My Life in the Planks
Here it is – another winner from slave Paul, and a real treat for all you stocks-lovers out there!
My Life in the Planks
By Slave Paul
‘Not yet, another day should do it; you look truly pathetic in your wooden bonds!’ was a phrase that the downtrodden and defeated slave Paul would frequently hear from his stunningly beautiful Mistress as she stroked the key to his freedom over his nose.
His fall from grace as a personal footslave had been so swift, he could hardly remember how it had happened.
Paul once again found himself languishing in the cold, heavy and extremely tight rough grip of the ground-level, back-yard, kneeling pillory. He had hoped that he would finally be released today and allowed to accompany his precious Mistress back to the warmth and safety of the cottage she owned.
But once again he was disappointed by the phrase that left her glossy red full lips:
‘Not yet, another day should do it; you look truly pathetic in your wooden bonds!’
This was a phrase he had been made to record many times over in the journal that he had been ordered to keep of his life of servitude. Excerpts from the book were fast becoming bestsellers! The free women of the Gynarchy went mad for the detailed content, from the slave’s humble perspective, of the divine cruelty of a Mistress who truly loathes and despises her slave, and whose only desire is to make his already miserable life that little bit more unpleasant!
It was a truly irresistible read, it seemed!
It was the highly descriptive content of slave Paul’s book which made the literature so enjoyable for the free female to read. Needless to say, the first description in this book was of his Mistress who came to loathe him so, Mistress Janey:
“Golden locks that sway in the breeze and frame such a beautiful countenance that mere words cannot begin to accurately describe”.
Mistress Janey was certainly beautiful enough to be a glamour model, so what did she want with an ugly, old has-been like him?
Here are some of the highlights of Paul’s book, which he had entitled “My Life in the Planks”…………
CHAPTER 1 - THE EARLY YEARS
The early years of my adult life were so much more tranquil and enjoyable. My powerful Foot Mistress Janey was a hard taskmistress to serve but a most enjoyable one.
My routine duties were to tend to her outer footwear while she was out of the house at work, by licking clean her stunning array of designer shoes, boots and sandals. My work during the day never varied, and I found this most satisfying, knowing that my precious Mistress Janey would derive pleasure from seeing her important collection of footwear all gleaming and proud upon her return from work!
My own work load would double when she arrived home. It was always my job to greet her at the door with fawning kisses to her work boots (chisel toed, zip up, knee boots in black leather). Once inside the door she would set me to work on licking the detritus that clung to her workaday, leathery foot-coverings whilst she regaled me with tales of the office, and what the dreaded ‘Sue from Accounts’ had said!
My Mistress Janey would normally choose this point to have me remove her boots and begin sniffing hard and fast at her worn and bobbly, thinning, grey cotton, knee socks. The grey socks were her favourite choice as they showed the areas she wanted me to sniff most. The sweatiest bits would turn darker grey (normally around the toe and heel area).
I would routinely sniff until the socks were a uniform colour, which could take a couple of hours depending on the level of perspiration-contamination! I still found this humble act almost pleasurable - the personal smell of a Mistress’s feet is something that only a mere footslave can understand, and, shamefully, this humble foot-obsessed fool cannot successfully describe it by means of the mere written word ‘it humbly regrets to inform you, oh most respected Mistress reader’.
After her grey socks had been successfully sniffed into uniformity, my powerful Mistress Janey would ordinarily issue my most dreaded, regular commandment of yesteryear:
‘Socks off slave; get to work!... Anyway, where was I? Oh yes - Sue then said………….’
Mistress Janey would then proceed to inform me of yet further office revelations whilst I was left to grope at her precious, besocked right foot. I was entrusted with the removal of her inner footwear with my dirty, slave hands as she did not want me to hole them with my incompetent teeth! The socks would slide off quite easily as they had lost most of the elasticity of the natural cotton material through repeated wear and tear.
I would then be presented with her pretty, size six, bare white feet. She would always insist on lacquered, black toenails even though it was still the middle of winter, and nobody but she and I would see them!
