patheticus555
01-28-2008, 6:58 AM
Part 1 – Shariya’s Law
Italian born, 58 year old Ernesto stood nervously in the dock before the much younger lady Judge who was a black woman in her late thirties or early forties. He quite rightly hung his head in shame, and was feeling very alone and vulnerable, as the superior female judge unleashed her diatribe, full of righteous indignation against him, from her seat of justice:
‘You have pleaded guilty to the crime of stealing a pair of ladies’ undergarments for the purposes of sexual gratification.
You are a disgusting, repellent individual on whom it would give me the greatest pleasure to impose a custodial sentence were the Law to allow it.
However, taking into account the fact that this is your first offence, and your guilty plea, I am regretfully obliged to impose a sentence other than imprisonment. I shall nevertheless impose the maximum sentence permitted to me under the Law.
I hereby sentence you to 5 years community servitude as a women’s footslave, and I attach the following conditions to your sentence:
1. You shall be taken forthwith to the cells were you shall be stripped of your clothing and clad only in a pair of slave shorts and a slave neck-collar
2. You shall then be placed into the custody of a female probation officer who shall ensure your compliance with the following conditions of your community servitude:
• That you be assigned to a female household in which you reside as a footslave and are subject to corporal punishment as deemed appropriate by your mistresses
• That periodically you be allocated foot-service related tasks outside the aforementioned household as directed by your probation officer
• That you undertake periods of hard labour in the State Penitentiary under the supervision of female prison officers as directed by your probation officer
• That your sentence of community servitude as a footslave be subject to continuous review by the Probation Service and that any breach of these conditions will lead to a custodial sentence of indefinite duration in the foothole-dungeons
Officer Shariya, will you kindly take the convicted prisoner down to the cells?’
The next thing Ernesto was aware of was the feeling of the uniformed, female police officer’s hands grabbing his right arm and leading him down the narrow staircase that led from the Courtroom to the cells beneath. The policewoman, whom he noticed had slightly bad breath, was even younger than the Lady Judge – asian, certainly no more than 20 or 21 years old, and wearing a dark blue, police baseball cap over a pure, white, traditional headscarf. She was also a lot shorter than him and slightly overweight – the sort of young woman Ernesto, the high-flying business executive, would have previously ignored in the street had she been in civilian dress. He preferred tall, slim, leggy blondes!
And yet, as the full horror of his sentence sunk in, it suddenly dawned on him that he had lost whatever status he had previously held in life. He was now completely in this podgy, young asian woman’s power – totally at her mercy – as he was a convicted felon and she was a correctional officer leading him to the cells. For the first time in many years he felt like sobbing.
But there was no time for sobbing. Within minutes he was being pushed by the young, policewoman into a bare, white cell and ordered to strip off his clothes – in front of her:
‘Take off your clothes and change into them shorts,’ she snapped at him, chucking a pair of flimsy, white, cotton slave-shorts at him. ‘You’re now a slave, innit?’ she declared gleefully, her voice full of girlish excitement.
How Shariya loved this part of her job – the shock on the face of the frightened, newly convicted prisoner who was about to embark on a life of humiliation and servitude at the feet of women – starting with her feet! She knew he would never have been spoken to like this before, and that made her power all the sweeter!
Miss Shariya had only been working for the Police at the Courts for some 6 months. She was still a probationer, but her managers had every confidence she would pass her probation with flying colours. It wasn’t that she was particularly bright or well-educated. Unlike Ernesto, for example, she had never been to college or university. An unkind person might have described her as a bit dim.
But her attitude was just right for the job she had chosen in the Courts, for she loved seeing others suffer, especially arrogant males; she loved being in a position of absolute power and authority over newly sentenced male prisoners – even if they were usually only in her direct custody in the Court cells for a short period of time. And she particularly liked having much older men such as Ernesto, old enough to be her father, in her young, female power.
She also liked her smart uniform consisting of the blue baseball cap and white headscarf which framed her pretty, asian features; her, plain, white shirt with blue epaulettes; dark blue, boot-cut trousers; black, zip-up, prison-service issue ankle boots; handcuffs; and brown, leather strap. She liked the way her uniform, particularly the blue baseball cap and white headscarf, made her face look slimmer than it actually was, and how the brown, leather strap that hung from her trouser belt instilled fear and obedience in the male convicts who suddenly found themselves in her ‘care’. She rarely had to use the strap – just its very presence seemed to inspire submission and compliance with her orders.
She watched with a satisfied grin on her face as the 58 year old prisoner stripped down to his underpants in the chilly cell. How different his life would be from now on! She knew his type – arrogant, ostentatious in displaying their wealth, thinking they were God’s gift to young women! Well – not now. Now he was nothing more than a women’s footslave, and she would have the privilege of collaring him – putting the heavy, wooden slave collar around his neck. He would be wearing it for the next 5 years!
‘Take off your underpants as well, slave!’ she barked, fingering her brown, leather strap with the unmistakeable threat of impending pain if he did not obey.
Ernesto for the first time in his life, was finding himself having to obey a young woman. He felt no excitement at being naked in front of her – only shame and humiliation – as he was supposed to. She represented the Law, and her word was law – Shariya’s law. He therefore wasted no time in removing his underpants and slipping on the white, cotton slave-shorts.
‘Now get down on your hands and knees, innit?’ ordered the uneducated, overweight, but nonetheless self-confident, young, asian woman.
Ernesto obeyed, and found himself kneeling on the cold, bare, concrete floor of the cell staring at the young, female police officer’s regulation-issue, black, ankle boots. He was already learning that a footslave’s perspective on life is very different from that of the free man that he was used to. He could not recollect ever being so close to another human-being’s footwear before, but he immediately observed how the young, woman’s black, ankle boots were not as pristine as they had appeared when he had been standing up. The toecaps, in particular, were dusty, and there was a trace of mud along the rim of the right toecap.
