Witnesses to a Whipping

Nobody could quite remember exactly why the local, public footservant had been sentenced to a public flogging in the middle of the rundown, sink-estate where he worked. To be honest – nobody really cared; all they cared about was the opportunity to enjoy witnessing his suffering under the stinging lash, as wielded by the public whipmaster – a sadistic brute of a free, black man who made it his business to study whipping techniques in his spare time as he loved his job so much!

And so, as he hung forlornly from the whipping tree – his arms suspended high above him and his back bared – the public footslave elicited little or no sympathy amongst his, mainly female, audience, whilst, by way of contrast, his whipper was the subject of many furtive, admiring glances and fluttering, feminine eyelids as he made ready his single-tailed, brown leather, cowhide whip for the afternoon’s cruel festivities.

An expectant hush fell over the female crowd of eager onlookers as the whipmaster measured up his first stroke to his victim’s back and torso – making sure he positioned himself behind the slave at just the right distance to achieve a wraparound with his cutting whip.

The deathly hush was then broken by a swish, a crack, and a scream:

Swish…Crack…Aaagh!

The first stroke!

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37 year old, ginger-ponytailed, white girl miss Chardonnay, who was standing closest to the scene, enjoyed witnessing that first stroke immensely. In fact, it made her laugh out loud – particularly the anguished reaction of the unfortunate slave as the enormity of the pain began to bite into his whip-flayed ribs:

‘Ha! Ha! Yo! Way to go, whipmaster! Ha! Ha!... Sweet, like!... I think he really felt that one, innit though? Ha! Ha! Ha!’

Miss Chardonnay, as you can probably tell, is a bit of a chavette. She is certainly dressed like a stereotypical chavette, in a bulky, metallic-coloured bomber jacket, and with stylishly ripped, blue denim jeans tucked into the tops of her thick, beige-brown, sheepskin ugg boots. And there is nothing miss Chardonnay likes more than witnessing a public whipping, especially when it involves watching the rippling arm-muscles of the professional, black whipmaster as he brings the whip down across the footslave-wimp’s wiry, white back for the second, slightly lower, stroke:

Swish…Crack…Aaagh!

The sight and sound, and even the smell, of the application of the manly, cowhide whip to helpless, maleslave flesh turns miss Chardonnay on – and she doesn’t care who knows it. She even starts to rub herself in public down below with her right hand:

‘Ha! Ha! Ooohh!... I’ll bet he liked that one – not! Ha! Ha!... Ooohh…more! More!...Ha! Ha!... More whip!... Lay it on him real hard, though!’

Yes, if it sounds like a chavette; dresses like a chavette; and acts like a chavette – it is a chavette; but still a free, female chav who is entitled, by law, to behave as badly as she likes, as she is a privileged member of the superior sex.

Swish…Crack…Aaagh!

And besides, everyone who knows her likes miss Chardonnay – even the poor fellow whose suffering she is getting off on has to admire her; her has to admire her because he is her local, sink-estate, public footservant, and will continue to be duty-bound to worship, and attend to, her chavvy, beige brown, ugg boots in the months and years ahead – unless miss Chardonnay moves onwards and upwards in the world, of course (unlikely, it has to be said, given her total lack of ambition at the age of 37!)

The public footservant is not the only one to be admiring of chavette mistress Chardonnay’s ugg-ly footwear today. As she screams forth her libidinous pleasure at the repeated crack of the whip and accompanying screams from the ‘criminal’ tied to the sink-estate whipping tree, her own personal footslave is honoured and privileged to be kneeling behind her ugg booted heels and admiring the constant creasing and folding of the beige-coloured sheepskin in the backs of her misshapen boots, caused by the subliminal and lustful, feminine foot-muscle movements inside her boots as her blood pulses through her foot veins.

