The Speeding Penalty

My 34 year old, Indian mistress – miss Pushpa – has been caught speeding; 80 miles an hour in a 40 mile an hour speed limit zone!

Because it is such a serious speeding offence she is having to appear before the Female Magistrates’ Court, and I, of course, in my capacity as my mistress Pushpa’s personal footslave, am required to be in the dock also, kneeling behind my mistress’s slender, Indian-girl heels as she stands proudly before the good lady magistrate.

My mistress has pleaded guilty and is merely awaiting sentencing. She is also wearing her best, sober-looking, dark grey suit consisting of a jacket and skirt, over a crisp and businesslike, white blouse, and dark-toned, nylon stockings with her chunky-heeled, mary-jane style, single-strapped black leather shoes – out of supposed respect for the authority of the Female Court and the Female Law.

As my naughty mistress Pushpa stands in the dock I humbly stare at the beginnings of a tiny ladder in the dark nylon of her stocking on her shapely, left heel – just above the black, mary-jane shoeline; yet another of my petite and comely, dark-haired, Indian mistress’s many flaws – but then, she is only human!

I am vaguely aware of the good lady magistrate passing sentence upon my mistress – a 200 FEM fine or 4 strokes of the cane. I also hear my mistress opt for the cane, and nominating me to receive the strokes in her stead as her personal-slave whipping-boy!

It’s only fair that I should take the pain on my mistress’s behalf – since this is a Gynarchy, and, by law, pain must never be inflicted on a female. Furthermore, although my mistress Pushpa is an extremely wealthy, young woman – who could well afford to pay the fine – she prefers to see me beaten, and save the money for a new pair of shoes.

Her choice!

And besides, I was there at the scene of the crime, kneeling beside my mistress’s anklebooted feet on the floor of the car, staring at her plain black anklesock-tops inside her low-heeled, black leather, lace-up ankleboots beneath the hems of her officewear, grey-pinstriped trousers as she had pressed her dainty, booted foot down onto the powerful accelerator of her open-topped, sports car. So it is only right that I should share in the punishment – being an unwitting, male accessory to the female crime!

I can’t remember why she was in such a rush at the time – she was probably just anxious to get home into the manly arms of her husband and make love to him; for my mistress Pushpa is a very libidinous, young woman!

Be that as it may, I am now about to suffer the consequences of her feminine lust – 4 strokes of the punishment cane across my bare buttocks!

Now – I know what you’re thinking! A mere 4 strokes – for such a serious speeding offence? But the Court’s reasoning is as follows:

• The sting of the punishment cane, when applied by a professional, female caner, is so great as to be deemed the legal equivalent of a 50 Fem fine (hence 4 strokes is regarded as the equivalent of my mistress’s alternative 200 Fem fine);
• Because of the sharpness of the pain the caner is obliged to wait fifteen minutes in between each stroke to the maleslave’s buttocks, lest he pass out. It takes the average slave that long to ‘recover’ from each stroke to the extent that his feeble, male body can take the next one;
• As the mistress who committed the offence is obliged, by law, to witness her slave’s vicarious punishment, the Court doesn’t wish to detain her for too long – hence caning punishments rarely involve anything more than 6 strokes as an absolute maximum. I mean, mistresses lead busy, feminine lives and can’t possibly be expected to sit in a Female Court punishment-room listening to their whipping boys’ screams for more than 90 minutes!

Fortunately my mistress Pushpa already came prepared for my hour long, 4 stroke punishment – even to the extent of remembering to bring a pair of her dirty, black, officewear bootsocks with which to gag me during my punishment! Not the same pair she had been wearing on the day of her driving offence – that would have been perfect, feminine justice, wouldn’t it? No – sadly, it’s just another, similar pair she had on yesterday. They haven’t been washed yet, but I’m grateful for anything that will help to stifle my unmanly screams, as I am always embarrassed at how much I cry out whenever my master or mistress beat me or whip me back in the privacy of their marital home. I’m such a maleslave weakling when it comes to physical pain!

Immediately after sentencing my mistress thanks the good lady magistrate for her ‘leniency’ towards me, and a female court-usher leads us both through a side-door directly into the court punishment room.

