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Pilgrimage

The pilgrim rang the bell. She was a young woman, slender and tall, and wore the traditional red robe. She had long hair, a golden seal ring, and mud-stained walking boots.

It only took a few breaths for three attendants to come to her. The three naked men, wearing nothing but their collars and leashes, crawled on all fours, offering themselves to the newly arrived pilgrim on the Way of the One Goddess.

"Show me to the chapel," she demanded, kicking the face of one of the men at random. He cried at the impact of her heavy boot and meekly thanked her for her kindness, as he crawled backwards in the direction of a small stone building. The other two men dared to turn their bodies, so they could crawl behind her kissing the ground everywhere she trod.

Soon they were inside a cool and dark room, covered in elaborate tapestries depicting scenes ranging from the most brutal torture to sophisticated and subtle humiliations, exquisitely executed in colourful and figurative styles. The pilgrim's heavy steps on the immaculate mosaic covering the entire floor, tessellated in vivid blue and red, showing scenes from the One Goddess, her saints and their faithful pets, echoed through the room, making the timid men shiver and wince. She walked to a comfortable throne, close to an inset ground-level oval pool, filled with cool water.

As she sat, the three men opened a chest by her and showed her the chapel's extensive collection of instruments: rope, twine, whips, canes, and other exotica for more specialised tastes. The man she had randomly chosen to kick approached her cautiously, blood and mud on his face, powerless to resist her draw or to overcome his fear and awe of her.

"Name?" she asked.

"Nosey, if it pleases the exalted lady," he said.

"You may get the chance to earn that. What about those two?"

"Sweetie," said the one on her left, in a childish and shaking voice.

"No-one has named this thing, exalted lady. This thing is sorry."

"Time for the bidding, toys. I'm a pilgrim on the Way and I bring you pain, shame and submission. What will you trade for it?"

"I'll receive thirty lashes with a smile on my face, if it pleases the exalted lady," said Sweetie.

"This thing will stay still as it is cut and pierced," said the nameless thing.

"I have nothing to trade, for I am nothing, but if the exalted lady condescends, she is free to use and abuse me as it may best entertain her, which she best knows for herself," said Nosey.

"Come closer, Nosey. I can see you got education and training and maybe you even think you're clever. Is that it?" she asked.

He went down on his belly and crawled until his forehead was almost touching the tip of her boot.

"I'm only a man. I was taught by my sister and I got the two marks of use, but I would never think myself clever, exalted lady," he said.

"Good, because you aren't. You've raised my curiosity now, and that is going to cost you. Let me see your ears," she demanded.

On the left, he wore an ear-ring studded with a green gem, certifying his aptitude for service: massage, laundry, foot hygiene, and every male skill. On his right, a red gem noted he had passed the three tests of endurance: pain, denial, and alertness.

As he had risen back to his knees to show her, his face was at a perfect angle for her to kick him again, and again, and again. She had powerful leg muscles, with all the enhancements women had developed for aeons, and every strike left a big bruise. Tears fell from his eyes but he kept still and gave quiet but firm thanks after each kick.

"Interesting. I hadn't seen a fully certified man in temple service before. Why did your sister set you aside?" she asked, as the other two kept wincing at her powerful kicks, knowing their turn to suffer would come soon.

"She started my training when she was a child. Some people thought she spoiled me, and that it was unseemly to keep around a childhood toy like me. She agreed, and sent me to serve on the Way, hoping someone would deign to acquire me."

"Thing, get cleaning my left boot. Nosey, my right. Make sure not to leave any blood on it or I'll cut off your toes."

"And me?" asked Sweetie.

"Come on my lap, little one," she said. "I have been looking forward to making something as pretty and cute as you are desperately cry for mercy."

Sweetie trembled, but he took his place on her lap, his small form lying across her as she grabbed him by the hair and began to rake her sharp, long fingernails over his defenceless, hairless, naked chest, leaving welts and scratches, as poor Sweetie whined and pouted from the pain.

