Under The Hammer
Great news, especially for those of you who like a good read! Slave Paul is back with a brand new story – ‘Under The Hammer’, a cautionary tale about what it’s like to be auctioned off to the highest bidder!
Enjoy – and please ensure you provide feedback to Paul by leaving a comment; or, if you prefer to email him, send an email via the ‘Email Patheticus’ widget in the bottom right hand corner of your screen and I will forward it on to him.
Under the Hammer
By Slave Paul
Today was the day, it had now been nearly four months since the trial had taken place and blind female justice had taken her impartial but nonetheless, certain path. My trial did not need to last long as it was a clear cut case and despite my plea of guilty on both counts not to mention a five-minute-long and extremely eloquent plea for clemency, a suitably harsh sentence was dealt out by Mrs Justice Eden.
Every single day since that date, I have awoken in a cold sweat with her words ringing in my ears:
‘Prisoner in the dock, you have pleaded guilty to the following charges: 1- Attempted assault and actual bodily harm to a female of the Gynarchy, 2- Resisting arrest. I therefore have no reservations in sentencing you to the maximum term allowed for these offence under modern Gynarchy law. You will be taken from this place to a place of secure confinement, and following a suitable training period, be sold to a female member of the Gynarchy State as a mere footslave for the rest of your natural life!’
It was not quite that simple of course. I had merely been trying to break up a spat between a young couple that were brawling outside a museum of all places? Things quickly got out of hand as the young woman started to kick her partner in the face as he fell to the ground. I had to intervene as I thought she may seriously harm him! That’s when the female police arrived.
Since that fateful day my life has consisted of being locked in this small barred cell below the courts, completely naked with the fortunate exception of my new prison issue, slipped, white and black prison shorts and heavy wrist and ankle shackles. Every day, just before I replay the court scene, a moment of doubt enters my mind as I wonder if it was all a weird dream. Then I move my arms and the clanking sound of the chains bring my reality all back to the fore.
My sentence up to now has been rather boring and miserable. Sometimes days of inactivity, the only break to the boredom being the jangling of the keys in the corridor as the female guard brings in my once a day ration of slave gruel and bread.
The “exciting days” were now few and far between due to the high number of prisoners currently residing in the overcrowded prison. On these days I was visited by members of the female prison staff and given nugatory and humiliating foot-slave related tasks to perform such as:
· Kissing and lick shining boots
· Removing boots to sniff worn, sweaty socks
· Kissing socks
· Kissing and sniffing bare feet and having to describe the sensation to the giggling ensemble!
On occasion, I was visited by a genuine prison trainer and her job was to assess my progress and to set tasks for me to perform before she re-attended my cell each week. All of my exploits were recorded on a scorecard system that was locked in the warden’s office. Only when I had attained a high enough score would I be auctioned off!
The day had finally arrived and I was hours from the auction stand (and quite terrified at the prospect)! I was clutching my stamped and signed off scorecard for some kind of distraction. I kept reading its content aloud to myself to drown out the increasing sounds of excited female cheers from outside the building:
1- Footwear cleaning (mouth attention and polishing using correct tools)= 8/10
2- Sniffing dexterity:
Socked: 8/10
Barefooted: 8.5/10
3- Sock kissing: 9.4/10
4- Boot kissing: 7/10
5- Foot washing: 5.6/10
6- Barefoot licking and kissing: 7.9/10
7- Pedicure skills: 9.9/10
8- Audible grovelling and submissiveness: 8.9/10
Additional comments and notes on prisoner slave No. 418764:
The prisoner has finally adapted well to its new life. Weaknesses have finally been overcome but the cretin needs to improve on: foot-washing and boot kissing skills. Baulking at women’s sweaty feet simply will not do in a modern slave. The fool is suitably contrite and truly looks miserable and oppressed which will be most amusing for any new female owner. I suggest that regular scourging and humiliation will maintain the required levels of deference befitting in such a lowly creature.
