patheticus555
06-21-2007, 3:50 AM
Part 5 – The Debutantes
The years passed agonisingly slowly for the foot-prisoner in the foothole – ten years to be precise. Mercifully, the period of 6 weeks solitary confinement which had been effectively doubled to 12 by Her Excellency, The Prison Governess, was the longest continuous stretch of isolation he was subjected to. Most of the time he was a model prisoner, and therefore, on most days he was afforded the ‘privilege’ of having the hatch opened in his cell wall for a few hours so that he could project his head out at ground level into the dungeon corridor and pay homage to the passing regulation black, leather knee-length boots of the female guards.
But, small mercy though that was, life in the foothole was, fundamentally, monotonous and dull. The female guards came and went. Guard Michelle, for example, had long since left her job in the prison to have babies. But new guards took her place, and, due to their regulation footwear, they all looked pretty much the same – at least from the perspective of a prisoner in a foothole. Black leather boot after black leather boot; day in and day out; no prospect even of seeing or smelling the regulation, black nylons inside the guards’ boots – the guards were under strict instructions from the Prison Governess not to ‘treat’ the prisoners to the sight or smell of their inner footwear.
Rarely, he would be lucky enough to have a female ‘prison visitor’ – women like mistress Monique (who, incidentally, following his ‘test’ some ten years previously had never visited him again, not because he had offended her by his failure to pass her test, but simply because she was bored with him and had wanted to move on to tormenting the next prisoner). Such female prison visitors provided some welcome respite from the daily monotony, but they had invariably just come to gloat and to tease – promising their bare feet, but delivering only their boots and socks; raising the foot-prisoners’ hopes only to dash them again. Just as mistress Monique had done to him all those years ago.
And so, the overall experience of being a prisoner for life in the foothole-dungeons was one of deliberate monotony – and rightly so; it was a place of punishment after all.
Yet, even down here, in the depths of despair, life could occasionally present some unexpected excitement for an erstwhile footslave.
Today was to be one such day.
It started like any other day for prisoner no 7865 in his confined, concrete cell. At 06:00 am precisely the ground-level hatch to his cell was opened allowing the light from the corridor to flood in, and his saucer of slave-mush and water to be unceremoniously pushed through by the dusty, booted foot of one of the female guards. Prisoner no 7865 eagerly devoured his dusty, female-boot soiled meal, not because it was appetizing, but because it would be, as always, his only meal of the day – and, of course, because it was a feast fit for a footslave-prisoner.
When he had finished his meal, and it didn’t take long, he once again, as usual, picked up the empty saucer with his teeth and projected his head out of the ground-level aperture in order to deposit the saucer on the ground outside his cell. A guard’s boots marched over and the saucer was lifted up and taken away.
Prisoner no 7865 remained with his head sticking out from the aperture, staring at the dirty floor of the corridor, because there was nothing else to do. He resigned himself to yet another morning of guard-boot watching and, if he was lucky, kissing. That was his life.
But 3 hours into this ‘normal’ day something quite abnormal began to happen. There was the sound of excited girlish chatter and laughter; of giggling – most unlike the invariably bored and sombre female guards.
As the gaggle of girls approached his lonely cell down the dimly lit corridor, prisoner no 7865 soon realised that this particular group of young women were not guards at all.
Debutantes! They were debutantes!
He could tell from the way they were dressed – or rather from their footwear, for that was all he was physically capable of observing from his lowly position - that they were definitely ‘civilians’ ;brightly coloured and varied ‘civilian’ footwear on shapely young legs. Already they had brightened up prisoner no 7865’s day just by the simple act of walking towards him!
‘Debutantes’ were young women who were a week or so away from their 21st birthdays and were about to become footslave-owners for the first time. Normally from privileged backgrounds, for personal-footslaves didn’t come cheap, the State organised guided tours of the footslave-dungeons for the young ladies, as a means of reassuring them of the fate that awaited any disobedient or recalcitrant slave who failed to live up to their expectations – the fate of life imprisonment in a dirty concrete foothole in the bowels of the town dungeon.
It was, of course, an exciting, if slightly scary, day out for the young women, most of whom would never have been anywhere near a dirty dungeon before. But, ironically, it made for an exciting day for the prisoners also – lots of new and unfamiliar feminine feet to observe and, if you were lucky, to kiss and pay your humble respects to. Prisoner no 7865 braced himself. It had been some 3 long years since he had last been honoured with a visit by debutantes to his corridor.
There appeared to be 6 of them, and he quickly identified them all by their footwear as they gathered round him.
There was ‘Miss slides and white socks’ – a young, black woman in a brightly-coloured floral summer dress which reached down to just above her shapely calves, who was wearing light brown, open-toed, wedge-heeled, slides, made of cork, over pretty, white ankle socks. Prisoner no 7865 noticed that they were the new style of ankle socks, the so called ‘no show’ or ‘footie’ ankle socks that reached to just below the young woman’s ankle. Women hadn’t worn socks like that when he had been a personal footslave all those years ago. How the world must be changing outside in so many other ways!
Even when he had been a footslave on the outside, prisoner no 7865 could never quite understand why women wore socks with sandals. His mistress Olga had done it on occasions too! But why? Surely the whole point of wearing sandals was to allow their feet to breathe? Was it, therefore, purely to frustrate and humiliate the footslave by hiding their beautiful, bare feet inside socks? It probably was in mistress Olga’s case.
Whatever her motives, prisoner no 7865 was grateful to ‘Miss slides and white socks’ for her choice of open-toed footwear. The white socks contrasted nicely with her brown skin, and the open-toed sandals afforded him a clear view of the patterned stitching of her white socks. He could even see her delightful brown footflesh through the zig-zag pattern of the stitches.