He also happens to know what no-one else knows today (not even his fellow, whipped footservant) – that inside those thick, brown, shapeless ugg boots miss Chardonnay is wearing a particularly chavvy pair of cheap, well-worn, black and red, cartoon-themed socks. He knows that because he was obliged to put them on her greasy and veiny, unwashed, white feet earlier this morning, and he now bemoans the fact that all his hard efforts in making sure his chav-mistress’s cartoon- socks were nice and straight on her feet will have come to nought, as they must surely by now be slipping and sliding inside her hot and sticky sheepskin boots, given the amount of jumping and jiggling she is doing to the beat of the nearby whip! Plus, it must be said, it is actually quite a warm day – not really ugg boot weather at all! But miss Chardonnay only has one pair of boots, and so has to wear them even on a relatively warm and sultry day like this, since it is not yet quite warm enough for her only other items of footwear – her summer sandals! It’s a similar story with her thick, metallic bomber jacket! She really is a chavette through and through, innit though?

Chavette or not, she’s not the one being whipped; and so she is fully deserving of her besotted, personal footslave’s admiring glances towards the dusty outsides of her beige-coloured boots as she gleefully witnesses the public footslave’s chastisement.

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The only person present at the scene who is just ever so slightly embarrassed by mistress Chardonnay’s exuberance and public display of whip-inspired lasciviousness is standing on the other side of the assembled throng – her teenage daughter, 18 year old miss Angelica.

Swish…Crack…Aaaagh!

Miss Angelica is mixed race and has never met her Caribbean father – but it’s at times like this she almost wishes it was her English mother who was the absentee parent in her life!

That’s partly why she had chosen to stand as far away as possible from her exhibitionist mum – that, and the fact that she wanted to surreptitiously snog with her boyfriend, master-sir Darren, who really loves her – or so she thinks!

Like it or not, miss Angelica is also a chavette, though she has dyed her shoulder-length hair blonde in another effort to distance herself from her ginger-haired mother. Miss Angelica’s unnaturally blonde hair, coupled with her dark complexion, mean that few who aren’t in the know associate her with her pasty-white mother Chardonnay – and that’s just the way miss Angelica likes it!

Swish…Crack…Aaagh!

They can still see she’s a chav, though – given her nose rings; her obviously bleached-blonde hair; and the way she dresses – today in a black, bomber-style jacket; black jeans, and white, low-cut, lace-up trainers with black socks. Always a chavette-giveaway – black socks with white trainers!

But nonetheless a very beautiful young woman – in her physical prime; and she knows it. Her boyfriend Darren knows it too, and is standing with his arm wrapped protectively around his blonde, mixed-race, chav-girl’s shoulders, almost as if he were protecting her from the whip, though he is actually showing the world, and any potential love-rivals in the vicinity, that this is his ‘bird’; hands off her!

Swish…Splat…AAAGH!

A particularly bloody stroke – known as an overlay – elicits an even louder scream of pain from the recipient, and prompts a ripple of unsympathetic laughter to go around the audience.

Pleased by the stroke of pain on someone else, miss Angelica looks up lovingly into her protective boyfriend’s eyes and he smiles manfully back at her, before lowering his lips to hers and feasting on her pouting, red-painted labial gorgeousness.

Meanwhile, it is miss Angelica’s personal footslave’s privilege to witness the backs of her black socks creasing and folding inside her white trainers as she swoons on tip-toe into her boyfriend Darren’s loving, manly embrace. Miss Angelica is, technically, too young to have a personal footslave in tow, but this is not exactly a law-abiding area, and miss Angelica is not exactly from a law-abiding family. So no-one around here is going to report her for her black-market footslave!

Said slave is, meanwhile, completely mesmerized by the bobbling, and creasing in her black-market socks – particularly her right sock which bears the brunt of her young-womanly swoon into the arms of her gentlemanly boyfriend above him. The illicit footslave has illicit thoughts, of course – and wishes he too could taste beautiful chav-mistress miss Angelica on the lips, instead of just on the socks! But he knows his place – and the sound of the cracking whip is a timely reminder to him not to get ideas above his lowly station!

Swish…Splat…AAAGH!...Mercy, master-sir!

Ha! Ha! Another overlay!

The sound of the renewed splat, and the resultant scream for mercy from the victim, are enough for the happy young, chav couple to disengage tongues, and look towards the scene of pain again, where they both revel in the sight of the whipped slave’s now bloodied back!

Master Darren-sir squeezes his mixed-race, teenage girlfriend’s hand as if to say:

‘Are you enjoying it, sweetheart?’

