the wooden block under his nose. The woman's dress had ridden up as a result of her extending her foot to reveal that she too still had quite shapely ankles. The slave noticed that there was dust on the lower rim of her brown leather sandals, and that the buckle on the strap covering her foot was slightly bent - a sure sign that, like her daughter, this woman was wearing a well-worn pair of sandals.

"Order him to kiss your foot, Mama" chirped the young woman, her voice betraying her excitement at witnessing her mother humiliate and degrade the pathetic footslave.

"You heard my daughter. Kiss my dirty foot, slave boy", ordered Mistress Fatima, now elated with her own feelings of superiority and power over the humble creature at her feet.

As the slave lowered his lips towards the top of the woman's big toe he again caught the unmistakable whiff of female foot odour. He also couldn't help but notice that beneath her unpolished toe nail there was an accumulation of black toe jam, and there was even a strand of dead skin at the top right hand corner of her big toe nail. The slave within him longed to lick out that toe jam and remove the piece of dead skin with his slave lips, but he had not been ordered to clean her feet - merely to kiss them, respectfully, reverentially - as befits a humble slave. And so he just did as he was told -he planted a soft worshipful kiss onto the middle-aged Turkish woman's dirty toe.

As he did so he heard her let out a tiny gasp of excitement. He could tell that she was becoming sexually aroused by her act of domination over him. It was always nice to provide a sexual buzz for ones customers - especially the ones, like this lady, who were clearly having their feet worshipped for the first time.

Again, he was ordered by the woman's daughter to keep his lips pressed against her mother's toes whilst she took a picture for the folks back home of her mother being foot-worshipped by a dirty public footslave.

The mother and daughter then left, satisfied by their acts of public humiliation of the footslave, and with the photographic memories they had taken of the event. It was now time for a coffee, followed by some shopping.

Of course, even though his slave neck and shoulders, not to mention his tongue, were becoming increasingly strained and tired as the day wore on, there was to be no such coffee break for the public footslave. He was there to serve the feet of women - and to serve all day long, every day, until his minder, Mistress Julianna, came to lock him up again in the evening.

As he contemplated his aching neck with the rough, uncomfortable collar and chain preventing him from raising his head more than 12 inches or so above the ground, he suddenly saw an older man in his fifties approaching him - a free man - with some sort of carrier bag in his hand.

The man crouched down beside the slave. The slave noticed that the man had bad breath. The man explained that his 21 year old niece, Miss Susan, who was a trainee gym teacher, was having problems with her washing machine, and she had therefore asked her uncle if he would arrange for her dirty gym socks to be mouth-washed by the public footslave.

With that, the old man took a dirty, sweat-stained, feminine, white gym sock, with pink hoops around the cuff, out of the carrier bag and held it to the slave's nose, ordering him to sniff it.

Even for the experienced footslave the smell was quite overpowering. The young woman who owned the sock must have been undertaking a serious work-out when she was wearing that sock. The toe of the sock was visibly yellow and crusty - saturated with the young gym teacher's foot sweat.

The man held it tight for several minutes over the slave's nose thereby ensuring that the slave had no option but to breathe in his beloved niece's foot odour, before ordering the slave to open his mouth and to suck the sock clean.

As the man shoved the girl's dirty, putrid sock into his mouth, the footslave's taste buds were assailed by the overpowering taste of the young woman's salty foot sweat. He felt truly degraded to be forced to clean the sock of a young woman who wasn't even present, but he nevertheless did his best to suck out and to swallow all the filth and sweat that was contained in the dirty white sock.

When the master pulled the sock out of his mouth some five minutes later, however, he was not satisfied. He showed the slave that the area on the underside of the toes was still yellow, and he asked the slave if he thought this was acceptable.

The slave made to apologise, but the master said it was no good apologizing to him - he must apologise to Miss Susan's sock.

The man held the offended, now soaking wet, sock up in front of the useless, lazy slave's mouth in order for him to apologise to it.

"Please, Mistress Susan's sock, I beg you, please forgive this wretched slave for not cleaning you properly and for not removing all the sweat from you with my dirty slave mouth".

The master said that the sock had accepted the slave's abject apology, but he must suck it again, and harder. And so it went back into the footslave's mouth - as did 6 pairs of dirty white gym socks - 12 filthy, sweaty socks in all, one after the other.

After he had finished with him, the master asked the slave if he had liked cleaning his niece's dirty socks with his mouth.

The slave was experienced enough to know that this was a difficult question for him to answer satisfactorily. You might say it was a trick question. For if he told the master that he had liked it, the man would probably be offended as he was clearly hoping that the slave had not enjoyed his humiliating and degrading experience. On the other hand, if he said that he had not liked it, the master may be equally offended in that such an answer would imply that the slave felt he was too good to clean the young woman's dirty socks.

The slave therefore gave the only answer he safely could:

"I liked it, Master, but not that much".

The man walked off - satisfied.

The slave breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully he could now get back to serving a woman in person.

He didn't have long to wait. Mistress Karen, one of his most long-standing customers, was approaching his footbooth.

He recognised his regular customers by their footwear, and in the case of mistress Karen, that meant flat, black slip on shoes, black trousers, and flesh coloured stockings (or were they tights ? - he had no way of knowing) underneath her trousers. Whatever they were, Mistress Karen rarely seemed to wear any other combination of footwear. He had rarely, for example, seen her in socks or with shoes on bare feet - except, perhaps, in the height of summer.

She was, in fact, about the same age as the footslave - in her mid forties - but, unlike the footslave, she had led an exciting and fulfilled life as a free woman. Over the past 20 years or so she had married, raised a family, divorced and married again. She had been hugely successful in her business career - working her way up through the ranks of a major bank to the point where she was now an area manager. As a result of living the 'good life' she had put on a few pounds over the years, but she was still a very attractive woman with plenty of male admirers that she was forced to keep at bay. She was a woman who exuded power and authority, and she was extremely happy with her lot.

She liked to visit the public footslave because of the contrast between her exciting life and his wretched, humble existence. It was a fact not lost on her that, during the same twenty years that she had been living life to the full, the miserable footslave had been chained up in the same footbooth, in the Town Square, kissing, licking and cleaning the dirty feet and footwear of female passers-by, including herself. And he would be doing it for the next twenty years as well. She liked that thought. If ever she needed cheering up, a simple shoe shine from the wretched public footslave would be guaranteed to do it.

Not that she needed any cheering up today. She had just been awarded yet another huge bonus for her excellent work at the bank. The thought tickled her that, no matter how well the footslave performed at his lowly task, he would never receive a reward, or even a simple 'thank you'. It was a golden rule - slaves are never thanked- only criticised and chastised when they don't perform satisfactorily.

Mistress Karen positioned her right foot onto the dusty wooden footblock. As she did so her trouser leg rose to reveal her stocking-covered ankle. The slave noticed a tiny speck of dirt on the bottom rim of her trouser, but he had never, in all the twenty years or so he had been a public footslave, been ordered to touch or clean a lady's trouser leg. He was totally unworthy of such an act, and he knew it. So he ignored it, and concentrated instead on her stockinged foot and black leather slip-on shoe.

He observed the beginnings of a small ladder on her stocking in the area covering her inner ankle bone. He realised that Mistress Karen herself was almost certainly unaware, and unconcerned, by something so insignificant as a small ladder in her stocking, but it was an important detail for the footslave, as it strongly suggested that her stockings were not new and had been worn several times before. That somehow added to his humiliation, as it meant the Mistress wasn't in the least bit bashful about presenting him with well worn footwear to worship and clean.

He awaited her orders, as a footslave must always do.

"Clean the dirt off my shoes, footboy", came her unmistakable voice. She always referred to him as 'boy', or 'footboy' - even though he was her contemporary in years. But she did so quite deliberately in order to humiliate him, and in a tone which left him in no doubt that she totally despised him.

As she watched the humble slave lower his balding head to the top of her black leather shoe she lit a cigarette and revelled in her superiority over the creature at her feet.

There were three types of public footslaves; those who knelt in front of a raised chair in which a lady could sit and have her shoes shined or even her feet washed and pedicured; those who were buried in the ground face up, usually at the entrance to public buildings, and whose faces could therefore be used as 'door mats' to scrape off the filth from the soles of the ladies' shoes; and the type she was now using, where the lady stands in front of the slave, his head protruding from a 'hatch' , and places her footwear for cleaning onto a wooden block beneath his nose. Mistress Karen liked to use all three types of footslave, but her favourite was the current type. For her, having her shoes licked clean was not so important as the act of humiliating the slave - and she regarded the position she was now in, standing imperiously with one foot extended, one hand on hip, smoking a cigarette in her other hand, as being the classic dominant pose for a woman humiliating a down-in-the-dirt male footslave.

Karen twisted her foot from side to side, pretending to inspect the slave's work as he lathed her footwear with his tongue, but not really caring if he was doing a good job or not. So long as he realised that she was his master, that she was better than him and that he was at her mercy, she would be satisfied.

Needless to say the humble slave was well aware of his station in life, and of this woman's superiority over him, and, rather like the many free men who admired Karen from a distance, he realised that he too could express his admiration for her, even if it was only by noticing the small ladder in her stocking and by lifting the dirt from her black leather shoes with his slave tongue and swallowing it.

And so that's just what he did, until she ordered him to stop.

Part 4 – Mistresses ‘Buffs’, ‘Keds’ and ‘Boots’

The footslave's neck and shoulders were beginning to ache now. It was only just after midday, but he had been 'working' since the early morning - and would not be put back into his 'hole' until late in the evening. He was expected to endure a long day of public humiliation at the feet of women - every day. It was just what he was for. He accepted it, and so did everyone else.

Rather cruelly, his working booth was situated right next to a cafe in the town square, and the smell of human food and strong coffee wafting through the air was also making him feel hungry. The slave gruel he was fed every morning by his minder, Miss Julianna, was his only 'official' meal of the day and, whilst it was reasonably nourishing, it was not particularly satisfying or appetising. Of course, it was no coincidence that the authorities had positioned a footslave right next to a cafe. They were fully aware that it would add to his suffering and discomfort. That was precisely what they wanted - to keep the slave miserable and humiliated at all times.

However, if he was feeling hungry, help was soon to be at hand. Some kind girl was at that very moment leaving the cafe and making her way towards him with the precise aim of giving him some food. Of course, she would have to make sure it was food fit for a slave, nevertheless she was kind-hearted enough to be thinking of him and his inability to feed himself.

There were actually three young women making their way towards him, all in their early twenties, and as they approached him the footslave, from his lowly position kneeling in the dirt with his head respectfully bowed, could only distinguish them by their differing types of footwear.

One of the young women, who appeared to be the leader of the group, was wearing heavy, black, buffalo-style platformed sneakers with thick black boot socks. She must have been wearing a short skirt, because her shapely white legs extended up as far as the slave dared to look. The second girl in the group, who was now standing to his left as he knelt humbly and vulnerable before the girls, was wearing black jeans and ordinary white keds. The slave could just see a hint of white cotton sock beneath the jeans. The third girl, on his right hand side, was wearing blue denim jeans which were folded up so that they just came down to the top of her black leather ,zip-up, ankle boots, with thick blocky heels.

As he had no idea what the girls' names were, the slave decided to refer to the three young mistresses in his own mind as 'Mistress Buffs', 'Mistress Keds', and 'Mistress Boots' respectively.

'Mistress Buffs' was definitely the ring-leader, as she approached the slave head on and placed both her feet on the wooden footblock under his bowed face. As always, the slave assimilated in a split second a lot of information about the state of the young lady's footwear. He had to - her feet and footwear filled his field of vision and he knew anyway from long and bitter experience that it was always best to familiarise oneself quickly with the footwear of the Mistress one was about to serve.