For her part Shariya was now crouching down over her vulnerable, kneeling prisoner and locking the heavy wooden slave collar around his neck. As she did so Ernesto observed how the leather in her boots creased and folded under his face. He thought he could smell the young woman’s black boot leather.
The collar felt very uncomfortable and unbearably heavy as the police officer padlocked it into place around his neck. Although Ernesto couldn’t see it, it had the word ‘Footslave’ engraved on it for everyone else to see.
‘There we are!’ declared Shariya, raising herself up again, ‘Now you’re a proper convicted footslave, innit?’
Ernesto, unusually for him – the former high-flying, fast-talking businessman – was lost for words. He didn’t know what to say.
‘Say “yes mistress Shariya”’ snapped the police girl.
The evident impatience in her voice spurred him into breaking his silence:
‘Y…y…yes, m…mistress Shariya.’
There – he’d said it! He’d acknowledged his new status as a slave by addressing a superior young woman as ‘mistress’! Unthinkable just a few days ago, but what choice did he have? He was, after all, dressed as a slave, collared as a slave, and on his hands and knees at a young woman’s booted feet – as a slave.
Speaking of which young mistress Shariya now stretched forward her right foot until it was resting on the concrete floor directly under his slave nose:
‘Kiss my boot, footslave!’ she grinned.
The first time a male slave has to kiss a woman’s foot is always a defining moment in his new life. It is, of course, the ultimate act of submission and self-degradation. No-one witnessing such a scene from any culture, or from any period of history, could mistake the symbolism of kissing another person’s foot. It is the act, par excellence, of a humble slave towards his master, his superior. And Ernesto now realised to his horror that even though he was the 58 year old, ‘successful’ businessman, and she was but a 20 year old, uneducated slip of a girl, she was, now, indeed his superior – the one with all the power; and he had to pay his humble, slavish respects to her.
So, somewhat gingerly, he leaned forward until his lips made contact with the dusty and mud-speckled, black leather toecap of her outstretched, police-issue, feminine , ankle boot and kissed it.
It really was a pivotal moment – the moment he passed over into slavery.
It was a pivotal moment for miss Shariya too. She had broken him – another dirty, convicted prisoner had become a dirty footslave – her dirty footslave, for the time-being at least! He was a frightened and contrite slave-virgin, and she was his first mistress. A sense of supreme, feminine power pulsated through her entire body as she felt the slave’s lips touch the toe of her boot.
‘Slave’ Ernesto – for that was who he now was and would remain for the next 5 years at least - noticed how the moisture from his lips had removed some of the mud from the young, female police officer’s toecap. Ridiculously he felt a certain sense of pride that his mouth had already helped to clean a small portion of offending dirt from young mistress Shariya’s boot.
‘And the other one, footslave!’ she barked down at him, suddenly withdrawing her right foot and replacing it with her left under his kneeling nose. She seemed to be hitching up the hem of her dark blue, police-uniform trouser leg to afford him a better view of her black, police-uniform ankle boot. What a kindly young mistress, he thought to himself – so considerate and helpful!
Again his lips tasted the hitherto unfamiliar, bitter taste of feminine boot-leather. He wondered what the rest of the young, asian woman’s boot would taste like – the zip area running down the side, for example, or the dusty sole of the boot. Bizarrely, he even found himself wondering whether the young policewoman was wearing any socks inside her ankle boots, and, if so, how they would feel under his lips. Would they feel rough or smooth? It would depend, he supposed, on the texture of the material – thick or thin, patterned or plain. Perhaps even the colour of any socks she might be wearing inside her boots may have a bearing on their taste – and smell.
Yes, he was already beginning to think like a ladies’ footslave. The things that were beginning to concern him were the things footslaves – and only footslaves – have to concern themselves with day in and day out: the state of their mistresses’ feet and footwear; the taste of shoe and boot leather; the smell of hot, feminine foot odour; the accumulation of sock lint and toe jam on their mistresses’ feet. It really was a different world from the world of the free man.
Whilst he was ruminating pathetically on such matters he became vaguely aware of more voices outside the cell door which was still open. Another uniformed police officer, a man, was showing a tall, rather stunning, young blonde woman into the cell.
Unlike the two police officers the blonde was wearing civilian clothes – indeed she was quite casually dressed in a brown, leather jacket, black, denim jeans and black and white sneakers. Even so, she did look striking – the sort of young woman, in her mid to late twenties, whom Ernesto might have sought to woo with his money and flashy car just a few weeks ago.
He could tell by the expression of contempt on her face, however, that this young woman was in no mood to be wooed by him:
‘Avert your eyes, prisoner-slave! Look only at my sneakers!’ she barked down at him in what sounded like an East European accent.
Slave Ernesto, who, it has to be admitted had momentarily forgotten his position as a convicted ‘prisoner-slave’, immediately lowered his gaze to the sneakered feet of the young, blonde woman who had deigned to enter his presence– as befits a rookie footslave.
‘My name is mistress Gozia,’ she continued, the same tone of contempt in her voice, ‘and I am your probation officer!’
She paused to let the full import of her words sink in to the stupid criminal’s brain. She was his female probation officer – the young woman who would determine exactly how his life would be for the next 5 years in accordance with the lady Judge’s directions. He must show her due respect.
‘Kiss my sneaker, slave!’
This was now the second young woman in the space of 5 minutes whose foot was extended under his nose and which he had been ordered to kiss. It was already clear to slave Ernesto that, whatever else the future might hold for him, female boot and shoe kissing was going to be a big part of it:
‘Yes, mistress, Gozia. At once, mistress Gozia.’
