Sweet, Feminine Justice

Tale No. 3 – Sweet, feminine justice

‘To be ‘up before the beak’ for the first time in your life when you are in your late forties is a frightening experience for anyone.

To be appearing before an 18 year-old Lady-Magistrate in the Gynarchy of Barbaria when you are a male footslave in your late forties is a truly terrifying experience – especially when you have already been found guilty of the heinous crime of female-sock theft!

Not that I am guilty, technically speaking. I am perfectly innocent in the sense that I did not commit the crime. Nevertheless I am guilty in the eyes of the superior Female Law, as my accuser is a young woman in her mid twenties. In the Gynarchy of Barbaria if a free woman accuses a male slave of a crime he is automatically deemed to be guilty – and rightly so, for women are the superiors of men, and women can do no wrong.

As a self-evidently inferior male slave I have to acknowledge that this is how it should be.

As I am facing sweet, feminine justice, however, in spite of my clear guilt in the eyes of the Law, I am granted a ‘trial’ of sorts – a ‘show trial’ at which the evidence for my non-crime is presented to the good Lady Magistrate, my false-accuser is granted the right to deliver a ‘victim-impact’ statement, and I am then granted the honour of entering a plea before the Female Court.

Not a plea of ‘guilty’ or ‘not guilty’, you understand (that would be pointless in view of what I have just explained above!) Nor even is my plea to be one for mercy - that is considered unbecoming since no mercy can ever be shown to a convicted, male slave – and the Female Law simply does not allow for mercy.

No – my plea to the Female Court must be for suitable punishment. I must beg the young Lady Magistrate for the utmost severity in my sentence, since I am now considered to be the most despicable of things a male slave can be in the Gynarchy – I am an outlaw-slave; a slave-felon; a slave who has committed a crime against Femininity.

And so, with the kind assistance of my female lawyer, I have prepared such a plea which I must soon deliver to the 18 year old, Lady Magistrate before she passes down sentence upon me.

I am led on my hands and knees into the Court Room by a pretty, blonde-ponytailed, uniformed, female police officer who is wearing regulation, knee-length, black, zip-up, leather boots. A heavy, wooden, convict’s collar known as a ‘cangue’ has been placed around my neck to ensure my utter humility in the Female Court as it prevents me from raising my head above foot-level. I therefore have no choice but to admire the creases in the leather and the tiny slithers of street-mud on the backs of the lady police officer’s black, knee-length boots as she leads me through the Court Room up to the ‘Bench’ where the 18 year old, good Lady Magistrate and her two female advisers, both in their early thirties, are seated.

The lady police officer chains me in a kneeling position at the base of the ‘Bench’ directly in front of the young Lady Magistrate’s feet. The Lady Magistrate is a beautiful, dark-haired young woman of Pakistani origins, who is wearing traditional, modest, Pakistani female attire consisting of a black headscarf, a dark blue, knee-length dress with a pink, lacy hem, and pale blue, light, silk trousers underneath her dress – a traditional outfit known as ‘Salwar Kameez’. Because the heavy, wooden cangue around my neck forces me to stare at the Lady Magistrate’s feet I have no choice but to concentrate throughout the trial on her footwear –which consists of a rather scruffy pair of cheap-looking, light grey trainers and short, navy blue sneaker-socks with a pink trim along the elasticated tops. The navy blue socks are a perfect match for her navy blue dress.

The heavy cangue also prevents me from turning my head to see the feet and footwear of her two female advisers seated on either side of her. I am still vaguely aware, however, out of the corner of my right eye, of the black-leather, knee-length boots of the blonde, lady police officer standing guard over me as I humbly and penitently kneel at the sneakered and socked feet of the black-headscarfed, 18 year old Pakistani Lady Magistrate.

The proceedings begin with the evidence for my non-crime being presented to the Lady Magistrate. The pair of white, lacy feminine socks which I allegedly stole from the sock-laundry in which I work are presented to the good Lady Magistrate in a sealed bag by the lady police officer – and are referred to throughout the rest of the ‘trial’ as exhibit 1.

The owner of the socks, my false-accuser – a young, red-haired woman in her early twenties whom I have never met before - is then invited by the Pakistani Lady Magistrate to make a ‘victim-impact’ statement to the Court. My accuser is directed to stand directly in front of me before the Bench so that between me and the young Lady Magistrate’s scruffy, grey sneakers I now have an extremely close up view of the backs of my pretty, female accuser’s, beige-coloured, calf-length, sheepskin Ugg boots.