She had long, shapely toes and delighted in the part that came next - the same part that I truly dreaded every night: my pretty Mistress would thrust her whole right foot into my gawping mouth until she could feel the back of my throat with her middle toe (that was slightly longer than her big toe) She would then wriggle her toes about in an attempt to make me gag. Her lacquered toenails dragging along the back of my throat would always bring tears to my eyes! All of this was cruelly done by using the equally long and slender toes of her left foot to pinch my nose shut tight.
It was then my humble job to remove the accumulated filth from underneath her toenails on both feet with my humble teeth, and to dispose of it for her, by ingesting it. This worked to both our advantages, as the Mistress had the pleasure of witnessing her frightened slave swallowing her stinky toejam, whilst my meal of humility supplemented my rather lean, daily rations of half a slice of stale bread and a bowl of deliberately foul-tasting, slave gruel!
This gruel would itself often be fortified by some kind of yellowy-whitish looking and bitter-tasting powder that would be liberally sprinkled over the top (In subsequent years I have found that this was actually the powdered gratings from her foot scraper, which I obviously had to use to remove the build-up of hard, unsightly foot-skin around my Mistress’s heel and toe areas! My omniscient Mistress opined, quite correctly, that it would be wasteful to merely throw away her foot dust!)
Throughout all of this, Mistress Janey continued telling me about Miss Sue at work! The routine never changed and we were both quite content with it in our own ways.
But all that was soon to change!
CHAPTER 2 - CHANGE IS IN THE AIR
One year later, Mistress Janey purchased a beautiful cottage in the outskirts of the old suburbs of the Gynarchy. It was the stereotypical chocolate box image of country living. However, contained in what was once the coal-yard at the rear of the prize-winning garden was the object that was soon to change both our lives forever more; the stocks!
To be more accurate it was an antique kneeling-pillory left over from the previous occupants of the cottage, and set well into the concrete.
It did not take long for the stunningly attractive and hyper-intelligent Mistress Janey to decide that it would be a bit of fun to lock me in the pillory to see if it fitted, and what I would look like. Needless to say, my precious Mistress did not ask for my opinion! And why would she? I am her mere plaything after all!
Mistress Janey finally found an old, rusty padlock that had a large key protruding from it. She turned it, and it creaked loudly then fell to the floor, open! She swung back the heavy, rusty, iron hasp from the staple and thrust the green-lichen-covered, aged wooden crossbeam upwards. This was to be a new experience for the both of us!
My experimental Mistress had seen photographs in the local paper of slaves being punished in the stocks, but had hitherto never witnessed it first-hand. I was also a ‘pillory virgin’! I had once been convicted of a heinous crime that you, dear Mistress Reader, will not wish to know about. I was sentenced to life as a footslave, but was never confined in the stocks. If truth were to be told, I was not looking forward to my first go!
My inquisitive Mistress Janey beckoned for me to come forward. I crawled on my bruised knees across the concrete until I reached the rear of the stocks facing the cottage. My knees fell into depressions that had obviously been left by the previous occupant of the stocks! Clearly he (whoever he was) had spent many a long day confined here. His knees had literally burrowed through the concrete in the search for comfort.
I had to bend down a long way in order to get my neck to line up with the centre hole. My arms were a long way from my torso by the time that my wrists came to rest in the semi-circular, cut outs. Mistress Janey then hastily lowered the heavy, wooden beam with a thud.
I must sadly and shamefully admit, dear reader Mistress, that I screamed loudly at this point as my precious and powerful Mistress caught the nape of my neck! The stocks were too tight a fit, it would seem! This almost came as a relief as I would not be required to use them after all!
Omniscient Mistress Janey, however, simply giggled as she accurately read my facial expression of relief, and then promptly sat down on the crossbeam in order to force the two halves together! Once re-joined, she thrust the shackle of the padlock through the metal staple and locked it, withdrawing the key for security!
The act of sitting on the beam was overpowering, and put enormous strain on my neck. I could hardly breathe! Furthermore, the rough wood was cutting into my wrists, and a lumpy section contained in the neck hole was crushing my Adam’s apple!