He was already more comfortable addressing his female superiors as ‘mistress’. It already seemed to come more naturally to him.
And now he was to get his first taste of girl-sneaker, as he lowered his face to the young, blonde woman’s black and white sneaker until it filled his field of vision and his nose could detect nothing but the rubbery smell of the sneaker-material.
Mistress Gozia’s feet were larger than those of the relatively short mistress Shariya, and, unlike with the latter, he didn’t have to speculate as to whether his female probation officer was wearing socks or not, for he now caught a glimpse of black, cotton ankle sock under the hem of her black, denim jean-leg. The sock was short – so short that only the elasticated top of the material was visible, and even then it disappeared down into the back of her sneaker around the heel. Slave Ernesto couldn’t help thinking, however, how nice the short, black sock looked as it contrasted so vividly with the young woman’s pale, white, ankle skin.
To his consternation he also noticed what appeared to be a tiny, red sore on mistress Gozia’s outer ankle bone. A large part of him wished he could kiss it better for her, just so that he could touch her bare flesh with his lips, but he realised even at this early stage of his servitude that such an act would be overly presumptuous in a humble, trainee footslave. He must confine himself to kissing his probation-mistress’s sneaker, as he had been ordered to do.
And so his slave lips made contact only with the black, leather upper of mistress Gozia’s rather dirty and scuff-marked sneaker.
Her foot muscles seemed to twitch inside her sneaker in pleasurable reaction to his humble act of obedience and submission towards her. Certainly the tone of her voice appeared to have mellowed somewhat as she continued to introduce herself to her new charge:
‘As you know you have been sentenced by the Court to five years of community servitude as a women’s footslave, combined with hard labour and corporal punishment.
My job is to see to it that the wishes of the Court are fulfilled, and that your punishment should be as unpleasant, humiliating and painful as possible. I intend to see to it, therefore, that your next five years are filled with misery and degradation at the feet of women so that by the end of your sentence you are fully reformed and contrite, and fit to resume your place as an equal amongst the society of women.
Make no mistake about it, though, slave – if you fail to submit to my supervision and directions in a satisfactory manner I shall apply to the Court for your sentence to be reviewed with a view to your incarceration for life in the foothole-dungeons. Do I make myself clear, slave?’
Slave Ernesto was impressed with the young woman’s perfect command of English, even though she pronounced all her words with a strong east European accent. He was even more impressed by the evident power she had over him – the power to have his sentence reviewed and to send him down for life into the foothole-dungeons!
He resolved there and then to be a good community servant and footslave:
‘Yes, mistress, I understand mistress,’ he replied in what he thought was a humble, slavish way.
But mistress Gozia was apparently not best pleased with his response:
‘Hmm…I can see that you have a lot to learn!’ she exclaimed as she replaced her right, sneakered foot with her left under his nose.
Once again, slave Ernesto admired the sight of short, black feminine ankle sock contrasting with smooth, white footskin as he kissed the toe of mistress Gozia’s left sneaker.
‘For starters, I shall have to teach you how to speak properly as a slave!’ she continued to mistress Shariya’s evident amusement as the latter, who was still standing to one side in the cell, let out a girlish giggle.
The mischievous, girlish giggle gave mistress Gozia an idea:
‘For example, let’s say I wanted you to beg mistress Shariya here for the honour of unzipping her boots and kissing her socks, how would you beg her to let you do that, slave?’
Slave Ernesto thought it was a slightly silly question from the probation officer. The answer was obvious – he would have to ask her in a respectful manner:
‘Erm… I would say: “Please may I unzip your boots and kiss your socks, mistress Shariya?” he replied.
A sudden crescendo of pain crashed through his head as mistress Gozia bent down to slap him hard across the right cheek – momentarily sending him reeling towards mistress Shariya’s booted feet. The heavy wooden collar around his neck dug painfully into his shoulder bone as his face landed on the concrete floor.
Miss Shariya continued to giggle.
‘’Wrong, slave!’ barked mistress Gozia – the girl with the considerable punch. ‘No dirty, convicted slave in my charge addresses a superior female in such a haughty and disrespectful manner!’
As he came to his senses again, slave Ernesto, his right cheek and jaw now stinging with pain, couldn’t for the life of him understand what he had said that was so ‘haughty and disrespectful’! Had he not addressed mistress Shariya as “mistress”? What more could he say?
‘Tell him Shariya,’ continued mistress Gozia, ‘explain to him how he should beg to kiss your socks using proper slave-speak!’
Mistress Shariya, seemingly emboldened by mistress Gozia’s physical chastisement of the slave stepped forward to the slave and gave him a slap of her own - this time across his upturned left cheek, as she explained to him the intricacies of slave-speak:
‘Ha! Ha! Stupid pig! You has to say somefink like… “Oh pray, mistress Shariya, if it pleases you mistress Shariya, this dirty, convicted, criminal slave begs its mistress for the honour and privilege of unzipping your beautiful, feminine ankle boots and kissing your sweet, feminine socks, if it so pleases you, most merciful and beautiful goddess-mistress Shariya”…innit?’
The superior, young policewoman then slapped him again, although her two slaps were still no match for the one slap mistress Gozia had laid on him.
‘Thank you, officer Shariya,’ said mistress Gozia from behind the kneeling footslave. She then moved over and crouched down beside him in order to speak softly into his rapidly swelling right ear:
‘Now, why don’t you ask mistress Shariya for the privilege of kissing her socks again, slave? And this time – do it properly. Speak like the dirty slave that you are!’
