‘Oh, do you have to go, my darling?’

20 year old Stephanie pouted at her rich sugar-daddy, as she wrapped her arms around his strong, manly – but 60 year old – frame.

Thomas laughed:

‘I won’t be long, sweetheart. Only an hour or so. You know how it is – business is business!’

‘Oh, but I don’t want to be left here all on my own!’ exclaimed the young woman, almost petulantly.

‘Ha! Ha! But you won’t be alone, sweetheart. I’ll have Patheticus attend to your every need while I’m gone!’

‘Patheticus? Ha! Ha! Oh, but he’s just a slave, darling! I want to be with a real man this evening. I want to be with you!’

Thomas stroked his beautiful, young girlfriend’s long, blonde hair:

‘Now you’re just being silly, darling! Patheticus will attend to your every whim while I’m gone – and, like I said, it’ll only be for an hour or so!’

Thomas pulls himself away from his blonde girlfriend’s admiring and loving embrace, and walks over to the living room wall where he unhooks a short, single-tailed, brown leather whip.

He brings it over to his still pouting girlfriend:

‘Here, you can beat him, if you like!’

Stephanie takes the leather whip and runs it mischievously through her slender, white, bling-covered fingers:

‘Oh, but I don’t want to beat a stupid slave! I want to make love to you, my darling Thomas!’

The man laughs:

‘All in good time, Stephanie sweetheart! I have to take care of this bit of business first! After all, you do want me to buy you those nice, new designer boots for you tomorrow, don’t you?’

Stephanie’s petulant mood seemingly changes for the better:

‘Ha! Ha! Oh yes – darling. If you need to conduct your business in order to get me those boots, then I suppose I’ll have to let you go! Ha! Ha!’

Once again standing on tip-toe, she embraces her manly, elderly boyfriend, kissing him passionately on the mouth whilst her whip dangles gently, and unthreateningly, over his back. Stephanie would never dream of striking her manly sugar-daddy with the whip!

‘Ha! Ha! That’s my girl!’ exclaims Thomas, reluctantly pulling himself away again from her warm, loving embrace.

He pulls a cord hanging from the wall, thereby ringing a bell.

After a few minutes, slave Patheticus – a younger man in his mid forties – crawls on his hands and knees, his head humbly bowed to the floor, into the opulent drawing room where the loving couple are about to temporarily part:

‘You rang for me, master sir?’

Stephanie casts a disparaging look down at the semi-naked, whip-marked, male slave kneeling before his superior master Thomas’s feet:

‘Yes. I have to go out .You will stay here and satisfy miss Stephanie’s every whim. Do I make myself clear, slave?’

‘Yes, master sir. As you wish, master sir. This slave obeys his master, master sir!’

Master Thomas then turns to his pretty, young, blonde girlfriend one final time, and kisses her again, lovingly on the lips:

‘Do whatever you wish with him, my darling. He’s all yours! I promise I won’t be long!’

Master Thomas then leaves the room, and the house, leaving Stephanie alone with the attendant slave.

She walks over to the drawing room cabinet, and lights up a cigarette. She then moves over to the middle of the opulent room, where she stands imperiously, her left hand resting dominantly on her shapely, left hipbone; the brown, leather slave-whip dangling ominously by her left-hand side; and her right foot now extended before her on the fluffy, white, drawing room carpet:

‘Kiss my foot, slave!’ is all she says, after taking a long, ponderous drag on her cigarette.

Slave Patheticus, forever on his knees, shuffles forward and places his lips on the toe of the young, blonde woman’s arrogantly outstretched, right foot. She is wearing plain, black ballet flats and matching black anklesocks beneath a pair of grey denim, designer jeans. He likes that, for he gets to see a few creases and folds in the material of the young, heterosexual, blonde woman’s black sock as he obediently kisses the rounded toe-area of her soft, black, flat, leather shoe.

She laughs at him, causing the tip of the brown leather slave-whip to dangle dangerously above his submissively bowed head:

‘Ha! Ha! You’re pathetic! Patheticus the pathetic slave!’ she quips.

Patheticus thinks she sounds a bit drunk. She certainly seems somewhat unsteady on her feet as she switches feet below him:

‘And the other one, pathetic slave!’

‘Yes mistress Stephanie. Anything you wish mistress Stephanie. Please don’t beat me mistress Stephanie!’

