The Females of Wadi Ya Noh.

The bare sole of Claudia's right foot, I saw, as it reached for my conveniently positioned face, was of a dark-honey shade of brown, several shades lighter than on the tops of her feet. Claudia cupped her toes around my nostrils; the ball of her foot, resting upon the bridge of my nose. All I could see now, was the bottom of Claudia's smooth-skinned, pinkish-tinged heel, right in front of my eyes.

"You will remember what I told you, David ... or I shall bring Katang to you again! Breathe in, deeply, of my foot scent. And, as you do so, look at - focus, your whole attention - upon the bottom of my heel. Demonstrate, to me, the sincerity of your respect and humility, at my feet," commanded Claudia.

With Claudia's mere mention of that dreadful cane, she had effectively secured my unthinking obedience and compliance. Following Claudia's explicit instructions, I breathed in, deeply, of her foot scent: sniffing the undersides, and in between her nostril-cupping toes; and, as I did so, I looked at - focused my whole attention - upon the bottom of her heel.

Upon hearing my obedient sniffing of Claudia's toes; upon seeing me compliantly staring at the bottom of Claudia's bare heel, as I did so, as one, the closely watching females of Wadi Ya Noh gave voice to their delight and gratification, by means of starting up their dreadful, horribly shrill ululating wailing again.

The females of Wadi Ya Noh smiled and smirked; laughed and giggled ... this, was what it was all about! They crowed, clapped, chuckled and cackled, as I obediently inhaled, deeply, of Claudia's in-between-the-toes foot scent - and, as I compliantly stared at the bottom of her subjugating heel, as I did so.

To my relief, though, there was not the awful stink that I was expecting, as I obediently inhaled Claudia's in-between-the-toes foot scent. Of course! Claudia would have showered this morning. Back in Manchester, at her airport hotel ... unlike her village sisters.

My God! Manchester. Was it really only this morning? It seemed like a lifetime ago, now. A world away, too. Ha! I had thought it was flipping freezing! Now, though - I would think it was lovely and cold.

"Now, David, you will kiss the sole of my foot. Kiss all over. Demonstrate, to me, the sincerity of your respect and humility, at my feet," instructed Claudia.

As one, the females of Wadi Ya Noh looked on wide-eyed. They were rapt, delighted, enthusiastically cheering spectators, as they watched Claudia perform the hallowed rituals of old: the ancient, traditional, time-honoured ceremonies, of Humility Hole chastisement.

The females of Wadi Ya Noh shrilly ululated their approval and satisfaction. They wailed ecstatically, as I obediently kissed the bare, smooth brown sole of Claudia's right foot. They cooed contentedly, as I kissed all over - "as, and when, and how," Claudia presented the sole of her foot, to my conveniently positioned face.

Claudia then presented her bare sole to my lips, expectantly. Fearing the reappearance of the dreadful Katang - if Claudia suspected even a hint of insincerity - I pressed my lips firmly into the sole of her right foot: her toes; the ball of her foot; her arch, and finally her heel. Which was exactly: "as, and when, and how," Claudia had presented her foot to my lips.

Then, at Claudia's leaving me to my own ... initiative - I could only presume; to demonstrate, to her, the sincerity of my respect and humility, at her feet, in my "own, personal display of reverence," - I kissed all over the sole of Claudia's right foot, at random.

And then Claudia took control again. Once again, I kissed the parts of Claudia's sole that she, herself presented to me, for the obedient attention of my respectful lips. I continued to kiss - "as, and when, and how" required, until Claudia finally removed the sole of her right foot from my face, and slipped it back onto her sandal.

Claudia then balanced upon her right foot, and she presented me with the bare sole of her left foot ... and the whole humiliating procedure began all over again.

After which, Claudia told me, to my dismay, "I will not permit you to drink, David." Claudia then added, magnanimously, "I give that honour, to Meena. My blessed mother. She shall be the first, to ... let you drink."

It struck me as rather odd, the way that Claudia said that: "... let you drink." As if Claudia's words were 'loaded'. Which, of course, they were ...

Of all of the 20 females of Wadi Ya Noh, Claudia would be the only one, on that first day, to deny me water. The only one, to refuse to ... let me drink.

Claudia then stepped forward, joining the raptly observing throng of her village sisters. Then, Claudia meaningfully pointed her finger at me. And, the strength of her high emotion was plainly evident in her voice, as Claudia decreed, on rising, hallelujah-like, euphoric tones: "Meena ..." addressing her mother, by her first name. "... your time has come!"