Slave Ernesto, who had always been something of a cunning linguist, at least had the ability to learn a new language quickly:
‘Yes, mistress Gozia, at once, mistress Gozia… Oh pray, mistress Shariya, if it so pleases you mistress Shariya, please permit this dirty slave to unzip your boots and kiss your beautiful, feminine socks, goddess-mistress Shariya.’
It wasn’t word perfect, but as a first attempt it wasn’t too bad. And it would have been churlish for mistress Shariya to deny the slave his request – since he had now asked her in such a nice and humble way.
The young, uniformed, police officer therefore moved over to sit down on the metal seat that protruded from the cell wall and placed her booted feet on the ground in front of her:
‘Very well, slave,’ she giggled, since you’ve asked me so nicely, I will let you take off my boots and kiss my socks, innit? Come on! Unzip my boots!’
Slave Ernesto felt the tall, blonde mistress Gozia giving him an encouraging kick on his backside with the toe of her scuff-marked, well-worn, black and white sneaker as he shuffled forward on his hands and knees to where mistress Shariya, his diminutive and slightly podgy, uniformed, asian ‘goddess-mistress’, was now sitting. As he went to pull down the zip of her right ankle boot with his hands the kindly probation officer prevented him from making his second serious error:
‘Not like that, filthy pig! Use your dirty, slave mouth to unzip mistress Shariya’s boots. Remember – you’re her footslave, not worthy to touch her boots with your bare hands!’
Slave Ernesto wondered how he could have been so stupid! He clearly had a lot to learn – not least the technique for unzipping female boots with ones’ teeth!
Mistress Shariya appeared to be offering her assistance to him:
‘Should I help you, slave?’
The tone of her voice, however, sounding dark and ominous, suggested otherwise, and even the stupid and inexperienced footslave, slave Ernesto, realised that when a mistress offers you her help in such a tone, she is asking a rhetorical question – for it is not the place of a superior mistress to help a down-in-the-dirt footslave to fulfil her orders. She merely gives the order, and the slave either fulfils that order to her satisfaction, or gets whipped!
He therefore had the good sense to respectfully decline mistress Shariya’s kind offer – remembering to do so in his newly-acquired ‘slave-speak’:
‘God bless you, mistress Shariya, this slave thanks its mistress for her kind and generous offer of help, goddess-mistress Shariya, but believes it must learn to unzip its superior mistresses’ boots by means of its dirty, slave mouth without the mistress’s kind assistance, if it so pleases you mistress Shariya.’
Although you would never have guessed it from her demeanour as she stood, hands on hips, behind him, mistress Gozia was already quite pleased with her new charge’s attitude. She could already tell he would make a good family footslave, and she had just the family in mind for him – Madam Tahani (46) and her two grown-up daughters, Arrabella (22) and Penelope (19).
Although Madam Tahani was herself of Moroccan origins, her two daughters were mixed race as their father, who was now divorced from their mother, was of English origins. Perhaps because they came from a broken home, all three women hated and despised men – especially older men who reminded them in any way of their cheating husband/father. And slave Ernesto fitted the bill perfectly - he was a similar age; he was white; he was a businessman (or former businessman more accurately); and, above all, he was a convicted sex-offender and knicker-stealing pervert, and therefore just ripe for the women of the Tahani household to take out their frustrations and anger on. Gozia was confident that they would take on the convicted footslave with relish and make his 5 year sentence one long, miserable punishment. She was sure that even the normally sweet-natured and kind hearted Penelope would, deep down, enjoy having an ‘elderly’ male slave at her beck and call!
She smiled cruelly to herself as she now witnessed the pathetic prisoner-slave Ernesto pulling down the zip of miss Shariya’s right boot with his teeth to reveal a somewhat scrunched up and creased, dirty-white, bootsock.
White! She was wearing white socks! Slave Ernesto was somewhat surprised. He had been anticipating that any socks the young, female police officer would be wearing would have been either black, to match her boots, or dark blue, to match her navy blue trousers and baseball cap – not white, matching her shirt and traditional headscarf.
It has to be said, however, that, unlike the white of mistress Shariya’s shirt and headscarf, the white of the young woman’s bootsock could hardly have been described as crisp and pure. Even from her own standing position Gozia could see the yellowy-brown sweat stains on the side of the female police officer’s sock. To slave Ernesto, however, the yellowy-brown stains loomed large – for the young woman’s dirty, white sock was now just inches away from his nose and face.
Mistress Shariya slipped her socked foot out of the top of her now unzipped boot and placed it on the ground, wriggling her toes and causing the white sock to crease and fold.
To his horror slave Ernesto suddenly realised that the sock was on inside-out! He could tell by the rough line of stitching around the toe area. It horrified him for two reasons: firstly, it reminded him that socks were the humblest of garments which most women, including mistress Shariya it seemed, donned without much thought or attention in the morning – and yet they were the very garments that he was now obliged to respect and adore as if they were some sort of superior beings to him, to the extent that he had to beg the owner of the socks for permission to kiss them!
The second reason why the inside-out sock horrified him was that he realised he would shortly be kissing the inside of a white sock that was self-evidently well-worn and sweaty. He would therefore be kissing the stale, sweaty bacteria from a plump, asian girl’s podgy foot – bacteria that was deeply ingrained in the material of the sock, hence accounting for its yellowy-brown staining.
But he had no choice! He was now a ladies’ footslave, and he only had himself to blame.
As soon as mistress Shariya’s second ankle boot was off, therefore, he braced himself, immersed himself in her sweaty sock-odour, and humbly and respectfully kissed the unpleasant, yellowy-brown sweat stains on her inside-out, thick, white, bootsocks.