So, he noticed lots of details about her buffalo sneakers - such as the fact that one of her laces on her right sneaker did not appear to be done up properly; the fact that there was a considerable amount of dirt around the lower sides of the sneakers (although, then again, in this footslave's humble experience young women's sneakers and shoes always were dirty); and that the thick 'tongue' of her right sneaker was sticking out, whereas the tongue on her left sneaker was neatly and correctly folded in. He noticed too the thick folds in her black boot-socks that covered her shapely ankles and lower calf. He even noticed faint marks on her right leg just above the top of her sock where the elasticated top had obviously been until very recently, suggesting that her sock had slipped down somewhat inside her shoe during the course of the morning.

Overall, the impression was of a pair of sneakers that were rather unkempt, but, of course, the footslave was well aware that no-one else in the whole wide world other than him would be in the least bit concerned at that moment about the state of this young woman's footwear - let alone the girl herself. Such concerns were above her as a free young woman. It was only footslaves who needed to concern themselves with the state of ladies' footwear. That was the whole reason for their existence, and if a lady wanted her shoes cleaned or shined it was usually as much out of a desire to humiliate a male slave as out of any actual concern about having dirty footwear.

'Mistress buffs' appeared to be eating something as she mumbled down to the slave her orders:

"Clean my Buffs, dirty footlick".

She moved her right foot slightly further forward indicating to the slave that he should start with that one. The other two girls were watching, enjoying the slave's humiliation, but not saying anything for the moment. Mistress 'Keds' was smoking a cigarette.

The slave obediently lowered his tongue to the muddiest part of the sneaker he could see and tasted again the familiar, bitter taste of fresh mud mingled with street dust. The slave had always hated the taste of mud more than the taste of shoes themselves. Even the strong taste of newly polished shoe leather wasn't as bad as pure mud. But like it or not he had no choice but to eat mud, day after day. Even the cleanest shoes had some traces of mud on them, although his customers expected all of that mud to be in his stomach by the time he had finished serving them.

As the humble slave ate her shoe-mud the young mistress ate her cheese and tomato sandwich. She flexed her pretty foot from side to side in the pretence of helping the slave to get a better angle for his dirty tongue, but in reality it was just a way for her to get a better view for herself of his demeaning and servile work on her shoes. She liked humiliating male slaves - especially in public and in front of her friends, and especially when the slave was so old. She guessed he must have been old enough to be her father, yet, unlike her father, whom she obeyed and respected, this middle-aged 'man' cowering on his knees at her feet had to obey and respect her. She liked that thought, and it was why she had persuaded her friends to come with her to the public footslave's stall even though they were keen to get on with their day out shopping and hadn't wanted their shoes cleaned. What her friends didn't know was that she had something special planned for the slave that would make her look really cool in front of her two friends - and she was confident it would enhance her much-prized reputation as a 'bitch mistress' when word of what she was about to do to this slave eventually spread around her college.

As 'Mistress Buffs' withdrew her right sneakered foot from the wooden footblock and replaced it with the somewhat tidier left one, she decided it was time to put her big plan into action.

As the footslave lathed the side of her dirty black sneaker with his slave tongue she asked him, in a tone of mock concern and as she continued to eat her sandwich:

"Are you hungry, footlick? I mean, when did you last eat?"

The slave knew that it was highly unlikely that the young goddess standing over him having her shoes licked was in the slightest bit concerned about whether or not he was hungry. But he equally knew that when a mistress asks a slave a question he must respond with humility and respect:

"If it pleases you, mistress, I have not eaten since early this morning"

All three of the girls laughed at the slave's obsequiousness.

"God, Sandra", said 'Mistress Keds', "leave him alone and let him get on with cleaning your buffs. Who cares if he's hungry? We need to get on!"

So the slave now knew that 'Mistress Buffs' was actually called 'Mistress Sandra', and Mistress Sandra appeared to be leaping to his defence:

"No, be fair, even a slave has got to eat, otherwise he might get weak and be unable to do his dirty job".

The girls laughed again.

"I think he already gets plenty to eat. I mean he spends his entire day eating the filth and the muck off ladies' shoes", chipped in the third girl, 'Mistress Boots'.

"Yeah, and besides, if he does get weak and start slacking I expect the sharp sting of a whip would help him to find his strength again!", added 'Mistress Keds'.

The girls giggled and laughed at their witty remarks, and at the footslave's powerlessness to do anything but accept their mockery and their teasing. Nevertheless, Mistress Sandra remained adamant that the 'poor, helpless footslave' had to have something to eat, and she crouched down so that her beautiful young face was closer to the slave's ugly, bald head:

"Would you like some of my sandwich, footboy?" she asked, waving what was left of the sandwich under his nose, and with her mouth still full of food.

The slave knew there was only one possible answer he could give to such a kind offer from a superior young mistress:

"This slave would be truly privileged to be allowed a piece of your sandwich, most kind and beautiful mistress".

The three young women burst out laughing.

"God, Sandra, a slave thinks your beautiful! Aren't you the lucky one! You've pulled!", shouted 'Mistress Keds'.

"Yeah", added 'Mistress Boots', "but don't get too excited Sandra. After all, how does he know you're beautiful when he's only seen your feet. He's just teasing you!"

"Are you teasing me, slave?", asked Mistress Sandra with fake offence. All three of the girls were well aware that they were the ones doing the teasing, but the wonderful thing was that they were quite right to do so. The society they lived in encouraged free citizens to mock, tease and torment its slaves. It all helped to keep the slaves in their place.

The slave sensed that Mistress Sandra did not really take offence at his calling her 'beautiful', but, just to be on the safe side he knew it would be best to continue with his grovelling flattery towards her. In his experience women, ultimately, liked to be flattered, even if it was by a lowly footslave:

"Oh no, Mistress, this humble slave would never tease its superior mistress. It just knows that such a kind-hearted and thoughtful young mistress must be beautiful on the outside as well as on the inside."

The three girls roared with laughter.

"He's quite a poet!", screamed 'Mistress Boots', "just think - a dirty footlick with a brain!".

"Yeah, he's wasted on cleaning ladies' feet. He should at least be cleaning ladies' toilets or something!", quipped 'Mistress Keds'.

When she had finished laughing at him, Mistress Sandra continued with her torment of the slave:

" Oh, I'll definitely have to give you a reward now, slaveboy", she said, and with that she spat out the food that was still in her mouth onto the dirty ground in front of him.

"Of course, you're not good enough to enjoy the full taste of human food, so I'll have to flavour it with something that slaves like - like the taste of my buffs, for example".

The footslave had a close-up view as the young woman then squashed the already unappetising, saliva-ridden mush of chewed cheese, tomato and bread under the dirty sole of her heavy, black buffalo sneaker. Her friends laughed with joy at this sight. Truly Sandra knew how to treat a slave. She had been well brought up by her parents. She was a proper bitch towards slaves, and they admired her for it, as did everyone who knew her.

In fact a small crowd of onlookers was now gathering to enjoy witnessing the girls' teasing of the slave and his impending humiliation.

The slave saw how Mistress Sandra's thick, black boot sock creased as she manipulated her heavy sneakered foot over the dirty mush that was about to be his meal.

"There now,", continued Mistress Sandra, "I do hope that's soft enough for you!".

The crowd laughed.

"Oh, but before I give you your 'sandwich' I need to get you some flavoured bread to put it in, don't I slave? After all, you can't make a sandwich without bread, can you?", she asked rhetorically.

"No, Mistress", replied the submissive slave, no longer feeling all that hungry, or 'poetic'.

"No, Mistress", Sandra repeated his words in a mocking tone, to the watching crowd's delight. Sandra was probably destined for the stage, even though she was studying history at university. She loved having an audience.

"Luckily, I have some slave bread for you", she continued, building up to the public revelation of the wonderfully cruel idea she had had that morning before setting off to meet her two girlfriends in the town square.

"I've been keeping it nice and warm for you all morning. Can you help me get it out please, slave. It's inside my shoe!".

'Mistress Keds', 'Mistress Boots' , and the crowd all roared with laughter and approval.

"Oh my God, Sandra", yelled 'Mistress Keds', "You mean you've got some bread in your shoe?".

"Sure I have. It keeps the bread nice and warm for the slave and makes a nice comfy insole for me", replied Sandra.

"Untie my lace with your mouth, take off my shoe and take out your bread, slave", she ordered, her tone of voice towards the slave now much darker and much less playful.

She helpfully moved her right foot, the sole of the sneaker still covered in some of the gooey mush of dust-and-dirt covered tomato and cheese, back onto the wooden footblock directly below the slave's face and watched intently, with a wry smile on her pretty young face, as the middle aged slave-man lowered his dirty lips to pull at her shoe lace and loosen it, before using his hands to gently prise off the thick, black sneaker.

As he did so, everyone present was straining forward to try to get a better view. The crowd of onlookers was growing, but was surprisingly quiet, with just a few people at the back asking those at the front to move a bit to one side in order to give them a better view.

What those at the back of the crowd probably couldn't see were the white specks of bread on the bottom of Mistress Sandra's black-socked foot. The slave, of course, could see them - unfortunately for him he had the best view of all.

He was well used to dealing with sock lint. But 'bread lint' was a whole new experience even for him.

Mistress Sandra could feel the pieces of white bread stuck to the bottom of her foot and she wriggled it in order to cause the sock to crease and the bits of bread to fall off onto the wooden footblock under the slave's nose.

"Taste those bits of bread first, slave", she ordered. "Check that it's warm enough for you".

"Yes", shouted a free man in the crowd, "make him taste the bread from your sock before he tastes the bread from your shoe, young lady!".

The crowd roared with laughter again as the public footslave, whom they all owned, lapped up the tiny bits of bread with his slave tongue. They tasted salty. They tasted of young woman's foot sweat. Yet everyone present, including it has to be said the footslave himself, knew that it was food fit enough for him.

Mistress Boots laughed out loud:

"This is brilliant, Sandra. You really know how to treat a slave!"

The crowd were becoming impatient now, however. They wanted to see the slave take the main piece of bread out of the young woman's shoe and eat his sandwich.

"Let's see him eat your insole now", shouted the mouthy free man in the crowd.

"You heard, slave, take out my insole and let me make you your sandwich", ordered Mistress Sandra, now speaking to the slave in a deadly serious tone.

The crowd gasped with delight as the slave carefully extracted the bread from the hot, sweaty sneaker, for the white bread was clearly discoloured with both the girl's foot sweat and the dirt from inside her shoe. The part of the bread that would have been under her toes all morning was now yellow, and the part at her heel had black stains on it. Truly it was bread fit for a slave - and only for a slave.

"Put the bread on the ground", ordered Mistress Sandra.

As the footslave made to put the bread onto the wooden footblock, she shouted angrily down at him:

"Not there, stupid slave! I said on the ground. In the dirt!"

She kicked him on his right cheek with her socked foot.

The slave would have kicked himself if the bulk of his feeble body hadn't been restrained in his hole. Of course she would want him to put it down in the dirt - everyone wanted that. The sandwich had to be made suitable for slave consumption.

Once he had placed it in the dirt, Mistress Sandra ordered him to pick up the nearby mush that she had earlier expelled from her own mouth, and then mashed with the sole of her buffalo sneaker, and to put it onto the bread before folding the bread in two to make his sandwich.

Before she would let him eat his sandwich, however, she kindly 'allowed' him to pick up her dirty sneaker which was still lying on the ground and scrape the remaining mush onto the outside of the sandwich.

She then gave him the order that the footslave was dreading, that the crowd of onlookers including her two best friends were eagerly anticipating, and that she had been rehearsing to herself all morning. She spoke clearly and slowly, so that everyone could hear:

"Now, slave. Eat your sandwich - your sandwich fit for a footslave, your sandwich of sweaty bread, dirty tomato and dusty cheese!".

The crowd, which by now had grown to several dozen people, roared with glee as the humble, obedient footslave obeyed his magnificent young mistress's orders, and ate the dirty sandwich she had so lovingly prepared for him.

As he chewed on the foul tasting bread and its equally foul tasting contents, a young policewoman was pushing her way to the front of the crowd to see what all the fuss was. The footslave recognised it was a policewoman out of the corner of his eye as she was wearing the very dominant looking knee-length black patent leather boots and short black skirt favoured by the authorities in that town. He caught sight also of the slave-whip hanging from her belt.

