Footslavery-The Sentence Part 5 Submitted on 08/02/06 It took a further 3 weeks of training in the prison dungeon before mistress Paula, the official trainer, was satisfied that the trainee-footslave was ready to be put up for auction. When it came to the day of his 'release' from the dungeon, the footslave had mixed emotions. On the one hand he was delighted to be leaving the confinement of his dank and gloomy cell; on the other hand he was full of apprehension as to his future fate - being put up for auction meant just that: he would be sold to the highest female bidder, regardless of whether she was cruel or kind; clean or dirty in terms of her personal hygiene; plain or beautiful; old or young; intelligent or lacking in education. And his buyer may not even be purchasing him for herself, but for a friend; or on behalf of a company; or even on behalf of the State. The whole point was that he was a slave - an object, to be bought and sold as a piece of property; and he would have no say in the matter. Whilst he was resigned to this, it was inevitable that he should also be anxious. What he hadn't, perhaps, expected was the feeling of sadness at his departure from the training dungeon. It had been his 'home' for over 4 months - apart from his one day on 'day release' to Madam Selena's office - and, strange as it may seem, he was going to miss his two pretty guards, mistresses Lucy and Antoinette. He had taken a shine to mistress Lucy in particular. Perhaps it was just a case of 'better the devil you know', but maybe there was a bit more to it than that; perhaps it was because she had had faith in him right from the start - identifying him as a 'natural' footslave; perhaps it was because of all the effort she had put into his training - allowing him the privilege of sucking and smelling on her dirty black boot socks every evening; perhaps it was just because he found her powerful and attractive. But whatever it was, he was going to miss mistress Lucy, and as he lowered his head to kiss the dusty toe of her outstretched, black ! leather knee-length boot for the last time he had to fight back the tears. What he couldn't see, because the heavy, wooden slave collar around his neck prevented him from looking at mistress Lucy's pretty face, was the tear in Lucy's eye. She would get over him, of course; indeed, a new slave was due in for training that very afternoon. But she doubted that the new prisoner would be as naturally docile and compliant as the departing one had been. Lucy was, if truth be told, quite lazy - unlike some of the other guards she didn't like arrogant or uppity slaves who needed to be 'broken in'. She found that too much like hard work. This slave, however, had made her job easy. He was a pathetic, submissive wimp - but that made him a good footslave. Mistress Lucy wasn't going to the auction house with him. Mistress Paula would personally escort him there as she was the best placed person, in her capacity as his official trainer, to answer any questions from his potential buyers. The other prison guard, mistress Antoinette, was going to drive the prison van. Mistress Paula sat with the footslave in the back of the van - or rather, she sat above him as he was again lying on his stomach with his right cheek on the dirty floor whilst mistress Paula rested her foot on top of his upturned left cheek. It was a proper position for a footslave to be in - protecting the sole of his mistress's brown leather pump from the dirt on the floor by means of his face. The slave was going to miss his mistress Paula also. For her part, Paula just wanted to get a good price for him. She was concerned only with maintaining her reputation for turning out well-trained, obedient slaves. On arrival at the Auction House near the centre of the town Mistress Paula accompanied the slave inside whilst mistress Antoinette stayed in the van. For the first time in months the slave suddenly didn't feel alone, for there were a number of other slaves being brought in for auction - not just footslaves, but 'personal body slaves' and 'work' slaves. The whole Auction House was a hive of activity. Mistress Paula had already explained to him that he would be put on display for the potential buyers to examine before the auction proper was due to begin, and she had used her friendship with the auctioneer, 35 year old red-head Georgina, to gain a prime spot for the footslave close to the entrance to the auction room proper. Mistress Paula ordered the footslave to kiss miss Georgina's feet to thank her for giving him such a prime location. As he lowered his lips to the toe of the female auctioneer's dusty, black, calf-length boot below her knee-length red, summer dress , she enquired of mistress Paula what price she was hoping to get for the new footslave. "It depends", replied Paula, "If he goes to the State probably only Ł300. But I'm hoping a private bidder might give us more - possibly up to Ł400. After all, he has been trained by the very best!" Mistress Georgina laughed as she extended her other booted foot for the slave to kiss: "He certainly seems to know his place. I'll do my best for you Paula". The slave noted that the auctioneer was not concerned with doing her best for him - for example by selling him to a kind and generous mistress. Her only concern would be to get a good price for his mistress Paula's sake - so that her reputation could be maintained. And the footslave recognised that that was how it should be. He too hoped he fetched a good price for the sake of his mistress Paula - it