To be continued
All my previous stories can be read on my blog at http://footslavestories.blogspot.com/ (Oh, and don't worry too much about the 'Content Warning' page - I put that on myself just in case anyone stumbles across my blog by mistake!) Patheticus.:)
Italian born, 58 year old Ernesto stood nervously in the dock before the much younger lady Judge who was a black woman in her late thirties or early forties. He quite rightly hung his head in shame, and was feeling very alone and vulnerable, as the superior female judge unleashed her diatribe, full of righteous indignation against him, from her seat of justice:
‘You have pleaded guilty to the crime of stealing a pair of ladies’ undergarments for the purposes of sexual gratification.
You are a disgusting, repellent individual on whom it would give me the greatest pleasure to impose a custodial sentence were the Law to allow it.
However, taking into account the fact that this is your first offence, and your guilty plea, I am regretfully obliged to impose a sentence other than imprisonment. I shall nevertheless impose the maximum sentence permitted to me under the Law.
I hereby sentence you to 5 years community servitude as a women’s footslave, and I attach the following conditions to your sentence:
1. You shall be taken forthwith to the cells were you shall be stripped of your clothing and clad only in a pair of slave shorts and a slave neck-collar
2. You shall then be placed into the custody of a female probation officer who shall ensure your compliance with the following conditions of your community servitude:
• That you be assigned to a female household in which you reside as a footslave and are subject to corporal punishment as deemed appropriate by your mistresses
• That periodically you be allocated foot-service related tasks outside the aforementioned household as directed by your probation officer
• That you undertake periods of hard labour in the State Penitentiary under the supervision of female prison officers as directed by your probation officer
• That your sentence of community servitude as a footslave be subject to continuous review by the Probation Service and that any breach of these conditions will lead to a custodial sentence of indefinite duration in the foothole-dungeons
Officer Shariya, will you kindly take the convicted prisoner down to the cells?’
The next thing Ernesto was aware of was the feeling of the uniformed, female police officer’s hands grabbing his right arm and leading him down the narrow staircase that led from the Courtroom to the cells beneath. The policewoman, whom he noticed had slightly bad breath, was even younger than the Lady Judge – asian, certainly no more than 20 or 21 years old, and wearing a dark blue, police baseball cap over a pure, white, traditional headscarf. She was also a lot shorter than him and slightly overweight – the sort of young woman Ernesto, the high-flying business executive, would have previously ignored in the street had she been in civilian dress. He preferred tall, slim, leggy blondes!
And yet, as the full horror of his sentence sunk in, it suddenly dawned on him that he had lost whatever status he had previously held in life. He was now completely in this podgy, young asian woman’s power – totally at her mercy – as he was a convicted felon and she was a correctional officer leading him to the cells. For the first time in many years he felt like sobbing.
But there was no time for sobbing. Within minutes he was being pushed by the young, policewoman into a bare, white cell and ordered to strip off his clothes – in front of her:
‘Take off your clothes and change into them shorts,’ she snapped at him, chucking a pair of flimsy, white, cotton slave-shorts at him. ‘You’re now a slave, innit?’ she declared gleefully, her voice full of girlish excitement.
How Shariya loved this part of her job – the shock on the face of the frightened, newly convicted prisoner who was about to embark on a life of humiliation and servitude at the feet of women – starting with her feet! She knew he would never have been spoken to like this before, and that made her power all the sweeter!
Miss Shariya had only been working for the Police at the Courts for some 6 months. She was still a probationer, but her managers had every confidence she would pass her probation with flying colours. It wasn’t that she was particularly bright or well-educated. Unlike Ernesto, for example, she had never been to college or university. An unkind person might have described her as a bit dim.
But her attitude was just right for the job she had chosen in the Courts, for she loved seeing others suffer, especially arrogant males; she loved being in a position of absolute power and authority over newly sentenced male prisoners – even if they were usually only in her direct custody in the Court cells for a short period of time. And she particularly liked having much older men such as Ernesto, old enough to be her father, in her young, female power.
She also liked her smart uniform consisting of the blue baseball cap and white headscarf which framed her pretty, asian features; her, plain, white shirt with blue epaulettes; dark blue, boot-cut trousers; black, zip-up, prison-service issue ankle boots; handcuffs; and brown, leather strap. She liked the way her uniform, particularly the blue baseball cap and white headscarf, made her face look slimmer than it actually was, and how the brown, leather strap that hung from her trouser belt instilled fear and obedience in the male convicts who suddenly found themselves in her ‘care’. She rarely had to use the strap – just its very presence seemed to inspire submission and compliance with her orders.
She watched with a satisfied grin on her face as the 58 year old prisoner stripped down to his underpants in the chilly cell. How different his life would be from now on! She knew his type – arrogant, ostentatious in displaying their wealth, thinking they were God’s gift to young women! Well – not now. Now he was nothing more than a women’s footslave, and she would have the privilege of collaring him – putting the heavy, wooden slave collar around his neck. He would be wearing it for the next 5 years!
‘Take off your underpants as well, slave!’ she barked, fingering her brown, leather strap with the unmistakeable threat of impending pain if he did not obey.
Ernesto for the first time in his life, was finding himself having to obey a young woman. He felt no excitement at being naked in front of her – only shame and humiliation – as he was supposed to. She represented the Law, and her word was law – Shariya’s law. He therefore wasted no time in removing his underpants and slipping on the white, cotton slave-shorts.
‘Now get down on your hands and knees, innit?’ ordered the uneducated, overweight, but nonetheless self-confident, young, asian woman.
Ernesto obeyed, and found himself kneeling on the cold, bare, concrete floor of the cell staring at the young, female police officer’s regulation-issue, black, ankle boots. He was already learning that a footslave’s perspective on life is very different from that of the free man that he was used to. He could not recollect ever being so close to another human-being’s footwear before, but he immediately observed how the young, woman’s black, ankle boots were not as pristine as they had appeared when he had been standing up. The toecaps, in particular, were dusty, and there was a trace of mud along the rim of the right toecap.