Then there was ‘Miss black sneakers and black ankle socks’. This young woman’s black denim jeans were turned up at her lower calves, giving him an exciting view of the elasticated tops of her thin, black ankle socks which, again, contrasted nicely with her white skin. Even more exciting, the top half of what appeared to be a tattoo of a coiled up whip projected from the top of her right ankle, the lower half of the tattoo disappearing into the black sock. He wondered if this young woman was a ‘goth’.
Thirdly, there was ‘Miss black, zip-up, ankle boots and thick, grey bootsocks’. This young woman, judging by her skin tone, appeared to be from the Indian sub-continent. She was wearing either a very short mini-skirt or short pants as her beautiful, shapely legs appeared to stretch for ever above her black, leather ankle boots. Unlike the knee-length boots of the female guards, however, these ankle length boots allowed the prisoner to catch a glimpse of the tops of her thick, grey bootsocks inside the young woman’s boots. Very exciting!
The fourth debutante was definitely asian; oriental, in fact, for she was dressed in a way that only oriental women in their early twenties tended to dress: in knee-socks. More precisely, she was wearing, a short, above-the-knee skirt, black knee-length socks with a purple trim at the top, and rather dirty, white, slip-on, pointy-toed flats. He decided he would refer to her as ‘Miss knee-socks and pointy flats’. Prisoner no 7865 liked knee-socks on a woman – they seemed to tower above him, emphasising that even the young woman’s socks were higher, and therefore better, than him.
Then there was ‘Miss white sneakers and dark nylons’. Again, footslave no 7865, who by this time was beginning to think he had died and gone to heaven, admired this combination of footwear – the casual, dirty, white and rather tatty looking sneakers, mixed with the more formal, businesswoman-style nylons that would normally be worn with high-heeled pumps or court shoes. He observed a slight run over the outer left ankle in this particular young woman’s nylon tights which, combined with the filth on her sneakers, suggested a young woman who wasn’t too fastidious about the cleanliness or otherwise of her footwear.
Prisoner no 7865 resolved that he would happily lick clean ‘Miss white sneakers and dark nylons’ dirty white sneakers and kiss the run in her nylon stocking, if she so wished him to!
And then, finally, (apart from the ubiquitous black-leather knee-length boots of the accompanying female guard) there was ‘Miss brown, leather, strappy sandals and dirty bare feet’. This was perhaps the guest whose feet and footwear intrigued him the most. He was sure he could detect the odour of footsweat coming from the young woman’s feet, even though she was currently standing the furthest away from him. She was dressed almost like a gypsy-girl, with a swirling, multi-coloured ankle-length skirt under which her sandaled feet projected out. Yet, prisoner no 7865 realised the girl was most probably not a ‘gypsy’. Weren’t debutantes always from well-to-do families? And besides, her skin was a rather pale white. More likely she was a ‘hippy’ – or whatever the equivalent was nowadays.
And so, to sum up, prisoner no 7865 was suddenly surrounded by feminine feet clad variously in slides, sneakers, ankle boots, slip on flats, strappy sandals, socks (knee-length and ankle-length) and nylons – plus, of course the bare feet of the ‘hippy-chick’ and the austere black leather regulation boots of the accompanying mistress-guard.
Let the games begin!
It was ‘Miss black sneakers and black ankle socks’, the one with the tattoo, who spoke first:
‘How long has he been down here?’ she enquired of the guard, not out of any sense of pity for the prisoner – after all, she didn’t know him; she had literally just set eyes on his head for the first time.
‘I’m not sure, miss. About 10 years, I think. He was sentenced long before my time!’ answered the female guard, whom prisoner no 7865 now recognised to be mistress-guard Sophia, a keen and very strict new recruit, who was in her element working in the foothole-dungeons as she loved regulations and rules – and this place was all about regulations and rules.
Her response to the young woman’s question caused some merriment amongst the debutantes, for whom 10 years represented half their lives!
‘Ha! Ha! What a loser! What was his crime? Is he a “socks-offender”?’ enquired miss white sneakers and dark nylons, to the even greater merriment of her fellow-debutantes.
‘I’m afraid I don’t know,’ responded mistress-guard Sophia. ‘Prisoner no 7865 – answer the young woman. Tell her what your crime was!’ she barked.
Prisoner no 7865 duly informed the young woman of his heinous crime all those years ago:
‘Please miss, if it pleases you most respected mistress-visitor, this dirty prisoner
was guilty of disobedience and disrespect towards his mistress, if it so pleases you, most respected mistress-visitor.’
There were now gasps of disgust amongst the group of young ladies:
‘Why should that please me, insolent slave?’ responded Miss white sneakers and dark nylons, in a somewhat aggrieved tone.
‘Give him a break, Carly,’ interjected miss brown, leather strappy sandals and dirty, bare feet, ‘He’s a prisoner-slave. He has to talk like that. It’s supposed to be a sign of respect towards you!’
The girls laughed.
‘Yeah, alright, I’ve heard of slave-speak! But I don’t want to just hear this dirty piece of filth treating me with the respect I deserve. I want to see and feel him pay his respects to me! Guard, can you make him kiss my feet?’ asked miss white sneakers and dark nylons, whom prisoner no 7865 now knew to be called ‘Carly’.
‘Sure!’ replied mistress-guard Sophia.
‘Oh me too!’ exclaimed miss brown, leather, strappy sandals and dirty, bare feet excitedly.