The policewoman moved forward, went up to Mistress Sandra, saluted her, and asked

"Is this slave bothering you, Miss?".

The slave chewed on his sandwich with renewed vigour. He knew that if he upset young mistress Sandra now, by not eating his meal, she could get him into a lot of trouble, perhaps even persuade the equally young female police officer to take him to the centre of the town square, tie him to the public whipping post, and flog him for insolence, ingratitude and disobedience.

He was relieved, therefore, to hear Mistress Sandra's reply to the police officer as she put her black buffalo sneaker back on:

"It's ok, thank you officer. I was just giving this slave his lunch. He was ever so hungry, but I think he's had enough to eat now".

The crowd, her two friends, and the policewoman all laughed at Mistress Sandra's joke, and at the pathetic slave.

Everyone then dispersed, happy in the knowledge that another male slave had been humiliated in public at the feet of a superior young woman, and that everything was as it should be in this world - slaves on their knees, obeying and working, whilst they, the free citizens, goad and humiliate them, supported by the authorities of law and order.

Meanwhile the slave finished his disgusting sandwich, genuinely grateful ,in spite of its taste, for the extra sustenance it would give him for the rest of the day. And at least he now knew why her right sneaker and sock had been less tidy than the left - it had been because she was kindly keeping his bread fresh for him inside her shoe.

Part 5 - Regulars

Rain!

Preoccupied with finishing off his sweaty cheese and tomato sandwich, the footslave had failed to notice that the sky had been darkening until he felt the first few drops of rain on his balding head - perhaps an understandable omission given that the collar and chain around his neck forced him to look permanently at the ground, but he should, nevertheless have noticed that the bright, spring sunshine had been gradually disappearing.

He was always in two minds about rain. On the one hand, it could offer him some refreshment - drops of water to help wash down his sandwich, for example. It could also cool him down in the summer months. Furthermore, it helped to wash his face of the female shoe dirt that often accumulated on it -whatever the time of year.

On the other hand, since he was absolutely forbidden to shelter from the rain by withdrawing his head into the hatch - lest a customer require his services during the rainstorm - he could, if the rain was prolonged and heavy, get drenched. Not that anyone cared about that. A drenched slave? So what?

However, his biggest dread of rain was in what it would do to the ground, and hence to the footwear of his beautiful female customers. Rain meant mud; mud meant dirty streets; dirty streets meant wet, muddy, filthy, feminine footwear to have to lick clean. Although it was actually fairly rare to have to clean a customer's shoes during a rainstorm, he knew from bitter experience that he would always be guaranteed an increase in customers following a rainstorm.

This particular spring shower was heavy and thundery, but did not last long. After some 5 minutes of what was, for the footslave, quite refreshing rain, the skies brightened again and the hustle and bustle of life in the town square resumed.

Within 30 seconds his next customer was approaching. Her name was Mistress Angela - an attractive, blonde 35 year old woman - and she was accompanied by her partner, Master Philip, aged 50. The lovers had been on their way to the cinema when the rain had struck, and had taken shelter in the nearby cafe. However, just the short dash across the pedestrianised town square had been enough to muddy the boots of Mistress Angela - and Master Philip was determined that the public foot slave was going to do something about it.

The slave recognised them as they approached. Mistress Angela was one of his regulars, and he braced himself as, if past experience was anything to go by, he could be in for some harsh treatment from this dominant couple. Mistress Angela and Master Philip loved to humiliate slaves - and especially the public footslave, whom they, rightly, regarded as the lowest of the low. Mistress Angela, in particular, saw it as an honour for such a lowly slave to even brush his dirty lips against her superior boots.

She was wearing her favourite pair of tight, calf-length black leather, low-heeled boots, with her black trousers tucked into them. She was genuinely upset and annoyed that her favourite pair of boots had been so soiled by the wet mud in the square, and, as she stood, hands on hips directly in front of the kneeling slave, looking down at him through her pretty feminine nose, she was determined that he would fulfil his duty of restoring her lovely boots to their original grandeur with his slaveboy tongue.

It was her partner, Master Philip, however who addressed the kneeling footslave. He ordered him to take a good look at Mistress Angela's boots as the latter, obligingly, raised her right boot until it was about an inch way from the footslave's lowered face. He asked the public footlick if he could see the thick mud stuck to the sole of his young girlfriend's boot? The slave confirmed, humbly and politely, that he could see the mud. (In fact, thanks to the raised boot, the footslave had such a close view of the wet mud in the treads on the Mistress's boot-soles that he could even smell the mixture of wet leather and mud).

The master then asked the slave if he thought it was acceptable that a young woman should have to walk around with mud on the soles of her boots? Of course, the slave opined that it was not acceptable. The master then asked the slave what he was going to do about it, to which the slave replied that it would be an honour and a true privilege for him to be permitted to lick the dirt and the mud off the superior Mistress's boot-soles.

Master Philip then suggested to his girlfriend that she turn around with her back to the kneeling footslave, and raise her right foot to enable the slave to lick clean the dirty sole of her right boot. As Mistress Angela did so, Master Philip held lovingly onto her, helping her to keep her balance.

She rested the round toe of her boot onto the wooden footblock in front of the slave's face, and Master Philip gave the order to the slave:

"You may begin, bootlick. Clean the filth off my girlfriend's boot".

As he moved his face humbly forward and inserted his tongue into one of the mud-filled treads on her dirty boot-sole, the footslave, because he was nothing but a pathetic footslave, found himself wondering whether or not Mistress Angela was wearing socks or nylons inside her beautiful calf-length boots. Of course, he had absolutely no way of knowing as she had her trousers tucked into her boots, but such details fascinated him. The type and condition of her inner footwear was as important to him as the type and condition of her outer footwear - as he was, at that moment in time, Mistress Angela's personal footslave, responsible for the well-being of her feet and footwear- and he took that responsibility very seriously. If only he could find out what she was wearing, if anything, inside her boots! It would make him feel more of a complete slave to have that privileged knowledge.

THWACK!

As he speculated on Mistress Angela's inner footwear a sudden blast of pain across his right cheek woke him from his reverie.

THWACK!

Another, jaw-jolting crash of pain pierced through his left cheek.

Master Philip had slapped him hard across both cheeks as he had noticed the slave's lack of concentration on the job in hand.

"Lazy, good-for-nothing bootlick!", shouted Master Philip, incandescent with rage at the slave's apparent disrespect.

"Concentrate on what you're doing! Get that dirty slave tongue deep inside the treads of my girlfriend's boot! Lick out all the filth as I ordered you to!"

Mistress Angela looked over her shoulder and also shouted down at the chastised slave:

"I can't feel your tongue, slaveboy. Lick harder. I want the sole of my boot gleaming or, so help me God, I'll have you flogged to within an inch of your life!"

The master then angrily asked the slave if he thought he was too good to lick the dirt off a young woman's boots? The slave grovelled as he resumed licking the dirty boot-sole, this time with renewed vigour:

"Forgive me, Master", (lick,lick). "Forgive me Mistress". (lick, lick). "This slave humbly", (lick,lick) "begs forgiveness from its superior", (lick), "Master and Mistress", (lick), "for its despicable and disrespectful behaviour" (lick,lick).

The slave was genuinely distraught, and fearful of what the couple might do to him. If there was one thing the free citizens, and the authorities, of this town could not abide it was a disobedient slave. His head was still spinning from the pain of the slaps and he could feel his upper lip thickening and throbbing. But deservedly so. He had allowed his mind to wander off the job of licking Mistress Angela's boot-mud. Footslave though he was, it was not his place to idly speculate as to what his Mistress was wearing inside her boots. He knew he had been wrong - taking liberties. He was a slave - there simply to obey orders from his superiors, not to speculate about their footwear. How could he have been so disrespectful!

Now that he was truly concentrating on his degrading task, the boot sole was soon divested of the wet, street-mud which was transferred into his mouth and throat - where it belonged. Having inspected her right boot, Mistress Angela switched over to her left boot - and this time the slave needed no further encouragement to perform his humble chore.

Soon, the soles of both Mistress Angela's leather boots were completely clean, and Master Philip and Mistress Angela were able to continue on their way to the cinema.

Of course, the moment she stepped out into the square again her boots began to collect fresh mud - sticking to the thick treads of her boot-soles. Master Philip, Mistress Angela and the footslave all knew very well that his whole demeaning chore of licking the mud from the bottom of Mistress Angela's boots had been nugatory work - essentially a waste of time. But they all equally knew that that was the whole point of it. It was meant to be a futile waste of time, as it was this very fact which added to the footslave's degradation and humiliation.

And it is fair to say that the slave's work had not been totally in vain - for the whole experience of having a pathetic footslave slapped in front of her in public whilst he licked the mud off her boots had made Mistress Angela feel good about herself - superior; powerful; sexy - and Master Philip would be the beneficiary of her sexual arousal later that evening. So the slave had achieved something.

As soon as the couple had walked away the slave, his cheeks still stinging and his lip still throbbing, heard the tour group approaching.

This was another regular event in his 'calendar' - the Japanese tour group. They came at this time every other week - part of their two week itinerary around Europe. Of course, they consisted of different individuals each time - but the group always consisted of 10 Japanese women, aged between 18 and 25, and led by Miss Fumiko - the group leader.

He recognised her legs and footwear as she approached. She was always smartly dressed in the tour company's colours - red, low-heeled pumps, white nylons, a red knee length skirt, and crisp, white jacket. At 27, Miss Fumiko was only slightly older than the tour group she was leading, and she knew what her customers liked. They liked to see the public footslave in the town square - it was one of the highlights of the two week tour.

As they approached the footslave's booth Miss Fumiko beckoned to the giggling, excited group of young Japanese women to gather round. This was all so well rehearsed now that, although Miss Fumiko spoke quite good English, she didn't even have to give orders to the footslave. He knew by now exactly what to do, as Miss Fumiko explained all about the public footslave in Japanese to the fascinated tour group.

As Miss Fumiko placed her right foot onto the wooden footblock beneath the slave's nose, she explained to the group that many women just like to have their shoes kissed and worshipped. As she did so, the footslave, who didn't understand a word of Japanese, as if by order was placing his lips on the upper toe of her shiny bright red shoe. He noticed a few specks of mud - inevitable given the recent rainfall - but, on the whole, Miss Fumiko had somehow managed to keep her shoe relatively clean. He noticed also the stitching in her white nylons covering the top of her foot and her shapely ankle. Her foot was so tiny. Like most Japanese women, Miss Fumiko was quite short and petite, but from the footslave's perspective she towered over him - powerful and masterful.

He placed several crisp, respectful kisses onto the top of her shoe, to the obvious and audible delight of the gathered tour group.

Miss Fumiko then slipped her nylon-stockinged foot out of her red shoe and wiggled her toes under the slave's nose. This was his cue to sniff her toes as she explained to the watching group of young women that some mistresses like to humiliate the slave by having him sniff their toes and smell their foot odour.

As he lowered his nose to touch the reinforced area of white nylon stocking that covered Miss Fumiko's delicate toes, the slave could see that her toe nails were painted red underneath - matching her outfit. He gave the first, clear audible sniff of her toes and caught the aroma of young woman foot sweat that was perhaps inevitable for a busy tour guide who had been on her feet all morning. He sniffed 3 times in all, earning gasps of surprise and excitement from the young women in the gathered group.

Next, Miss Fumiko forced her white-stockinged, sweaty foot into the slave's mouth - his cue to start sucking her stockinged toes as she explained to her group members that some ladies like to have their feet sucked by the public footslave. As the footslave tasted her sweaty nylon stockings, Miss Fumiko received a round of applause from the young ladies watching.

He continued to suck her stockinged toes as Miss Fumiko invited questions from the watching group. The questions and answers were all in Japanese, so the slave had no idea what was being said about him - but he didn't need to know:

'Does the footslave have a name?'

- No. He is just the 'public footslave', although some ladies like to refer to him as a 'footlick', 'shoelick' or 'bootlick'.

'What hours does he work?'