For her part Shariya was now crouching down over her vulnerable, kneeling prisoner and locking the heavy wooden slave collar around his neck. As she did so Ernesto observed how the leather in her boots creased and folded under his face. He thought he could smell the young woman’s black boot leather.
The collar felt very uncomfortable and unbearably heavy as the police officer padlocked it into place around his neck. Although Ernesto couldn’t see it, it had the word ‘Footslave’ engraved on it for everyone else to see.
‘There we are!’ declared Shariya, raising herself up again, ‘Now you’re a proper convicted footslave, innit?’
Ernesto, unusually for him – the former high-flying, fast-talking businessman – was lost for words. He didn’t know what to say.
‘Say “yes mistress Shariya”’ snapped the police girl.
The evident impatience in her voice spurred him into breaking his silence:
‘Y…y…yes, m…mistress Shariya.’
There – he’d said it! He’d acknowledged his new status as a slave by addressing a superior young woman as ‘mistress’! Unthinkable just a few days ago, but what choice did he have? He was, after all, dressed as a slave, collared as a slave, and on his hands and knees at a young woman’s booted feet – as a slave.
Speaking of which young mistress Shariya now stretched forward her right foot until it was resting on the concrete floor directly under his slave nose:
‘Kiss my boot, footslave!’ she grinned.
The first time a male slave has to kiss a woman’s foot is always a defining moment in his new life. It is, of course, the ultimate act of submission and self-degradation. No-one witnessing such a scene from any culture, or from any period of history, could mistake the symbolism of kissing another person’s foot. It is the act, par excellence, of a humble slave towards his master, his superior. And Ernesto now realised to his horror that even though he was the 58 year old, ‘successful’ businessman, and she was but a 20 year old, uneducated slip of a girl, she was, now, indeed his superior – the one with all the power; and he had to pay his humble, slavish respects to her.
So, somewhat gingerly, he leaned forward until his lips made contact with the dusty and mud-speckled, black leather toecap of her outstretched, police-issue, feminine , ankle boot and kissed it.
It really was a pivotal moment – the moment he passed over into slavery.
It was a pivotal moment for miss Shariya too. She had broken him – another dirty, convicted prisoner had become a dirty footslave – her dirty footslave, for the time-being at least! He was a frightened and contrite slave-virgin, and she was his first mistress. A sense of supreme, feminine power pulsated through her entire body as she felt the slave’s lips touch the toe of her boot.
‘Slave’ Ernesto – for that was who he now was and would remain for the next 5 years at least - noticed how the moisture from his lips had removed some of the mud from the young, female police officer’s toecap. Ridiculously he felt a certain sense of pride that his mouth had already helped to clean a small portion of offending dirt from young mistress Shariya’s boot.
‘And the other one, footslave!’ she barked down at him, suddenly withdrawing her right foot and replacing it with her left under his kneeling nose. She seemed to be hitching up the hem of her dark blue, police-uniform trouser leg to afford him a better view of her black, police-uniform ankle boot. What a kindly young mistress, he thought to himself – so considerate and helpful!
Again his lips tasted the hitherto unfamiliar, bitter taste of feminine boot-leather. He wondered what the rest of the young, asian woman’s boot would taste like – the zip area running down the side, for example, or the dusty sole of the boot. Bizarrely, he even found himself wondering whether the young policewoman was wearing any socks inside her ankle boots, and, if so, how they would feel under his lips. Would they feel rough or smooth? It would depend, he supposed, on the texture of the material – thick or thin, patterned or plain. Perhaps even the colour of any socks she might be wearing inside her boots may have a bearing on their taste – and smell.
Yes, he was already beginning to think like a ladies’ footslave. The things that were beginning to concern him were the things footslaves – and only footslaves – have to concern themselves with day in and day out: the state of their mistresses’ feet and footwear; the taste of shoe and boot leather; the smell of hot, feminine foot odour; the accumulation of sock lint and toe jam on their mistresses’ feet. It really was a different world from the world of the free man.
Whilst he was ruminating pathetically on such matters he became vaguely aware of more voices outside the cell door which was still open. Another uniformed police officer, a man, was showing a tall, rather stunning, young blonde woman into the cell.
Unlike the two police officers the blonde was wearing civilian clothes – indeed she was quite casually dressed in a brown, leather jacket, black, denim jeans and black and white sneakers. Even so, she did look striking – the sort of young woman, in her mid to late twenties, whom Ernesto might have sought to woo with his money and flashy car just a few weeks ago.
He could tell by the expression of contempt on her face, however, that this young woman was in no mood to be wooed by him:
‘Avert your eyes, prisoner-slave! Look only at my sneakers!’ she barked down at him in what sounded like an East European accent.
Slave Ernesto, who, it has to be admitted had momentarily forgotten his position as a convicted ‘prisoner-slave’, immediately lowered his gaze to the sneakered feet of the young, blonde woman who had deigned to enter his presence– as befits a rookie footslave.
‘My name is mistress Gozia,’ she continued, the same tone of contempt in her voice, ‘and I am your probation officer!’
She paused to let the full import of her words sink in to the stupid criminal’s brain. She was his female probation officer – the young woman who would determine exactly how his life would be for the next 5 years in accordance with the lady Judge’s directions. He must show her due respect.
‘Kiss my sneaker, slave!’
This was now the second young woman in the space of 5 minutes whose foot was extended under his nose and which he had been ordered to kiss. It was already clear to slave Ernesto that, whatever else the future might hold for him, female boot and shoe kissing was going to be a big part of it:
‘Yes, mistress, Gozia. At once, mistress Gozia.’