‘And me!’ added Miss slides and white socks.
Now it was mistress-guard Sophia’s turn to laugh:
‘It’s alright ladies! You’ll all get your turn!’ she reassured them.
Since miss Carly had asked first, however, it was miss Carly for whom the others made way to enable her to stretch out her right, white sneakered foot directly under prisoner no 7865’s nose.
He could smell the musty leather of her dirty, white sneaker and see tiny pieces of fluff and dust clinging to the dark nylon of her stocking as it creased around her heel and ankle:
‘Come on, slave, kiss my foot, and I want to really feel your lips contacting with the toe of my dirty sneaker!’ snapped miss Carly
She sounded like a ‘natural’ slave-owner, this one, not a young woman to be trifled with! And it occurred to him also that, although he had once been sentenced to six weeks’ of solitary confinement for the error of referring to himself as a ‘slave’, these young mistresses were perfectly entitled to call him whatever they wished since at that precise moment in time he was, in effect, their slave.
There were gasps of approval and satisfaction from the group of debutantes as his lips smacked on the toe of miss Carly’s sneaker. Satisfaction, curiously, that was mixed with some disgust:
‘Ooh, gross!’ exclaimed Miss black sneakers and black ankle socks – the girl with the ankle tattoo. ‘No offence, Carly, but your sneakers are minging. Ha! Ha! And this loser is having to kiss them with his bare lips! What a saddo!’
Miss Carly, it seemed, wasn’t in the least bit offended. On the contrary she felt exalted – like a princess with a humble servant paying homage to her dirty feet:
‘Ha! Ha! I think he likes the taste of my dirty sneaker! Look he’s kissing it again!’
Prisoner no 7865 was indeed kissing the toe of miss Carly’s dirty white sneaker again and again. This was too good an opportunity to miss – the chance to taste and feel girl-sneaker on one’s lips again!
‘Move over, Carly, I want a go!’ shouted Miss slides and white socks impatiently.
‘Alright, Amy, keep your hair on!’ replied her friend, Carly.
The white-sneakered, dark-nyloned foot that had been outstretched under prisoner no 7865’s nose was then suddenly replaced by a much smaller foot shod in white ankle sock and cork, open-toed sandal:
‘Kiss the toe of my white sock, slave-boy’ ordered the petite, young, black woman in a high-pitched, excited voice.
As he obediently lowered his lips to the soft material of miss Amy’s white, ‘footie-style’, ankle sock, prisoner no 7865 could not help but notice that, close up, the sock was not as pristine and snowy-white as it had first appeared. It was perhaps inevitable that the dirt of the dungeon floors would impact on the young woman’s white socks. He had no reason to doubt that the socks were fresh on her that morning, but equally there were signs that they were not being worn for the first time – the heel of this particular sock, for example, showed signs of wear and tear on the back of the heel where her shoes or boots had doubtless been previously rubbing.
He felt miss Amy’s toes flex inside her sock in reaction to his lips touching her socked toes, just as she had ordered him to, and she let out a little squeal of delight:
‘Ha! Ha! Look – he’s doing it. He’s actually kissing my dirty sock! I really am better than him!’
Her friends laughed with pleasure at Amy’s seeming innocence:
‘We’re all better than him, Amy’ counselled her friend, Carly, ‘He’s not even fit to be a woman’s personal footslave. That’s why he’s here, isn’t that right, guard?’
‘That’s right, miss,’ confirmed mistress-guard Sophia, ‘all our prisoners are failed footslaves!’
‘It’s a pity, really,’ said miss Amy rather ruefully as she switched her right foot for her left under prisoner no 7865’s nose. ‘I’d quite like to have this prisoner as my personal footslave. I like the feel of his lips on my socks!’
For his part, prisoner no 7865 would have liked to have been miss Amy’s personal footslave and sockslave. He would willingly kiss her socks every day and all day.
But that was, unfortunately, out of the question.
Miss black, zip-up ankle boots and thick, grey bootsocks was the next to step up to the prisoner’s head. She seemed quieter than some of the other girls. But, seeing close-up her pretty ankle boots and the tops of her thick, grey socks on her soft, brown legs, prisoner no 7865 would have happily been her personal footslave also:
‘Kiss the side of my boot and lick the dust out of my boot-zip, slave’ ordered the young woman. There was no hint of an Indian or Pakistani accent although prisoner no 7865 was still convinced this young woman was of asian ethnicity – the tone of her skin suggested it.
Whatever her race, she would obviously make quite a demanding mistress, with very specific requirements and high standards expected of her personal footslave – rather like his own erstwhile mistress, mistress Olga, whom he still remembered fondly, albeit through slave-tinted spectacles. Mistress Olga too had often ordered him to ‘lick out her zips’. How it was all coming back to him!
There was a fair amount of dust to extract from the zip that ran down the side of the young asian woman’s chunky-heeled, ankle boot. But it was dust that tasted good, for it was the boot-zip dust of a sweet and feminine asian mistress. He just wished she would order him to pull down the boot zip with his teeth and to sniff the side of her thick, grey bootsock. How he would love to bury his slave nose in the thick folds of that feminine, grey bootsock!
But it wasn’t to be. There just wasn’t time, and besides her friend Lee-Fu, was waiting to have her feet worshipped.