She relaxed on her throne, as the two men got on their jobs. Thing, perhaps wanting to impress her or just lacking other training, was slobbering all over her boots and eating the mud, bits of grass, and other filth on them. Nosey had a lot more experience and was hurting himself by twisting his red ear-ring, so he could provide a strong flow of tears to give the boot an initial wash. Only after that was done, he began to scrape it with his long, dark hair. At last, with only a light cake of mud and other unidentifiable filth, he used his lower teeth, careful not to mark the leather, and his agile tongue to loosen the difficult or sticky bits, and then swallowed them. He started from the top, and least dirty, and finished by scraping the rubber treads from the sole, for which considerably more force was required from his lower jaw. Focused on his task, he couldn't avoid hearing the increasingly hopeless cries of Sweetie, a silly and spoiled man, still plump from his previous owner's indulgence, who had never been properly taught to offer his pain and would never wear a red gem.

"Tonight one of you will warm my bed. If I'm pleased, I may even let him press and wriggle his face on my smelly soles while I sleep."

The three men, long deprived from the service they were bred and trained to need, couldn't help feeling excited, and also resentful against each other that they may not be the one. Each one in their own way knew themselves broken and undeserving, as all men are: thing was not even worthy of a name, and lacked the skills of service a pilgrim would demand; Sweetie was biddable and endearing, but lacked the resilience and devotion the other two had been broken into like a comfortable worn slipper; Nosey wasn't cute and soft like Sweetie, nor as strong and self-loathing as thing, and the exalted lady, knowing his skills, would be easy to disappoint and hard to impress. They couldn't avoid hoping they would be chosen and seeing each other as obstacles, though it would never occur to them to resent the pilgrim. After all, men were objects and would always try to undermine each other, though always making sure not to affect the service they owed people.

"No-one interested?" she asked. "Maybe I should just get washed and fed and you can go back to your manholes."

"Please, exalted lady," they all cried.

"Please what?" she teased.

"Please give us the chance," said Nosey.

"Very well. I'm tired from walking and need full foot service and later a bath. Sweetie will be my foot stool and bathmat. Nosey will haul water. That thing will do my feet and wash me."

They were all surprised they seemed to have been chosen for the tasks they were least suited to, but they didn't dare to make any comment and just set to it.

"You didn't think I would make it easy, did you? If you want a reward you'll have to work and suffer for it, and I don't care how little training or what body shape you have. You will serve me every way I require.," she said, as she saw their expressions of surprise.

Sweetie uncurled from her lap, still weeping and bleeding from his chest, and crept pushing his thighs under the throne, for which a slot had been provided. On all fours, he gasped as he felt a heavy pair of boots stomp on his back, nearly making him lose his balance. As the pilgrim adjusted some knobs on the throne's armrests, a lid came down trapping Sweetie's thighs in. He felt chains winding tightly around them until he couldn't move them at all.

Meanwhile, Nosey had immediately set to filling and carrying of water: hot, warm and cool. Opposite the throne there were buckets and pumps to fill them with. The heating system was run on manpower: men in their holes straining their little bodies to keep the place running. When they slacked off other men made sure to bring them back to work with the sting of nettles, wasps and ants.

Thing set to removing the pilgrim's boots. He bit on the laces to undo the knots, wedged the back of the boot against his jaw and carefully removed it from the foot, while leaving tread marks and friction burns on Sweetie's back.

"Make Sweetie clean the insides," she said. "It will give his mouth something useful to do instead of whining."

As the lady's thick, warm socks rested on Sweetie's back, thing placed one of the boots under Sweetie's face and pushed it in until his nose was touching the insole. Then he used the laces to tie his collar so he could move only as much as he needed to run his tongue all over the insides of the hot, damp, and musky boot, which he did with pleasure, lapping up the foot sweat, sock fuzz, and grime that had built up.

"I'm on my 8th day on the Way, and as you know we forego all foot washing during the first week. It stands for the beginnings, when we had not yet broken and conquered men, and reminds us to keep vigilant in our rule; but I always thought it also gives a few the chance for a delicious treat. So enjoy the stale gunk from a week's hard walking under the sun, Sweetie. A sweet dish for a sweet toy like you. How lucky you are to feast on such powerful flavours," she said, giggling.