She squeezes him back as if to say:

‘Yes thank you, darling!... Innit though?’

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Next to them, another happy couple – though slightly older and in their late twenties – are also holding hands and enjoying the whipping. Master Ian brings all his girlfriends to the local, public floggings, as he knows of no better way than getting a woman in the mood for making love!

His current escort is tall, wiry, and a brunette; she is also Russian – he met her on the internet. Mistress Lyudmila is sexily dressed in a revealing top; skinny-tight blue denim jeans; and a pair of spike-heeled, black leather, zip-up-the-front, ankle booties which pleasingly reveal the elasticated and twisted tops of her dark grey, cotton anklesocks

Swish…Crack…Aaagh!

‘Ha! Ha! Are you enjoying it, my dear?’ asks the lecherous master Ian sir of his internet fiancée.

‘Well, and yes of course, my darling! I am liking the slave’s suffering wery much!’

Short-assed master Ian can barely contain his lust. He smiles smarmily up at his tall, Russian bride-to-be:

‘Ha! Ha! The whip sure is cutting him down to size, isn’t it dear?’

‘Ha! Ha! Yes – I am so proud of you, my darling, for having him whipped for my pleasure!’

Master Ian sir had told his Russian girlfriend a little, white lie, you see – just to impress her; some cock and bull story about the public footservant being his personal property, whom he runs, and punishes, for the good of the local community and the simultaneous entertainment of his beloved girlfriend.

It’s all a smarmy pack of lies, of course. Master Ian sir is not a rich slaveowner, though he would dearly like to be! Ha! Ha! Even the slave at his Russian girlfriend’s feet, whom he has supplied again to supposedly impress her, is a mere rental slave.

But Lyudmila doesn’t know that! Nor does she need to know!

Swish…Crack…Aagh!

The cries are becoming weaker now – though the whipcuts are just as harsh. Still there is much writhing and anguish on the part of the weakening, whipped slave for the onlookers to enjoy!

Just as there is much in miss Lyudmila’s black, ankle-length booties for the rental footslave to enjoy – especially as they are accompanied by such sweet, grey socks – socks which are magnificently creased and crumpled over her blue denim, skinny jean hems. She may look to everyone else like a high-class tart – but to the lowly rental slave the tall and slim Russian girl is a high-class goddess, and he is honoured to be kneeling to heel beneath her.

In any case his temporary employer – master sir Ian – has told him in no uncertain terms how he is to behave in his internet-bride’s presence; humbly; respectfully and afearedly. In particular the slave is to exhibit fear of the master-sir, and thereby enhance his master’s machismo in the eyes of his paid-for Russian escort.

And it’s not difficult to be afraid of a little man – especially when he so clearly derives genuine enjoyment from seeing a fellow male whipped!

Swish…Crack… Aahh!

‘Ha! Ha! Lay it on hard, whipmaster! Don’t spare my wretched slave!’ shouts the little runt of a man.

Miss Lyudmila smiles at the runtish master-sir, and kisses him on the cheek. Just a quick peck – mind you; for she doesn’t actually fancy him and wouldn’t dream of spending her life with him – not once her Gynarchy passport has come through!

Still, the peck to the freeman’s cheek at least gives the footslave at her booties a quick thrill, as it simultaneously causes her grey sock-top on her bony, right ankle to crease in front of his kneeling-dirtwards face!

So all is not lost!

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Black mistress Jezebel is known as a bit of a religious nutter throughout the locality – always carrying her Gynarchy bible and preaching from it to passers-by in the street. Indeed, she can be found wherever there is a crowd – and a public flogging is fertile ground for her pearls of scriptural wisdom.

Always smartly dressed in her Sunday best (whatever the day of the week) – consisting of a frilly, white blouse, smart black suit-jacket, and matching, black knee-length skirt with dark nylons and patent, black leather, high-heeled courts – the somewhat inaptly named miss Jezebel is repeatedly shouting out Female scripture as the whip continues to crack open the slave’s back:

Swish…Splat…Aaaaagh!

‘Blessed be the free man who imposeth female justice on the recalcitrant, male slave!’

Swish…Splat…Aaagh!...M...Mercy…m…mercy, master-sir…Oh pray, master…

‘The slave that beggeth for mercy shall receive none – for the whip must have its feminine justice and revenge!’