would be a fitting reward for all her efforts. The buyers were starting to arrive now and to inspect the goods on offer. Mistress Paula stood beside the slave who was, as usual, on his hands and knees, staring at the dirty mud floor until such time as a feminine foot was placed under his bowed head for him to kiss. However, the buyers were not just women. They included men looking for a footslave for their wives; young couples ; and, of course, private slave-traders, both male and female, looking to buy cheap with a view to selling the slave on for a big profit. The first potential buyer to inspect mistress Paula's footslave was one such private slave-trader, an African lady in her early forties, rather plump, who went by the name of Prudence, and who exported male slaves as novelty items to rich women in her home country. She was well-known to Paula, and the two ladies greeted each other with mutual kisses on the cheeks: "Paula, darling, I see you have brought a new footslave with you today!", exclaimed mistress Prudence happily in her thick, West African accent. "I trust he has been fully trained?" "Of course!", laughed mistress Paula, "Would you expect anything less from me than a fully trained slave, Prudence?". "Oh no, my dear! I know you have very high standards! Let me see how he likes kissing African feet!" - and with that the plump mistress Prudence extended her rather plump foot from under her brightly coloured, ankle-length African dress under the kneeling footslave's nose. Mistress Prudence was wearing brown leather Moses-style sandals on her large, brown feet and the slave smelt the mustiness of the leather as he lowered his slave lips making sure they touched the top of her big toe, simultaneously, as he had been taught by mistress Paula. He couldn't help noticing that the purple painted toe-nail was a bit chipped, and there was definite evidence of some toe-jam under the big toe nail. But there was no noticeable aroma of feminine footsweat. Mistress Prudence giggled, as she withdrew her right foot and replaced it with her left: "The boy certainly knows how to kiss a lady's foot respectfully!", she commented. 'The boy!' thought the slave, 'I must be about the same age as this woman, and yet she is calling me a 'boy'. However, he soon realised that this was infinitely preferable to being referred to as an 'it' or a 'thing', as some women referred to their slaves. And, on reflection, he realised that he was like a 'boy' - in the sense that he would never again be a 'man'. "Yes", confirmed his mistress Paula from his right hand side, "and he's good at kissing boots and socks as well!". Mistress Prudence laughed: "I'm sure he is, Paula darling, but we don't have much cause to wear boots and socks in my country. If I were to take him to Africa he would be spending nearly all of his time kissing sandals or dirty bare feet - like he is now!" "Of course", replied mistress Paula, "well, I've fully trained him in the art of pedicure. I can assure you that any African princess who purchases this slave will have well-kept feet and toe-nails!" "I don't doubt it, Paula. I can think of many African ladies who would love to have a male slave like this grovelling at their feet. Can he take the whip?" The footslave was continuing to kiss the top of mistress Prudence's leathery, black foot as the two superior ladies carried on their conversation about him. "Well, as you can see his back is not that scarred. To be honest we've only had to use the strap on him to discipline him thus far. He is very docile. But there's nothing to stop any lady from thrashing him to within an inch of his life if it so pleases her!" "Quite right, my dear. I'm afraid he would have to get used to the whip across his ribs if he ends up in my country. In my country we do believe in the power of the whip!" The slave flinched slightly at all the talk of whipping. It was a reminder to him that the rigours of the training dungeon might be as nothing compared to what lay ahead for him if he fell into the wrong hands. He kissed mistress Prudence's left foot even more vigorously. Both ladies noticed his distress and smiled. How nice it was to have a male at one's mercy! Mistress Prudence then moved on. 'She is definitely interested', thought Paula to herself, 'but would she go over Ł300? Probably not. These private traders were all after one thing only - making a fast buck'. Paula was still confident she would get more than Ł300 for this slave. Next a middle-aged Indian couple together with a young woman in her early twenties, presumably their daughter, approached the kneeling footslave. Although the man was dressed in a western suit with collar and tie, both the Indian women were traditionally dressed in what appeared to be Saris. "Good morning, Sir. Good morning, Madam, Miss ", Paula greeted them. "Hello", replied the Indian man in good English. "We're interested to know more about this footslave. I'm looking for a house-footslave for my wife and daughter. Can you tell us, is he fully trained?" "Oh yes, sir", replied Paula enthusiastically - a rich Indian family; they could definitely be potential buyers, and would probably be prepared to pay good money for the right slave; "I have fully trained him myself in the State Prison. He comes with a certificate of guarantee". This was the first the footslave had heard about any such certificate. But then, why should he be aware of it ? It was none of his business - he was just the chattel. "My wife, in particular, is on her feet all day and needs a foot massage