Lee-Fu was known to prisoner no 7865 as ‘Miss knee socks and pointy flats.’ He had been looking forward to paying homage to this particular young woman’s feet and footwear. He truly admired the exciting contrast between her dark, black knee socks and the dirty, creamy white, well-worn flats she had on her socked feet. The shoes smelt of cheap plastic as she shoved her foot under his nose, causing her knee-sock to crease around the ankle – a sock which seemed to tower masterfully above him, emphasising his mistress’s power over him as he was only deemed fit to stare at and admire the lower part of her sock:
‘Slave kiss Lee-Fu shoe! Not touch Lee-Fu sock - only look! Slave obey!’ barked the young woman in a thick oriental accent. He had been right! Even after 10 years locked away in the foothole-dungeon the former footslave had not lost the knack of being able to tell a young woman’s ethnicity just from her style of footwear!
So he was permitted to look at her sock, but not to kiss it or touch it. It was only proper – even prisoner no 7865 had to admit that he wasn’t fit to kiss the black knee-sock of a superior, young oriental woman. And so he restricted himself to kissing and tasting the pointy toe of her plasticy, white shoe, and to admiring ‘from afar’ her black knee-sock with the single, purple stripe at the top, which covered her shapely lower leg and calf-muscle.
Miss black sneakers and black ankle socks – aka the ‘goth’ – was the next to step forward. Her ankle tattoo featuring a coiled up bull-whip truly fascinated prisoner no 7865. What did it signify? What did it say about her personality? The goth-mistress’s next question to mistress-guard Sophia, as he humbly kissed the canvas-style black sneaker on her outstretched right foot, confirmed at least one aspect of her personality: her sadism. It also helped to explain the whip tattoo on her right ankle:
‘It’s a pity we can’t whip him, as his body is effectively encased in concrete! I love whips! How do you punish the prisoners? Surely you must have someway of inflicting physical pain on them!’ she queried, conscious of the fact that the prisoner kissing her black canvas sneaker was admiring the whip tattoo partially covered by her black ankle sock.
‘Not really, miss,’ replied guard-mistress Sophia almost apologetically. ‘We can, of course, kick them in the face with our boots whenever we want to, but, for the most part, punishments consist of withdrawing their food and water or keeping them locked in solitary confinement in their cells for days on end.’
‘Ha! Ha! Don’t you kick him in the face, Samantha! I don’t want you breaking his ugly nose before he has a chance to smell my bare feet!’ shouted miss brown, leather, strappy sandals and dirty, bare feet (aka the ‘hippy-chick’)
Miss Samantha, the Goth, laughed:
‘Don’t worry, Summer, I’m looking forward to seeing him having to smell your sweaty bare feet every bit as much as you are – although, do us all a favour, will you, and make him suck clean your feet? They reek!’
There were roars of laughter from all the girls, including miss Summer, whose feet were being so criticised!
‘Sure thing, Samantha! I told you before, I deliberately haven’t washed them for 3 days as I knew we were coming here!’
Prisoner no 7865 felt flattered. He took an instant liking to the hippy-chick mistress, miss Summer. She had clearly made a real effort for him, preparing her feet prior to her visit so that they would be in a suitably dirty and stinky condition for a convicted foot-prisoner. How kind and thoughtful of her!
As she took her turn in front of him, however, his enthusiasm for bare feminine feet was tempered by the truly rank smell of miss Summer’s dirty feet. The unpainted toenails, in particular, looked disgusting – chipped and broken, and the big toenail on her right foot had a thick layer of what appeared to be black toe-jam wedged underneath it.
He awaited miss Summer’s orders:
‘Slave, I want you to not only kiss my feet, but to use your tongue and teeth to remove the sweaty dirt from under my toenails. And do it gently, mind, or I’ll see to it that the guards lock you away for months. Suck on the toes first in order to soften each cuticle and remove all the outer sweat before you lick out any toe jam from under the nails. Do you understand me, footslave?’
Footslave! She had actually addressed him as ‘footslave’. Prisoner no 7865 felt a sense of pride again – for the first time in years. It was as if he had been granted a pardon, albeit a temporary one, and was now deemed fit again to be called a young woman’s personal footslave.
Yes, he liked mistress Summer, even if her feet were dirty and stinky!
‘Answer the young mistress! barked mistress-guard Sophia, waking prisoner no 7865 from his reverie.
‘Oh yes, miss, if it so pleases you most respected mistress-visitor Summer, this dirty prisoner understands and obeys its beautiful mistress.’
Now it was miss Summer’s turn to feel pleased. She wasn’t often described as ‘beautiful’. If truth be told she was rather a plain looking girl. But she realised that to this humble footslave-prisoner she was a goddess – a goddess who was about to bestow the ultimate privilege on her humble worshipper, that of tasting and swallowing her stinky footsweat and dirty toenail-jam.
And prisoner no 7865 dutifully lapped it all up, to the groans of shock and disgust from the surrounding debutantes;
‘God, Summer, this is just totally gross! I can’t believe you’re making him do that! Have you no mercy?’ exclaimed miss Carly, ironically.
‘That’s the whole point, Carly,’ laughed Summer, ‘when we get our own personal footslaves we can make them do whatever we like: lick our muddy shoes; sniff our dirty socks; suck our sweaty toes; or eat our stinky toe-jam. They will, quite literally, be permanently at our feet and at our mercy! Isn’t that right, guard Sophia?’
‘That’s right, miss,’ replied the guard, happy to confirm the young woman’s statements, but also with a hint of jealousy in her voice. These young women were so spoilt! They didn’t appreciate just how lucky they were!
For his part, as he consumed his unexpected second meal of the day, consisting not of the usual, tasteless prison slave-mush, but of mistress Summer’s sweat-laden and tart toe jam, prisoner no 7865’s only regret was that he couldn’t be the personal footslave of each and every one of these beautiful and arrogant young debutantes.