Here she is introduced to the female punishment officer – a tall and strong looking, white woman in her early forties with mousy-brown, spiky hair, nose-piercings, and an array of tattoos on her arms – whilst I am ‘introduced’ by the female court usher to the wooden punishment trestle.

The court usher – a much more delicate-looking flower of a young, blonde woman in her early to mid twenties – is the only female present who is in uniform. She is wearing smart, navy blue slacks and black leather, chunky-heeled, round-toed, zip-up ankleboots. Her navy blue trouser hems flap around her black-booted ankles as she secures me, face down and buttocks upwards, over the deliberately uncomfortable, wooden punishment trestle, but, sadly, not enough to reveal the tops of her regulation, plain black, female-court-official bootsocks inside her well-worn, and surprisingly unpolished, boots.

Her fair hands feel very soft and feminine as she gently ties me to the trestle by means of the harsh, steel chains and then lowers my flimsy slave shorts down the backs of my legs so that my bare, maleslave buttocks are ignominiously exposed. It is always a particularly shaming experience for a male slave to be exposed and naked in this way in the presence of fully-clothed females – especially when one knows one’s ugly, naked backside is completely unattractive to the superior females present.

I mean, it’s not like I’m an attractive, fit and hunky, freemale or anything; I’m just a scrawny, raggedy-assed, footslave-loser, who is about to be caned!

In fact, I actually hear the three women present – the uniformed court usher; the caning officer; and my own mistress Pushpa – laugh out loud together at the sight of my emaciated, about-to-be-whipped buttocks! The three women appear to be getting on like a house on fire!

I then hear the spiky-haired, female caner-mistress politely invite my mistress Pushpa to take up her seat in front of me, so that her feet are resting on the ground directly beneath my now bent-over, footslave face which is hanging, appropriately enough, a foot or so off the ground.

My mistress Pushpa makes herself comfortable in the luxurious leather chair whilst the female caner offers her a cup of tea (well, she is going to be sitting here for an hour or so whilst I am caned on her behalf). My mistress then languorously stretches out her pretty, nylon-stockinged legs in front of her, crossing her dainty, Indian feet over at the ankles so that her dark nylon stockings are creased somewhat around her well-turned anklebones inside her black leather, single-strapped, chunky-heeled, mary-jane shoes.

Her feet and ankles look nice in their dark nylons, and my only regret is that the ladder on the back of her left heel is now, temporarily, hidden from my view. She then takes her dirty, black socks out of her jacket pocket and hands them to the female court-usher to place into my mouth by way of a sock-gag (both my mistress, and the usher, I notice, are wearing disposable gloves whilst handling the toxic, day-old, unwashed socks. The two mistresses are, quite rightly, very fastidious about their own hygiene, but evidently have no compunctions whatsoever about inserting my mistress’s day-old footsweat into my gaping, male-footslave mouth! Indeed, the seemingly demure court-usheress is actually sniggering with glee as she inserts the dirty, black cotton, female bootsocks into my helpless, oral orifice!)

The socks taste nice and salty – as I had expected, for my mistress often gags me with her stale socks of an evening, especially whilst she is making love with her husband, my master-sir. I can hear my mistress Pushpa slurping on her tea whilst my own mouth is full of her dirty, sweaty socks.

Having inserted the socks, the uniformed, blonde-ponytailed, court-usheress’s black leather ankleboots are replaced behind me by the flat, brown loafers and black socks of the muscular, tattooed, female caner. As I indicated before she is a tall and athletic, mousy-haired woman in her early to mid forties – very strong and attractive looking – and she is dressed in civilian clothes. Not sure why. All I know is, in addition to her socks and loafers, her outfit consists of a grey-checked trouser suit and pale yellow, frilly blouse, although she has taken off her jacket and rolled up the yellow sleeve on her tattooed, whipping arm, presumably so that she may apply the cane with the greatest degree of judicial venom to my now shamefully bare and exposed buttocks.

I’m assuming she is a plain-clothes professional, police-caner mistress – and not just some brutish, psychopathic female prisoner who is carrying out my punishment as part of her own community-service sentence! But it can sometimes be rash to make such assumptions when you are a male slave living at the mercy of the Female Law in the Gynarchy!