So that was it, my scorecard had (just) passed me fit for release into the female community for a life of foot-obsessed oppression and misery. Who would I end up with? Would she be a kindly inexperienced youngster? Or an older more worldly-wise lady better equipped to take on a fledgling slave? Truly I was hoping for the former as I was in no hurry to be whipped and chastised!
It would seem that I would not have long to wait as the cell doors were opening for the first time in unison. This was going to be it…. For months I had longed for freedom; now I wanted to stay in the safety of my tiny cell. The thought of being publicly paraded semi-naked and in chains was so intense I could hardly breathe!
Five of us soon-to be purchased slaves were hurriedly shuffled along the stone floor corridor on our hands and knees, our chains jangling behind us. It was so humiliating! Then the outer door to the auction area opened. I was terrified! We were pushed into an open market and herded into a central square consisting of separate booths. Once inside my booth, my wrist shackles were secured to a metal ring in the floor. Once the last slave was in position, the barred gates that held back hundreds of spectators were opened and the inrush of perspective buyers began!
Hours of prodding and probing ensued. We were ordered to hand over our score cards for inspection by male and female buyers alike! Surely we could not be auctioned off to male owners? One such male (quite a brute) laughed at my comments section and retorted that he would have no problem in instilling the correct discipline in me if he were to purchase me! He reported that he was looking for a slave for his soon-to-be wife. He went on to say through his bad breath:
‘Ya see, fool, I need a youngish fool that can be moulded into whatever my girl Shirley wants. We both agree that the unlucky purchase will spend its life intensely focussed on her feet, and will be oppressed, immaculate and thoroughly humiliated! This will be achieved by: being forced into wearing a foot-fool mask with a sad wonky face; a garish foot-fool cap with loud bells to announce its presence; a tongue suppressor gag-plate to stop unnecessary and unwanted interruptions to our superior lives; regular booster shots of slave serum; being made to wear a ridiculous looking outfit consisting of a pink, all-in one neoprene suit that is tight fitting and stops just below the crotch and just under the armpits, with colourful looking flowers and frilly lace accents to show off my future wife’s feminine fun side. The slave-suit will also have a special attachment on the rear to hold a colourful multi-tail whip that looks like a tail that can be removed for rapid and merciless punishment, and an unbelievably heavy solid oak cangue nearly three inches thick (irremovable with an internal latch mechanism). This will all be further backed up with regular whippings by a trained professional; a visit to a specialist maker of slave chastity devices for permanent fitting of same; and a diet of slave gruel embittered by your future Mistress’s foot offerings such as nail clippings, foot dust from her footskin scraper, and her stinky toe-jam’.
The brutish man could hardly contain his enthusiasm! Fortunately he still had three other slaves to visit!
He disappeared out of view and I could hear him repeating the same threats of oppression to another foot fool in the booth next to me.
Barely a moment passed before the next visitor (or in this case visitors) came to inspect me. A pair of young women stood before me with hands on hips. They looked suitably haughty and in control already. They were both young but there appeared to be an age difference between them. They must have been friends looking to make a better purchase with combined funds. The taller and slightly older of the two was of medium build and had shoulder length black hair. She was wearing very casual clothes consisting of a teeshirt with some colourful slogans adorning it; heavy chunky jewellery around her wrists and fingers; combat trousers and thick soled, wedge heeled trainer shoes. The short, thinner and younger of the pair was quite different. She was obviously a goth girl and was suitably dressed. She had long, straight black hair that reached down to the small of her back; a long black tight-fitting top; short leather skirt; and thigh-high, leather spike heel boots.
The taller of the pair stepped forward and barked ‘CARD’. My trembling hands produced the already tatty looking scorecard for examination. As the younger of the two snatched the card to examine my marks, the elder leant forward and grabbed the ancient looking shackle clasped shut around my right wrist. She tugged at the chain and laughed as she commented that she liked my ‘jewellery’!
The report card was casually tossed to the less formerly dressed lady for more detailed scrutiny. I was genuinely terrified as they decided to only ask me the most basic of questions. If truth be told, I was quite taken by the idea of these two ladies owning me (I certainly did not want to end my days wearing a pink leotard, wooden collar and dining on toe jam sandwiches)!