He was already more comfortable addressing his female superiors as ‘mistress’. It already seemed to come more naturally to him.
And now he was to get his first taste of girl-sneaker, as he lowered his face to the young, blonde woman’s black and white sneaker until it filled his field of vision and his nose could detect nothing but the rubbery smell of the sneaker-material.
Mistress Gozia’s feet were larger than those of the relatively short mistress Shariya, and, unlike with the latter, he didn’t have to speculate as to whether his female probation officer was wearing socks or not, for he now caught a glimpse of black, cotton ankle sock under the hem of her black, denim jean-leg. The sock was short – so short that only the elasticated top of the material was visible, and even then it disappeared down into the back of her sneaker around the heel. Slave Ernesto couldn’t help thinking, however, how nice the short, black sock looked as it contrasted so vividly with the young woman’s pale, white, ankle skin.
To his consternation he also noticed what appeared to be a tiny, red sore on mistress Gozia’s outer ankle bone. A large part of him wished he could kiss it better for her, just so that he could touch her bare flesh with his lips, but he realised even at this early stage of his servitude that such an act would be overly presumptuous in a humble, trainee footslave. He must confine himself to kissing his probation-mistress’s sneaker, as he had been ordered to do.
And so his slave lips made contact only with the black, leather upper of mistress Gozia’s rather dirty and scuff-marked sneaker.
Her foot muscles seemed to twitch inside her sneaker in pleasurable reaction to his humble act of obedience and submission towards her. Certainly the tone of her voice appeared to have mellowed somewhat as she continued to introduce herself to her new charge:
‘As you know you have been sentenced by the Court to five years of community servitude as a women’s footslave, combined with hard labour and corporal punishment.
My job is to see to it that the wishes of the Court are fulfilled, and that your punishment should be as unpleasant, humiliating and painful as possible. I intend to see to it, therefore, that your next five years are filled with misery and degradation at the feet of women so that by the end of your sentence you are fully reformed and contrite, and fit to resume your place as an equal amongst the society of women.
Make no mistake about it, though, slave – if you fail to submit to my supervision and directions in a satisfactory manner I shall apply to the Court for your sentence to be reviewed with a view to your incarceration for life in the foothole-dungeons. Do I make myself clear, slave?’
Slave Ernesto was impressed with the young woman’s perfect command of English, even though she pronounced all her words with a strong east European accent. He was even more impressed by the evident power she had over him – the power to have his sentence reviewed and to send him down for life into the foothole-dungeons!
He resolved there and then to be a good community servant and footslave:
‘Yes, mistress, I understand mistress,’ he replied in what he thought was a humble, slavish way.
But mistress Gozia was apparently not best pleased with his response:
‘Hmm…I can see that you have a lot to learn!’ she exclaimed as she replaced her right, sneakered foot with her left under his nose.
Once again, slave Ernesto admired the sight of short, black feminine ankle sock contrasting with smooth, white footskin as he kissed the toe of mistress Gozia’s left sneaker.
‘For starters, I shall have to teach you how to speak properly as a slave!’ she continued to mistress Shariya’s evident amusement as the latter, who was still standing to one side in the cell, let out a girlish giggle.
The mischievous, girlish giggle gave mistress Gozia an idea:
‘For example, let’s say I wanted you to beg mistress Shariya here for the honour of unzipping her boots and kissing her socks, how would you beg her to let you do that, slave?’
Slave Ernesto thought it was a slightly silly question from the probation officer. The answer was obvious – he would have to ask her in a respectful manner:
‘Erm… I would say: “Please may I unzip your boots and kiss your socks, mistress Shariya?” he replied.
A sudden crescendo of pain crashed through his head as mistress Gozia bent down to slap him hard across the right cheek – momentarily sending him reeling towards mistress Shariya’s booted feet. The heavy wooden collar around his neck dug painfully into his shoulder bone as his face landed on the concrete floor.
Miss Shariya continued to giggle.
‘’Wrong, slave!’ barked mistress Gozia – the girl with the considerable punch. ‘No dirty, convicted slave in my charge addresses a superior female in such a haughty and disrespectful manner!’
As he came to his senses again, slave Ernesto, his right cheek and jaw now stinging with pain, couldn’t for the life of him understand what he had said that was so ‘haughty and disrespectful’! Had he not addressed mistress Shariya as “mistress”? What more could he say?
‘Tell him Shariya,’ continued mistress Gozia, ‘explain to him how he should beg to kiss your socks using proper slave-speak!’
Mistress Shariya, seemingly emboldened by mistress Gozia’s physical chastisement of the slave stepped forward to the slave and gave him a slap of her own - this time across his upturned left cheek, as she explained to him the intricacies of slave-speak:
‘Ha! Ha! Stupid pig! You has to say somefink like… “Oh pray, mistress Shariya, if it pleases you mistress Shariya, this dirty, convicted, criminal slave begs its mistress for the honour and privilege of unzipping your beautiful, feminine ankle boots and kissing your sweet, feminine socks, if it so pleases you, most merciful and beautiful goddess-mistress Shariya”…innit?’
The superior, young policewoman then slapped him again, although her two slaps were still no match for the one slap mistress Gozia had laid on him.
‘Thank you, officer Shariya,’ said mistress Gozia from behind the kneeling footslave. She then moved over and crouched down beside him in order to speak softly into his rapidly swelling right ear:
‘Now, why don’t you ask mistress Shariya for the privilege of kissing her socks again, slave? And this time – do it properly. Speak like the dirty slave that you are!’
Slave Ernesto, who had always been something of a cunning linguist, at least had the ability to learn a new language quickly:
‘Yes, mistress Gozia, at once, mistress Gozia… Oh pray, mistress Shariya, if it so pleases you mistress Shariya, please permit this dirty slave to unzip your boots and kiss your beautiful, feminine socks, goddess-mistress Shariya.’