every evening", continued the middle-aged man. Is the slave particularly trained in foot-massage?" "Oh yes indeed, sir, he has been trained to massage ladies' feet both with his hands or, if preferred, with his slave nose and face". The man's wife appeared to be inspired by the idea of a slave having to massage the soles of her sweaty feet with his face. She said something in Hindi to her husband and adjusted her Sari. "Papa, can we try him out?", chirped the young woman at the back excitedly, "I want to see what it feels like to have him kiss my feet!" Paula smiled at her: "Of course, you can, young lady. If you care to just step forward and extend your foot under his nose I'll have him kiss it for you". The young woman needed no further invitation and her proud parents stepped aside to let her stand directly in front of the kneeling footslave. As the young Indian woman extended her shapely right foot under his face the footslave saw that she was actually wearing a traditional eastern trouser suit known as 'salwar kameez'. The white trouser legs appeared elasticated at the bottom and came to just the top of her shapely brown ankles. On her bare feet she was wearing black leather low-heeled court shoes. They appeared well-worn, with several creases in the leather, and were a bit dusty and grimy from the mud floor of the Auction House. Mistress Paula too had noticed the state of the young lady's shoes, and as the slave was placing his first reverential kiss on his potential new owner's shoe-leather, she made a suggestion to the young woman: "Would you like the slave to polish up your shoes with his tongue, miss?". The young woman looked at her father as, even though she was fully 20 years old, she still felt she was of an age where she needed her father's approval for such things. Her father smiled and nodded at her: "My daughter is very remiss in keeping her footwear cleaned and polished", he explained to mistress Paula, almost apologetically. "No matter", laughed Paula, "She won't have to worry about such mundane things in future if she has her very own footslave to take care of her feet and footwear!" The family all laughed. "Would you like to give him the order yourself, miss?", asked Paula politely. "Oh yes please!", exclaimed the young woman. Paula knew this was all a good marketing strategy - get the punter believing that the slave is already theirs to command; then there will just be the small matter of paying for him! "Footslave, I hereby order you to lick the dirt off my shoes", came the piercing voice of the young Indian woman, doing her best to sound masterful and authoritative. Paula guessed from her accent that the family probably spent most of the year back in India - another hot country for the slave to have to acclimatise to if this family did decide to purchase him. As the humble footslave licked away at the young woman's shoe leather he saw the veins on the top of her brown foot appear to flex and twitch as she helpfully turned her foot from side to side to enable his slave tongue to achieve greater purchase on the dirty shoe leather. The slave tasted a mixture of shoe polish, black leather, and dirt. He then obediently cleaned the young woman's left shoe in similar fashion, all the time acutely aware that he may become very familiar with these shoes if the young woman's father decided to buy him. "Mama, come and make him lick your shoes as well", shouted the young woman excitedly, momentarily forgetting that her mother was wearing flip-flops that didn't easily lend themselves to being licked clean - apart, perhaps, from the dirty soles. Her mother declined the invitation, and Paula was left unsure as to whether the family would bid for the slave. She had no doubt that, were it up to the younger woman alone, the slave would be purchased. But the mother's body language was less clear, and Paula suspected that ultimately it was she who would have the final say on the matter. Nevertheless the Indian family thanked Paula for her help and politely moved off to look at some more footslaves. Paula took an instant dislike to the next potential customer who approached the footslave. Her sixth sense told her that this young woman was nothing more than a time-waster - one of those girls who likes to hang around the Slave Auction Rooms just for the thrill of humiliating slaves, but who has neither the means or intention of actually buying anything. Twenty-five year old, blonde miss Gillian was indeed such a 'time-waster', although she would probably prefer to describe herself as a 'slave-teaser and humiliator'; she couldn't afford her own slave, but she got her kicks by humiliating and degrading public footslaves and footslaves at auctions. She particularly enjoyed tormenting the new slaves who were up for auction for the first time. She knew they were terrified and apprehensive about the whole experience, and she liked to make them feel even worse by telling them how miserable their wretched existences would be from now on, and by contrasting her own freedom with their captivity. Of course, whilst mistress Paula could see through her and was perfectly entitled to take a dislike to her if she so wished, the humble footslave was in no such position to do so. As far as he was concerned, mistress Gillian was his superior and his potential owner. Because she was a woman, she was better than him, and even Paula would have to grudgingly admit that. She therefore spoke to the young woman politely, if rather curtly: "Are you interested in purchasing a footslave for