I overheard them talking above me. It seems that they had never purchased a slave before and the younger lady was only just of slave owning age (21). I was to be their first slave (if they decided to bid for me). The elder lady knelt down and stared into my face, I caught her gaze but immediately lowered my eyes to her feet. She had deep, dark soulful eyes, not what I was expecting! Just as I averted my gaze, she calmly said:
‘Damned right! eye contact is for humans, not slaves’!
She then turned to her younger cohort and stated:
‘He has a kind and honest face. Worth a try I think. We can mould him into what we want then?’
They stood back, murmured to each other and then threw my report card back at me before leaving.
The next half hour brought yet more misery. I was visited by a cruel vixen with more money than sense who wanted to buy me to install in her oubliette dungeon under her house and lay awake at night thinking of my miserable plight; a forlorn looking divorcee who wanted some male (non-threatening company), which sounded nice until she pointed out that she required her new slave to be fitted into a pair of permanent, spiked iron pants that would ensure docile servitude; a man purporting to be from a slave recruitment agent for a large female household that believe in making men suffer for female sins (some sort of religious order); and a very large girl that did not deign to speak at all, just read my card aloud, and got sticky fingerprints all over the front as she munched on her chocolate bar.
Finally the auction was to begin….
The auctioneer ordered us slaves to be unchained and made ready. The lot numbers that were hung on a chain outside our respective booths were removed and chained about our necks. We were individually lead onto the stage where the excitement was intense! I watched from my position in the wing. I was to be number three under lot number 473. The female auctioneer was a bit of a comedienne and used the slave’s report card to further humiliate him to the crowd.
‘Ha! Looks like we have a toe-sucker here ladies! He got a 9.7/10 for barefoot licking and kissing! What am I bid for Mr. sucks-alot?’
The poor prisoner’s face was bright red with embarrassment!
The scary thing was that the brutish man that we were all terrified of was bidding furiously for this slave. He was at least two years younger than me and the rest of the imprisoned men. They wanted this youngster out first to get the prices up early on! It worked too. 500 Fems! A record!
Luckily for “Mr Sucks-alot” he was purchased by the divorcee and taken away to spend a life in uncomfortable underwear no doubt!
Then lot number 472 came out. It suddenly dawned on me that if that brutish fellow did not win this time, I was a possible acquisition! The fear started to race through me again! Worse still, the younger of the female duo that I was hoping for started to bid! WHAT ABOUT ME? I selfishly thought.
Fortunately the elder of the two girls interjected and put a halt to her younger friend’s playful bidding! Even more fortunately (for me) the bad breath man kept on bidding! He finally won lot 472 for a price of 132 Fems! I was delighted! Lot 472 was not so overjoyed; we were able to deduce this as he was dragged away kicking and screaming ‘NO PLEASE NO, TAKE ME TO THE SLAVE MINES OR THE FOOTHOLE DUNGEONS INSTEAD’!
Now it was my turn; what was to be my fate? Life in an underground hell-hole as an expensive plaything? Life in a female religious household, whipped and chastised daily? Or life with the pretty female friends?
The burly-looking female auctioneer yanked my chain and then snatched my score-card:
‘Okay Ladies and Gentlemen, here we have Lot No. 473, The prisoner has finally adapted well to its new life. Weaknesses have finally been overcome but the cretin needs to improve on: foot-washing and boot kissing skills. Baulking at women’s sweaty feet simply will not do in a modern slave. The fool is suitably contrite and truly looks miserable and oppressed which will be most amusing for any new female owner. I suggest that regular scourging and humiliation will maintain the required levels of deference befitting in such a lowly creature. Well, what can I say, he’s just begging for a whipping, desperate to sniff sweaty female feet, what am I bid for Mr. Miserable then? Can I say 10? I have ten; can I say 20?……..