Thanks to the bell-bottom hems of the caner’s grey-checked trousers, her plain, black anklesocks, similar to the ones now filling my mouth, are intermittently visible inside her flat, brown loafer shoes as she performs her preparatory, practice swings of the thin, whippy punishment cane. I expect she wears such flat shoes because they give her feet good purchase on the ground as she brings down the cane on her victims’ buttocks. I mean, she looks like she is a real expert with the cane, be it on an amateur or professional level!

My buttocks flinch involuntarily as each practice stroke whistles just millimetres past them, accompanied by the gloating giggles of my convicted mistress seated in front and above me. I hear her Indian voice urge the female caning-mistress on:

‘Ha! Ha! Please do not be sparing the foolish slave, madam! He is being most deserving of a severe punishment having not stopped my foot from being pressing down hard on the accelerator, isn’t it?’

The female caner agrees with my Indian mistress, and assures her that she will not spare me.

My mistress Pushpa is quite right, of course. I should have had the bottle to say something to my mistress when she was driving too fast – even though it would have inevitably meant a severe whipping when we got home, for the crime of giving cheek to my mistress! But she could have killed us both by her dangerous speeding, and, whilst my slave-life is unimportant, her female life is totally precious!

But what’s done is done; I held my nervous peace in the speeding car and now must face the consequences – give cheek to the court female-caner instead; buttock cheek!

The waiting is over and the female caner moves into position directly behind me, adjusting her brown-loafered feet so that she is standing in the best position to maximize my pain.

A deadly silence descends across the room, before I see the female caner’s right, ankle twist upwards in its brown loafer-shoe – revealing a momentary glimpse of creased, black sock – before there is an almighty whoosh and a crack which echoes around the bare, punishment-room walls.

There is a momentary sensation of numbness in my buttocks – but it is only a temporary respite; for a split second later my buttocks, and then the backs of my legs, and then the whole of my feeble, male body from my toes to my brain, are engulfed in a burning, agonizing, stinging pain!

I scream into my mistress’s socks!

Don’t get me wrong – I’ve been beaten with a cane, and a whip, by my own mistress Pushpa, and indeed by her manly husband, on many occasions; but nothing could have prepared me for this judicial pain, as inflicted by the Female-Court-appointed, female caner!

Gosh that smarts! Wave after wave of biting sting – from a single stroke! No wonder the Female Authorities insist that the punisher wait a full fifteen minutes before delivering the follow-up stroke!

During that time I hear my mistress Pushpa chatting unconcernedly with the female caner about the weather; about their respective thoughts on the latest female fashions; about their plans for the evening (the female caner, it seems, is, like my mistress, a married woman, and is going to see a movie which my mistress has already been to see with her husband (I was there too in the cinema, but didn’t get to see or hear the film, of course, as I was obliged to kneel throughout the performance at my mistress’s sneakered feet observing the tops of her white, sneaker socks subconsciously creasing and folding in front of my personal-footslave face! Mind you, that too was an enjoyable performance to behold – for a down-in-the-dirt footslave).

And speaking of creasing hosiery, I try to focus in on my 34 year-old, mistress Pushpa’s dark-nyloned anklebones as she slurps her tea and chats to the caner, as I am desperate to try to take my mind of the throbbing, burning pain in my unfortunate behind! Each new crease in my mistress Pushpa’s finest-denier nylon stockings seems to act like a psychological anaesthetic – just as the ominous sight of the middle-aged, female caner’s flat, brown loafers and creased, black socks moving into position behind me causes me renewed psychological distress, as I know she is preparing for the next, cruel stroke. Surely the fifteen minutes’ respite can’t be over so quickly?

It must be – for I feel my buttocks clench as the expert caner-mistress taps the cane about an inch or so below my first, burning stripe as she measures me up for the second cut of her vicious, judicial cane!

Swish…Crack!

PAIN!

Male pain – and female laughter. Indeed, it’s only now that I realise the blonde-ponytailed, uniformed court-usher mistress is still in the room somewhere behind me, for I hear her laughing too. She must have a good view of my rapidly reddening buttocks!