‘Yes mistress Stephanie…anything you wish, mistress Stephanie…three bags full, mistress Stephanie…’, she mocks him in a whiney voice whilst his lips pay deadly serious homage to her now outstretched left foot, the brown leather whip-end clearly visible to him against the grey, designer denim of her outstretched, left jean-leg.

‘…I want you to call me master, not mistress, do you understand me, stupid slave?’

‘Yes miss Stephanie…I…I…mean master Stephanie!’

‘Ha! Ha! That’s right, slave…I am you master now, while your master Thomas is away…and you have to do everything I say, got it?’

She unfurls the whip and cracks it above his balding head. Tee-hee! This is fun!

‘Y...Yes…master Stephanie. As you wish, m…master Stephanie…Please don’t hurt me m…master…I will be a good slave to you, master Stephanie!’

Stephanie felt gratified by her sudden sense of absolute, female power over the cringing, male slave at her feet. He seemed to be genuinely afraid of her!

Ha! Ha! She liked that! Having a man in her power, addressing her as ‘master’, and begging her not to hurt him! She was actually quite glad, now, that her boyfriend Thomas had popped out for a few minutes leaving her in charge of the household slave.

The fact that it was technically illegal – for young women were supposed to be at least 21 before they were left in charge of a slave – only added to her sense of wicked excitement.

Mind you, Patheticus’s captivity was completely illegal under the Gynarchy’s laws anyway! Men, even free men like her rich boyfriend Thomas, weren’t supposed to own slaves. Luckily her elderly gangster-boyfriend had little regard for the Female Law. That’s what attracted blonde-airhead miss Stephanie to him in the first place!

She continued her own illicit domination of the humble, and, she thought, incredibly ugly footslave at her feet:

‘Oh, so you wish to be a good slave to me do you, pathetic wimp? Ha! Ha! Well, as far as I know slaves are supposed to wash the feet of their masters’ guests, aren’t they? Isn’t that what you are supposed to do, pathetic slave?’

Stephanie didn’t know much about slavery – despite living in the Gynarchy all her life. She had never been one to pay much attention at school! But she did remember reading about household slaves in Ancient Rome having to wash the feet of their masters’ and mistresses’ guests. So she decided, on a whim, to have Patheticus wash her feet. She was a guest, after all – an honoured guest in his master’s house; for she was his master’s beautiful girlfriend!

‘Yes, master Stephanie. As you wish, master Stephanie. If it would be so pleasing to you, master Stephanie.’

Master Stephanie flicked the whip nonchalantly over his head:

‘Yes it would be so pleasing to me, slave…Go and fetch a bowl of warm water and a towel this instant …You’re going to wash my dirty feet!’

‘Yes master Stephanie. At once, master Stephanie!’

Slave Patheticus shuffled off quickly towards the downstairs bathroom. He didn’t want to waste any time. This was too good to be true! He was going to wash the bare feet of miss Stephanie – his master’s 20 year old, blonde bimbo!

He could hardly believe his luck – not because he craved touching her soft, bare, white feet; but because he would have to touch her soft, black socks in order to first take them off her feet!

You see how truly pathetic slave Patheticus is?

By the time he came back miss Stephanie was seated on the black, leather sofa, her ballet-flated feet now resting coyly side by side on the fluffy, white drawing-room carpet, the slave-whip still resting in her left hand whilst she held her cigarette in her right hand (another illicit activity for a young woman under 21 in the Gynarchy! But slave Patheticus wasn’t exactly in any position to tell on her, his ‘position’ being on his hands and knees on the floor in front of her and about to wash her feet!).

‘Come on, get a move on, dirty slaveman. I haven’t got all day!’ snapped the arrogant and haughty young, blonde woman, who was less than half his age, but the one with all the power – albeit derogated power from his proper (if not entirely legitimate) master.

‘Yes master Stephanie. At once master Stephanie.’

Slave Patheticus placed the foot-sized, white porcelain bowl of warm water on the floor directly in front of the two black-ballet-flated feet, taking care not to spill any of the water on the plush, white carpet. For miss Stephanie – snooty little snitch that she was – would be sure to tell on him if he did!

He placed the fluffy, white foot-towel next to the bowl.

‘Now take off my shoes and socks, slave!’

‘Yes master Stephanie. At once master Stephanie.’