The smell was so strong Sweetie could hardly stand it, and without the collar he may have drawn away, but since he had no choice about it, he felt it penetrate his nose, like a fog, rendering him docile, reaching deep inside him and stirring an irresistible feeling of boundless devotion, teaching him how he was lower than the filth he was eating, and lucky to be permitted and forced into such service. It was a contradictory feeling, like an itch you want to scratch that only gets worse and worse, an unquenchable thirst to be brought low, grinded down and used.

"Attend to my socks, thing. You'll also get a tasty warm meal out of them."

Thing began to sniff and rub his face on top of her socks, still resting on Sweetie's back, slurping little bits of lint, dust, and balls of stale sweat into his mouth.

"Good. You're not the best sockboy I used, but you know your place and try hard. You can start doing the bottoms now."

He felt like the world had suddenly turned brighter. The exalted lady approved of him. He had pleased her, in however insignificant a way. He felt a tingle of pleasure go from the nape of his neck down his spine.

"Thank you, exalted lady, for letting this thing be fed by your precious sweat-soaked socks' fuzz."

She gave him a kick, poking her toes in his eye, to remind him he was there to serve, not make speeches, and he got the message.

He lifted her left foot, cupping it with his large hands, and pressed it over his face, his jaw resting on Sweetie's back. He squeezed the wet fabric with his fingers, and made sure to catch in his mouth every drop of sweat wrung out of the sock's sole.

Men were practically bred to be addicted to obedience, and more particularly the taste and smell of women's feet and footwear, as a permanent reminder of their servile place. Then, years of training associated every capacity of pleasure they had, every desire and reward, to the act of worshipping the sublime form of a woman's foot. It is no wonder that the unwashed sock dripping into his mouth felt like the most intense and warm assault on his senses, producing such a strong wave of pleasure and knowledge of his own base unworthiness that his mind was tearing itself apart split into joy and unbearable shame.

The pilgrim, of course, was used to such a reaction, and held his gaze with a teasing smile, showing how little this soul-shattering abject surrender coursing through his body meant to her, but that it was, for the moment, entertaining enough, so she would keep effortlessly entrancing him with the waste from her soiled sock for a while yet.

Nosey had been working hard at the pumps, filling three large copper buckets, straining his body to finish his task as quickly as possible. He was not particularly strong, and he had not been fed properly since his sister sent him to the temple, on the understanding that she had indulged him too much allowing him to eat her leftovers every day. Since then, he had lost a lot of weight, and such energetic exercise was very hard on him, but he was determined to do his humble best, as much as his skills were being wasted in a chore that required brute force rather than precision and technique.

"Give that sock some tongue," said the pilgrim. "You like wiggling that meat-rag to prattle, so show me that it's good for something else and I should let you keep it, rather than cutting it and feeding it to Sweetie, for instance. I'm sure he'd love to be fed some meat again," she said, referring to the foul mush made from nauseating fungus men were allowed to slurp as their sole sustenance at temple establishments.

Thing, prodded by his own eagerness to please, desire for approval and fear of the ghastly but not uncommon punishment for chatty men, lifted her foot slightly higher, pushed his tongue out as far as it would go, and began to give slow strokes on the sock, from heel to toe, making sure to press his tongue against the dirty fabric as hard as he could, so it would clean the residue of sweat and clumps of loose fluff, and so it would give the foot in it a pleasant and comfortable massage.

"A pity that Nosey is so slow," she said, right as he carried the last of the buckets, crawling slowly to avoid spilling a drop, and holding it up so it would not scratch the beautiful mosaic underneath. "If he had been ready juuuust a little bit sooner, he could have done my other sock. Isn't that a pity?" she cackled. "I'm going to be kinder than you deserve, though," she said addressing him, "and let you do my other boot's inside. Get that filthy face in it and eat my insole clean, Useless. Maybe that should be your name."