Mercifully the caner-mistress stoops down behind me to pull up and straighten her left sock immediately after delivering the second cane-stroke. I don’t know whether it was a deliberate act of kindness on her part, or not – probably not – but, be that as it may, I really don’t think I could have coped without the distraction of witnessing her black sock in all its feminine glory being pulled up around her pasty-white, middle-aged anklebone!

That sock really was a sight for sore eyes!

Meanwhile I hear my mistress accept a refill of her cup of tea, as the female caner appears to be partaking of the warming brew also. I suppose it helps her to maintain her strength as she carries out her business, as does pulling her socks up!

Oh woe is me! I am truly at the mercy of these three, all-powerful women in the confines of the court punishment-room, with only their boots, shoes, stockings and socks for comfort! I bite down into my mistress Pushpa’s dirty, black socks to try to release more of the stale footsweat, since my throat is feeling dry and parched!

I try telling myself that my punishment is half-way over, but, of course, it isn’t; I still have fifteen minutes to wait before the third stroke, so you could say I’m only a quarter of the way through my judicial agony!

I close my eyes and try to think of the Gynarchy; and then open them again, in order to stare at my mistress Pushpa’s pretty, nylon-stockinged feet, still fetchingly crossed-over at the ankles inside their protective, mary-jane style, chunky-heeled, strappy shoes. I fancy I can even see my pained reflection in them!

Oh God! Oh No! It must be that time again – the caner-mistress’s brown leather loafers are once more moving into view behind me! It’s becoming something of a familiar routine – the appearance of the flat, brown loafers beneath the grey-checked, bell-bottom trouser hems; the positioning of the loafered feet; the twisting upwards of the right, loafered-ankle; the flash of twisted, black anklesock; followed swiftly by a flash of yellow, rolled-up sleeve as the brown, whippy cane descends in an ark down onto my exposed, bare buttocks – yet again an inch or so below the last point of impact…

Swish…Crack!

AGONY! TOTAL AGONY!

Screams, pain and laughter.

‘Ha! Ha! I am thinking that he is very much liking that one, officer!’ I hear my mistress exclaim through the mists of pain. ‘Thank you very much!’

Ah – so the whipper is a plain-clothes, police-officer mistress; or, at least, that’s my mistress Pushpa’s understanding – and my mistress Pushpa is never in the wrong!

‘You’re welcome, madam!’ replies the female caning-officer in civilian clothes as her brown penny-loafers move round to stand in front of me once again so that she can finish her refreshing cup of tea.

My mistress Pushpa’s feet and ankles are jiggling about now. They always do that when she’s excited. It’s a subconscious, nervous habit – but thank heavens for it; for it doesn’t half help to take my mind off the pain – all that creasing and folding in her, jiggling, dark-nylon-covered, Indian-girl anklebones!

What I hear of the continuing female conversation above me, however, does not bode well for my buttocks:

‘Please, will you kindly be making sure that the final stroke to the foolish slave’s buttocks is being an overlay, officer? I am really wishing to see him cut mercilessly by the cane, isn’t it?’

The female caner laughs:

‘Ha! Ha! Well, it wasn’t stipulated by the Court, madam, but I don’t see why not! Ha! Ha!’

An overlay! An overlay! By such an experienced, professional caner!

Noooooooooooooooooooooo!

I groan, selfishly, into my mistress Pushpa’s dirty socks. Who am I to deny my sweet and kind, Indian mistress her wish of witnessing an overlay to my buttocks? Am I not being punished at my mistress’s pleasure? But the mere thought of an overlay – on such an already suffering and blistered bottom – is almost too much to bear!

…………………………………………………………………………

In fact, I won’t even try describe the pain of that final, expertly-delivered, overlay-stroke of the professional punisher’s cane. There’s no point in my even attempting to describe it – for it was indescribable!

Suffice it to say that from that day onwards, whenever my mistress presses down on the accelerator pedal in her trendy, sports car with her anklebooted foot, my judiciously scarred buttocks simultaneously clench with fear – not fear of the road; but fear of another speeding penalty!

The End