- 06:00 AM to 10:00 PM every day.

'How often does he get fed?'

- Once a day - first thing in the morning, with 'slave gruel' - a nourishing but foul-tasting mush.

'How is he punished?'

- He can be removed from his hatch and publicly whipped if required.

'How long will he be a slave for?'

- For the rest of his natural life.

'Is he allowed any sexual relief?'

- No. However, his sexual frustration makes him a better slave as his only female contact is with women's feet and footwear.

Miss Fumiko removed her now damp stockinged toes from the slave's mouth and slipped her refreshed foot back into her shoe. As the slave swallowed her foot sweat, she suggested to the 10 young women in the tour group that they each step up to the footblock and have their feet kissed as a souvenir - she stressed, however, that there was only time for one kiss on each of their feet. They could of course take pictures or videos of each other if they wished as they had their shoes worshipped.

A buzz of anticipation went around the group as the women decided who would go first. The slave readied himself to kiss 10 pairs of female, Japanese feet.

The first foot that was presented to him to pay his respects to belonged to a young woman who was wearing flimsy, gold-coloured, flat ballet-style shoes on bare feet and blue denim jeans. She giggled as the slave placed his lips on the ballet shoe. The slave, for his part could smell plastic and rubber as he humbly planted his kiss to the superior goddess's golden shoe. The young woman then withdrew her right foot and replaced it with her left. Again he lowered his lips in abject humility and did his duty of making the young woman feel worshipped.

The next young woman was also wearing blue denim jeans but with pink and white sneakers. The slave noticed also that she was wearing thin, white 'no show' socks inside her sneakers with a matching pink rim along the elasticated top that came to just below her shapely ankle. So much for his theory that only western women who preferred these 'no show' socks. He loved the way it was only the thicker stitching of the elasticated top of her short white sock that was visible. How he envied that sock as he lowered his lips to the top of her sneaker. The sock was closer to, and more intimate with, the mistress's foot than he could ever be. It spent the whole day inside her sneaker, absorbing her foot-sweat and protecting her delicate, soft foot - making sure it was comfortable inside the enclosed shoe. The slave wished he could be a young woman's sock.

The next mistress had on brown leather, calf-length, pointy-toed cowboy boots, with brown corduroy trousers tucked into them. Rather like Mistress Angela's boots there was a considerable amount of mud stuck to the soles - but unlike with Mistress Angela, the slave was only expected to place a respectful kiss on the toe of this young woman's boot, not to lick off the mud. She giggled with pleasure as the slave kissed her leather boot, her friend in the group apparently capturing the moment on her camcorder.

The next foot was shod in bright blue, patent leather, high heeled shoes and blue fish net stockings. The slave was always impressed at the sheer variety of women's footwear - and at the variety in their personalities too, for no sooner had he placed his first humble kiss on this young woman's right foot than she pulled it way, laughing and screaming at his act of servile humility at her feet. The other members of the group laughed with her, and had to persuade her to put her other foot onto the block for worshipping.

In complete contrast the next young woman was only too pleased to have her foot kissed. She was wearing heavy, black, lace-up Doc Marten style ankle boots, black and orange striped tights and a short black skirt. She was, in effect, a Japanese 'Goth-girl', and she just loved the idea of having a male slave kissing her dirty boots. The footslave could sense that any slave who ever had the misfortune to be this young woman's personal slave could expect a life of unremitting pain and humiliation. She was a natural-born dominant, ordering him in Japanese (not that he understood it) to kiss her boots in such a way so that she could feel his lips through her boot leather. The group voiced their approval of her attitude.

She was followed in quick succession by a young woman wearing rather dirty red and white, converse-style sneakers and thick black tights; then a young lady in black, suede knee-length boots whose black trousers just covered the tops of her boots; then a mistress wearing red shorts, black sneakers and no socks, but with a gold ankle chain on her right foot; and then a young woman wearing a short black skirt and black courts with flesh coloured nylons, through which the slave could see a tattoo of a red rose on her left ankle.

The last member of the tour group to step up to the footblock was also the youngest. At 18, Miss Suki had just finished school and was in her gap year. However, unlike most students she was not one for back-packing. She was, in fact, the rather spoilt daughter of a rich Japanese businessman, who was paying for her to see the world on various expensive but well-organised tours before he planned to put her into university.

Miss Suki, if truth be told, was a bit of a handful. She had a rebellious streak in her that didn't sit very comfortably with her father's expectations of her. But of course, like all fathers, at the end of the day he doted on his daughter, and she was well used to getting her way. On this particular tour she was getting on particularly well with the 'goth girl' in the group.

Miss Suki was wearing a short red and black skirt, black patent-leather strappy shoes with a high, blocky heel and wide, rounded toe, and red and black patterned ankle socks. It was only as he lowered his lips to kiss her outstretched foot that the slave realised that there were, in fact, only two straps on the shoe across the front of her foot, and that the black rim at the top of her sock gave the illusion of a third strap. This detail for some reason excited him, as did the small sore on the outside of her leg just above the top of her sock.

The slave could not resist placing his kiss on a mud-splattered part of the young woman's shoe. Although she could not communicate with him as she spoke no English, the slave could sense that this young mistress would want him to taste her shoe filth as he kissed her shoe. He noticed her sock crease as she leant forward to get a better view of his act of submission. She despised him.

As she withdrew her right foot from the block and replaced it with her left foot Miss Suki asked the tour leader, Miss Fumiko, if she was allowed to spit on the slave? Miss Fumiko laughed, and said that she was permitted to do anything she liked with him - within the limits of public decency.

With that, as the public shoelick placed his respectful lips to the top of her shiny left shoe, Miss Suki audibly collected the saliva and mucus in her beautiful, feminine mouth, and spat it out onto the pathetic slave's bald head.

Almost immediately, however, she screamed and withdrew her foot from under the slave's nose. Although the vast bulk of her spit had landed on its target of the slave's head, a small part had landed on her nice shiny black shoe! The group laughed at her apparent distress at this, as Miss Suki asked Miss Fumiko to instruct the slave to lick the offending spit off her shoe.

Miss Suki then placed her left foot onto the wooden footblock again, whilst Miss Fumiko, also laughing, addressed the slave in English with her heavy japanese accent:

"Slave, lick spit off Miss Suki's shoe!".

And so, the spit and mucus covered footslave licked off the stray spit that had inadvertently fallen onto Miss Suki's shiny, black shoe as the rest of the tour group gave her a round of applause. Miss Suki was smiling again. She decided she would not ask Miss Fumiko to have the slave punished for allowing her spit to splash onto her nice, clean shoe.

As the tour group headed off towards the museum, they all felt that, whatever other sights they would see during the rest of their tour around Europe, none of them would ever forget the day they each had their feet kissed by the public footslave in the town square.

The footslave, of course, was going nowhere.

Oh, and just for the record, Mistress Angela had been wearing thick, yellow boot socks inside her black leather boots.

Part 6 – The German Backpackers

It was now mid-afternoon and the sun was shining brightly. The heat from the sun's rays soon dried off the remnants of Miss Suki’s spit from the top of the public footslave’s balding head.

Being late Spring, it was still nowhere near the height of the tourist season. However, something was evidently attracting tourists to the Town Square that afternoon as the footslave’s next customers were also visitors from abroad.

Beate and Agata were both in their mid-twenties and from Germany. They were backpacking their way around Europe, and had just spent the last three days hiking in the hills surrounding the town. They were hot, tired and sweaty. Beate in particular felt that her sweaty, tired feet needed some attention. And who better to fulfill that role than the public footslave in the centre of the town? The two girls had already heard on the grapevine that there was to be a public flogging of a slave in the Town Square that afternoon. Beate had therefore suggested to her friend Agata that they head first for the services of the public footslave before enjoying the spectacle of the public whipping.

As they approached him the footslave saw two almost identical looking pairs of feet coming towards him. Both girls were wearing heavy, brown, leather, ankle- length hiking boots. Beate was the taller of the two girls, and arguably the prettier. Slim and with shoulder length blonde hair she projected an air of self-confidence and power. Thick, white boot-socks protruded for about 1 inch above the top of her hiking boots, and she was wearing red leggings which came down to below her knees but did not quite reach the top of her socks. Agata was a slightly shorter, dumpier girl -- but with an attractive face and ‘cheeky’ grin. Like her friend Beate she was wearing leggings, but hers were blue. She was also wearing thick navy blue socks which, again, protruded about an inch or so above the top of her brown hiking boots, leaving several inches of bare leg below her leggings. Both girls carried the ubiquitous rucksacks.

Beate was the first to stretch out her right foot onto the wooden footblock immediately below the kneeling footslave’s nose:

“Leck meinen schuh, sklave!”, she barked down at the humble slave.

The public footslave didn’t speak much German, but he knew enough to guess that ‘leck’ meant ‘lick’, and ‘meinen schuh’ meant ‘my shoe’. Even if he hadn’t understood a word of German the young woman’s body language would have made it clear what he was to do. She was pointing down to the top of her outstretched foot as she spoke:

“Schnell, du schmutziger sklave!”, she shouted impatiently.

‘Schnell’ meant ‘quick’ – so the footslave wasted no time in lowering his tongue to the girl’s heavy brown boot.

To say that her boot was dirty would be a bit of an understatement. It was positively caked in mud – mud that had presumably accumulated on her boots during her three days of hill-walking. And there were traces of mud on the tops of her white boot-socks as well - suggesting that they too may have been worn for more than one day.

The footslave dutifully started to lathe away mistress Beate’s boot muck as she and her friend watched wide-eyed – enjoying the absolute power they had over this down-in-the-dirt slave who they both knew had no choice but to spend his entire days licking off, and swallowing the foot dirt of his superior female masters. His taste buds were soon overwhelmed with the taste of musty leather, stale mud and dried grass as he transferred the offending filth from the young German goddess’s boot into his slave mouth – where it truly belonged.

After some 5 minutes of licking her right boot, she replaced it with her left, and she did not need to repeat her order in German. The footslave knew exactly what to do as his now aching tongue repeated the humiliating service it had performed for her right boot. The two girls were laughing and chatting happily to each other in German as the footslave worked on Beate’s boots – but he knew it was no business of his what they were saying, even though he suspected they were both talking about him. His duty was to concentrate on removing the young mistress’s boot-filth with his tongue, and that was exactly what he did.

What the girls were actually discussing was the state of their feet – how dirty and sweaty they were after their three days of hiking without a bath or shower, and how it was only right that they should impose their foot-smell on the public footslave. After all, that’s partly what a footslave is for – to sniff and smell women’s dirty feet and socks as well as to clean them.

After he had been licking her left boot for some 5 minutes Beate reached down to untie her laces. The footslave stopped licking and swallowed the remaining muck in his mouth as he waited for mistress Beate to take off her boot and reveal the rest of her white sock.

As soon as the boot was off the slave’s nostrils were assaulted by an overpowering smell of stinky sock sweat. Beate deliberately stretched out her foot so that her white-socked toes touched the footslave’s nose. The sock was warm from having been inside her heavy boot for so long on such a warm day. She kindly wiggled her toes inside the sock to release more of her rank foot odour for the slave.

The two women both laughed at the expression of horror on the slave’s face. Although he was well used to the smell of feminine foot odour, it was impossible to ever get used to the overwhelming unpleasantness of really stinky feet – and this socked foot was truly stinking. He could see the yellow sweat stains on the crusty toe of her white sock as she flexed it over his nose, and, footslave though he was, all his natural instincts were urging him to try not to breathe in the powerful, vinegary stench; but Beate was determined that that was exactly what he would have to do:

“Riech meine verschwitzte socke, fuss-sklave!”, she snapped at him.

Again, her body language was obvious, but in any case it wasn’t hard to work out that ‘riech’ – which sounded, appropriately, like ‘reek’ – meant ‘smell’ and ‘meine socke’ meant ‘my sock’. So, he braced himself, and obeyed the young mistress’s orders. He started to audibly sniff her foul-smelling, white-socked foot. Even he, however, the public footslave of many years’ experience, couldn’t keep his nose against the girl’s sock for too long. He had to punctuate his sniffs with deep breaths in an effort to avoid passing out from the horrible, cheesy stench.