At first the young couple did not seem to be interested. I sank into a scared sense of depression, for I knew that the mad woman with the dungeon was going to win me, it was just about my luck! But just then, as we got to the 190 Fem mark, the elder of the two girls put in a tentative bid on me! I was overjoyed! It was between the dungeon owner and the two ladies….
‘195-200-205-210-220- I have 220 with the lady with the green handbag, going once, gong twice, going three times…. ‘TWO TWENTY-TWO!...’
The young pair had opened their handbags and were comparing combined funds. The lady with the green handbag shrugged and dropped out…..
‘…SOLD!’
I was so relieved!
So were the two young ladies in the end. Part of current Gynarchy law now states that the seized assets of the slave (when condemned to a life of servitude) become the property of its new owners. The law does not allow the disclosure of the slave’s previous life and employment so it's a form of ‘lucky dip’ on the female owner’s part. My employment as a junior civil servant was quite well paid for a male wage and I was saving for a new place to live, so this was to be an unexpected surprise for my new owners (which would hopefully earn me some favour with the young pair). After court fees and my prison and auction costs of 2,485 Fems, this left my new owners with a clear profit of 17,986 Fems! The younger of the two nearly fainted with joy!
Following the official registration of me: Slave No. 418764, to Miss Gwendolyn McCloud and Miss Corrine Parrish, we were free to depart into our new lives. I was expecting to be ferried away in one of the new Mistresses’ cars but that did not happen? Instead we had a long walk (and I had a long crawl) to the bus stop? More public humiliation! The agonisingly public bus ride to my new home was full of sharp and hate-filled comments from the free commuters. I merely knelt between my new owners’ feet and contemplated what was to come.
Finally the bus arrived at our destination. We alighted into a small road and a cut through to a cul-de-sac. At the end of the narrow entrance to the dead-end road stood an old looking, large house. At least it seems that there would be some space involved in my new life? As we got closer, I could see that I was wrong; the Mistresses lived in one small part of the house which was divided into apartments. As we got inside, I was kicked up the backside along a narrow passage and into the living room. The living area was broken down into: One large sitting area that lead to the double bed separated only by a purple velvet curtain. This was open, so the double bed was in full view. Off the living room was the tiny kitchen that led to the compact garden area that was shared by one other resident. I had not seen the bathroom arrangements but accurately deduced that they would be of a rather ‘cosy’ design!
There we all were at last! Me, kneeling scared on the laminate wooden floor, as the Mistresses squeezed onto the small sofa in-front of me.
The elder Mistress lit a cigarette and delivered a well rehearsed speech.
‘Slave, we have contemplated slave ownership for many months now but as you can see, we have a limited space to work within. Firstly I need to explain something, your co-Mistress and I are a couple. We have been together now for five years and are very much in love. You will respect us both equally; any favouritism will result in severe and fiendishly cruel punishments the like of which have never been described before! We are, however, good people and will be fair to you. You have no choice in whatever we chose to do with you and I’m sure that my darling here (she stroked her younger lover on the head lovingly at this point) will have devised many elements of your life that are not to your liking, but that’s just too bad! You must accept your lot with humility and due courtesy! Now, as for me, I am quite a simple person, very spiritual, and as you may have guessed by those furtive looks around my apartment that I observed just now, am also an artist. I create jewellery and fine artworks that I sell to supplement our meagre income. It will fill me with joy to use you in some of that artwork and allow my artistic side to fully blossom! You had better like kneeling in silence for prolonged periods, slave! I suppose all I really want is a submissive slave, foot-massager and someone that I can look down on. I’m sure you can handle that? Now, (she arose from the chair at this point) I am going outside to meditate in the sun while my babe here tells you more…’
I was now left alone with the younger of the pair (and quite nervous too).
She stood up and began to encircle me kneeling on the floor. The loud clicking of her spiked heels was rather ominous!
‘Well, well, well, what are we going to do with you, Mr. Miserable?’