Mistress Janey stood back to see if the stocks ‘suited’ me; it appears that there is no such thing as an incorrectly fitting set of stocks (unless they are too loose of course!). Mistress Janey opined that it might be ‘a crackingly good idea’ to leave me in the stocks all night! The mere thought sent shivers down my spine, literally so as the night-time frost began to set in. No more one sided discussion took place after this latest idea. She simply took several ignominious photographs of me, and then turned to leave me behind in her new set of stocks.
She returned later to collect some coal for the fire as she said it was getting cold in the cottage! She placed her booted foot on my cold head and then stammered through the cold air:
‘Wow, you cannot do anything to stop me doing that to you, can you?’
My Mistress Janey was correct; one is totally at the Mistress’s mercy when confined in the stocks, most respected reader Mistress! I was once again left alone to suffer. It was a truly torrid experience that cut deep into my humble, slave soul. One never forgets the first time one is pilloried! The pain; the cold; the loneliness; the restlessness; and the sheer helplessness of it all. It really is a shock to the system!
This was, unfortunately for me, to become a regular event. I was released on the second night in the stocks. My Mistress came to me at the end of the first twenty four hour confinement period and muttered the soon to be familiar phrase:
‘Not yet, another day should do it; you look truly pathetic in your wooden bonds!’
before dragging the key across my confined in-wood face, and leaving me to languish in wood for a further 24 hours.
At this stage in our relationship, I would still be allowed to occasionally worship my powerful Mistress’s feet. But this, sadly, would come to a complete halt when the unimaginable happened: Mistress Janey bought another footslave from an auction!
It was a hammer blow; what was to become of me, was my only selfish thought!
CHAPTER 3 - RELIGATED TO THE STOCKS
My Mistress Janey laughingly introduced me to the now disgraced Slave Pongo, as he was to be known. He was once a powerful and respected whip-slave! His services were sought across the Gynarchy – whipping other male slaves. But his undoing was inevitably brought about by his own stupidity and male urges.
One of his frequent female clients, who hired him to bull whip her household footslave, decided she needed a muscle man in her life! They were caught in a loving embrace by her husband and he was immediately arrested! By rights he should have received the mandatory sentence of life in the foothole dungeons, but the merciful female authorities decided that in view of his services to the community in making slaves’ lives more tawdry and miserable, his sentence should be commuted to life as a footslave.
He was given one other stipulation however - he had to have his half-mask, black leather, whipping hood glued permanently on! He was also allowed to retain his black leather trousers and fearsome collection of whips (though they would, of course, become the lawful property of his new Mistress - MY MISTRESS JANEY!)
Mistress Janey had named him ‘Pongo’ as she decided that his black leather chaps, which came up to his naked midriff, were old and smelly! Nevertheless, she had scored a bargain! What woman would not want such a hulk of a man to worship at her feet? He was a mass of rippling, muscular masculinity - unlike me!
As the months passed by, I was relegated to the back yard more and more often. My erstwhile Mistress (who by now had decreed that I may only refer to her as ‘Miss Janey’, never ‘Mistress Janey’) could not even be bothered to lock me in the stocks herself! Slave Pongo would delight in the task!
Nearly every night I would be lead out of the house to the ignominious stocks. My hair would be grasped roughly by his shovel-sized hands and pulled violently down, to hold me in place while he secured the top section with the padlock. He would invariably give some kind of encouragement like:
‘Not to worry, stocks-boy; only ten hours before you are released! Maybe the foxes will come and play with you? Excuse me, I have to go and eat my dinner and kiss those sexy feet of MY MISTRESS! Don’t go away, will you?’
Hours later Pongo would return with a bowl of gruel that he had deliberately left out on the doorstep to go cold. His job was to feed it to me (as I could obviously not do it for myself). He was always generous in saying to Miss Janey that it would be better to save the foot scrapings for her older slave (me) as ‘he needs the nutrition!’ Pongo would then proceed to feed me the footdust-encrusted top of the bowl of foul gruel, before stealing the rest from under my confined and helpless, still-hungry face! This truly was a miserable existence, oh great and free Mistress Reader!