I realised why Claudia was letting Meena go first: Claudia knew, that I would always remember ... 'my first'.

At Claudia's dramatic prompting, Meena then shuffled forward, towards me. I heard the softly swishing, rasping, rustling sound of the coarse cloth folds of Meena's black burka, as she slowly advanced - homed in - on me.

Remembering my standing instructions, as issued to me by Claudia, I welcomed Meena accordingly: "Meena ... I am your slave," I told her.

Then the rustling stopped. Meena was here - at Humility Hole. At my "place of learning." And, Meena was cackling horribly, hideously, in gleeful anticipation ... Her time had come.

Now; just as her daughter had done before her, Meena positioned herself, accordingly: standing directly in front of me, with her back to me; the backs of her heels, right in front of my face. And, with the large wooden bowl of (as yet, untouched) water on the ground, just in front of her toes.

Just as Claudia had done, Meena slipped her right foot from her camel-leather sandal. A sandal, that looked positively ancient. Looked as though it had been passed down, countless times, through many generations. A long worn-out, ratty, tatty hand-me-down, for the females of Wadi Ya Noh.

Meena's sandal, I saw, was indented. There was a round, deep depression at the heel, and five smaller, distinctly separate depressions - like comfortable and convenient, ready-made grooves, for the next wearer - at the toes.

And the leather of Meena's sandal was black. Profoundly black. Black, from the accumulated dirt and grime from the soles of its many past female wearers. Black, from the indelible stain of absorbed female foot sweat of ages. And black, from the soles of Meena's own feet, too.

In comparison, Caudia's sandals looked quite presentable.

Meena's feet, I saw, were of about the same size, shape and colouring as her daughter's feet. But, that was where the similarities ended.

Claudia's feet were clean; her soles, smooth-skinned, and her toenails neatly trimmed. By comparison, Meena's feet were grubby, grimy, filthy dirty. Meena's soles - especially her toe pads, the ball of her foot, and her heel - were rough-skinned, and she had unkempt, dirt encrusted toenails.

I waited, in horrified dread. Any moment now, Meena's grubby, grimy, filthy dirty feet, were going to ...

As Meena took her weight upon her left foot, her balance was nigh on perfect; just as steady and as unwavering as Claudia's had been - if perhaps not quite so graceful. Meena then reached back for my waiting, conveniently positioned face, protruding out of Humility Hole. And, with the sole of her grubby, grimy, filthy dirty right foot, Meena cupped my nostrils in her gripping, clutching toes.

My God! The smell was truly appalling. It was unbelievable. Shocking. Horrible. Terrible.

My mind seemed to start imploding, upon computing this new ... data. As if alarm bells had started ringing in my mind. As if deploying firewalls, upon detecting the imminent attack of some particularly pernicious form of malware. As if trying to throw all of the OFF switches; activate the fail-safe mechanisms. As if trying to ward off the malicious threat. As if trying to shut down. Before it was too late. Before ... something, short-circuited. Before all of my fuses blew. Before my mind crashed, from downloading such a nauseating, retch-inducing, eye-watering stink.

Meena, at hearing my moans of obvious distress; my groans of acute anguish, cackled her great satisfaction.

Meena then harshly yelled something at me in Arabic: an authoritative command. Though I didn't (yet) understand her words, I didn't need Claudia to translate for me - it wasn't rocket science. For Meena was merely following Claudia's example: invoking the first of the three, traditional, time-honoured, ritualistic commands, as were routinely issued by the females of Wadi Ya Noh.

And so, I knew what Meena must be saying to me: 'Breathe in, deeply, of my foot scent' ... 'And, as you do so, look at the bottom of my heel'.

It took me about half a second to decide which was the worst case scenario: breathe in, deeply, of Meena's foot scent ... or have Meena take the cane; the dreaded Katang, to me for my disobedience - and then be made to breathe in, deeply, of Meena's foot scent anyway.

I breathed in, deeply, of Meena's foot scent. And, as I did so, I looked at the bottom of her heel. Obeying my 'standing instructions'.

I reeled - physically, and mentally - from inhaling Meena's pungent, dreadfully potent - noxious - in-between-the-toes foot scent. It was awful. Horrible. It was extremely distressing - to say the least - to be 'obliged' to sniff it up, exactly as instructed ... Or else!

But, as bad, as vile, as profoundly horrible as Meena's foot-stink was, I dreaded even more, the return of that wicked-looking, long and flexible, hellishly shrieking cane. The Katang.