Swish…Splat…Aaagh!...Oh pray, master-sir!

‘Pray ye to thy mistress, foolish slave, that thy back may be spared the righteous indignation of her lash! For thou art sinful, and must be cleansed by the whip, vile sinner-slave, unless thy mistress taketh sweet feminine pity on thee!’

The quotes from the female scriptures certainly do seem to be inspiring the whipmaster to ever greater efforts, even if they provide little or no comfort to the suffering slave. But mistress Jezebel’s fortunate, personal footslave is also inspired by the religiosity of his mistress above him as he kneels and stares at the backs of her shapely, black, nylon-covered heels.

In particular he is admiring of a tiny ladder developing in the sheer black material of the finest denier nylon covering the back of her right heel-tendon – a tiny ladder which even cuts into the top of the deep black, reinforced triangle of nylon which disappears gently down inside the back of her shiny, black leather, high-heeled shoe.

Jezebel’s ladder – how he wishes he could climb down it, into the very essence of her shoe, and immerse himself in her baptismal foot-stink! For he regards her right foot as the font of all knowledge, and yearns to learn the lessons of obedience to the black female from it.

How right she is to mock the slave with her scriptures, for the female whip is an eternal truth, and the footslave fervently worships at the nylon-covered heels of his black, holier-than-thou, female better!

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Of course, it would be wrong for the Indian subcontinent not to be represented at the multicultural, flogging scene. And one such delightful representative takes the dupatta-headscarfed form of Pakistani mistress Zubeeda – she of the unrestrained pleasure in the application of the whip!

See how her loose-fitting kameez blouse swirls around her somewhat portly, middle-aged frame as with gritted teeth she delights in replicating each punishing whip-stroke with her own, delicate, Pakistani-woman arm:

‘Ha! Ha! Harder! Harder! More whip! More, I say!’

Air-whipping - it’s almost like she is the mistress of ceremonies, though she has no more connection with the punished, public footservant, or the public whipmaster, than the rest of the residents of the square!

Not that she is without influence – her shouts and exhortation seem to spur the public whipmaster onto ever greater efforts on the by now totally exhausted and weakened slave’s back:

Swish…Splat…Umph!

Swish…Split…Umph!

‘Ha! Ha! Don’t let up, whipmaster! I am thinking the slave is still very much feeling it, isn’t it?’

Mistress Chardonnay’s personal footslave may have been forced to stare at her wintertime ugg boots today, but Pakistani mistress Zubeeda has no such compunctions about wearing sandals in the early springtime – and on her bare, wheatish-coloured, Pakistani feet!

So her personal footslave currently has the inestimable honour of observing her bare, chapped, middle-aged heelskin creasing and wrinkling beneath the dusty, white straps of her open-backed, open-toed, flat, white leather sandals beneath the semi-diaphanous, tapered hems of her yellow-silken, tapered, shalwar-kameez trousers.

At forty years old, her feet may not be in the first flush of youth, but they are still a sight for whip-sore footslave eyes. Her personal footslave, you see, can perhaps empathise more than anyone else with the wretched public footservant now slumped in his bonds at the whipping tree – for miss Zubeeda puts her own whip where her pretty, Pakistani mouth is, and regularly whips her personal footslave! Indeed, he is still very much smarting from an earlier whipping this morning – hence the involuntary flinching in his still sore back muscles with every sickening splat of the whip on his slave-colleague’s back.

Swish…Split…moan!

The whipping is coming to a close soon, and the various personal footslaves, rental or otherwise, shall soon be obliged to crawl after their respective mistresses’ heels as the female witnesses to the whipping callously turn their unwhipped, fully-clothed backs on the still hanging, whipped, public footservant, and head off to the comfort of their sink-estate boudoirs for some…erm…pleasurable relief, be it solitary, or mutual with their lucky, freemale husbands or boyfriends.

One or two of them may even make out with the sweaty and panting, black whipmaster himself!

They came; they saw; they came.

Yes, a fun time has been had by all, apart from the wretched individual at the centre of it all – the freshly whipped slave.

But nobody gives a damn about him!

Swish…Splat…Silence!

Cheers!