Without any further ado he reached over the bowl, gently lifted miss Stephanie’s right foot up off the carpet, and slipped the soft, black leather shoe – the shoe containing the bacteria from his slave-mouth thanks to his earlier humble kiss to its rounded toe area – off the young woman’s shapely, black-anklesocked foot.

She playfully wriggled her freshly-liberated, black-socked toes directly in front of his, mesmerized, kneeling face:

‘Ha! Ha! Can you smell your master’s foot, slave? Do you like master Stephanie’s stinky sock-smell from her pongy, black socks? Ha! Ha!’

If truth be told, slave Patheticus could hardly smell a thing – just the faintest whiff of warm, young-woman, delicate foot-odour.

So, in truth, he could say that he did like it:

‘Oh yes master Stephanie…yes indeed, master Stephanie…truly this slave is enamoured by the smell of your most wondrous sock, if it is so pleasing to you, master Stephanie!’

Stephanie laughed out loud at him:

‘Ha! Ha! I love the way you slaves talk, and that! Just listen to yourself – having to praise a girl’s sock! Ha! Ha!...’

She moves her 20 year old, black-socked foot even closer to his face:

‘Kiss it, slave! Kiss my dirty, black, ‘wondrous’ sock! Ha! Ha!’

She then leans back in the sofa and takes another drag on her cigarette whilst slave Patheticus places a respectful kiss onto the somewhat creased and crumpled, reinforced toe-area of his master’s girlfriend’s short, black anklesock.

It feels warm and moist on his lips.

Miss Stephanie suddenly withdraws her socked foot from his lips with a jolt:

‘Ha! Ha! That tickles slave!...Do that again and I’ll give you a taste of the whip!’

Slave Patheticus apologises for doing what he had been told to do:

‘Oh pray master Stephanie…please forgive me master Stephanie…please don’t whip me, most sweet and kind master!’

His female master laughs:

‘Ha! Ha! Calm down, slave! You just need to be more careful, and remember I’m the boss! Now, pull the sock off my foot with your teeth…Pull it off from the sweaty toe-end, and make damn sure your teeth don’t bite my actual toes underneath, you dirty, useless slave!’

‘Yes master… at once master!’

The nervous footslave once again does as he is told, and grips the loose toe-end of miss Stephanie’s short, black anklesock with his teeth, pulling it gently off her foot.

The sock comes off quite easily in his mouth, for it’s a very short, sneaker-style anklesock. In fact, it had barely covered the upper half of the young, blonde woman’s shapely white anklebone even when it had been fully pulled up!

Miss Stephanie laughs with dominant delight at the sight of the pathetic, middle-aged, male footslave, on his knees, trembling, and with her dirty sock dangling from his mouth:

‘Ha! Ha! Now put the sock down on the floor and take off my other shoe and sock!’ she commands petulantly.

Slave Patheticus temporarily forgets his slave-manners, and speaks to a mistress with his mouth full – full of her warm sock!

‘Yeth mathter Thephanie!’

She forgives his impudence, and actually finds it rather amusing that her sweaty sock is causing him to have a speech impediment!

Once both shoes and socks are off the young, blonde woman’s feet, he gently lifts each dainty, female, porcelain-like foot into the matching porcelain bowl of now lukewarm water.

‘Ha! Ha! Stroke my feet with your hands while you are washing them in the water, dimwit-slave...but don’t you dare tickle me again, or I’ll ‘tickle’ your back with the whip, do you hear me?’

‘Yes master Stephanie...this slave fears the whip, and obeys the all-powerful mistress, master Stephanie.’

Mistress-master Stephanie continues to take rebellious puffs on her illicit cigarette whilst the humble slave bathes, caresses and washes her precious, bare, semi-sweaty feet.

Meanwhile, the female master takes great pleasure in verbally mocking the male slave down at her feet:

‘Ha! Ha! How does it feel, old slave-man? How are you liking it, having to wash a superior young woman’s dirty, stinky feet? Ha! Ha! Is it a ‘wondrous’ experience for you – almost as wondrous as having to smell her sweaty, black sock? Ha! Ha!’

Slave Patheticus’s first instinct was to reassure the young woman that her feet were not, actually, all that dirty or stinky – but he thought better of it as he realised she may well be offended. She clearly wants to know that he feels humiliated and degraded by her ‘dirty’ feet!

‘Oh pray master…if it pleases you master Stephanie…truly this slave feels humbled by his degrading task…if it is so pleasing to you, superior master Stephanie!’