Meena had had an awful lot of practice; had a lot of solid experience behind her, with the Katang. Meena had been administering the terrible Katang, upon the exposed and vulnerable flesh of the incumbents of Humility Hole, for the past 25 years. Since, as a 'Fallen' woman, she had been exiled to Wadi Ya Noh, along with baby Claudia - her 'tainted' daughter.

I knew, from my own nightmarish experience, that Meena was an adept - as all of the females of Wadi Ya Noh had proved themselves to be - in the dark art of expertly administering that fiendish instrument of exquisite affliction.

But, add to that, the females' great yearning for vengeance, for retribution - for revenge. And, add to that, the malice, the malevolence - the sadism, with which the females' so gleefully wielded the Katang, and ...

My body was still flaring, with relentless, red-hot pulses of fire. My skin was still aglow, from the painful after-effects of my vicious, merciless caning. After-effects, I knew, that would be sure to linger and linger. Still tormenting me, days after my terrible, retributive thrashing, at the vengeful hands of the females of Wadi Ya Noh.

And so, I continued to breathe in, deeply, of Meena's foot scent.

Meena removed the dry, leathery sole of her filthy dirty right foot from my conveniently positioned face ... and she immediately replaced it, with the similarly soiled sole of her left foot. Her toes; again cupping my nostrils, in faithful adherence to the hallowed dictates of the first, of their 3-phase, time-honoured traditions of chastisement - their foot-sniffing ritual.

In accordance with Claudia's highly explicit standing instructions, I looked at - focused my attention - upon the bottom of Meena's bare heel, as I breathed in, deeply, of her in-between-the-toes foot scent.

From my extreme close-up 'vantage point', it was like looking at the bottom of Meena's bare heel through a magnifying glass. I stared intently, upon the rough textured skin; at the loose flakes, around the edges of Meena's heel. I surveyed the fine, hair-line cracks; and the wider, deeper fissures, that were starting to appear on the bottom of her hard, dry, flat-bottomed heel.

This excessive wearing and tearing damage was caused, I mused, by the very nature of Meena's rough, tough, extremely hard - impoverished - living conditions.

Well, I mused ... that was only to be expected, wasn't it? After all, the females of Wadi Ya Noh lived in such a ... 'small way'. They aboded, in such dismal, dingy, decrepit dwellings. They existed, in 'houses', that were built from bricks of mud. They endured, in their grim and grotty homes, in the middle of a vast, arid, sun-blasted desert. And, they were decreed, by their local Tribal Lord, to cope without even the most basic of home comforts, that would have served to at least alleviate the abject wretchedness of their lives, in Wadi Ya Noh.

I mused further, along similar lines, in an effort to distract myself - if even for just a moment - from the appalling olfactory onslaught of Meena's in-between-the-toes foot stink. But, it was to no avail.

My God! The stink was intolerable. But, I had to tolerate it. I couldn't risk Meena taking that hellish cane to me again; unleashing its terrible power upon my exposed and vulnerable flesh. I couldn't risk Meena bringing the Katang ... out of its lair.

For, in the more than capable hands of the females of Wadi Ya Noh, that cane was like a demon. A demon, their ... 'familiar', that was totally under their control.

To the females of Wadi Ya Noh, the Katang was not considered as merely an inanimate object. Far from it. The Katang was solemnly revered - by such 'Fallen' women, and their 'tainted' daughters - as the symbolic talisman of legends and lore of ages. For them, the Katang was a symbol of redress.

The females of Wadi Ya Noh spoke of the Katang: not as 'it' or 'that', as if their cane was just an object; a lifeless thing. But by name, and as if their terrible cane was actually sentient. As if their dreadful cane was some sort of ... living entity.

Katang was their fiendish little pet. Katang was a pet, that loved to sit snugly, in the palms of their warm brown hands. But, above all, Katang was their devoted servant. And, Katang loved to serve them. Loved to do the bidding, of the females of Wadi Ya Noh.

I didn't want to hear that terrifying, whooshing shriek, as that terrible cane whistled towards my bare, vulnerable bottom. I didn't want to go through the roof, again and again, each time the Katang bit savagely into my defenceless flesh. Bit into my shoulders, back, sides, legs ... or buttocks: Where Meena had earlier administered her two devastating, whimper-inducing cane-strokes, and reduced me to a bawling, begging-for-mercy, gibbering wreck.

No, I did not want the females of Wadi Ya Noh's fiendish little pet being unleashed upon me again. And I was resolved to do just whatever the hell I had to do, to prevent any such ... supplementary, chastisement from being meted out to me.