Beate and Agata laughed out loud at the slave’s obvious distress. Far from being offended, Beate was proud of the fact that her socked foot was causing the footslave such anguish. As far as she was concerned he was nothing but a dirty, sock-sniffing whore, the lowest of the low, and the stink of her feet was too good for him, however bad it was.

The stink was, however, wafting up as far as her own delicate nostrils, and so she decided it was about time the slave removed some of the sweat from her bare foot – she didn’t want her friend Agata to have to suffer from her bad foot smell.

She therefore reached down and peeled off her thick, white, yellow-stained bootsock and threw it to one side, holding her nose in a mock warning gesture to Agata not to go near it.

“Leck meinen fuss, sklave”, she ordered, as she extended her bare left foot back to the kneeling slave’s face.

The slave could see the tracks from the stitching on her sock at various points on Mistress Beate’s bare foot – another clue, if any more were needed, that the young woman had been wearing her socks continuously for several days. Although, deep inside, he balked at what he now had to do, the obedient footslave began to ‘leck’ her ‘fuss’. Salt was the overwhelming taste this time – salty, feminine foot-sweat mixed with cheesy pieces of black toe-jam. The slave also noticed some white sock lint on the base of her big toe. He licked it off.

Her foot was warm and soft, but, as he lathed with his tongue between her sweaty toes, the footslave felt an overwhelming sense of humiliation and degradation at the fact that this beautiful and dominant young woman was using his mouth to clean her dirty foot –a foot that she herself could clearly not have been bothered to wash or clean for several days. Of course, he didn’t feel any resentment towards the young woman. She was his superior mistress and he was a mere slave, to whom she could do, and was doing, whatever she liked. He had to acknowledge also that a mistress had every right not to clean her own feet. But what particularly galled him was his overwhelming sense that to her he was literally nothing more than a dumb, human foot-spa, fit only to tongue-wash away the accumulated filth and sweat of several days from her divine feet.

As he licked around the outer side of her foot he noticed a little white blister just below her big toe. Beate was painfully aware of the blister to. It had been causing her some discomfort for two days now. She decided that the footslave should ‘kiss it better’:

“Sklave, kuss die blase auf meinem fuss!”, she shouted.

This time, the slave did not understand what she was saying. Agata had clearly understood, for she was literally jumping up and down and clapping her hands with delight at what her friend had just ordered him to do. Whatever it was, mistress Agata was clearly excited by it – so, presumably it was something particularly humiliating. But the slave, to his consternation, had no idea what he was being told to do.

He froze.

Beate leaned down and slapped him hard across his right cheek:

“Du schmutziger sklave! Kuss die blase! Kuss die blase!”, she screamed at him. Mercifully, she also pointed to the blister on the side of her foot and the stupid footslave at last realized what he was being ordered to do. Mistress Beate wanted him to kiss her foot-blister.

With his head still ringing from the blow of her slap he dutifully lowered his slave lips to brush gently against the top of her blister. He knew he mustn’t hurt her in any way – the punishment for a slave who causes even minor discomfort to a mistress just didn’t bear thinking about- so his kiss to the blister was both gentle and respectful. Agata whooped with delight and the two girls mocked the pathetic footslave who had now been reduced to kissing an aberration on a young woman’s foot.

When she was satisfied that he had paid sufficient respects to her blister, Mistress Beate dried her foot by rubbing it through what hair was left on the balding footslave’s head. She commented to her friend Agata on the slave’s receding hair and the two girls giggled as Beate suggested that she should give his bald head some protection from the sun by applying sun cream to it – with her bare foot.

The slave, who had not understood what the girls had been saying, observed as mistress Beate smeared some fragrant, white cream onto her soft, pretty bare foot, making sure to work some of it in between her toes, before placing the sole of her foot on the top of his head and then rubbing the cream into his balding pate and down the front of his face. The slave could smell a curious mix of mistress Beate’s residual foot-sweat, combined with the sweet smelling sun cream as the young German woman carried out her kindly act in the most degrading way she could think of. How Agata laughed as her cruel friend humiliated the slave in yet another ingenious way! She had to admire Beate for her originality when it came to slave-domination.

The two female backpackers spent a further half hour humiliating and degrading the public footslave with their dirty, sweaty feet and footwear. After he had sniffed and sucked on Beate’s right socked foot, and then licked clean her bare foot, her friend Agata stepped up to the wooden footblock. Although she too made him lick the mud off her dirty, brown, leather hiking boots, unlike her friend she did not require the slave to smell the sweat-drenched navy blue socks she was wearing inside them, or to lick her bare feet. So her boots, mercifully, stayed on. She did, however, kindly allow him to kiss the exposed, elasticated tops of the thick, navy blue bootsocks she was wearing. She also granted him the privilege of tasting and smelling the dirty socks she had inside her rucksack – several pairs, of differing colours and textures – holding each individual sock up to his nose so that he got a full flavour of her personal foot odour which, if it did not exceed, certainly rivaled her friend Beate’s foot-stink.

The humiliation only stopped when the tannoy in the town square announced that it was time for the public flogging to be carried out. As Agata put her dirty socks back into her rucksack and the two girls headed off to join the gathering crowd in the centre of the square, the public footslave literally breathed a huge sigh of relief. Fresh air again! He hated to even think it, for it was incredibly selfish, but the unknown slave’s impending suffering had spared him from the degradation of having to smell even more of mistress Agata’s sweaty socks – and he was grateful for the timing of the flogging.

From his lowly kneeling position at the edge of the town square, the footslave could never see the public floggings. But he could hear them – the terrifying swish of the whip as it whistled through the air, the sickening crack across bare flesh, the agonized scream of the recipient slave followed by the cheers of the crowd and the shouts of ‘more!’ and ‘harder!’ as they urged the flogger to even greater efforts. Of course, he knew that the slave being punished must be male, and the flogger was in all probability female – almost certainly a fit, young policewoman who would have been specially trained in the art of ‘correction’. But, whilst he realized he should be feeling sympathy for his fellow-slave undergoing such agonizing punishment, the public footslave was actually just glad of the opportunity that the public whippings gave him to have a rest. It was most unusual for any woman not to want to watch a slave being whipped, and so he rarely had to deal with any customers during the punishment sessions. One male slave’s agony was another male slave’s respite.

Having said that, it was often a respite that didn’t last for long – and experience had shown him that immediately after a public whipping he would often be at his busiest, as women, fired up by the sights and sounds of male suffering and female power, wanted to express their own dominance by humbling the public footslave.

One such woman was 40 year-old mistress Rachel. She was one of the public footslave’s regulars – and was also a regular witness at the public floggings. In a less enlightened society she might have been pejoratively described as a ‘sadist’, but in this society she was admired for what she was – a superior dominant woman in the prime of life. She delighted in teasing and verbally humiliating slaves, and especially enjoyed taunting the public footslave. She particularly loved the fact that he was immobile and totally powerless, forced to kneel in the same position day in and day out and to lick the dirty shoes and feet of any woman who ordered him to do so, including herself, whilst she, in complete contrast, could go anywhere she liked, do anything she liked and, as a single woman, live her life in any way she wanted to, beholden to no-one.

The footslave recognized her feet and legs as she approached. It was a sad fact of his wretched existence that he recognized his regular customers from their feet and footwear rather than their faces. He wasn’t good enough to look upon their beautiful faces. But at least he could appreciate mistress Rachel’s beautiful legs, clad as they were in sheer black nylons under her knee-length skirt – and her feet, shod in her favourite pair of black leather high-heeled pumps. Mistress Rachel had made sure that her shoes were not too clean for the footslave. How thoughtful she was! Although she was fastidious about her personal appearance, she wanted to make sure there was at least some street-dirt for him to lick off.

As she positioned her shapely high-heeled ankle onto his humble wooden footblock mistress Rachel ‘looked down’ on the slave in every sense of those words. How pathetic he was. How lowly. How mean. An inferior in every way.

“Lick my shoe, dirty footlick”, she ordered, her voice betraying her contempt for him.

As the slave once again extended his tongue to touch dirty female shoe leather, mistress Rachel verbally harassed him. She asked him if he had heard the public flogging? Did he think the slave had liked the whipping? Or did the slave’s pitiful screams for mercy suggest that he had not liked it? Did he think the slave had deserved to be whipped? Did he himself crave to be whipped, or was he frightened of the whip? When was he last whipped himself? What had the pain been like? What does it feel like to be a helpless male slave, tied up to a whipping post and flogged by a woman? Etc etc.

As he licked mistress Rachel’s high-heeled leather shoe the footslave did his best to answer her, often rhetorical, questions. He fully realized that for the most part, she wasn’t interested in his opinions or his answers. It was just her way of exulting in her power over him, and she was perfectly entitled to taunt him in this way if that was what she wished.

Just as she was switching over to present him with her left foot, however, their
somewhat meaningless conversation was interrupted by an American voice:

“Hi there! My name is Carrie Kuslowski and I’m a reporter for the ‘Women in Power’ programme on the ‘Femdom’ channel”.

Both mistress Rachel and the footslave had failed to notice the television crew approaching them from the centre of the square, so engrossed had they both been in their mistress/slave small-talk.

“Hello, I’m Rachel”, replied Rachel, fully aware that the reporter was, of course, addressing her and not the humble footslave.

“Hi, Rachel. Nice to meet you”, continued mistress Carrie. “Listen, we’ve just been filming the public flogging of that disobedient slave and we also wanted to do a piece on the public footslave. Would you mind if we filmed you and asked you a few questions while the slave works on your shoes?”.

This was music to Rachel’s ears. Not only would she be humiliating the public footslave – she’d be doing it on national television! – well, on American cable TV at least:

“I’d be delighted”, she replied, with a broad grin on her pretty face.

“Great!”, exclaimed Carrie, “well, this is Robert my director; David, my cameraman; and Pamela my sound recordist”.

From his lowly position the slave could now see, in addition to mistress Rachel’s stockinged foot and high-heeled shoe on the block directly under his face (a shoe which, incidentally, he was still licking), another pair of high heels, this time in shiny black patent leather belonging to mistress Carrie, the reporter; a pair of ugly male brogues and jeans which presumably belonged to the director, master Robert; a pair of male sneakers and jeans belonging to master David, the cameraman; and a pair of high-top red and white sneakers with white, calf-length socks topped with yellow and green stripes , evidently belonging to the female sound recordist, mistress Pamela, a black girl who appeared to be in her early twenties.

Mistress Pamela’s footwear particularly caught the footslave’s eye. She must be wearing very short shorts or a very short skirt as her beautiful black legs appeared to go on forever above her fully pulled-up white sports socks. From his humble vantage point, she looked stunning.

For her part Rachel was admiring the director. She did respect and admire free men, and Robert struck her as rather handsome, although she couldn’t help thinking it was somewhat ironic that the director of a programme called ‘Women in Power’ on the ‘Femdom channel’ should be male! She was gratified, however, to see that Carrie, a woman who was in her mid thirties, appeared to be the one in charge of everything:

“Okay, Rachel, what I think we’ll do is just get a few shots of you having your shoes licked whilst I ask you a few questions to camera. Would that be ok?”, asked Carrie.

“Sure thing”, replied Rachel.

Robert, the director, then offered mistress Rachel some advice:

“Okay, Rachel, just behave naturally and try to forget the camera is there”,

Rachel smiled at him:

“No problem”, she replied.

Robert then signaled to David, the cameraman, and Pamela, the pretty sound recordist, to move into position ready for the ‘take’. As they did so, and as he was still obediently licking mistress Rachel’s left shoe as he had not been ordered to stop, the footslave couldn’t help but notice that mistress Pamela was stretching one sneakered foot out towards him as she balanced the sound boom. He could even see some creases in her sock just above her sneaker – caused by the positioning of her foot. It was as if she was preparing for him to kiss her beautiful foot.