My young lady-accuser’s boots, rather like the Lady Magistrate’s scruffy, grey sneakers, look well-worn – with part of the stitching at the base of her heel on the right boot coming loose. I suspect that my young, female accuser may be a bit hard up for cash – judging by the state of her Ugg boots – and that therefore her false accusation against me is motivated by a desire to receive a considerable financial compensation package from the Court for the theft of her socks.

Nothing wrong with that.

I respectfully stare at the backs of my female accuser’s Ugg boots as she reads out her victim statement to the Court (no doubt prepared for her by her female lawyer):

‘Your Honour, I submitted seven pairs of my dirty socks to the Public Slave Laundry for cleaning on the 4th of last month, including the pair of white, lacy ankle socks at exhibit 1.

When my laundry bag was delivered back to my home address the pair of socks now at exhibit 1 were missing.

This caused me great distress as I had been planning to wear those socks with my white stilettos to a party that same evening.

I immediately reported the theft of the socks to the Female Police who investigated the matter. I understand that the missing socks were subsequently found, still unwashed, in the possession of the guilty Slave-Laundry employee who is now kneeling behind my boots.

Your Honour, I would like to request financial compensation for the distress I have suffered due to the temporary theft of my socks, and to beseech you to punish the guilty slave with the utmost vigour which the Female Law will permit.

Thank you, your honour.’

It is an eloquent, measured and well-delivered speech from a justifiably angry mistress. I can only hope that my own ‘plea’ to the Lady Magistrate will be half as eloquent (unlikely, given that I am a mere male slave!)

In case you are wondering the socks were not found in my possession. I have never seen them before in my life. I never forget a pair of female socks and I am absolutely certain that I was never even tasked with hand-washing that particular pair of dirty, white lacy socks in the Slave Laundry where I have been employed as a sock washer for the past 13 years.

However, the female police officer who arrested me and who is now standing guard over me in the Female Court Room has supplied the Female Court with a written statement to the effect that the white, lacy, unwashed socks were found in my possession. Doubtless she is in league with the red-haired girl (her best friend of many years) so that she can pocket some of the compensation that will inevitably be awarded by the Court to my Ugg-booted false accuser.

It’s Police corruption – but not as we know it. For in a Gynarchy women can do no wrong, including women police officers. If the Female Police say I stole the socks – I did. End of story. Even I have to acknowledge the intrinsic justice of that, for I am a mere, inferior, male slave with absolutely no rights under the Female Law.

The young, Pakistani Lady Magistrate next invites my accuser to turn around and face me so that I may kiss her Ugg boots contritely and apologise for my heinous crime.

I duly place my lips on a dark stain on the rounded toe area of the beige, suede-like material of the young redhead’s, right, sheepskin Ugg boot, and respectfully kiss it:

‘Oh pray, young mistress, God bless you for accusing me of the theft of your socks and for pleading with the Female Court for my severe and just punishment. This slave apologises profusely to the superior young mistress for his heinous crime, and for the distress he has caused her, and humbly requests that the young mistress take pleasure in his forthcoming sentencing and punishment.’

(I’m not normally this eloquent. The words have been put into my mouth by my female lawyer who has prepared all my speeches for me.)

I then respectfully kiss the toe of my accuser’s other Ugg boot before the young woman, with no doubt a smug grin on her face and a wink and a nod to her good friend the nearby lady police officer, returns to her comfortable seat at the back of the Court Room.

The Pakistani Lady Magistrate, her scruffy sneakers and navy-blue, pink-trimmed ankle socks now fully in my slave-view again as she has her right foot casually tucked over her left directly in front of my wooden-collared face, then invites the aforementioned lady police officer to confirm my guilt.

The knee-length booted police officer steps forward to stand in front of me and, as I humbly admire once again the thick creases in the black leather and the mud stains at the backs of her uniform-issue boots, confirms to the female Court that the socks contained at exhibit 1 were indeed found in my possession after their theft had been reported by the upright, female citizen.

The Lady Magistrate then orders me to kiss the toes of the lady police officer’s boots and to thank her for giving evidence against me.

Once again my lawyer has helped me in advance to prepare my thank you speech to the lady police officer:

‘Oh pray, good lady police officer, this slave thanks you and blesses you for arresting him and for providing the Female Court with the evidence of his guilt and shame. May God bless you for fulfilling your public duty in such an efficient manner.’