The girl laughs triumphantly. She may not know much about historical slavery, but girl-power is something she instinctively understands!

And she is now a girl with power!

‘Ha! Ha! Tell me, slave, does your master Thomas ever make you wash his dirty feet?’

Slave Patheticus shudders at the thought. This young lady has an inventive, but truly disgusting, mind:

‘Oh no, mistress Stephanie!...The master has never ordered me to do this degrading task for him!’

He suddenly feels a crack of truly agonizing pain across his fully-exposed left shoulder blade.

The girl had just whipped him!

‘I thought I told you to always call me master, slave!’

‘Oh pray, master Stephanie… please forgive me, master Stephanie…this stupid slave forgot, master Stephanie… please don’t whip me again, master Stephanie! Oh pray!’

Slave Patheticus was genuinely wimpish about pain. He feared the whip, which was why he feared this girl!

Hah! If you think that’s bad just wait ‘till I tell your master about how you’ve just splashed all that dirty foot-water on his nice clean carpet! Ha! Ha!’

Slave Patheticus is now mortified to observe that the force of the whipstroke across his back had inadvertently caused him to splash some of the girl’s dirty footwater onto the clean, white carpet surrounding the porcelain bowl!

He will most assuredly be whipped for that later by his master Thomas!

But there was even worse to come!

‘And look what you’ve done to my bloody socks, slave-boy! You’ve splashed them as well!’

Miss Stephanie suddenly stands up in her wet, bare feet and rains several further stinging blows of the leather whip down onto the incompetent, kneeling footslave’s bare back!

At that precise, highly-inopportune moment her elderly boyfriend, master Thomas, comes back into the room:

‘Hey! Hey! What’s all this?’ he shouts.

Miss Stephanie throws the whip down onto the floor and rushes over to her boyfriend’s arms, false tears in her false-eyelashes:

‘Oh Tommy, just look what the slave has done to my socks! I was having him wash my feet when he suddenly splashed my nice, clean socks with the dirty foot-water! Just look at them! They’re ruined!’

Thomas smiles to himself and comforts his distraught, petulant girlfriend in his manly, aging-gangster arms:

‘There! There! Don’t fret Stephanie darling! I’ll buy you some new socks first thing in the morning! Don’t worry, sweetheart! You won’t be needing your socks again tonight….I’m taking you straight to bed! Ha! Ha! God you’re sexy when you’re angry! Ha! Ha!’

‘Oh Tommy…Oh thank you Tommy!’ swoons the blonde bimbo, melting submissively into his strong, masculine arms.

Meanwhile the real master addresses the real slave:

‘And as for you, Patheticus…you can stay up all night drying those socks with your breath. Then report to me in the morning! And bring the whip with you. I’m going to give you 50 hard lashes in the morning at miss Stephanie’s feet – for disrespecting and damaging her socks! How dare you! Just who do you think you are? Do you think you are too high and mighty to take proper care of my beautiful girl’s socks, or something? My God I’ll soon teach you your place, boy!’

Patheticus is sobbing – partly through pain; partly through fear:

‘Yes master sir …Pray have mercy on me master sir…pray have mercy on this stupid, ignorant slave, master Thomas sir!’

As his free masters and betters make to leave the scene of the footslave-crime arm in arm, miss Stephanie turns to look back at the distraught, kneeling slave with a wicked smile on her pretty, blonde-framed face which belies the false tears still streaming down her supercilious face:

‘Don’t spare him, Tommy darling. Make him suffer!’ she whispers into her elderly, gangland-boyfriend’s ear, but still loud enough for the genuinely sobbing Patheticus to hear. ‘Make him suffer for the sake of my socks!’

‘Don’t worry dear,’ the real man whispers back to her. ‘By the time I’ve finished with him he will be begging to pay his humble respects to your socks – the brand new socks I’ll be buying for you tomorrow, along with your new boots!’

Real, masculine lashes for false, feminine tears! That, it seems, is what slave Patheticus has to look forward to tomorrow morning, whilst his Nemesis, the blonde-goddess-mistress Stephanie, has some new boots and socks to look forward to, paid for by her gangster-boyfriend’s ill-gotten gains!

The superior, outlaw couple kiss, and leave to make love in the master bedroom, whilst slave Patheticus remains on his hands and knees in the drawing room, feverishly trying to dry out miss Stephanie’s discarded short, black anklesocks by breathing heavily on them.

The End

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