I drew breath as if I were to answer her question but she cut me short:
‘It was a rhetorical question cretin! I have to agree with the auctioneer, you do look miserable. I like that though! Now, I was hoping the you had a few Fems in the bank, but boy oh boy was I happy when we found out how much you were worth! Okay, not much time before Gwen gets back so let’s get down to business:
1. I don't like you! You are our slave (my first one) and boy are we gonna have fun learning how this all works
2. You will now only refer to us as the following: Mistress Gwendolyn is now Mistress Cloud (she is a spiritual and free entity and imagines herself as a soft white fluffy cloud floating free on a summer breeze) and you will refer to me as Queen or “yes my Queen, At once your Highness Her Majesty the Queen” and so on!
3. I am going to be in charge of ensuring that you are sufficiently downtrodden and will be using a number of means to elicit your cooperation with this:
• I will be using some of your money to buy a special wooden collar known as a cangue and fitting it onto you. Luckily for you Mistress Cloud has decided it will not be permanent, as she has other plans!
• I think that you are ugly and indeed miserable looking, so I have decided to go on a shopping spree and purchase a collection of foot-fool masks for you to wear. I won here as Mistress Cloud wanted a permanent mask but I want to ring in the changes from time to time and accessorise my new slave. HA!
• We will be taking you to the market tomorrow to get your ‘unmentionables’ safely locked away for good! I don't want any part of that, so we will collect you after you have been secured. I gather its quite a process that allows for no dignity, and the specialist tailor-made cage gets pop-riveted into position so we don’t have to worry about where to put the keys!
• As you will be serving as our little foot-whore, I will enjoy making you little outfits to deprive you of any dignity that remains inside you!
4. We will of course require our privacy at night and you have a special sleeping quarters that will be shown and demonstrated to you later.
5. Mistress Cloud is quite a practical woman and does not believe in makeup and fancy hair products. I do not share her beliefs in that respect. I need to look my best and you will be instrumental in that. Part of the reason we purchased you is that you came out with a high score when it comes to pedicures. You WILL be giving me lots of them slave! Mistress Cloud just likes foot-massages, and I’m quite glad that I will not be doing that for her again now that we have you!
6. We will be renaming you tonight, and that will be how we and everyone else refers to you unless we deign otherwise!
Oh and slave, just to show you what I mean about me being the disciplinarian, lean forward and look at my fingernails. What do you think?’
‘Bbbbegging your pardon, My Queen, they are most attractive and shapely Ma’am, not to mention the dark glossy black that so well accompanies your glossy black powerful feminine boots Ma’am!’
‘Yes, yes I know that but look how sharp they are! I’m going to pinch you with them FOOL!’
She then set about shredding bits of my flesh with her chemically-sharpened talons of female spite! So painful was the experience that tears started to form in my eyes.
‘Now lean forward, I need to poke you in the eye foot-whore!’
Surely she was not going to… AAARRGH!
Just then Mistress Cloud walked back in!
‘I see that you’ve been having a friendly chat, shall we continue?’
The pair seated themselves once again. Mistress Cloud now took control, following a brief exchange of private messages on their respective smartphones above me.
‘Eherrm, Mr. Slave man, we have decided on your new name (lots of giggling ensued followed by a pregnant pause), we have decided to call you Scumdrop. What do you think?’
I was so broken by now and desperate to soothe my sore pinched arm and watering eye that I just responded with:
‘Thank you both Mistress Cloud and My Lady Queen. Slave Scumdrop hears and will obey, Ma’am.’
So much cruel mocking laughter ensued.
Mistress Cloud then swung her legs over the end of the sofa and lay her head in her girlfriend’s lap. Mistress Queen then set about using her talons of feminine destruction to gently massage her partner’s scalp in a loving and caring way.
Mistress Cloud then barked:
‘Okay Scumdrop, we've established that you're no good at footwear worship. Let’s get straight to the removal of sock homage shall we?’