It wasn’t word perfect, but as a first attempt it wasn’t too bad. And it would have been churlish for mistress Shariya to deny the slave his request – since he had now asked her in such a nice and humble way.
The young, uniformed, police officer therefore moved over to sit down on the metal seat that protruded from the cell wall and placed her booted feet on the ground in front of her:
‘Very well, slave,’ she giggled, since you’ve asked me so nicely, I will let you take off my boots and kiss my socks, innit? Come on! Unzip my boots!’
Slave Ernesto felt the tall, blonde mistress Gozia giving him an encouraging kick on his backside with the toe of her scuff-marked, well-worn, black and white sneaker as he shuffled forward on his hands and knees to where mistress Shariya, his diminutive and slightly podgy, uniformed, asian ‘goddess-mistress’, was now sitting. As he went to pull down the zip of her right ankle boot with his hands the kindly probation officer prevented him from making his second serious error:
‘Not like that, filthy pig! Use your dirty, slave mouth to unzip mistress Shariya’s boots. Remember – you’re her footslave, not worthy to touch her boots with your bare hands!’
Slave Ernesto wondered how he could have been so stupid! He clearly had a lot to learn – not least the technique for unzipping female boots with ones’ teeth!
Mistress Shariya appeared to be offering her assistance to him:
‘Should I help you, slave?’
The tone of her voice, however, sounding dark and ominous, suggested otherwise, and even the stupid and inexperienced footslave, slave Ernesto, realised that when a mistress offers you her help in such a tone, she is asking a rhetorical question – for it is not the place of a superior mistress to help a down-in-the-dirt footslave to fulfil her orders. She merely gives the order, and the slave either fulfils that order to her satisfaction, or gets whipped!
He therefore had the good sense to respectfully decline mistress Shariya’s kind offer – remembering to do so in his newly-acquired ‘slave-speak’:
‘God bless you, mistress Shariya, this slave thanks its mistress for her kind and generous offer of help, goddess-mistress Shariya, but believes it must learn to unzip its superior mistresses’ boots by means of its dirty, slave mouth without the mistress’s kind assistance, if it so pleases you mistress Shariya.’
Although you would never have guessed it from her demeanour as she stood, hands on hips, behind him, mistress Gozia was already quite pleased with her new charge’s attitude. She could already tell he would make a good family footslave, and she had just the family in mind for him – Madam Tahani (46) and her two grown-up daughters, Arrabella (22) and Penelope (19).
Although Madam Tahani was herself of Moroccan origins, her two daughters were mixed race as their father, who was now divorced from their mother, was of English origins. Perhaps because they came from a broken home, all three women hated and despised men – especially older men who reminded them in any way of their cheating husband/father. And slave Ernesto fitted the bill perfectly - he was a similar age; he was white; he was a businessman (or former businessman more accurately); and, above all, he was a convicted sex-offender and knicker-stealing pervert, and therefore just ripe for the women of the Tahani household to take out their frustrations and anger on. Gozia was confident that they would take on the convicted footslave with relish and make his 5 year sentence one long, miserable punishment. She was sure that even the normally sweet-natured and kind hearted Penelope would, deep down, enjoy having an ‘elderly’ male slave at her beck and call!
She smiled cruelly to herself as she now witnessed the pathetic prisoner-slave Ernesto pulling down the zip of miss Shariya’s right boot with his teeth to reveal a somewhat scrunched up and creased, dirty-white, bootsock.
White! She was wearing white socks! Slave Ernesto was somewhat surprised. He had been anticipating that any socks the young, female police officer would be wearing would have been either black, to match her boots, or dark blue, to match her navy blue trousers and baseball cap – not white, matching her shirt and traditional headscarf.
It has to be said, however, that, unlike the white of mistress Shariya’s shirt and headscarf, the white of the young woman’s bootsock could hardly have been described as crisp and pure. Even from her own standing position Gozia could see the yellowy-brown sweat stains on the side of the female police officer’s sock. To slave Ernesto, however, the yellowy-brown stains loomed large – for the young woman’s dirty, white sock was now just inches away from his nose and face.
Mistress Shariya slipped her socked foot out of the top of her now unzipped boot and placed it on the ground, wriggling her toes and causing the white sock to crease and fold.
To his horror slave Ernesto suddenly realised that the sock was on inside-out! He could tell by the rough line of stitching around the toe area. It horrified him for two reasons: firstly, it reminded him that socks were the humblest of garments which most women, including mistress Shariya it seemed, donned without much thought or attention in the morning – and yet they were the very garments that he was now obliged to respect and adore as if they were some sort of superior beings to him, to the extent that he had to beg the owner of the socks for permission to kiss them!
The second reason why the inside-out sock horrified him was that he realised he would shortly be kissing the inside of a white sock that was self-evidently well-worn and sweaty. He would therefore be kissing the stale, sweaty bacteria from a plump, asian girl’s podgy foot – bacteria that was deeply ingrained in the material of the sock, hence accounting for its yellowy-brown staining.
But he had no choice! He was now a ladies’ footslave, and he only had himself to blame.
As soon as mistress Shariya’s second ankle boot was off, therefore, he braced himself, immersed himself in her sweaty sock-odour, and humbly and respectfully kissed the unpleasant, yellowy-brown sweat stains on her inside-out, thick, white, bootsocks.
To be continued
All my previous stories can be read on my blog at http://footslavestories.blogspot.com/ (Oh, and don't worry too much about the 'Content Warning' page - I put that on myself just in case anyone stumbles across my blog by mistake!) Patheticus.:)