The years passed agonisingly slowly for the foot-prisoner in the foothole – ten years to be precise. Mercifully, the period of 6 weeks solitary confinement which had been effectively doubled to 12 by Her Excellency, The Prison Governess, was the longest continuous stretch of isolation he was subjected to. Most of the time he was a model prisoner, and therefore, on most days he was afforded the ‘privilege’ of having the hatch opened in his cell wall for a few hours so that he could project his head out at ground level into the dungeon corridor and pay homage to the passing regulation black, leather knee-length boots of the female guards.
But, small mercy though that was, life in the foothole was, fundamentally, monotonous and dull. The female guards came and went. Guard Michelle, for example, had long since left her job in the prison to have babies. But new guards took her place, and, due to their regulation footwear, they all looked pretty much the same – at least from the perspective of a prisoner in a foothole. Black leather boot after black leather boot; day in and day out; no prospect even of seeing or smelling the regulation, black nylons inside the guards’ boots – the guards were under strict instructions from the Prison Governess not to ‘treat’ the prisoners to the sight or smell of their inner footwear.
Rarely, he would be lucky enough to have a female ‘prison visitor’ – women like mistress Monique (who, incidentally, following his ‘test’ some ten years previously had never visited him again, not because he had offended her by his failure to pass her test, but simply because she was bored with him and had wanted to move on to tormenting the next prisoner). Such female prison visitors provided some welcome respite from the daily monotony, but they had invariably just come to gloat and to tease – promising their bare feet, but delivering only their boots and socks; raising the foot-prisoners’ hopes only to dash them again. Just as mistress Monique had done to him all those years ago.
And so, the overall experience of being a prisoner for life in the foothole-dungeons was one of deliberate monotony – and rightly so; it was a place of punishment after all.
Yet, even down here, in the depths of despair, life could occasionally present some unexpected excitement for an erstwhile footslave.
Today was to be one such day.
It started like any other day for prisoner no 7865 in his confined, concrete cell. At 06:00 am precisely the ground-level hatch to his cell was opened allowing the light from the corridor to flood in, and his saucer of slave-mush and water to be unceremoniously pushed through by the dusty, booted foot of one of the female guards. Prisoner no 7865 eagerly devoured his dusty, female-boot soiled meal, not because it was appetizing, but because it would be, as always, his only meal of the day – and, of course, because it was a feast fit for a footslave-prisoner.
When he had finished his meal, and it didn’t take long, he once again, as usual, picked up the empty saucer with his teeth and projected his head out of the ground-level aperture in order to deposit the saucer on the ground outside his cell. A guard’s boots marched over and the saucer was lifted up and taken away.
Prisoner no 7865 remained with his head sticking out from the aperture, staring at the dirty floor of the corridor, because there was nothing else to do. He resigned himself to yet another morning of guard-boot watching and, if he was lucky, kissing. That was his life.
But 3 hours into this ‘normal’ day something quite abnormal began to happen. There was the sound of excited girlish chatter and laughter; of giggling – most unlike the invariably bored and sombre female guards.
As the gaggle of girls approached his lonely cell down the dimly lit corridor, prisoner no 7865 soon realised that this particular group of young women were not guards at all.
Debutantes! They were debutantes!
He could tell from the way they were dressed – or rather from their footwear, for that was all he was physically capable of observing from his lowly position - that they were definitely ‘civilians’ ;brightly coloured and varied ‘civilian’ footwear on shapely young legs. Already they had brightened up prisoner no 7865’s day just by the simple act of walking towards him!
‘Debutantes’ were young women who were a week or so away from their 21st birthdays and were about to become footslave-owners for the first time. Normally from privileged backgrounds, for personal-footslaves didn’t come cheap, the State organised guided tours of the footslave-dungeons for the young ladies, as a means of reassuring them of the fate that awaited any disobedient or recalcitrant slave who failed to live up to their expectations – the fate of life imprisonment in a dirty concrete foothole in the bowels of the town dungeon.
It was, of course, an exciting, if slightly scary, day out for the young women, most of whom would never have been anywhere near a dirty dungeon before. But, ironically, it made for an exciting day for the prisoners also – lots of new and unfamiliar feminine feet to observe and, if you were lucky, to kiss and pay your humble respects to. Prisoner no 7865 braced himself. It had been some 3 long years since he had last been honoured with a visit by debutantes to his corridor.
There appeared to be 6 of them, and he quickly identified them all by their footwear as they gathered round him.
There was ‘Miss slides and white socks’ – a young, black woman in a brightly-coloured floral summer dress which reached down to just above her shapely calves, who was wearing light brown, open-toed, wedge-heeled, slides, made of cork, over pretty, white ankle socks. Prisoner no 7865 noticed that they were the new style of ankle socks, the so called ‘no show’ or ‘footie’ ankle socks that reached to just below the young woman’s ankle. Women hadn’t worn socks like that when he had been a personal footslave all those years ago. How the world must be changing outside in so many other ways!
Even when he had been a footslave on the outside, prisoner no 7865 could never quite understand why women wore socks with sandals. His mistress Olga had done it on occasions too! But why? Surely the whole point of wearing sandals was to allow their feet to breathe? Was it, therefore, purely to frustrate and humiliate the footslave by hiding their beautiful, bare feet inside socks? It probably was in mistress Olga’s case.
Whatever her motives, prisoner no 7865 was grateful to ‘Miss slides and white socks’ for her choice of open-toed footwear. The white socks contrasted nicely with her brown skin, and the open-toed sandals afforded him a clear view of the patterned stitching of her white socks. He could even see her delightful brown footflesh through the zig-zag pattern of the stitches.