And so, I continued to breathe in, deeply, of Meena's foot scent.

Upon her hearing - and feeling - my obedient, compliant sniffing of her clutching, nostril cupping toes, Meena cackled with wicked delight. Oh yes ... her time had come.

And, the closely watching females of Wadi Ya Noh enthusiastically expressed their whole-hearted approval, in the usual way: they ululated. They ululated their encouragement, to Meena. They ululated their sheer, rapturous enjoyment, in observing the highly gratifying scene being played out before their eyes.

Just as I was able to discern some idea of age, expression, and personality, from the females' eyes, I was also able to discern some idea of meaning, too, from the various tones, nuances, cadences, pitches and intensities of their - undeniably dreadful; yet, to the tuned-in ear, expressive - ululating. Yes: it was a terrible noise. But, it wasn't 'just', a terrible noise.

Meena returned her left foot to her ancient, camel-leather sandal ... and she promptly returned the sole of her right foot to my conveniently positioned face.

Once again, Meena shrewishly yelled something at me, in Arabic: another authoritative command. I knew, of course, that Meena was commanding me to perform the second, of their 3-phase, time-honoured traditions of chastisement - their foot-kissing ritual.

With the dreadful Katang, ever in mind, I immediately - unhesitatingly - obeyed Meena.

As highly humiliating as it was, kissing the soles of Meena's grubby, grimy, filthy dirty feet was less offensive to me, than the ultra-horrible ordeal of sniffing her in-between-the-toes foot stink.

And so: knowing the dreadful penalty that I would incur, for even the slightest act of disobedience; for committing even the slightest infraction of the rules; for showing even the slightest of cracks, in the sincerity of my respect and humility, at their feet ... in exactly the same manner as I had done so for Claudia, I compliantly performed my utterly degrading requirements.

Meena was exultant. She was truly ecstatic, at being able to so authoritatively command my obedient, compliant - slavish - attentions. Meena was quite beside herself. Overcome, with an uncontainable surfeit of pleasure, of happiness. Overcome, with gratification, as I - an Englishman - demonstrated the sincerity of my respect and humility, at her feet.

In giving suitable expression to her sky high, bubbling over emotions, Meena ululated. And, in the up-and-down modulations of Meena's ecstatic outpourings, I discerned a high, clear note; the meaning of which, was quite unmistakable: Glorious victory.

Meena continued to ululate and, there was a distinct peal of gleeful, undreamed of triumph in her shrill, yodelling-like wailing, as she reached behind her, and presented the sole of her right, grubby, grimy, filthy dirty, stinky foot to my conveniently positioned face ... Her time had come.

Meena, now aged 41, had been waiting, and waiting, and waiting ... for revenge.

Oh, yes: of course Meena had, over the past 25 years, administered ... chastisement; not only, to many an Arab man, but also to many white men, too, of many different nationalities, while they were helplessly incarcerated in Humility Hole.

But, she had never yet chastised an Englishman ... and Meena wanted an Englishman. As Claudia had put it: "The finest, of all delicacies."

For, it was an Englishman - Vincent - who had so callously broken his solemn promises, to Meena. His promises of marriage; of a better life, in England. Living as equals.

It was an Englishman, who had so cruelly spurned and deserted Meena, and her yet-to-be-born child - who he knew; should his baby turn out to be a girl, Meena was going to name Claudia. After his own mother.

This Englishman - Vincent - had abandoned them; mother and child, to their horrible fate. Condemning Meena and Claudia, to the bitter hardships of a bleak, terrible, mindless existence. An existence, that had but one ... consolation: Administering chastisement, to the male incumbents of Humility Hole.

Meena had borne her bitter grudge, for a long, long time. For too long. Waiting, endlessly waiting. Waiting, for years and years; and the waiting was souring her soul.

Meena had waited, since the birth of her daughter - her beloved Claudia, the only light in her bleak life - 25 years ago.

25 years ago, when that mangy cur, that accursed Englishman, that 'man-of-the-world' - Vincent - had seduced sweet, innocent Meena. Had deflowered her, when she was just sixteen.

And then Vincent - the treacherous, deceitful wretch - had callously reneged on his solemn promise to sweet, naive Meena. Heartlessly, pitilessly forsaking both of them - mother, and their yet-to-be-born child.

Ever since then, Meena had dreamed of; had longed for this very moment. For her moment: For Payback Time.

And now, at long, long last - all thanks to Claudia, her beloved daughter - Meena's wait was finally over. For now, Meena actually had an Englishman, at her feet ... Her time had come.