Praise Where Praise Is Due
Many devout and religious young women of the Gynarchy like to visit we male prisoner slaves in the dungeon stocks after they’ve been to Gynarchy church on a Sunday, in order to have us verbally praise and worship them – and specifically praise their feet and footwear – in accordance with the best practice encouraged in Gynarchy scripture, which states inter alia:
‘Woman, be thou holy and chaste, and admired by the wretched male slave in his impotent bondage. For thou art the representative of female hegemony, and must be worshipped as such. Impose thy feet upon him, and suffer him to praise thee, under pain of the whip!...’
Excerpt taken from the Book of Julia Caesar; Chapter 5; Verse 4
Here you see one such chaste young woman of the Gynarchy, her Female Bible on her lap and a whip in her hand, demanding my respect and reverence in accordance with Female Scripture, and here is my pathetic, slavespeak attempt at compliance with her wishes:
‘Oh pray, black mistress, if it pleases you, pretty black mistress…’, I’m afraid I don’t know her name, and so I am obliged by Law to address her thus, ‘…God bless you madam for deigning to visit this wretched and sinful prisoner-slave in his stocks, and for affording this unworthy sinner with a view of your shoes and socks, madam, thanking you kindly, most beautiful and chaste mistress-madam.Oh pray, mistress, oh pray, truly this slave is enamoured by the sight of the mistress’s shoes and socks, if you would be so kind and understanding to a wretched and impotent slave at your feet, madam? Pray permit this slave to obey the mistress, and to extol the virtues of the mistress’s feet and footwear, madam. Please don’t beat me madam!
Indeed, even the texture of the mistress’s flat, canvas shoes must remain a distant yearning for this sinner-slave’s unworthy lips, miss, for they are the shoes of a truly righteous and upstanding young woman, and he must NOT be permitted to sully them with his sinner-saliva, if you would be so kind and understanding to a wretched slave, madam? Nevertheless, the mistress is kind enough to present her shod feet to this unworthy slave so that he might at least observe, and inhale, the texture and aroma of her footwear, and this slave indeed feels blessed to be in the presence of such footwear greatness, madam! God bless you, madam!
Madam, this slave finds himself pondering where the mistress has been walking, and imagining the tastes on the soles of her shoes – though, again, he fully appreciates that he must NOT be permitted to partake of those tastes with his tactile tongue, madam, since they are the flavours of feminine footwear superiority, and thus much too high and exalted a taste for this slave’s inferior taste buds to absorb. Oh woe is me, mistress – for truly I hunger and thirst after shoedirt, madam!
Oh pray, madam, oh pray – moving on to the mistress’s stockings, madam, if I might make so bold, madam? Please don’t whip me madam! And truly, if this slave might humbly postulate, madam, they are, in fact, stockings, and not socks, being composed of the finest denier nylon, madam – and thus accentuating the great beauty of the mistress’s legs, madam! Oh the joy, and the privilege, of being able to observe the hue of the mistress’s skin beneath her nylons, miss! Such a gift for one so wretched and unworthy as I, sweet mistress! Oh pray, mistress! Oh Pray! God bless you, mistress, for wearing your nylons to church and then subsequently in front of this slave, madam! Oh the darkness of the upper rims! Oh the fineness of the nylon stitches! Oh the aroma of sweet feminine foot and toe sweat emanating from within the shoes! Oh pray mistress! Oh pray! Truly my cup runneth over with the power and authority of sweaty nylonness!...’
The mistress whips me at this point, in view of my evident lasciviousness thoughts surrounding her nylon-stockinged, lower legs and feet! Not a severe cut; no more than a cautionary tap, really; but enough to sting me back to my senses, and to a state of appropriate prisoner-slave decorum! Don’t get me wrong – I know full well that this twenty-something, young woman is no shy and retiring virgin, and that in her day to day life she is most probably engaged in all manner of superfluity of naughtiness! The sheer shortness of her skirt indicates that, if nothing else! She will, for example, be already sexually active with her boyfriend – a truly blessed man whosoever he may be. But she is still holier than me, being female (even though, ironically, I am the only celibate virgin in this cell!), and I must extol her virtues accordingly, and remember that she is NOT my girlfriend; nor even my friend or companion; but rather she is a bright, intelligent and holy, albeit anonymous, young woman of the Gynarchy who has graciously deigned to come and gloat over me after church, and she must be shown prisoner-slavish courtesy and respect accordingly.
Sure I can think about the moistness and stickiness of her warm, feminine, nyloned toes inside those closed, canvas shoes. But I must not express those lustful and libidinous thoughts in front of the young lady, lest she be offended by my footslavish licentiousness. I am grateful to the whip for reminding me of my humble, impotent place!
‘RETURN TO MY SHOES, DIRTY SLAVE!’ she barks down at me as the lingering sting of the whip-tap reddens my bare back and shoulder.
‘Yes, black mistress! Pray forgive me, black mistress! Oh the pain, madam!’
I don’t, of course, want her whipping me any harder, so best to reassure her that the pain has gotten through to me, and that her whip has made its point, even though it was a relatively gentle rebuke!
I then, humbly and contritely, resume my sycophantic slavespeak-homily to her ordinary, everyday shoes and nylon stockings, so demurely wrapped around one another at the ankles – praising and extolling them like they were the holiest and most precious things on earth. Which, to some extent, they are – being the chosen footwear of a black Gynarchy goddess who continues to tower over me as I study and admire both them and her. I know I am in the presence of greatness. I just need to convince this bright and intelligent, young woman of that knowledge, and satisfy her, preferably without the need for any more whip-stings on my bended back, of my undying admiration for her, her feet, and her footwear – an admiration born of male slavishness, as opposed to male licentiousness.
Basically, I just need to give more praise where praise is due…