I crawled over to her airborne feet. Her tall trainers had three-inch heels on them and were very well-worn. This was going to be a new experience. My shaking hands were hard to control and I needed dexterity to untie the double knots in the heavy white and pink laces! It was hard to focus with one eye so sore, and with jittery hands! Finally both trainer-shoes were unlaced and I eased each off in turn. I respectfully placed each shoe on the floor and then rose back up to kneeling height to be met with Mistress Cloud’s socked feet. Her right foot was covered with a luminous pink fluffy calf-length sock; the left was a more sensible blue fluffy calf-length sock (evidently not the same pair in keeping with her artistic tendencies and lifestyle). I slowly and gently started to sniff at the toe end of the pink sock hoping it would illicit a deep sigh of feminine pleasure from the socks wearer but…
‘I said sniff, not nuzzle, Scumdrop!’
I then re-doubled my efforts, heavy sniffs with a more palpable nose-to-sock contact. This time I got a response that was more along the lines of it being acceptable sock-worship. The smell was rather hard to describe, a musty sort of rubbery smell with elements of stale fabric mixed in? Obviously her personal foot aroma? Something that I was bound to become addicted to over the coming months and years, no doubt!
Half an hour passed and the combined head massage and sock worship had calmed Mistress Cloud to an almost sleep-like state, when Her Highness Mistress Queen sharply and without forethought of her partner’s relaxed state barked:
‘WHAT ABOUT ME, THEN?’
The pair decided that, as it was late, Mistress Cloud would have to forego the barefoot-massage she had planned to allow an equal share of their new slave.
‘Right Scumdrop, you may stop sniffing my socks. I will award 7/10, must do better or get your other eye poked! HA! Now, get yourself over to Mistress Queen and do whatever she says!’
Mistress Cloud then turned her back on her partner so her head was facing me, but still supported in her partner’s lap. Then Her Highness Mistress Queen spoke her commands:
‘Mistress Cloud is going to reach under my skirt and lower the zip on my boots to a level that is fitting for a slave to reach. You will learn this level now and if your fingers stray above it…. I will cut them off UNDERSTOOD?’
‘Yes, most respected Mistress Queen. Of course, Ma’am!’
With both zips lowered by at least 8-inches, I was permitted to reach up and gently tug on the zips until they reached ankle level. Once there, I had the unenvious task of figuring out how to remove the boots: slowly, and by pulling down and lifting the toe, risking pulling off the sock inside the boot? Or, slowly and to the side, risking injury to the ankle as the zip passes by? So many perils involved in foot-servitude!
I decided on the former, and to my delight did not incur the wrath of my owners’ or pull off the inner foot-coverings of my younger Mistress! I was presented with short ankle socks that had black and white horizontal lines running across them, with solid black toes.
‘Look like his shorts, hey?’
Mistress Cloud correctly opined that the socks of her beloved partner did indeed resemble my stripy, black and white, prison issue shorts of shame!
Mistress Queen then continued:
‘Okay Scumdrop, today is a gentle learning day. I want you to lift my right foot and take five deep sniffs, think long and hard, and then tell us how the smell differs from my foot to Mistress Cloud’s!’
‘Yes Ma’am. At once!’
I lifted her much thinner-socked foot and placed the space between her middle toe and top of her foot on my nose (it was really damp and is not the ideal choice of sock for those boots). I took one big sniff and nearly coughed! I could have given her the answer to her question now….. They STUNK! Sinus-shreddingly strong foot odour! I had four more sniffs to complete. I could feel her leg vibrating with laughter and could just see out of the corner of my good eye that Mistress Cloud was also smirking at the view in front of her!
Following my fifth sniff, I placed Mistress Queen’s foot respectively on the floor and decided that I should be honest. One of my prison guards (the most kind of all) offered me some advice when presented with this kind of dilemma. Apparently some women like to oppress male slaves with smelly socks, so honesty is always the best policy! Here goes….
‘Most respected Mistress Queen, your new and foolish slave thanks you both for allowing such an easy introduction to its new life, and humbly and respectfully hopes that it will be of use to you both. It must therefore inform its infinite superiors that Mistress Cloud has a delicate foot-odour although evocative of a strong woman in her prime and a smell to be revered and feared. This is by no means comparable to the intense foot-odour of Mistress Queen, a tart vinegary nasal assault that is most humiliating and lingers for some time, Ma’am. Your slave is reminded of its lowly existence, Goddesses!’
