Man-Mocked

Being mercilessly man-mocked by free master-sirs is an occupational hazard for a public footslave here in the Gynarchy

A master-sir marches towards me through the gloom of an otherwise deserted town square late at night

He can only have ill intent towards me!

Sure enough, he mockingly stops in front of me...

...to give me a good view of his sweaty, unkempt FEET...

...and his HAIRY TOES!

TOES that will soon, no doubt, be regaling my confined NOSE and LIPS!

But first, the magnificent master-sir crouches down to my lowly level in order to verbally mock me, asking me if I don't feel shame at being a mere footslave, and am I looking forward to 'tasting' his manly FEET?

I humbly respond in the only way an impotent footslave can, by confirming to the master-sir that I am indeed ashamed to have lots of people's FEET-DNA on my lowly lips and in my menial mouth, but stressing that I would indeed be honoured to have his manly FOOT-DNA added to my shame, if he would be so kind sir?

The man then kindly obliges, standing up straight again in order to present me first with his RIGHT...

...and then with his LEFT FOOT!

I shamelessly make sure to fully embrace the master-sir's HAIRY TOES

The man then crouches down again to my face to ask me, through his pungent bad breath, how I had liked it - having to feel his TOE HAIRS brushing against my lips?

He then mercilessly and painfully pokes me in the eye...

...before turning his back on me and walking away, abandoning me to my SHAME...

...and showing me a DIRTY PAIR of SANDAL SOLES - the DIRT he has been walking in and which my menial mouth has just tasted!

I have nothing but feelings of slavish respect and admiration for the master-sir...

...a man who has complete freedom of movement and the POWER to impose his SWEATY MALE FEET and DIRTY TOENAILS on a helpless, male slave's confined face!

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