The camera was positioned for a close-up of mistress Rachel’s stockinged and high-heeled left foot, as mistress Carrie made some final adjustments to her smart pin-striped, dark blue skirt and jacket.

“Ok. Ready everyone – and action!”, said the director,

There was a moment’s silence as the camera focused on the slave’s licking the side of mistress Rachel’s left shoe. The camera then slowly panned up Rachel’s shapely leg until her face was in shot. Mistress Carrie then spoke:

“Rachel, can I ask you how often you utilize the services of the public footslave?”

“About two or three times a week – whenever I’m in town really”.

“I see. And do you only ever have your shoes licked clean by him, or do you make him serve your feet in other ways?”

“Oh no! Sometimes I make him kiss my stockinged feet, or even lick my bare feet clean in the summer”.

“Rachel, you look really cool as you stand here having your shoes licked clean in the town square by the public footslave. But tell me, do you ever feel embarrassed at such a public display of your authority and power?”

Mistress Rachel, who was now perfectly relaxed, laughed:

“Not at all!. There’s nothing unusual about this in our town. There are lots of public footslaves dotted about throughout the town centre. It’s just a normal part of life – having your feet and footwear cleaned by a dirty, public slave”

“Fantastic!. Thanks for talking to us Rachel”.

“-----------and cut!”, said master Robert.

“That was great, Rachel”, continued mistress Carrie, “if you would just like to sign this consent form and put your full name and address on it, we’ll be sending you a small ‘appearance fee’ for your trouble”.

Rachel was delighted. Not only was she getting to humiliate a slave on TV, she would be getting paid for it! She stepped away from the footslave and signed the form.

After mistress Rachel had left, the TV crew decided they would film the introduction and conclusion of their piece so that everything could then be edited together back in the studio. Mistress Carrie had apparently already worked out her script.

The camera focused on her and Pamela held the sound boom out of shot above Carrie’s head as mistress Carrie recorded her introduction:

“Ladies, you know how it is. You’re walking through the centre of town on your way to an important business meeting, or perhaps to that special romantic date, when you suddenly notice that you’ve stepped in some mud and your shoe is dirty! You don’t have any tissues. What is a girl to do?

Well, here in the town square in Barbaria it’s no problem! You just walk up to the public footslave”, (at this point mistress Carrie started to walk towards him and placed her right foot onto the wooden footblock), “place your foot in front of him”,
(the camera focused in on her foot), “and order him to lick it clean”.

The camera then closed in on Carries pretty face as she looked down at the humble footslave:

“Slave, clean my dirty shoe”, she ordered.

The slave took his cue and immediately lowered his lips to the female reporter’s shiny black high-heeled shoe. It wasn’t terribly dirty, but mistress Carrie had apparently ensured that there was one streak of mud down the side of her shoe, so that the viewers would get a good close-up shot of her shoe-muck going onto the slave’s tongue. She was wearing flesh-coloured tights and the footslave wondered whether the camera was also picking up the ever so slight ladder in her tights that he could see just below her ankle. He suspected not, as her stocking was now conveniently creased just at that point.

“See, it’s that easy!”, continued mistress Carrie, “You order, and the slave obeys. Your shoes are clean again in minutes! And it doesn’t cost a cent!

Earlier I spoke to one of the inhabitants of the town, mistress Rachel. This is what she had to say:”

“---------and cut!”, said master Robert.

Mistress Carrie immediately took her foot away from the block- apparently unconcerned as to whether her shoe had really been cleaned or not. She then did a final piece to camera by way of ‘signing off’:

“So ladies, the next time you visit Barbaria, remember to make use of the public footslave. Don’t be embarrassed. As Rachel says, in this town it’s the most natural thing in the world!. This is Carrie Kuslowski, for ‘Women in Power’ on the Femdom channel”.

“--------and cut!. OK everyone, that’s a wrap!”, concluded master Robert.

As the crew were packing up to leave, mistress Carrie offered to hold mistress Pamela’s sound boom and suggested to her that she experience the use of the footslave for herself.

The footslave’s heart leapt – yes! He was going to get the chance to pay his respects to this lovely young woman with her stripy yellow and green socks!

Mistress Pamela appeared to have no hesitation in approaching the footblock. This time she extended her right foot towards him for him to kiss for real.

“Kiss my sneaker, footslave”, she ordered him in a southern drawl. She appeared to be chewing gum.

As he lowered his lips to the top of her red and white sneaker, her pulled-up white sock seemed to tower above him, reinforcing her superiority over him. He planted a genuinely respectful kiss onto the rubber of her sneaker toe and was thrilled as he saw mistress Pamela’s foot flex under her sock in reaction to his humble act of submission.

Her sneaker showed some signs of dirt – particularly on the white parts around the bottom and on the toe. He kissed her right sneaker several times before she switched feet:

“And the other one, slaveboy”, she snapped.

Slaveboy! He was at least twice her age, but by calling him ‘slaveboy’ this young woman was clearly indicating her contempt for the pathetic slave at her superior feet. She was everything he was not – good-looking, intelligent and a free human-being. She was also a member of the superior sex. She may have been the junior member of the TV crew, but the footslave felt truly honoured to be allowed to kiss the dirty sneakers of this black goddess. He would have liked the honour of kissing her smart socks also, or of running his slave nose down the pattern of the stitching, all the way from the yellow stripe at the top, past the green stripe below it and down the white cotton material to the top of her sneaker- but it wasn’t to be. Master Robert interrupted proceedings:

“OK, everyone. We’ve got some good ‘footage’ there. Let’s all go for a drink before heading back to the studio!”.

Of course, the public footslave wasn’t included in the invitation to drinks.

Nor would he, in spite of his starring role, be receiving any ‘appearance fee’ for his part in the TV programme.

Part 7 – The Abolitionist

The afternoon sun really was getting rather hot now and the public footslave noticed that he was developing a raging thirst. Perhaps the mention of ‘drinks’ by the television crew, and the thought that the lovely sound recordist, miss Pamela, would soon be sipping a refreshing fruit juice whilst his own mouth was still full of the taste of her dirty sneakers, added to his sense of thirst.

As luck would have it, however, one of the waitresses from the neighbouring restaurant in the town square had been watching the footslave at work during her mid-afternoon break, and she had decided to avail herself of his services also.

Mae-Pia was a pretty, 22 year old girl from Thailand. She had only been working in the restaurant in the town square for a week, and had taken the part-time job to help fund her English language lessons. She found the job rather boring, but it did have its compensations – being pretty and very polite she got lots of tips from the customers; and if ever she felt bored or tired, or if she was shouted at by a particularly stroppy customer, she only had to observe the poor public footslave at work next door to realise that, compared to him, she was living a life of luxury!

In fact she had taken to observing the public footslave at work whenever she had a break. She enjoyed watching the various women humiliating him with their feet and she particularly liked it when they shouted at him and slapped him. She often felt like slapping some of her more arrogant male customers herself, but realised that would mean instant dismissal. It had already occurred to her, however, that if ever she got to the stage where she couldn’t control her emotions she could always pop over to the public footslave’s booth and take out her frustrations on him with complete impunity. She liked that idea very much.

Mae-Pia had fifteen minutes left of her break, and as she stubbed out her cigarette under her sandaled foot she decided it was time that she introduced herself to her ‘neighbour’.

From his humble kneeling position the footslave saw only her legs and feet as she approached. He observed her brown, shapely bare legs beneath the hem of her short , blue denim skirt, and her brown, strappy, flat-heeled sandals which afforded a clear view of her pretty toes with their pedicured nails painted bright red. What he could not see was her white, summer blouse, her dark sunglasses and her shoulder length dark hair framing her pretty oriental features.

Mae-Pia had by now seen dozens of women utilising the services of the public footslave so she knew exactly what to do. She stepped straight up to the slightly raised wooden footblock and positioned her right foot on it directly under the slave’s nose:

“Slave kiss Mae-Pia’s feet. Slave worship!”.

The footslave instantly detected her cute, oriental accent as he obediently lowered his now parched lips to the top of Mae-Pia’s painted big toe.

He sensed the young woman suppress a short shriek of delight as she felt his slave lips touching her soft footflesh for the first time. Mae-Pia realised instantly that, whilst watching the humble footslave kissing the feet of other women was great fun, having him kiss her own feet was even better! How powerful it made her feel! Like an eastern goddess from ancient times having her personal foot-attendant pay tribute to her celestial feet.

The slave kissed the top of her bare foot several times, occasionally kissing also the brown leather strap of the sandal across the top of her foot. He detected the familiar aroma of feminine foot-sweat, but unlike, for example, with the German backpacker-girls, the aroma was not overpowering. Nor could he see any blisters or rough skin – apart, perhaps, from a very small patch of hard skin at the base of her heel. It was, basically, a beautiful, shapely, petite, oriental female foot, and one that the slave was more than happy to kiss.

And Mae-Pia was equally happy to let the footslave just pay his humble respects to her right foot for several minutes, before she eventually withdrew it from the footblock and then replaced it with her left foot.

As the footslave lowered his lips to pay homage to her equally well-pedicured left foot, Mae-Pia spoke again:

“Mae-Pia work in restaurant. Watch slave work. Many women – dirty feet. Slave get tired?”.

The footslave was rather flattered that such a delightful young woman should have been watching him work, and that she was showing apparent concern for his well-being. He interrupted his foot-kissing briefly to respond to the young mistress’s question:

“Yes, thank you, Mistress Mae-Pia. The work is hard, but I am a footslave and it is what I must do”.

As he resumed kissing the top of her left foot and sandal, Mae-Pia continued with her questioning:

“Mae-Pia see slave eating many shoe-dirt; licking boots. Taste bad. Slave thirsty? Like water?”

It was at this point that the footslave saw that she was holding a bottle of water-presumably from the restaurant- in her right hand. How kind of this young off-duty waitress to offer him some refreshment! If it wasn’t for kind-hearted girls like her his existence would be truly miserable:

“Oh, yes please mistress. This slave is very thirsty”, he replied, just as he caught a whiff of the smell of her brown, leather sandal in his nose.

Mae-Pia seemed pleased that he was thirsty and wanted her water. She laughed, and began to unscrew the bottle top. She then removed her left foot from the wooden footblock and slipped off her sandal.

The footslave sensed that she was not simply going to give him a swig of her precious water - and he was right, for Mae-Pia then proceeded to pour the water all over her bare foot directly in front of the slave’s face. She clearly found the cold water very soothing to her bare foot as she gave out a pleasurable moan as the water tricked between her toes and around the ball of her pretty, asian foot. She then laughed, and held her wet, left foot up to the kneeling slave’s dry lips:

“Ha Ha! Slave lick water off Mae-Pia’s foot. Drink sweat and water!”.

Pathetic though it might seem, the footslave was still grateful for this act of kindness from the young Thai mistress. At that moment in time any water, even if it was mixed in with the girl’s foot-sweat and toe jam, was going to be welcome to him – his mouth was just so dry!

He therefore eagerly extended his tongue and lapped off the remaining droplets of water from her foot. He licked the wrinkled sole of her foot, the ball of her foot, the soft upper and in between her toes. Thankfully there was still enough water on her foot to help moisten his lips and tongue, if not exactly to quench his thirst.

For her part, Mae-Pia started giggling as she found the slave’s tongue ticklish as it darted in and out between her bare toes. She was also finding it difficult to balance on just one foot and so she lowered her left foot onto the wooden footblock again, but keeping it arched so that the footslave could still lick all around the creases in her bare sole.

The slave liked the way the arching of the foot caused the young woman’s skin to crease also at the back of her ankle- and made sure that his slave tongue licked in those tiny folds as well.

As he did so Mae-Pia finished off her bottle of water by drinking it. She had decided that there just wasn’t time for the slave to drink the remaining water from her other foot, and simply holding the bottle up to his lips for him to drink the remaining water didn’t even occur to her. He was, after all, just a slave – hardly worthy to drink water that had not first been contaminated in some way by a young woman’s foot.