Then there was ‘Miss black sneakers and black ankle socks’. This young woman’s black denim jeans were turned up at her lower calves, giving him an exciting view of the elasticated tops of her thin, black ankle socks which, again, contrasted nicely with her white skin. Even more exciting, the top half of what appeared to be a tattoo of a coiled up whip projected from the top of her right ankle, the lower half of the tattoo disappearing into the black sock. He wondered if this young woman was a ‘goth’.
Thirdly, there was ‘Miss black, zip-up, ankle boots and thick, grey bootsocks’. This young woman, judging by her skin tone, appeared to be from the Indian sub-continent. She was wearing either a very short mini-skirt or short pants as her beautiful, shapely legs appeared to stretch for ever above her black, leather ankle boots. Unlike the knee-length boots of the female guards, however, these ankle length boots allowed the prisoner to catch a glimpse of the tops of her thick, grey bootsocks inside the young woman’s boots. Very exciting!
The fourth debutante was definitely asian; oriental, in fact, for she was dressed in a way that only oriental women in their early twenties tended to dress: in knee-socks. More precisely, she was wearing, a short, above-the-knee skirt, black knee-length socks with a purple trim at the top, and rather dirty, white, slip-on, pointy-toed flats. He decided he would refer to her as ‘Miss knee-socks and pointy flats’. Prisoner no 7865 liked knee-socks on a woman – they seemed to tower above him, emphasising that even the young woman’s socks were higher, and therefore better, than him.
Then there was ‘Miss white sneakers and dark nylons’. Again, footslave no 7865, who by this time was beginning to think he had died and gone to heaven, admired this combination of footwear – the casual, dirty, white and rather tatty looking sneakers, mixed with the more formal, businesswoman-style nylons that would normally be worn with high-heeled pumps or court shoes. He observed a slight run over the outer left ankle in this particular young woman’s nylon tights which, combined with the filth on her sneakers, suggested a young woman who wasn’t too fastidious about the cleanliness or otherwise of her footwear.
Prisoner no 7865 resolved that he would happily lick clean ‘Miss white sneakers and dark nylons’ dirty white sneakers and kiss the run in her nylon stocking, if she so wished him to!
And then, finally, (apart from the ubiquitous black-leather knee-length boots of the accompanying female guard) there was ‘Miss brown, leather, strappy sandals and dirty bare feet’. This was perhaps the guest whose feet and footwear intrigued him the most. He was sure he could detect the odour of footsweat coming from the young woman’s feet, even though she was currently standing the furthest away from him. She was dressed almost like a gypsy-girl, with a swirling, multi-coloured ankle-length skirt under which her sandaled feet projected out. Yet, prisoner no 7865 realised the girl was most probably not a ‘gypsy’. Weren’t debutantes always from well-to-do families? And besides, her skin was a rather pale white. More likely she was a ‘hippy’ – or whatever the equivalent was nowadays.
And so, to sum up, prisoner no 7865 was suddenly surrounded by feminine feet clad variously in slides, sneakers, ankle boots, slip on flats, strappy sandals, socks (knee-length and ankle-length) and nylons – plus, of course the bare feet of the ‘hippy-chick’ and the austere black leather regulation boots of the accompanying mistress-guard.
Let the games begin!
It was ‘Miss black sneakers and black ankle socks’, the one with the tattoo, who spoke first:
‘How long has he been down here?’ she enquired of the guard, not out of any sense of pity for the prisoner – after all, she didn’t know him; she had literally just set eyes on his head for the first time.
‘I’m not sure, miss. About 10 years, I think. He was sentenced long before my time!’ answered the female guard, whom prisoner no 7865 now recognised to be mistress-guard Sophia, a keen and very strict new recruit, who was in her element working in the foothole-dungeons as she loved regulations and rules – and this place was all about regulations and rules.
Her response to the young woman’s question caused some merriment amongst the debutantes, for whom 10 years represented half their lives!
‘Ha! Ha! What a loser! What was his crime? Is he a “socks-offender”?’ enquired miss white sneakers and dark nylons, to the even greater merriment of her fellow-debutantes.
‘I’m afraid I don’t know,’ responded mistress-guard Sophia. ‘Prisoner no 7865 – answer the young woman. Tell her what your crime was!’ she barked.
Prisoner no 7865 duly informed the young woman of his heinous crime all those years ago:
‘Please miss, if it pleases you most respected mistress-visitor, this dirty prisoner
was guilty of disobedience and disrespect towards his mistress, if it so pleases you, most respected mistress-visitor.’
There were now gasps of disgust amongst the group of young ladies:
‘Why should that please me, insolent slave?’ responded Miss white sneakers and dark nylons, in a somewhat aggrieved tone.
‘Give him a break, Carly,’ interjected miss brown, leather strappy sandals and dirty, bare feet, ‘He’s a prisoner-slave. He has to talk like that. It’s supposed to be a sign of respect towards you!’
The girls laughed.
‘Yeah, alright, I’ve heard of slave-speak! But I don’t want to just hear this dirty piece of filth treating me with the respect I deserve. I want to see and feel him pay his respects to me! Guard, can you make him kiss my feet?’ asked miss white sneakers and dark nylons, whom prisoner no 7865 now knew to be called ‘Carly’.
‘Sure!’ replied mistress-guard Sophia.
‘Oh me too!’ exclaimed miss brown, leather, strappy sandals and dirty, bare feet excitedly.
‘And me!’ added Miss slides and white socks.