The couple laughed intensely at this point. It was now and for the first time that I saw the real dynamic between them. Mistress Cloud took control and, without asking her partner’s permission, shouted:
‘Get her left sock off! Study her foot and lift it to your mouth, then get that tongue in between her toes. I want to HEAR you doing your work, fool!’
This was a bit of a shock, and it seems that the gentle introduction to their new elevated status was unlocking the dominant Mistress within. Nonetheless, I had no choice. I took the semi-unwilling foot and hastily stripped it of the sock. As ordered, I then placed the bare foot back onto the floor for close study. Long, well-shaped, pasty-white, goth girl toes with gloss-black lacquered toenails, her middle toe being just longer than the big toe. I then gently lifted the foot from the floor and studied the sole; five perfectly formed feminine toes crowned with the fifth (her big toe was shaped like a diamond from underneath). I could see the dark toenails above her toe-tips.
‘I hope that you like what you see fool, you will be responsible for those nails from now on! I always keep them at 1/4” long as Kitty has claws HA!’
I wasted no time and plunged her big toe into my (or rather their) enslaved mouth. The long, but well-kept nail grazed the roof of my mouth as it went in. A loud sigh of joy was heard from the toes owner, Mistress Queen! This went on for ten minutes and I had successfully deduced that my humble services were going to be of use in this household.
Now Mistress Cloud let out a loud and contented yawn and stated that it had been a long day and was now time for bed. I had assumed that I would be sleeping in the shed outside to allow my owners some privacy? Instead, Mistress Cloud jumped up and unceremoniously pulled her partner’s other sweaty sock off before making a gesture and putting her fingers over her nose as if to register her disapproval of its smell.
‘Now, you need to go into your bedroom slave, here it is…’
Mistress Cloud got down on her knee and gestured with the offending sock to what looked like a leather lined mouse-hole in the skirting board. This was directly under a pull-out laundry basket with a solid door on the front. Surely I was not expected to fit through that tiny doorway? I could barely get my leg through it!
The couple laughed at my puzzled expression!
‘Fool (laughed Mistress Cloud) lay on your back, you idiot! Look..’
With that, she undid a latch in the skirting board and pulled back a section. The mouse-hole was in two halves.
‘…you stick your head in and I will explain the rest’.
With that done, she jammed the tight-fitting board back around my neck. I was now in darkness! The padded leather around the neck aperture made for an airtight sound-proof seal! Then the door above me opened and heavenly light shone in.
‘Right, this is how we all sleep from now on slave. We toss our worn socks into the basket above your face, then shut the door. You spend all night sniffing our discarded hosiery locked in silence and misery while we sleep four feet away in complete privacy. No prying slave ears to listen to its superiors’ business! Simple! I will make sure that you get Mistress Queen’s socks right over your nose as you stated that they were your favourites! I will also add a note in my punishment booklet that you favoured her socks over mine, Scumdrop! That is punishment number one!’
‘No, Ma’am, begging your pardon, Ma’am, that was not what your slave was saying at all! It merely meant that…’
BANG!
The door was tightly shut and all light and fresh air was gone! Mistress Queen then decided to use Scumdrop’s belly as a doormat before walking the four feet to the bed! This was a scary shock as there was no prior warning. Nothing could be heard, only the occasional impact on the floor as something was ripped in the tight living quarters. And so, we all settled down to our first night together.
……………………………………………………………………………………
Early the next morning (following a warm sleepless and smelly night for me) the neck hatch was opened and I was allowed to exit my small “bedroom”. The Mistresses sat there smoking and wearing fluffy pink slippers which I was not ordered to place on their feet.
‘We are all off to the market now, Scumdrop, prepare for a day of IT!’
I was unsure what “IT” was, but was not in a hurry to find out!