And so, somewhat reluctantly, Mae-Pia withdrew her now refreshed foot from the footblock and slipped it back into her sandal. She didn’t feel any need to slap the footslave at that particular moment. She had enjoyed his services and his worship of her feet, and she knew that he would always be there if and when she ever did feel the need to hurt someone.

“Mae-Pia go back to work. Slave thank Mae-Pia for drink!”, she ordered.

The slave did want to thank her. He was genuinely grateful for small mercies- and lapping water from the bare feet of a beautiful young Thai woman constituted a small mercy in his world:

“Thank you, mistress Mae-Pia. This slave is very grateful for the water you have given him”.

Mae-Pia laughed with satisfaction. Domination and humiliation of a male slave really was great fun!

“Mae-Pia use slave again soon!” – were her parting words to the slave.

For his part, the footslave looked forward to serving her again.

The respite to his thirst from Mae-Pia’s foot water was, perhaps not surprisingly, short-lived. He really needed a proper drink – but he knew that just wasn’t going to happen. He would just have to endure the thirst, and hope that the taste of his subsequent customers’ feet and footwear would in some way suppress the raging thirst. He knew that was the only thing he could guarantee – plenty more feminine shoes, boots, sandals and feet to kiss, lick and suck.

As always, he didn’t have long to wait for his next customer.

It all started quite normally. The young woman, who he guessed was in her late twenties, was wearing blue denim jeans, white ankle socks and white clog-style sneakers – giving a full view of her socked heel and ankle at the back. She placed her right foot onto the footblock and ordered him to ‘kiss her sneakers’.
It was as he did so, however, that the conversation took a somewhat bizarre turn:

“Listen, slave, I want you to keep on kissing my shoes whilst I talk. Don’t say anything until I tell you to. Just act normally”.

The footslave was quite taken aback. What on earth was this young mistress on about? He carried on kissing the top of her, rather scuffed, white sneaker as she continued:

“I can get you out of here. I belong to an organisation that smuggles male slaves like you out of the country and abroad to freedom. We can have you out of here by the end of the week. Are you interested? Just answer ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.”

The slave’s heart sank. An abolitionist! He had heard about them, and the considerable success they had been having of late in smuggling slaves to freedom. What kind-hearted and brave people they were!

The problem was - he didn’t want freedom. The footslave knew that he was a slave by nature; that he was where he belonged. Escape to ‘freedom’ had never crossed his mind. However wretched and miserable his life was – it was the life fate had decreed for him. And he didn’t want to tempt fate. He knew he must decline the young woman’s kind offer:

“No, mistress”.

There was an awkward silence.

He wanted to say more – to explain to the young woman that he was flattered by her offer of help; that he admired her and her organisation for what they did; but that freedom was just not for him.

But the mistress had instructed him just to reply ‘yes’ or ‘no’, and precisely because he was a slave by nature, he could not bring himself to disobey her by giving her a lengthy explanation for his reply.

The next thing he noticed was the complete change in the young woman’s tone and attitude towards him:

“I see!”, she exclaimed. “Ungrateful, pathetic cur! Wretched foot-faggot! So you’d rather stay here for the rest of your miserable life licking women’s dirty feet, would you? Well, see if I care! That’s obviously all you're good for!”.

The anger in the young woman’s voice was palpable, and coming so soon after the kindliness of the Thai girl was all the more disconcerting to the footslave.

The young would-be abolitionist continued with her diatribe against him:

“I’ll tell you what you can do, in that case, foot-slut – you can lick my white sneakers with your dirty slave tongue until they are shining clean. I want to see every speck of dust and dirt disappearing into your ugly, slave mouth. I want my sneakers spotless – and I don’t care if you have to lick them until your sorry tongue wears off!”.

The footslave decided he must now be at his most ultra-humble:

“This pathetic footslave obeys its mistress”, he spluttered as he duly lowered his tongue to lick the mud off the side of her sneakers.

“No talking, footslave!”, interjected the young mistress. “Your mouth and tongue aren’t fit to talk to me. Licking my dirty shoe is all you're good for, and I’m going to make damn sure you get what you wish for – the taste of female shoe-dirt!”

The slave was frightened at how quickly the young woman’s demeanour had changed. He was ashamed that he had turned this kind-hearted young woman against him. Her reaction was entirely justified. He, a mere slave, had effectively embarrassed and humiliated her. He hated himself almost as much as she now hated him.

The young woman was now pointing down at a streak of muck just above the stitching on the sole along the outer side of her sneaker-clog:

“Lick there, dirty shoelick! Clean off all that dried-on mud from the bottom of my sneaker. And be quick about it! I haven’t got all day!”

The slave licked furiously at the offending muck – but he knew that ingrained stains such as this were well-nigh impossible to remove by tongue-power alone. Nevertheless, he did his best. He at least owed the young woman that much.

After a few minutes, more out of frustration than satisfaction, the young mistress shifted feet and placed her left, sneakered foot onto the footblock under his face:

“And the other one, foot-whore!”, she snapped.

As he licked right around to the back of her sneaker he saw how her white ankle sock was creased around her ankle – caused by the angle of her foot. They were quite thick socks, with much heavier, crochet-styled stitching around the cuff giving the impression that they were almost slouch socks. It was as he was admiring her left sock that the mistress kicked off her left shoe:

“Now you can smell my sweaty sock, you dirty good-for-nothing sockslave!”, she bayed. “Come on, get your nose in between my socked toes and sniff. I want to hear you smelling my sock-stink!”

The slave obeyed, placed his nose deep into the reinforced area of the white sock that covered her toes, and audibly sniffed – not once, but several times. If there was one thing he did know how to do well, it was how to be a good sock-sniffer. Not that the young woman seemed all that impressed:

“Harder, sockslave, I want to feel the sweat from my dirty white socks disappearing up your slave nose. Come on, this is what you want, isn’t it? To smell ladies’ socks all day long? So, get on with it, you useless jerk!”

The sad thing was that it was what the footslave wanted. Or rather, it was all he expected out of life – to smell women’s foot-odour.

After he had sniffed her left socked foot for what seemed like five minutes, the young mistress took off her right shoe and ordered him to do the same with her right sock. This time he could see some yellow stains and discolouration on the area of her white sock beneath her toes. The wearer of the socks had noticed it too:

“Come on, slave, lick that yellow sweat off the bottom of my nice, white sock! I want my sock to be as white as snow by the time you’ve finished!”.

The experienced footslave knew that this would be yet another tall order. Only a good overnight soaking in his slave mouth could possibly hope to remove that degree of sweat-staining. But he did his best to first moisten the stains and then lick them off.

Again, after some five minutes the young woman peeled off her right sock and placed her now bare foot onto the wooden footblock:

“Now you can lick the sweat off my bare foot, foot-slavey. Taste my foot-sweat! Lick it all up, and make sure your tongue also takes any toe-jam and dead foot-skin with it. I want my feet to be pristine-clean, you dirty, ungrateful foot-pig!”.

Yes, there was no doubt about it. The slave had mortally offended this well-intentioned young woman, and he deserved the humiliation she was now putting him through. As he licked the rough skin around the base of her heels he did indeed feel some dry, dead skin come off onto his tongue . And he swallowed it, for that was where the mistress’s dead foot-skin belonged – in his footslave-stomach.

To complete her degradation of the ungrateful footslave the young woman then took off her left sock and had him lick clean her sweaty left foot. She kept him at it for some 10 minutes before, finally, she had decided he had had enough.

Still angry, she put her shoes and socks back on, then knelt down and slapped him hard across both cheeks:

“Have a nice life, footslave”, she spat at him as she stormed off.

As he watched her shoes and socks disappearing into the town square, the public footslave began to have doubts. Had he done the right thing? Should he have taken a risk and taken the abolitionist up on her offer? Whatever, it was too late now. He would remain a footslave for the rest of his natural life.

Well, what would you have done in his position?

Part 8 – The Hen Party

It was now early evening. People, ladies included, were heading home from work -- perhaps a little tired; perhaps planning a relaxing evening in front of the television snuggled up with their loved ones; perhaps looking forward to going out for a meal.

One thing all the public footslave’s early evening customers tended to have in common was that their tired feet were that bit dirtier and sweatier than they would have been at the start of the day. It was inevitable -- unavoidable. These women were, after all, unlike the public footslave, leading active lives. Their energy produced sweat – sweat which, if it was on their feet, was for the footslave to remove with his tongue. It’s what he was there for.

But that wasn't all he was there for. Just as throughout the day, there were many little foot-services he could provide for his female customers as they headed home from work in the evening.

Mistress Suzanna was one such lady in need of his services. 25 year old, blonde Suzanna had just finished a long day’s work in her office where she was a PA to the director of a major multinational company. Dressed in a smart navy blue pin-striped business suit consisting of a jacket and knee-length skirt, as she walked across the town square towards the train station she felt an irritating little stone inside her shoe. Not only was it uncomfortable, she was worried that it might tear the sole of her dark nylon stockings. They were a new pair – fresh on that day – it would be a shame to ruin them so soon.

So, to quote the TV reporter, ‘What’s a girl to do’ in such a situation?

Well, she could, of course, stop for a minute, take off her low-heeled, navy blue, leather pump, and shake out the stone. But why should she, when there was a public footslave situated just yards away who could remove the offending stone for her? Suzanna considered that removing her own shoe was beneath her. It was a slave’s job, and luckily a slave was to hand.

She marched over to the footslave’s stand, placed her right foot onto the wooden block under his kneeling nose, and, in a somewhat impatient and abrupt manner, explained her problem to him, and asked him what he was intending to do about it.

The footslave was always particularly wary of young businesswomen who appeared to be irritated or in a rush. Perhaps it was because they had to fight so much harder in their place of work to gain status and professional respect amongst their male peers; perhaps it was because they felt they had to be that bit more ‘aggressive’ in life in order to get on. Whatever it was about young, ambitious businesswomen, the footslave knew from bitter experience that it was best to be at one’s humblest when serving them- to make it quite clear from one’s words and actions that one had nothing but the deepest respect for such women and recognized and admired their innate superiority:

“If it pleases you, superior mistress, this insignificant footslave would deem it an honour if the superior mistress would permit it to remove the stone from the superior mistress’s shoe with its dirty, slave tongue.”

Mistress Suzanna was pleased with the footslave’s obsequiousness and cringing servility. It was precisely how a slave should speak to her, for she was better than him and deserving of his abject respect. She decided, therefore, that she would assist him in his demeaning task by slipping her foot out of her shoe.

As she exposed her stockinged toes to the fresh evening air she confirmed to the slave that she would indeed bestow upon him the honour of removing the offending stone. She also, graciously, informed him that once he had lifted it from the inside of her shoe with his dirty tongue he was permitted to spit it to one side. In other words, she wasn’t going to make him swallow it. Suzanna had in fact decided that the public footslave wasn’t worthy to swallow a stone which had been in such intimate contact with her stockinged foot.

Because the navy blue, leather pump was low-heeled the small stone was immediately visible inside the shoe. As the footslave lowered his face to the mistress’s otherwise empty shoe he observed the staining on the beige inner lining caused, no doubt, by the lady’s divine foot-sweat. He noticed too how the shoe smelt warm. She had presumably been wearing it all day and, brand new stockings or not, the young woman had built up a natural foot-sweat as she had gone about her business for the day, leaving a faint but nonetheless noticeable aroma of sweaty nylon foot inside the shoe – an aroma he knew he was privileged to be allowed to smell.

He placed his wet tongue onto the stone and successfully lifted it from inside the pretty shoe. He thought he could taste a hint of salty, feminine foot-sweat on the stone, but, all too soon, and in accordance with the mistress-businesswoman’s orders, he was required to throw it off his tongue and to one side – into the street dirt where it belonged.

Almost immediately mistress Suzanna slipped her stockinged foot back into the now debris-free shoe. Her stocking creased around the ankle as she positioned her dainty foot into the leather pump. She would have liked to stay longer and have the wretched footslave pay homage to her shoes, lick them clean – and perhaps even kiss and smell her nylon-stockinged toes. But she had a train to catch, and so she just left. No need to thank the slave, and no time to order him to thank her for the privilege of what he had just been allowed to do. He was, at the end of the day, just a humble footslave, doing what humble footslaves do – serving his female betters. Mistress Suzanna had more respect for the discarded stone than she did for the pathetic footslave.