Yet more time passed. As summer came around, my confinement periods in the stocks did not diminish. Instead, my Miss Janey would organise ‘whipping parties’, where her friends and neighbours would come and see an ex-professional whip-slave do his best to cut me in half with his well-worn, whip collection! It seemed that life could not get any worse for this convicted dirty foot fool!
Another month passed by. Miss Janey had a special delivery brought to the house. I was swiftly collected by slave Pongo from the stocks and dragged to the house by my bare ankles. My head bounced on the cobblestones as we approached the French windows. I could just make out some wording on the discarded box. It said:
Comedic kneeling pillory company, “Stuck under her foot model #101” personalised by Miss Janey (barefoot).
Oh no! A novelty pillory!
A short while later, my Mistress and the onetime whip-slave were crying in hysterics at my contorted expression, as I was held in position under a giant, fibreglass reproduction of Miss Janey’s bare foot! Slave Pongo hammered the wooden peg in tight that pulled the two imitation wooden halves of the laughing-stock together; such humiliation! The roughness of the resin-coated glass material of the replica foot cut deep into my already worn down wrists, and I truly sank to a new low that evening!
CHAPTER 4 - THE PUBLIC KNEELING-STOCKS
One afternoon, over some tea and muffins, and over my head, of course, as I was held rigidly in the comedic laughing-stock, Miss Janey spontaneously announced that it would be:
‘An absolutely wizard idea to get you sentenced to a long stay in the public kneeling-stocks, slave boy’!
Miss Janey actually liked the idea of not being able to release me from the stocks herself. She too would be powerless over the keys to the lock! What a thrill – though not for me, I’ll wager!
Rather unsurprisingly, I was suddenly and “mysteriously” placed under arrest one day by the Female Police Force! It happened to coincide with one of my all too rare periods of freedom from the stocks! Slave Pongo had reported me for breaking a hole in Miss Janey’s socks when I pulled them off her feet with my teeth! An outright lie - as I am, or at least was, as I mentioned before, permitted to use my humble hands, as opposed to my teeth, for this humiliating act of sock slavery!
So much for honour among slaves!
I was hastily bundled into a police cell and had my hands shackled and clamped to my waist by means of a chunky, iron belt in preparation for my court hearing. The next day I was unceremoniously dragged up before the Female Court. I immediately spotted the unspeakable beauty of my erstwhile Mistress Janey, sat in the observation gallery. She looked very curious as to what was about to transpire. What would the sentence be? She seemed to be quite excited!
The court proceedings did not take long. I was sentenced to four days and nights in the public kneeling-stocks, with no food! It was longer than we were all expecting, that was for sure! Miss Janey’s plan had backfired a little. She would have nobody to look at in her own, antique kneeling-pillory, or her comedy laughing-stocks, for four long days!
To make things worse, I was number two in the queue for the public stocks! It was a busy time of year, and so I had to await my turn! I therefore had to spend an additional three days, before my sentence officially began, chained to a rail in a water-filled, rat infested dungeon beneath the Female Court!
It was almost a relief when they eventually came to fetch me for the public pillory! It was located in the middle of the town centre, under a spotlight that would illuminate my suffering throughout the night to any late passers-by.
I was hastily bent prostrate over the bottom half of the stocks. Two brunette matrons of the female law held my wrists in place, while a third girl brought the heavy crossbeam down and locked it in place. The pillory was still warm from the last occupant!
The humiliation grew worse when the third officer produced the laminated charge sheet and pinned it to the billboard next to my ‘wooden window’ for all to see! The only word that was uttered to me in the whole process was:
‘Comfortable?’
Comfortable or not, I was then left alone to suffer. I have never felt so alone or humiliated, dear Madam Reader. The feeling is indescribable. Soon after one is confined, the now all too familiar muscular spasms and nervous twitches caused by constant, unnatural confinement begin to set in!
Later that evening my beloved Miss Janey came along to tease and mock me in my all too public wooden prison. I can happily report that she was elated at the sight that greeted her from afar. She deliberately stood some distance away in order to observe the free men and women going about their business and taking time out of their hectic lives to stop and taunt me! It was truly terrible!
One overseas mistress stopped to ask her female tour-guide:
‘Why is that man trying to crawl through that plank?’