We arrived at the market following another very public bus ride. Once there, I was escorted into what resembled an old blacksmith’s shop. I was handed over to a strange looking and very quiet man and then the Mistresses left me behind? Without further comment, I was shackled to a bar and very unceremoniously examined down below! Out of view, my new chastity device was fashioned from steel and rather hastily riveted into position. No enquiry as to the fit or comfort?
A little time later the ladies returned to collect me. Money changed hands (presumably mine) and we departed for another shop across the way. This time it was what appeared to be a clothing shop.
I was wrong again…. Masks, hundreds of them! All sizes, shapes colours materials and designs. Funny ones, oppressive ones, disgusting ones… every taste catered for (except the slave’s of course). Several non-permanent masks were purchased and we left for yet more retail therapy.
Next came the cangue shop. This time it was a more formal process. As the Mistresses had money to spend (mine), thy were treated like royalty and chairs were produced as well as drinks and food. Several clumsily large cangues were produced by the staff and roughly placed about my neck for examination by the Mistresses. It seems that masks were Mistress Queen’s department and cangues were Mistress Cloud’s area of expertise. No fewer than twelve were tried before a decision was made. Strangely it was a plain walnut cangue, circular with a large hasp and staple on the outside opposite the huge hinge. It was still quite a size, round almost 1 and a half feet in radius and three-inches thick. The neck hole must have been made for a midget as it was far too small for me! I had imagined that Mistress Cloud would have wanted an ‘arty looking cangue’ to reflect her personality?
Following the shopping, we returned home. Mistress Cloud took herself off to the shed which I had now found out was actually her ‘studio’ for creating her artworks.
Mistress Queen set about picking a dreaded foot-fool mask for me to wear for the next week-or-so. She pointed out that although it is not permanent, I will be kept masked at all times. It will be removed for one of three reasons: 1, cleanliness (the Mistresses believe that cleanliness is next to Goddessness) 2, Shaving (they do not want the shape of the mask stretched by growing facial hair beneath). 3, To change my appearance when they desire for another of my masks, depending on their mood.
For now though, the pink footfool’s mask was selected. She held it open and I was obviously expected to willingly shuffle forward into it! So humiliating! As I reached her booted feet, she pulled sharply downwards and spun me round and began to lace up the mask from the back. She pulled and pulled at the laces as if she were lacing a girdle! Tighter and tighter it got. She asked me for an honest answer:
‘How’s that feeling, Scumdrop?’
‘Begging your pardon, Ma’am, the general fit is okay but you have done the laces so tightly that my jaw is being forced back and is already aching, Ma’am!’
The response to my honesty was:
‘Okay, great!’
Now the zip was pulled down and a suitcase-sized lock attached to prevent my slave fingers from tampering with the tightness of the mask. I was spun around again and mistress Queen nearly died laughing at my comic appearance! The pink rubbery face of a foot-obsessed goon with wonky eyes, black downturned lips, blue and green fox ears and purple fluffy tufts of hair in the centre. Across the middle of my face, in two-inch high garish-green letters, the word FEET. Next, after the initial laughter had worn off, came the fitting of the slave cap. It had to be glued on the back of my head as it was not meant to be worn with an eared mask. The bells rang aloud as I made the smallest of movements to announce my shameful presence.
Finally Mistress Cloud returned brandishing the fruits of her work (it had taken nearly four hours).
She was holding my new cangue. It was no longer plain, it was a work of art quite literally! The back side of it was fully coloured and painted to resemble a beautiful flower with petals radiating out from the centre (my neck). The front was still a heavy grained walnut but now varnished and has bold letters in luminous paint superbly laid onto the wood, they read: FEET, TOES, SOCKS, TOENAILS, SNIFF, OPPRESSION, and at the top, in gaudy gold letters: SCUMDROP!
Before the cangue of ‘Infinite Shame’ as it was now to be called could be applied, Mistress Cloud had to announce that we would be taking a trip to the new fetish artwork show in the capital city in just over a week’s time and she had been asked to exhibit some of her works! I had a feeling that I would be an unwilling participant…