The grinning lady police officer then steps back to my right hand side again. It is now time for my own plea to the Court.

The 18 year old, Pakistani Lady Magistrate unfolds her feet and stretches out her scruffy, grey sneakers in front of my kneeling and wooden-collared face – thereby affording me an even clearer view of the pink-trimmed tops of her short, navy-blue sneaker-socks on her soft, brown, feminine skin beneath the hems of her light, pale blue trousers - and invites me in her cute, Pakistani accent to enter my plea:

‘Slave, you are being found guilty of the crime of sock theft. Before I am passing sentence upon you, how are you pleading?’

I can remember the words of my plea verbatim as my female lawyer who is of Indian origins herself, has, quite literally, slapped them into me (she is not in Court today as she has a pressing prior engagement; her Indian boyfriend – a free man - is taking her to the cinema to see the latest Bollywood blockbuster movie: ‘Indian Warrior Princess’):

‘Oh pray, Lady Magistrate, if it pleases you good Lady Magistrate, this dirty, convicted slave acknowledges his male guilt and throws himself on the severity of the Female Court. This slave pleads for the maximum punishment that the Female Law can allow, and assures the Female Court of his shame and thirst for the just, female punishment of his weak and feeble male body.’

I then, as directed in advance by my absentee female lawyer, press my lips to the outstretched sneakers of the good Lady Magistrate and kiss them whilst I await her just sentence and righteous, female wrath to be delivered upon me.

I notice how the elasticated tops of the young, Pakistani woman’s navy blue socks crease and fold somewhat as she makes herself comfortable in her seat of judgement and adjusts her black headscarf prior to pronouncing her sentence upon me:

‘This is being a most serious and heinous crime against Femininity. I hereby am directing that the victim is receiving £1000 in compensation for the distress she is being put through by this shameful wretch, and am further directing that a fresh, pair of identical lacy, white socks is being supplied to the victim in lieu of exhibit 1.

Public Laundry Slave no. 3678, you are being found guilty of the crime of sock theft from a young woman. I am hearing your plea for severity, and am being happy to be acceding to your most humble request.

I therefore am passing my sentence on you as follows:

That you are being caned forthwith at the feet of your victim before this very Court with a total of 50 lashes of the punishment cane;
That you are then being taken from this place to the public square where you are being permanently buried up to your neck in order that you may be serving the rest of your days as a ladies’ public footlick;
That the dirty, unwashed socks at exhibit 1 are being permanently sewn onto your ears as an irremovable demonstration of your shame and your crime against Femininity.

Guard, please be escorting the convicted criminal to the caning trestle.’

I remember to respectfully and gratefully kiss the toes of the erudite and eloquent, young, Pakistani Lady Magistrate’s scruffy sneakers, before the blonde pony-tailed, black-leather knee-booted, female police guard roughly grabs the chain attached to my heavy, wooden cangue and leads me unceremoniously towards the dreaded, wooden caning trestle in the middle of the Court Room. As she does so, I can also now see my smiling, red-headed accuser making her way to the ‘seat of power’ in front of the caning trestle so that I may be caned at her scruffy, Ugg-booted feet.

It’s a good result for everyone! My ginger-haired false-accuser gets £1000 in compensation, a pair of replacement socks, and has the pleasure of witnessing me being severely caned at her feet; the young, blonde, female police officer, who is her co-conspirator, gets a cut of the financial compensation whilst also getting to deliver the cuts of the cane to my bare backside; and, following my caning, I shall feel the full wrath of the Female Law by being buried up to the neck in the main, town square and serving for the rest of my miserable existence as a public foot and shoe lick for the many, mocking, female passers-by.

It’s precisely as my female lawyer had predicted – except for one thing: the 18 year old, Pakistani Lady Magistrate’s ingenious twist of having the ginger-haired girl’s offending pair of stinky, sweaty, unwashed white, lacy, feminine ankle socks sewn onto my ears, so that I will permanently have the appearance of a long-eared cocker-spaniel as I lick the dirty shoes and boots of my female masters and betters in the public square– a highly visible warning to any male slaves who may be tempted to steal a superior female’s socks of the dire consequences of any such crimes against Femininity.

Yes – the ultimate winner in all this is sweet, feminine justice- for yet again, in the Gynarchy of Barbaria, sweet, feminine justice has been seen to be done.’

P.S. Okay, I admit it. I did steal the socks. I just couldn’t resist them. Sorry!