Now it was mistress-guard Sophia’s turn to laugh:
‘It’s alright ladies! You’ll all get your turn!’ she reassured them.
Since miss Carly had asked first, however, it was miss Carly for whom the others made way to enable her to stretch out her right, white sneakered foot directly under prisoner no 7865’s nose.
He could smell the musty leather of her dirty, white sneaker and see tiny pieces of fluff and dust clinging to the dark nylon of her stocking as it creased around her heel and ankle:
‘Come on, slave, kiss my foot, and I want to really feel your lips contacting with the toe of my dirty sneaker!’ snapped miss Carly
She sounded like a ‘natural’ slave-owner, this one, not a young woman to be trifled with! And it occurred to him also that, although he had once been sentenced to six weeks’ of solitary confinement for the error of referring to himself as a ‘slave’, these young mistresses were perfectly entitled to call him whatever they wished since at that precise moment in time he was, in effect, their slave.
There were gasps of approval and satisfaction from the group of debutantes as his lips smacked on the toe of miss Carly’s sneaker. Satisfaction, curiously, that was mixed with some disgust:
‘Ooh, gross!’ exclaimed Miss black sneakers and black ankle socks – the girl with the ankle tattoo. ‘No offence, Carly, but your sneakers are minging. Ha! Ha! And this loser is having to kiss them with his bare lips! What a saddo!’
Miss Carly, it seemed, wasn’t in the least bit offended. On the contrary she felt exalted – like a princess with a humble servant paying homage to her dirty feet:
‘Ha! Ha! I think he likes the taste of my dirty sneaker! Look he’s kissing it again!’
Prisoner no 7865 was indeed kissing the toe of miss Carly’s dirty white sneaker again and again. This was too good an opportunity to miss – the chance to taste and feel girl-sneaker on one’s lips again!
‘Move over, Carly, I want a go!’ shouted Miss slides and white socks impatiently.
‘Alright, Amy, keep your hair on!’ replied her friend, Carly.
The white-sneakered, dark-nyloned foot that had been outstretched under prisoner no 7865’s nose was then suddenly replaced by a much smaller foot shod in white ankle sock and cork, open-toed sandal:
‘Kiss the toe of my white sock, slave-boy’ ordered the petite, young, black woman in a high-pitched, excited voice.
As he obediently lowered his lips to the soft material of miss Amy’s white, ‘footie-style’, ankle sock, prisoner no 7865 could not help but notice that, close up, the sock was not as pristine and snowy-white as it had first appeared. It was perhaps inevitable that the dirt of the dungeon floors would impact on the young woman’s white socks. He had no reason to doubt that the socks were fresh on her that morning, but equally there were signs that they were not being worn for the first time – the heel of this particular sock, for example, showed signs of wear and tear on the back of the heel where her shoes or boots had doubtless been previously rubbing.
He felt miss Amy’s toes flex inside her sock in reaction to his lips touching her socked toes, just as she had ordered him to, and she let out a little squeal of delight:
‘Ha! Ha! Look – he’s doing it. He’s actually kissing my dirty sock! I really am better than him!’
Her friends laughed with pleasure at Amy’s seeming innocence:
‘We’re all better than him, Amy’ counselled her friend, Carly, ‘He’s not even fit to be a woman’s personal footslave. That’s why he’s here, isn’t that right, guard?’
‘That’s right, miss,’ confirmed mistress-guard Sophia, ‘all our prisoners are failed footslaves!’
‘It’s a pity, really,’ said miss Amy rather ruefully as she switched her right foot for her left under prisoner no 7865’s nose. ‘I’d quite like to have this prisoner as my personal footslave. I like the feel of his lips on my socks!’
For his part, prisoner no 7865 would have liked to have been miss Amy’s personal footslave and sockslave. He would willingly kiss her socks every day and all day.
But that was, unfortunately, out of the question.
Miss black, zip-up ankle boots and thick, grey bootsocks was the next to step up to the prisoner’s head. She seemed quieter than some of the other girls. But, seeing close-up her pretty ankle boots and the tops of her thick, grey socks on her soft, brown legs, prisoner no 7865 would have happily been her personal footslave also:
‘Kiss the side of my boot and lick the dust out of my boot-zip, slave’ ordered the young woman. There was no hint of an Indian or Pakistani accent although prisoner no 7865 was still convinced this young woman was of asian ethnicity – the tone of her skin suggested it.
Whatever her race, she would obviously make quite a demanding mistress, with very specific requirements and high standards expected of her personal footslave – rather like his own erstwhile mistress, mistress Olga, whom he still remembered fondly, albeit through slave-tinted spectacles. Mistress Olga too had often ordered him to ‘lick out her zips’. How it was all coming back to him!
There was a fair amount of dust to extract from the zip that ran down the side of the young asian woman’s chunky-heeled, ankle boot. But it was dust that tasted good, for it was the boot-zip dust of a sweet and feminine asian mistress. He just wished she would order him to pull down the boot zip with his teeth and to sniff the side of her thick, grey bootsock. How he would love to bury his slave nose in the thick folds of that feminine, grey bootsock!
But it wasn’t to be. There just wasn’t time, and besides her friend Lee-Fu, was waiting to have her feet worshipped.