To which the amused Gynarchy tour-guide replied:
‘He’s a dirty criminal-slave, and he is LOCKED in what we call the stocks. He is being justly punished for committing a crime! You can go up and pinch him if you like?’
The curious and naïve tourist-mistress did just that!
My whole first day in the public kneeling-stocks had been like this – being prodded, pinched, poked and mocked!
Miss Janey finally approached the stocks, taking photographs as she did. She could contain herself no longer, and gleefully burst out laughing!
‘Ha! Ha! What a fool you look! I simply cannot believe how pathetic you look in that thing! It’s utterly delightful! HA!’
My mocking mistress’s words did hurt! I was so truly depressed at this point, and had foolishly hoped that she had come to offer me some help and support! Like she said, what a fool I was! Maybe I did deserve to be here?
I had not even finished my first day in the public stocks, and was already begging for it all to end! Night was finally falling, and although the cold, night air was starting to set in, I was relieved that at least the street was starting to empty at last. The mockery finally started to dry up, and I was alone at last!
I did not have to wait too long, however, for some unwanted company! A small gang of female ne’er-do-wells were approaching me from afar. The ringleader, dressed in a blue tracksuit and white trainers, was the first to approach me. She crouched down to my eye level and pulled back her hoodie to reveal a freckled face and a head of velvety, red curls! She was very pretty indeed, though she was so close to me I could smell her bad breath. She then shouted loudly into my face as if I was not there:
‘It’s not the same guy! They must have moved him, or summink?’
The others gathered around and sat on the steps surrounding me! This was their local haunt, it would seem! I only hope that they have not come to torture me any more than I already have been today!
They sat languorously around and began playing with their camera phones, taking snapshots of me in the stocks and victory-posing around the defeated prisoner! One of the girls even straddled the stocks so she could wrap her tracksuit covered thighs tight around my imprisoned head! This was actually most welcome, as it served to bring back the circulation to my cold, numb ears.
I will admit to you, dear feminine reader, that I was rather selfishly enjoying this collective, girlgang torment right up until the young lady who was straddling the stocks broke wind rather loudly on my neck! It was quite a horrible experience, I can tell you!
The gang sat around for some time that night. It seemed they had nothing better to do. They used my stocks to strike matches against, and to light their cigarettes and illegal drugs! One of the young ladies even stubbed out the dog-end of her spent fag on my bare, left foot which caused an almighty scream to emanate from my lips - much to everyone’s amusement!
At one point the pretty ringleader-girl looked up at me from her card game, just in time to catch me looking down lovingly at her formerly white-training-shoed feet that were now merely white-anklesocked, and tucked under her knees on the cold concrete floor. She had apparently won the game! But what had she won? She grinned at me through her nicotine-stained teeth and closed in on me. Framed in this most hated wooden restraint I simply could do nothing to defend myself and scrunched my eyes shut tight assuming physical pain was going to be coming my way!
Nothing happened though! All of the sudden however, I was aware of a stench that, despite my already chilled condition, proceeded to turn my blood to ice! She had taken off both training shoes and placed her dirty, off-white, anklesock clad feet just inches from my imprisoned face! Her friends were assisting in holding her feet steady so close to my kneeling nose! This was her victory, it seems - to humiliate me in the stocks with the stink of her sweaty, white socks, and to subsequently show everyone on the internet the photographic evidence of my sock-humiliation!
The dawn of the next day brought little solace. I was once again subjected to utter humiliation at the hands (and more importantly FEET) of the free population of the Gynarchy town centre. One manly boyfriend ordered me to sniff the different colours on his pretty girlfriend’s stripy socked feet, and report if the red stripes smelled like strawberries whilst the black stripes smelled like blackberries? How both the boyfriend and girlfriend laughed as I reported back, humbly:
‘Begging your pardon oh great Mistress and Master, but this humble, confined-in-wood, prisoner slave has to report that all of the colours smell like ripe camembert, if it so pleases you Master and Mistress?’
Ho hum! Only another three nights and days of such self-degradation to go!
Release from those horrid, public kneeling-stocks for me was as though the world had been lifted off my neck and shoulders. I do not think that I could have taken another day in there!