As the evening sun began to set the floodlight came on. This was a bright light, strategically positioned so that it lit up the wooden footblock over which the slave was kneeling. It was designed to give both the footslave and his female customers a good view of the feet and footwear he was serving. It ensured that every trace of dirt on every feminine shoe or boot, every stitch of every feminine sock or stocking, every piece of sock-lint or toe-jam on every feminine foot was highlighted and clearly visible in spite of the surrounding darkness. He would be working right through until 10:00 PM – or later if his minder, mistress Julianna, was late in ‘closing him up’ for the night. He hoped she wouldn’t be late tonight- he was tired.

But a footslave’s work sometimes feels like it is never done, and the footslave’s self-preservation instincts soon alerted him to a particular danger that was most common during the evening – an approaching group of young, loud, drunken females.

Young women who are sober can be cruel and demanding enough. But young women who are drunk, especially if they are in a gang or a group, can pose a particular danger to a vulnerable and helpless public footslave.

It was 28 year old Clare’s hen party – 7 of her best friends all determined to celebrate her last night of ‘freedom’ before her impending marriage to her fiancé Michael.

Although the night was still young, most of the girls, particularly Clare, were already quite drunk. They had just left one bar and were heading across the town square to another one, when Liz, one of Clare’s party, had spotted the public footslave – lit up by the floodlight.

She suggested, and the rest of the girls eagerly agreed, that they should go over to him, and have some fun at his expense. After all, he was meant to be humiliated and made fun of. He was pathetic, chained up all day in the public square having to lick clean women’s dirty shoes, boots and feet. What a dork! Not a real man. ‘Not like my Michael’, thought Clare.

The girls crowded round the frightened footslave as Liz urged Clare to make use of him:

“Why don’t you make him kiss your smelly feet, Clare?”, she laughed.

“Yeah, make him worship your feet while you’re still a virgin, Clare!”, screamed one of the other girls.

The entire party, including Clare, roared with drunken laughter at the idea of Clare still being a virgin on the eve of her wedding.

The irony was, of course, that the only ‘virgin’ present was the footslave – and they all knew it. Footslaves were never allowed to have sex. The idea of it was quite risible. A mere footslave being allowed intimacy with a superior woman? Out of the question!

Clare responded to her friend’s suggestion by placing her right foot onto the slave’s wooden footblock:

“My feet don’t smell, do they, footlick?”, she asked him coyly.

Mistress Clare was looking very pretty in her short, black party frock, bare legs and strappy, white stiletto sandals.

The footslave thought that the best policy he could adopt over the next few minutes would be just to agree with everything the young women said:

“No, mistress. Your feet are very beautiful, mistress”.

Clare and the girls laughed:

“Aw, he’s so sweet”, said Georgina, a petite, slightly podgy red-head, waving a bottle of alco-pop in one hand , “Why don’t you take him home with you, Clare. I’m sure Michael wouldn’t mind. You could keep him as your personal little piggy-wiggy footsie-slave!”.

“Who, Michael?”, replied Clare.

Again there was raucous laughter. The idea of macho Michael being a footslave was just so ridiculous! He was a proper man, not like this pathetic creature groveling in the dirt at their feet.

“What do you say, slave, can I take you home? Do you want to be my personal footslave, since you like my feet so much?”, teased mistress Clare.

“If it pleases you, mistress, this slave would be honoured to be your personal footslave, but regrets that it is a public footslave and is therefore unable to leave its position in the town square”, responded the cringing footslave, well aware that mistress Clare had no intention whatsoever of taking him anywhere with her.

“Kiss my foot before you speak to me, you dirty foot-queer!”, mistress Clare barked back a him. She bent down and slapped him across the face. Her mood could change so rapidly whenever she was drunk.

The footslave, his cheek throbbing, hurriedly lowered his lips to the white leather of her strappy sandal. Her pink-painted toenails glistened under his nose in the bright light. He saw that she was wearing a toe-ring on her middle toe, and noticed also how the skin at the back of her heel was wrinkled and showing signs of skin that had been roughened by the wearing of heavy boots and shoes over the winter.

“That’s right, Clare, you tell him!”, encouraged, Simone - one of the other girls in the group, “Make him kiss and worship your feet! He’s nothing but a filthy foot-flunkey!”.

The other girls laughed at Simone’s use of alliteration to describe the humble footslave. Mistress Georgina leaned forward and dribbled a large string of saliva onto the top of the slave’s head as he continued to kiss mistress Clare’s sandals.

“Watch out!”, screamed Clare, much to her friends’ great amusement, “I don’t want any of your gob on my shoes!”.

“It’s alright”, Georgina reassured her, “I’m just washing the slave’s hair – or what’s left of it!”

Again – screams of laughter from the young women who, at that moment, were in charge of the older ‘man’.

Clare suddenly felt a bit queasy. She removed her outstretched foot from the wooden footblock and stepped to one side.

“Are you alright, honey?”, asked Liz.

Clare’s response was to throw up right beside the footslave’s kneeling face. She really had had too much to drink already.

The girls all crowded round Clare offering her their support:

“Never mind, sweetie, better out than in!”, chirped Simone.

When Clare had finished being sick the girls moved off – to the next bar, leaving the footslave with the stench of the superior mistress’s vomit beside him. He tried not to look at the pool of vomit, but knew that it wouldn’t be long before someone from the neighbouring restaurant came to clear up the mess. It was, after all, bad for business.

Sure enough he soon saw, out of the corner of his eye, the legs and feet of a young woman carrying a bucket and mop. His heart leapt as he recognized it was the shapely, brown legs and leather-sandaled feet of mistress Mae-Pia, the beautiful Thai waitress who had allowed him to drink some water off her feet earlier in the day.

She marched straight past him, slammed down the bucket and began mopping up the vomit next to his face.

The footslave dared to speak first. He had decided earlier in the day that this was a kindly young woman. He was sure she wouldn’t object to him addressing her without first being spoken to:

“Thank you, mistress Mae-Pia. This slave humbly thanks you for clearing up the mess”.

Mae-Pia hurled the mop into the bucket, bent forward, and gave the slave two stinging slaps with her pretty bare hand across both his cheeks.

The slave was somewhat taken aback. Three slaps in the space of a few minutes!. What was he doing wrong?

“Mae-Pia angry”, the young woman shouted down at him. “Slave make mess. Mae-Pia have to clean! Slave dirty! Pig!”

She too spat on him.

Of course, Mae-Pia was well aware that it wasn’t the slave himself who had thrown-up. But she regarded him as responsible for the mess. Who else could she blame? Not the young woman who had been sick. A woman can do no wrong! No, it was the wretched male slave who was to blame in her eyes. And she didn’t like having to clear up his mess after him! Of course, she realized also that the public footslave, chained up as he was, was in no position to clear up the mess himself. But she didn’t see that as being any excuse for him.

And so she spat on him a second time, before placing her right foot onto the wooden footblock:

“Slave kiss Mae-Pia feet. Apologise for mess! Beg Mae-Pia forgive!”.

The slave now realized that he did, indeed, owe the young woman an apology for the mess he was de facto responsible for. He was responsible for it because she said so:

“Oh mistress Mae-Pia, this slave humbly begs your pardon. If it pleases you, mistress Mae-Pia, please punish this dirty slave. Please whip him. Beat him. This filthy slave deserves your righteous anger!”.

Mae-Pia did not have a whip to hand. If she had done, she would have obliged the slave. Instead, she kicked his still throbbing cheek with the sandaled, red-painted toes of her right foot, before placing her left foot on the footblock:

“Slave a pig. Kiss Mae-Pia other foot!”.

The slave kissed the waitress’s painted, left big toe with genuine remorse. It was all he could do to show her how sorry he was. He realized that he had now lost what could have been the closest thing he would ever have to a ‘friend’ – a kind-hearted young woman working in the restaurant next door who could, potentially, have brought him food and water every day, even if he had been made to eat and drink it off her bare feet. And it was all his fault!

“Mae-Pia go back to work. Mae-Pia hate slave”.

And with that she stormed off, bucket and mop in hand.

The slave was devastated. He served several more female customers that evening, but, dangerously for him, he found it hard to concentrate on his foot-tasks. He was annoyed with himself for having upset mistress Mae-Pia. How dare he make a superior young woman clear up his mess! For the first time in many years, he wished he could have temporarily broken free from his bonds – if only to have been able to spare mistress Mae-Pia the indignity of having to clean up his mess.

Mistress Julianna, his minder, arrived at about 10:30 PM. She was a bit late – she’d been relaxing and having a few drinks with her friends.

She was still wearing the same white sneakers and white ankle socks that she had been when she opened up his hatch early that morning.

As she crouched down to adjust the chain around his neck in preparation for pushing him back into his hole in the side of the wall, Mistress Julianna could sense that the slave was somewhat melancholic. She guessed that he must have had a bad day. But she didn’t care, because she had had a good day:

“Feeling sorry for yourself, footslave?”, she enquired.

“No, Mistress, if it pleases you mistress Julianna, this slave was just thinking on how unworthy it is to serve at the feet of beautiful women. It is a dirty, worthless slave, mistress”.

Julianna laughed. This footslave certainly did know its place:

“Correct, slave. That’s all you are and all you ever will be – a worthless, down-in-the-dirt footslave”

She stood up.

“You may kiss my feet”, she ordered, positioning her outstretched right foot onto the wooden footblock.

The slave was happy to kiss mistress Julianna’s sneakered feet again – his first and last feet of the day.

As she switched feet allowing the footslave to pay his humble respects to her left sneaker, mistress Julianna indicated that the she had a treat for him:

“Never mind, slave, this will cheer you up. I’m going to let you suck on my sweaty socks all night. I’ve been jogging and everything in them today, so there should be plenty of sweat in them for you to drink”.

With that mistress Julianna untied her shoe laces and took off her white sneakers. She then took off each of her white ankle socks and held them up in front of the slave’s face for him to observe the yellow sweat stains around the crusty, damp toes. Then she held each sock over his slave nose before stuffing both of the dirty white socks into his footslave mouth.

“Make sure you give them a good mouth- wash, slave”, she giggled as she pushed his head back into the hole and pulled down the hatch.

“Yeth, Mithtreth”, he mumbled through the socks as he was suddenly plunged into darkness.

As he tasted mistress Julianna’s dirty socks in his mouth, the slave contemplated the events of the day. He had been forced to roll up knee-socks with his face; been privileged to shine the black ankle boots of his beautiful and kindly regular customer, mistress Lisa, with his unworthy slave tongue; been verbally abused by an asian businesswoman angry at the street muck on her shoes; posed for photographs with miss Selima and her mother from Turkey; been forced to mouth-wash the dirty socks of the gym-teacher, mistress Susan; licked clean the slip-on shoes of another regular customer - the haughty but successful mistress Karen; been mercilessly teased by mistresses ‘Buffs’, ‘Keds’ and ‘Boots’ and forced to eat a particularly sweaty cheese and tomato sandwich, under the watchful eyes of the law; licked the dirty boot-soles of mistress Angela, only to have her dirty them again as she walked away through the mud with her boyfriend; provided entertainment for a Japanese tour group; been forced to sniff and kiss the dirty feet and socks of two female German back-packers; appeared on TV, without remuneration, other than the inestimable privilege of worshipping the red and white sneakers of the sound recordist, mistress Pamela; upset an abolitionist and a waitress, both of whom had only wanted to help him; removed an irritating stone from the shoe of a successful young businesswoman; and been tormented by a hen party. He had been shouted at; spat at and slapped across the face.

Yes, it was all part of a typical day for a public footslave. In spite of it all, he would sleep soundly with mistress Julianna’s sweaty socks in his mouth – until it would all begin again the next morning.

For he was where he belonged. He was what he was and always would be.

He was the public footslave.