yourself, miss?", she asked Gillian. "Mmmm, I'm not quite sure", replied the young blonde, "Is he fully aware of his inferiority to me?" "But, of course!", exclaimed mistress Paula, somewhat insulted that any woman could think that a State-trained footslave would be anything other than fully aware of his humble status. "Do you mind if I put him to the test?", asked the young woman mischievously. Paula had no idea what the young woman had planned, but she was experienced enough a seller-of-slaves to know that whatever it was it had been pre-planned by the young woman and would be designed to humiliate the slave. She decided just to let the young woman get on with whatever it was she wanted to do to the slave. If nothing else, it would remind the slave at an opportune moment of his helplessness in the face of all-powerful young women. There would be plenty of other 'serious' buyers around. "Sure, go ahead, miss", replied Paula, "I'm just off to get myself a coffee. You do whatever you like with him - only don't mark him in any way please - I don't want to have to sell him as damaged goods!". The young tormentress laughed: "No problem! I just want to see how much of a slave he is!", she replied somewhat ominously. Mistress Gillian then approached the, by now very nervous, footslave. She was wearing khaki-coloured shorts and heavy black, lace-up, ankle boots over white 'slouch' socks. The slave thought that the scrunched-up tops of her white slouch socks contrasted nicely with the black leather of her boots, but he was also aware that her feet must be terribly hot and sweaty inside those socks and boots. Paula had been thinking the same as she walked away to get her coffee, but, as she was more intelligent than the slave, she realised that the young woman would have deliberately chosen her footwear on this hot, summer day. It was doubtless all part of the young woman's plan. Miss Gillian crouched down beside the slave and began whispering softly, and threateningly, in his right ear: "Are you frightened, slave?" She laughed before he could respond. It was clearly meant to be a rhetorical question: "You should be frightened! Don't you realise that this hall will soon be full of women who are just dying to purchase you so that they can humiliate you with their superior feet? Don't you understand that you are nothing but a dirty footlick; a foot-lackey who is fit only to breathe in his mistress's foot odour? Take my feet, for example. If I was your mistress I'd keep you permanently locked up in my basement surrounded by all my dirty, sweaty socks - like these ones I have on now. I'd make you sniff each stinky sock a hundred times before shoving it in your mouth and making you suck all the sweat out of it. Do you like the smell of women's sweaty socks, slaveboy? Do you think you are worthy to sniff women's dirty socks, or do you perhaps think that you are too high and mighty to be made to do that?" This time the young mistress's question, though still rhetorical, did require an answer from the slave: "Mistress, if it pleases you most beautiful young mistress, this worthless slave believes it is totally unworthy to smell the socks of its superior mistresses, but always deems it as an honour to inhale the aroma of its superior mistresses' dirty socks". Miss Gillian laughed at his cringing response. The Slave Training Centre did indeed teach slaves how to speak properly to a superior woman! However she adopted a tone of feigned offence at what she deemed to be a lack of humility on the footslave's part: "Yes, but it's all very well talking about your 'superior mistresses', slave. What about the mistresses' socks themselves? Don't you acknowledge that their socks too are your superiors? Take my socks, for example", (at this point she stood up again and positioned her feet directly below his face, her right ankle girlishly tucked in behind her left, affording him a clear view of the tops of both her thick white socks inside her black ankle boots), "don't you think they are better than you?". The slave had to acknowledge the fact that, of course, they were better than him: "Mistress, if it pleases you mistress, this slave does indeed acknowledge that your socks are superior to this slave as they keep your feet comfortable inside your boots and absorb your precious footsweat in a way this worthless slave is incapable of doing, mistress". Again mistress Gillian laughed: "Well then, slave, I think you owe my socks an apology for implying earlier that you were in some way better than them!". The footslave was somewhat perturbed. Had he really implied that? He couldn't recall such a thought having even entered his head! His mistress Paula had constantly drummed into him the fact that a mistress's feet and footwear were superior to the footslave, and deserving of his respect. He genuinely did believe what he had just said about the superiority of the young woman's socks. But he wasn't all stupid. A part of him realised also that this young mistress was teasing him and playing with him, as was her right to do, for she was a free human-being, and he was just a down-in-the-dirt footslave. And in any case, if the young woman said he owed her socks an apology, then there could be no question but that he did. A mistress is always right. Miss Gillian pulled over a nearby chair and seated herself directly in front of the kneeling slave. She then untied her bootlaces and removed both her ankle boots before shoving her dirty-socked feet into his ugly face: "Sniff my socks, compliment them on their aroma, and