Lee-Fu was known to prisoner no 7865 as ‘Miss knee socks and pointy flats.’ He had been looking forward to paying homage to this particular young woman’s feet and footwear. He truly admired the exciting contrast between her dark, black knee socks and the dirty, creamy white, well-worn flats she had on her socked feet. The shoes smelt of cheap plastic as she shoved her foot under his nose, causing her knee-sock to crease around the ankle – a sock which seemed to tower masterfully above him, emphasising his mistress’s power over him as he was only deemed fit to stare at and admire the lower part of her sock:
‘Slave kiss Lee-Fu shoe! Not touch Lee-Fu sock - only look! Slave obey!’ barked the young woman in a thick oriental accent. He had been right! Even after 10 years locked away in the foothole-dungeon the former footslave had not lost the knack of being able to tell a young woman’s ethnicity just from her style of footwear!
So he was permitted to look at her sock, but not to kiss it or touch it. It was only proper – even prisoner no 7865 had to admit that he wasn’t fit to kiss the black knee-sock of a superior, young oriental woman. And so he restricted himself to kissing and tasting the pointy toe of her plasticy, white shoe, and to admiring ‘from afar’ her black knee-sock with the single, purple stripe at the top, which covered her shapely lower leg and calf-muscle.
Miss black sneakers and black ankle socks – aka the ‘goth’ – was the next to step forward. Her ankle tattoo featuring a coiled up bull-whip truly fascinated prisoner no 7865. What did it signify? What did it say about her personality? The goth-mistress’s next question to mistress-guard Sophia, as he humbly kissed the canvas-style black sneaker on her outstretched right foot, confirmed at least one aspect of her personality: her sadism. It also helped to explain the whip tattoo on her right ankle:
‘It’s a pity we can’t whip him, as his body is effectively encased in concrete! I love whips! How do you punish the prisoners? Surely you must have someway of inflicting physical pain on them!’ she queried, conscious of the fact that the prisoner kissing her black canvas sneaker was admiring the whip tattoo partially covered by her black ankle sock.
‘Not really, miss,’ replied guard-mistress Sophia almost apologetically. ‘We can, of course, kick them in the face with our boots whenever we want to, but, for the most part, punishments consist of withdrawing their food and water or keeping them locked in solitary confinement in their cells for days on end.’
‘Ha! Ha! Don’t you kick him in the face, Samantha! I don’t want you breaking his ugly nose before he has a chance to smell my bare feet!’ shouted miss brown, leather, strappy sandals and dirty, bare feet (aka the ‘hippy-chick’)
Miss Samantha, the Goth, laughed:
‘Don’t worry, Summer, I’m looking forward to seeing him having to smell your sweaty bare feet every bit as much as you are – although, do us all a favour, will you, and make him suck clean your feet? They reek!’
There were roars of laughter from all the girls, including miss Summer, whose feet were being so criticised!
‘Sure thing, Samantha! I told you before, I deliberately haven’t washed them for 3 days as I knew we were coming here!’
Prisoner no 7865 felt flattered. He took an instant liking to the hippy-chick mistress, miss Summer. She had clearly made a real effort for him, preparing her feet prior to her visit so that they would be in a suitably dirty and stinky condition for a convicted foot-prisoner. How kind and thoughtful of her!
As she took her turn in front of him, however, his enthusiasm for bare feminine feet was tempered by the truly rank smell of miss Summer’s dirty feet. The unpainted toenails, in particular, looked disgusting – chipped and broken, and the big toenail on her right foot had a thick layer of what appeared to be black toe-jam wedged underneath it.
He awaited miss Summer’s orders:
‘Slave, I want you to not only kiss my feet, but to use your tongue and teeth to remove the sweaty dirt from under my toenails. And do it gently, mind, or I’ll see to it that the guards lock you away for months. Suck on the toes first in order to soften each cuticle and remove all the outer sweat before you lick out any toe jam from under the nails. Do you understand me, footslave?’
Footslave! She had actually addressed him as ‘footslave’. Prisoner no 7865 felt a sense of pride again – for the first time in years. It was as if he had been granted a pardon, albeit a temporary one, and was now deemed fit again to be called a young woman’s personal footslave.
Yes, he liked mistress Summer, even if her feet were dirty and stinky!
‘Answer the young mistress! barked mistress-guard Sophia, waking prisoner no 7865 from his reverie.
‘Oh yes, miss, if it so pleases you most respected mistress-visitor Summer, this dirty prisoner understands and obeys its beautiful mistress.’
Now it was miss Summer’s turn to feel pleased. She wasn’t often described as ‘beautiful’. If truth be told she was rather a plain looking girl. But she realised that to this humble footslave-prisoner she was a goddess – a goddess who was about to bestow the ultimate privilege on her humble worshipper, that of tasting and swallowing her stinky footsweat and dirty toenail-jam.
And prisoner no 7865 dutifully lapped it all up, to the groans of shock and disgust from the surrounding debutantes;
‘God, Summer, this is just totally gross! I can’t believe you’re making him do that! Have you no mercy?’ exclaimed miss Carly, ironically.
‘That’s the whole point, Carly,’ laughed Summer, ‘when we get our own personal footslaves we can make them do whatever we like: lick our muddy shoes; sniff our dirty socks; suck our sweaty toes; or eat our stinky toe-jam. They will, quite literally, be permanently at our feet and at our mercy! Isn’t that right, guard Sophia?’
‘That’s right, miss,’ replied the guard, happy to confirm the young woman’s statements, but also with a hint of jealousy in her voice. These young women were so spoilt! They didn’t appreciate just how lucky they were!
For his part, as he consumed his unexpected second meal of the day, consisting not of the usual, tasteless prison slave-mush, but of mistress Summer’s sweat-laden and tart toe jam, prisoner no 7865’s only regret was that he couldn’t be the personal footslave of each and every one of these beautiful and arrogant young debutantes.