I was escorted by the Female Authorities home to my loving Miss Janey, and ordered to kiss her booted feet and thank her for having me locked in the stocks for so long, which I did most gratefully!
Miss Janey drew breath and shouted aloud:
‘Pongo! Come to me at once and lock this filthy little cretin back in the outside stocks!’
Oh no! Not again! Once again I was to be confined in MY STOCKS! Home sweet home, admittedly, compared to the kneeling-pillory in the town square! But STOCKS nonetheless!
I watched on as my bowl of gruel was once again hastily gobbled up by Pongo; it seemed that I would be going without food for a fifth day after all!
CHAPTER FIVE: MY CIVIC DUTY!
As the months dragged by, little changed. Miss Janey grew more hateful and resentful of me and would frequently come out of the cottage to visit me in the outside stocks. She would always kneel down and utter the now infamous phrase:
‘Not yet, another day should do it; you look truly pathetic in your wooden bonds!’
before dragging the key to my freedom across my confined face and returning to the house for some ‘manly’ foot worship from the hunky slave Pongo!
One sunny afternoon, Miss Janey was seated in the garden using my whip-striped back as a footrest and reading the latest articles in the FEM POWER magazine. An article immediately caught her eye, and she began to chuckle mischievously! She disappeared into the house to make a telephone call.
A short while later she returned and dropped the magazine under my confined face, presumably to read. As I struggled to focus on the words all became terrifyingly clear: the article was about prison reform! In these fast moving Gynarchy times, prison places were becoming few and far between and so many male offenders needed to be locked up! One intelligent young lady by the name of Professor Brompton, had published a paper to the female government on the use of the stocks or pillories as a means of long-term confinement for prisoners. This would cut the necessary cell space needed for a male prisoner by three quarters! Just one prison guard Mistress could look after a whole wing! It would thus solve all the prison reform problems in one swift move!
According to the article, the Female Government were now asking for female volunteers to step forward and offer their household slaves who were accustomed to regular periods of confinement in the stocks, to be used as guinea-pigs. Nobody yet knew what the long term effects would be on a body that is kept so rigidly confined for years on end!
The terrible realisation hit me hard; Miss Janey had volunteered my services as a pillory guinea-pig!
Barely a week later all had been organised. I was being examined for health and normal bodily functions by a team of young women in white lab coats. The research facility had converted an underground storage area into a makeshift cell. A craftswoman had been called in to manufacture the proposed new standard kneeling stocks that I would be spending so much time in.
Professor Brompton, the head of the experimental unit, looked on with keen interest as I was prodded and probed and given the eventual green light to proceed with the project! She was a kindly looking woman - very young to have been made a Professor, I thought! She had mousy brown hair that came down below her shoulders, and striking green eyes that were framed by her black, studious-looking, thick-rimmed glasses. She was also clutching a clipboard, which meant I could not see her all-important feet as I was currently trussed up to the ceiling having monitors fitted to my bare chest and torso! The final adjustments were being made to my stocks by the brutish looking craftswoman.
I was finally released from the ceiling and ‘guided’ to the pillory. Once there I was held in place by several women just in time for Miss Janey to arrive. She had a hammer in her pretty little hands! The planks of wood were pulled tightly together, and I assumed the all too familiar pose with my hands facing downwards, in-line with my defeated face.
Professor Brompton then made a short speech:
‘As this experiment is of great importance to our great nation, I am extremely grateful to Miss Janey for donating her footslave to the cause of scientific research. I have therefore asked her along today to close the stocks and lock them shut, thus beginning the experiment! Janey, if you please…’
Miss Janey proudly stepped forward and closed the pillory tightly around my limbs. Once shut she went to where the padlock should be located, but none was found. Instead, she proceeded to nail the apparatus shut; permanently!
Large nails were hammered into the wood clamping the metal hasp in place. Professor Brompton then stood back and announced that the trial period of confinement would be an uninterrupted period of five years from today! THAT’S FIVE WHOLE YEARS LOCKED IN THE STOCKS WITH NO REST PERIOD!
CHAPTER SIX: THE EXPERIMENT CONTINUES
Three months have now elapsed and the experiment has already yielded some valuable information.