Nosey was angry that thing, a nameless, unskilled, untrained man had had the chance to serve the lady directly, getting the blessing of her foot stench and the spiritual and physical nourishment to be found in eating her sock filth, but he had taken longer than the task required, and that was only his fault as a weak and useless man. Without forgetting to give her due thanks, he took hold of her other boot and placed himself in the same position Sweetie took, only a slight distance, and tied his own collar to the laces, as he began to suck the bits of grass, congealed sweat, dust, sock fibres, soil, rain water, and the indescribable scum that formed inside the worn boot, still hot from a day's hard use.

"Sweetie, shake for me. I want some movement on my footrest," she said.

Sweetie knew of this technique, but had never been taught to do it properly. It required a lot of focus and few men could learn it without the guidance of punishments and rewards, which his previous owner had been unwilling to bother with. However, he would do his best for his user. He tensed all the muscles on the core of his body, tensing and releasing, causing his back to shake beneath the lady's feet. When done properly, it was almost like a buzz, but Sweetie's attempt was closer to a slow up-and-down singing. His face was still buried in her boot, and the effort forced him to breathe faster and deeper lungfuls of foot-scented air.

The pilgrim laughed. "That's nowhere close, silly! Did no-one teach you to be a good footrest?" You're lucky your uselessness is so adorable. Let's see what we can do..."

She handled more of the throne controls, and a red-hot plate suddenly pressed against his defenceless, immobilised bare soles, making him scream, and causing his whole body to shake. It was only for a second, but the aftereffects lasted much longer.

"That's more like it!" She chuckled. "Are we getting it now? Thing, next foot," she said kicking his face.

Thing reverently lowered her left foot until it rested on Sweetie's shaking body, and lifted her right one. He gave it the same treatment, wringing her sweat into his expectant mouth, and later sliding his tongue along her sole, licking and swallowing with that mixture of pleasure and humiliation.

"Now suck on them," she said.

He let her right foot drop on Sweetie, open his mouth as wide as it would go, and lowered it to suck on her socked feet.

"Push harder, as deep as it can go. I won't be happy until you're choking on my toes," she said.

He pressed down as hard as he could, and was grateful when he felt her helping, by placing the heel of her other foot on the back of his head and stomping on it repeatedly until his whole mouth was filled of sock and foot. He felt her wiggle her toes on his throat, giving him nausea, but he knew if he would do anything other than surrender and submit to it, he would be allowed to drown in his own vomit.

"Now give it a good wash. Suck on it. Not that you can clean it properly like this, but at least you can rub my foot with your entire mouth," she said.

That's precisely what he did, while Sweetie tried his best to shake underfoot and Nosey got lost in the sullying service of licking the scum inside her boot.

"Let's give Nosey a chance," she said. "Come and suck on my other sock, toy. We'll see if those gems still mean anything," she threatened.

Nosey untied himself from the boot, filled with excitement. Of course any service to a woman was a duty and a joy, but directly touching her, giving her immediate pleasure with his lowly mouth, put to its true and highest use (words from a man were nothing), could bring him higher and lower at once into devotion and degradation.

He carefully placed himself at the best angle, as he noticed her foot wiggling around. She wasn't going to make it easy for him, which was her right and his challenge. He quickly managed to fill half of his mouth with foot, and then, through the use of his last reserves, to go the rest of the way now that she wouldn't and couldn't help him, as her other foot was already being tended to.

"Hmmm, so pleasant to have two men hooked into my feet like this, and a cutie suffering under my weight. I think I'll have a nap. You can keep sucking on those socks while I rest an hour or two. I'll have my bath and dinner afterwards, and that place to warm my bed is still in play, " she said, tired after a day of long physical effort, for a woman who, though the summit of generations of constant improvement, was entirely unused to exerting herself.

"I'll just give Sweetie a little help to make sure he doesn't stop shaking. After all we don't want to have to really punish him, do we?" she said.

She played with her control, and bristles began to tickle Sweetie's feet without mercy or rest, seeming to find just the perfect place and intensity to cause him the greatest discomfort, and making him shiver everywhere under the man-wearing feet of the pilgrim.

"Ah!" She sighed. "Temple life, such bliss..." She closed her eyes and nodded off, her throne changing its contours to fit her body's needs and comfort as she slept.

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