Flats / Athletic

We bring an update on the story of the student who has become ill as a result of licking the shoes of a fellow student. The student is said to be in a stable condition, suffering nothing more than a violent reaction to swallowing such an amount of mud. There is no news on whether the police or university authorities want to investigate.

An unnamed man, 21, studying at the local university, has been hospitalised with severe stomach sickness after licking mud from the shoes of a female student. Her is said to have swallowed so much mud that he became violently ill over night.

Chapter 1 -- Room Service

'Hotel "Footslave", can I help you?'

The hotel receptionist answered the phone in her usual chirpy, happy voice. She loved her job -- her first real job since leaving school. Trudy had just turned 20 years old, and all her family were impressed at the fact that, despite leaving school with virtually no qualifications, she had at last managed to secure a potentially good career in the hospitality industry. She may be just the receptionist now, but Trudy had a very high opinion of herself and had ambitions to rise to the very top. She was determined that one day she would be the manageress of her own hotel.

And so it came to pass that I licked Julie's shoes clean before an after every shift at the supermarket. I would even stay on way past my shift if she was working later than me. It could be a drag but being able to polish Julie's shoes with my tongue was well worth the extra few hours of boredom. I licked the mud she had accumulated from her walk to work upon her arrival and I licked the dust and grime that her shoes had picked up during her shift at the end of it. She would also bring in the odd pair of boots or shoes in her rucksack that needed cleaning, and I would lock myself in one of the store cupboards and do this while I was waiting for her. I licked the high heels and knee high leatehr boots she wore clubbing to the more unglamourous wellies that she has been out walking in the field behind her house in. All her footwear had one thing in common - when it came to me it was invariably dirty and when it left, it was sparkling clean. It was hard work - but rewarding when I saw that smile as she took the clean boots and shoes from me.

Julie and I worked in the local supermarket. We'd been reasonably friendly for a number of years, though were never going to be bosom pals. Our relationship had become quite special though. I was now like a shoeshine boy to her and on several occasions had served as her full-time slave. It was a very satisfactory arrangement. And how that had begun?

It had started one Saturday evening in the back warehouse of the building. We were working the late shift and fooling around, clearing stuff up. I was brushing up some fruit on the floor that had got crushed by the heavy pallets that had been pulled through the warehouse earlier that day. I bent down to pick up and apple that was clinging to the dirty ground, when all of a sudden, Julie stepped up in front of me and trod straight on the apple, crushing it further into the floor.

Footslave Themepark

Part 1 – The Welcome

The four young women and their boyfriends, all in their 20s, reached the entrance to the theme park. They read the sign on the gate:

'Welcome to the Footslave Themepark!

Strictly adults only.

No admittance to persons under the age of 18.'

'This is going to be fun!', exclaimed Olga, the leader of the group.

Her friends knew she was right. It had been Olga's idea to come to the theme park, and it was a brilliant idea! The excuse was to celebrate Angela’s 25th birthday -- not that this particular group of friends needed any excuse to humiliate pathetic, male footslaves. They were all haughty, arrogant, spoilt young people -- confident in their innate superiority over mere slaves. And what better place to exercise and demonstrate that superiority than in a theme park devoted to the subject of foot slavery?

The Door to Door Footslave

Part 1

Master Peter knocked on the door of the run-down looking apartment. Kneeling at his feet, naked but for his slave shorts and collar and chain, was one of the company's footslaves.

Peter had been commissioned with drumming up as much business as possible in this poorer part of town as the company was desperate to expand its client base. They already had plenty of customers on the richer side of town, but the company directors were gambling that the poorer inhabitants, many of whom could not afford their own slaves, would embrace the services their company offered even more willingly - providing, of course, the price was right.

On and on Dave licked, carefully removing any dirt, grass, grit or who knows what from Kim's shoes and boots. Kim would have been amused to see him there on his knees cradling a pair of her hiking boots in his hands, removing the mud from the treads. His tongue began to hurt quite badly after about these boots. Removing the grit from the sharp edges of soles. These were tough boots and were suitably dirty as Kim liked to walk during her time out. He still brought them to as much of a shine as you can hiking boots, with delicately sucked clean laces.

Saturday came around and Dave arrived at Kim's room on time as requested, hungry to serve. He lightly tapped on the doior and Kim promptly answered with a sweet, sadistic smile on her face. She ushered him in, and once the door was shut, naturally ushered him to the floor. He dropped at once and almost synchronised with the snap of her fingers as she pointed to her feet, planted kisses over her socked feet. The socks were black and a little sweaty. Dave figured she must have been for a run that morning. He sniffed the aroma lightly as he kissed, and she towered above. Man, it smelt good, thought Dave. The scent of life itself.

Part 1

He lay shackled on the floor of his gloomy, windowless cell. Only the single, bare light bulb in the ceiling kept him from being in total darkness. The only sign of life was the occasional sound of the voices of the female guards outside the cell door as they patrolled the corridors.

It was more of a dungeon than a cell - straw on the ground for a bed; a hole in the ground for a toilet. The sole item of furniture was, somewhat bizarrely, a thick, heavy wooden chair in the middle of the room – a chair he couldn’t even reach far enough to sit on due to the chain connecting him to the wall. All he could do was lie or kneel in front of it. Why was there a chair in the middle of the room? It obviously wasn’t for his use. Who was it for?