apologise to them both for your haughtiness, you dirty, arrogant footslave!", she barked down at him. "Go on, apologise to Mistress Gillian's sweaty socks!". The thick, white socks were truly ripe. The slave could clearly see the sweat stains on the soles of the socks. They had obviously been festering inside the oven-like conditions of the young woman's ankle boots. They really weren't the type of socks that a young woman should be wearing inside boots on such a hot and sultry day. But then, as mistress Paula had surmised, that had indeed all been a part of Miss Gillian's plan. Although he was beginning to feel dizzy and nauseous with the sock-smell engulfing him, the footslave managed to remember his place: "Oh mistress Gillian's socks, if it pleases you mistress Gillian's socks, this humble footslave compliments you on your delicious perfume and begs your forgiveness for its arrogance and haughtiness in not acknowledging earlier your superiority over it. Truly this slave is privileged to serve both you and your owner". The footslave couldn't see it, of course, but mistress Gillian had a look of smug satisfaction on her pretty face. She had reduced this slave to a conversation with inanimate objects - with her socks! He was actually apologising to them at her behest. How powerful she felt! And how humble and degraded the footslave felt. This was what it meant to be at the mercy of a capricious and cruel young woman. Mistress Gillian continued with her teasing, as she put her boots back on: "Fortunately for you my socks have accepted your grovelling, apology, slave. And they want me to buy you, so that they can make you smell them and pay your respects to them day in and day out for the rest of your miserable life. Mmm, I'll have to think about it. I'm still not convinced that you are worthy to be my socks' slave!". Whilst it wasn't his place to do so, the footslave couldn't help hoping that this young woman and her socks would not purchase him, and keep him permanently locked up in her basement, surrounded by her foot stink. By now mistress Paula had retuned with her coffee: "Everything okay, miss?", she enquired of the 'time-waster'. "Yeah, he was just disrespectful to my socks, but I made him apologise to them". "Oh, well I'm sorry to hear that, miss. Rest assured if you do decide to buy him he won't dare to be disrespectful to your footwear ever again!" "Too right he won't!". And with that, mistress Gillian was off to torment the next hapless slave with her black, lace-up ankle boots and thick, sweaty white socks. Several other, more serious, potential buyers came up to examine the kneeling footslave during the next hour or so before the Auction proper was due to begin. The slave was lot no 15, and so didn't have too long to wait once the auction did start. When it was his time, mistress Paula led him on his hands and knees up onto the wooden podium beside the auctioneer, miss Georgina. He stared humbly at the backs of the female auctioneer's black leather calf-length boots as she opened the bidding for him. His fate was now well and truly in her hands: "Ladies and Gentlemen, we come to lot no 15. A fully-trained footslave. Described as docile and compliant. Would make an excellent personal footslave, or could serve as a footslave on the street or in an office. Can I please start the bidding at Ł150?" "150" shouted a male voice from the crowd. "Than you, sir. I have Ł150 as an opening bid. Any advance on 150? Do I hear 200?" "200", shouted a female voice. The slave felt a knot in his stomach. He hadn't recognised either voice. "250", shouted the man "300" replied the female voice. Mistress Paula smiled. Her reserve price had at least been reached. "350", came another man's voice - not the same one. There now appeared to be 3 bidders, not that the footslave could see any of them. That was none of his business anyway - he must concentrate on the back of the female auctioneer's boots, as befits a footslave. "400" replied the female voice again. Some woman appeared keen to get him. "Okay, ladies and gentlemen. I have 400. Any advance on Ł400?" "450", came the second man's voice again after a pause. "Thank you, sir. 450. I have 450. Any advance on 450? Do I hear 500? No? We're still at 450 then. Ł450. Going once, going twice..." The footslave's heart sank. Was he about to be purchased by a man? " - Gone! Sold at Ł450 to the gentleman on the left!" The footslave, curiously, thought he heard a young woman squeal with delight. Mistress Paula wasn't the one who had squealed, but she was delighted. Ł450 was a good price for a footslave. It wasn't the value of the slave per se - he was intrinsically worthless. But it did reflect all the effort she had put into his training. That was what was worth Ł450. After a few formalities mistress Paula introduced the slave to his new master, or rather, his new master and mistress as it turned out: "Slave, this is your new master. He has purchased you for his charming young fiancee, mistress Stacey. You are now her personal footslave. Kiss her feet!" As the footslave shuffled forward to pay his slavish respects to his new mistress, she was feverishly kissing her boyfriend on the lips by way of thanking him for her 'present'. As she did so her right leg was lifted up coquettishly behind her, so the footslave lowered his lips first to her left foot. As he placed a humble kiss on his new mistress's white stiletto shoe, he noticed that she had a tattoo, just above her left ankle, of a red heart with the word 'Brad' written in the middle of it.