The Hapless, Sink-Estate Whipping-Boy
You do not want to be me!
You do not want to be the official whipping-boy on the local sink-estate run by miss McKayla and her girlgang known as the ‘half-masters’ – so called, not because they are only half-masterful girls, but because their ‘tag’ is to always wear their jeans at half-mast, literally half way up their shapely, feminine calf-muscles, and always with long, knee socks; it’s their distinctive, girlgang ‘uniform’, and sets them apart from their neighbouring, rival girlgang known as the ‘Abbey Angels’ – so called because their ‘hood’ centres around a disused abbey (their girlgang, uniform dress-code consists of pink patent leather, laced-up, doc-marten style boots – always with 8 eyelets – and their leader is miss Sienna).
But it is miss McKayla who causes me the most grief – not because she is unattractive or a burden to serve (when not being whipped it is my duty to act as the default, sink-estate, public sneaker and boot licker) but because she is forever getting into trouble with the Female Authorities, and the Female Police are, as a consequence, forever coming round to whip me on her behalf, since it goes without saying that a girlgang criminal cannot herself be punished under the Female Law of the Gynarchy.
That’s precisely why every Gynarchy sink-estate has a public, male whipping-slave – so that female justice can be seen to be done!
Take today, for example. Miss McKayla has, again, been caught stealing money from a female shopper’s handbag up in the swanky, town centre shopping mall. She, of course, nominates me, her local whipping-boy, to take her punishment for her – and so the Police bring her, and her fellow girlgang members, back to her estate where she is ‘obliged’ to stand in front of the kneeling stocks in which I am permanently imprisoned in the middle of some waste ground, and witness me receiving 25 lashes of the official, police female-whip by way of a punishment for her thievery!
Miss McKayla thinks it’s funny (as, indeed, do the female cops who are whipping me) as I suffer the outrageous blows of the stinging, female whip on her recidivistic behalf, whilst I am ignominiously forced to cry unmanfully into her dirty-white, low-top, lace-up sneakers and thick, grey cotton kneesocks which disappear up her half-mast, grey denim jean hems in front of me.
Actually, if truth be told, the sight of twenty-year-old miss McKayla’s thick, light-grey-coloured kneesocks disappearing up her matching, grey-denim, jean hems is a pathetic comfort to me, as the latticed stitching of her socks gives me something to stare at and admire during my whipping, as I mentally trace my nose up the lines of fancy stitching, and imagine what the stretched, elasticated stitching just below her shapely kneecaps must look like underneath her frayed, half-mast jean hems (Miss McKayla is a very beautiful, mixed-race girl, with a nice pale-brown complexion, braided, shoulder-length, dyed-blonde hair, and several nose and eyebrow piercings; so she is a very beautiful young woman to behold, and being obliged to look at her partially covered kneesocks – the latticed, light grey socks of a truly stunning, young, mixed-race woman – during ‘her’ punishment, very much helps to take my mind off the acute pain I am suffering on her unrepentant behalf!)
Much of the estate – including miss McKayla’s fellow girlgang ‘half-masters’ – have come out to witness my vicarious suffering on her behalf , and they are, of course, urging the two black-leather-kneebooted and navy-blue-miniskirted, uniformed female cops to lay into me with all their young-womenly might, as every red-blooded female likes to see a good, hard punishment-whipping of a sink-estate whipping boy – especially an ugly, old, elderly whipping ‘boy’ like me (I’m in my mid fifties, but look much older due to the harshness of my day to day existence, being permanently exposed in the knee-high, whipping stocks – 365 days a year, and in all weathers!).
When the actual police-beating of 25 harsh lashes – delivered from both sides by the two professional, female whippers – is finally over, I am obliged to publicly kiss miss McKayla’s musty-smelling and grubby, cheap and trashy, white, laced-up sneakers a similar amount of times (25), and not only praise and bless her for committing her female crime and thereby getting me into trouble, but also publicly thank her for nominating me to take her judicial punishment on her behalf!
My only regret is that I am too weak with pain to be able to raise my pathetic, confined-in-wood neck high enough to enable me to brush my penitent lips against the softness of her grey, cotton kneesock – for that latticed stitching does look so inviting to the parched and dry lips of a freshly-whipped footslave!
Miss McKayla and the gathered throng of young women laugh at me, and then desert me to my pain as they all resume their everyday, sink-estate business.
I’m sure miss McKayla has learnt her lesson – which is that she can continue to thieve and pickpocket with impunity, since I am always available to take her punishment on her behalf. And rightly so – for no young woman should ever be criticised or punished for living her life how she damn well pleases!
You’d think that would be the end of my suffering for the time being – but it’s actually only the beginning! For, that same night, in the small hours of the morning, who should emerge from the shadows of the surrounding waste-ground where I am still in recovery from my latest vicarious punishment-whipping, than the pink-DM-booted miss Sienna and her cohort of ‘Abbey Angels’ from the neighbouring, rival sink-estate!
They must have heard about my punishment whipping on miss McKayla’s behalf, and are, naturally, angry that I suffered on her behalf – since they hate her; so they too have come to punish me – for being punished!
I quake in my wooden bonds as the tall and lean, pleasingly black-skinned miss Sienna approaches me in her threatening, patent pink, girlgang-DMs, surrounded by a whole host of similar, angelic DMs – though none of the boots are exactly what you would describe as ‘pure’; they are all heavily dirt-stained boots, reflecting the fallen nature of these particular girlgang angels!
Miss Sienna begins by berating me – in her native Jamaican-patois – for being such a maleslave wimp, and for ‘agreeing’ to suffer on her girlgang-rival’s behalf. Her fellow Abbey-Angel, girlgang members exhort her to ‘whup’ me, which she duly does – using an ancient scourge she has brought with her from the gang’s HQ, the former abbey (perhaps it’s a relic from the days of the self-flagellating monks; who knows?).
I writhe so much with the pain of the scourge that one of miss Sienna’s fellow, black, girlgang members is obliged to stand over me with my head pinned in between her pink, DM boots and black, calf-length bootsocks whilst her leader gleefully applies the penitent’s scourge to my already professionally fustigated back.
I lose count of the number of strokes miss Sienna delivers, but counting them would be a waste of time anyway since the, presumably nowadays illegal, multithonged scourge contains an unknown number of sharp, brown leather lashes, so female-goodness only knows how many stripes now adorn my poor, naked, whipping-boy back!
Then, to crown it all, miss Sienna sprays my ultra-sore back with stinging, green spray-paint. She effectively vandalises my whipped back, and covers it in girlgang graffiti!
And she takes great delight in informing me exactly what she has written on my back, in her bright green, luminescent spray-paint:
‘McKayla is a slag!’
Oh woe is me – for I shall most assuredly be whipped again my miss McKayla and her half-masters for such blatant rudeness towards her when she sees my spray-painted back in the morning!
And then, I shall be surrounded by half-mast jeans and thick kneesocks as miss McKayla’s girlgang gather round me with harsh scrubbing brushes in order to scrub the offensive, green spray-paint off my already sore and peeling back!
Like I said at the very beginning – you do not want to be me!
Or do you?