It seems that the build-up of lactic acid in the confined prisoner’s body is not only painful; it is deadly toxic! Paramedics had to be called to my assistance on just my third consecutive week in the pillory! Drugs were administered and the levels returned to normal. Professor Brompton then set about devising a compound that would remove the effects of the lactic acid on the prisoner’s body, without alleviating the pain that was caused!
This worked well. However, it was discovered that a “good going over” with a judicial punishment paddle would equally improve the circulation no-end. This was therefore to become my most commonly prescribed medication – a paddling!
I should explain that the pillory in which I am continuously confined is quite clever in its design. I am held rigidly between two rough, wooden planks, as one would expect; however the pillory is supported between two equally rough, wooden posts that are fixed to the floor and ceiling respectively. The pillory can thus be locked off at any height - normally kneeling level. However, for periods of inspection, I am pulled up from the floor and locked off at face height, in order to be examined by a gaggle of invariably keen, attractive-looking, female medical students.
On one occasion I was hoisted upright and locked in position to be examined by three such medical students, and by Professor Brompton herself. As the medical students disappeared behind me, Professor Brompton took it upon herself to push her pencil sharply into my right defenceless nipple, causing an agonised scream!
‘You see, girls, the agony of the pillory never recedes; it is a perfect form of punishment in these modern times!’
The female students mumbled approvingly and took notes that were favourable to the good Professor’s experiment!
The other side-effect of this cruel and unusual experiment was the continual curiosity it generated. Swarms of free females would book in advance to see the prisoner in the permanent stocks! One such visit will remain in my head for evermore, dear female reader - the six cheerleader girls!
I will never know if they were real cheerleaders, but they were certainly all in their early twenties, and all dressed in brightly-coloured, cheerleading outfits! They descended on my deliberately cramped cell and sat cross-legged on the floor. They were full of giggling, young-womanly glee and were whispering mischievously to each other in turn. They finally all agreed with what had been decided, and began removing their training shoes and white frilly anklesocks (how I wished I could assist with this humble act, but, alas, my wrists were secured in wood for another four years and three months!)
One of the pretty girls then took out a metallic, nail file and proceeded to run it underneath her pink-varnished toenails, each one in turn! The accumulated slither of filth was then deposited on a cigarette box and the file was passed onto the next girl for the same toe-cleaning process to begin. Once all of the precious, sixty feminine toes were cleared of their black, sticky toejam, the leader of the cheerleading party began to smear the noxious compound under my nose onto my top lip. She effectively began to fashion an ignominious toejam moustache for me!
The resultant hysteria erupted from the tiny cell! The guard had to be sent for, to return the young women to order! This was supposed to be a place of pain and suffering, after all; not merriment! I was unable to remove the disgusting, artificial facial hair with my tongue and had to put up with the putrid aroma continually assaulting my nostrils for several days, until it eventually dropped off!
At this point, dear female reader, you will in your almighty intelligence be wondering how I was able to write these pathetic notes that have been formed into a book, whilst continuously confined in the stocks? Well, my precious Miss Janey did not publish my first set of diaries until I was confined in this experimental prison. Once they had been confirmed as a best seller, my gloriously cruel Miss Janey allocated a very powerful, oriental dictator-Mistress to write down my observations and feelings as I have now lost the use of my hands whilst being confined here.
Needless to say the long-term stocks experiment was a complete female success! All female carpenters were gainfully employed thereafter in the construction of the new standardised ‘prison pillories’, and the cells that were contained in the many Gynarchy prisons were reduced in size considerably, thus giving more space to punish pathetic male offenders as was the original intention of the now much celebrated Professor Brompton and Honouree Dr Janey!
The prison reform project was actually declared a complete success some three years ago. That is eight years after I was nailed into this confounded pillory! My experimenters never saw fit to release me, as they thought that, from reading my diaries and dictated notes, I was still not humble or respectful enough to my female betters. In their infinite wisdom, the female courts thus decided on my perpetual imprisonment in the stocks, so that I could continue these tales of pain and suffering locked between two planks of rough wood for evermore!
