New Prison-Galley Taskmistresses
Whenever you see 22 year old, blonde-haired, tomboyish taskmistress miss Tara's grey, low-top, laced-up, leather sneakers and fully-pulled-up, white, calf-length, crew socks beneath her baggy, blue shorts strutting languorously down the central, wooden gangway of the permanently drydocked, prison-galley slave ship towards you, you will pull even harder on your heavy, wooden punishment-oar – if you are an experienced prison-galley slave and know what's good for you!
For her socks may be feminine white, but her coiled, cowhide whip is masculine brown; and it will lash out at you unmercifully, and bite you hard across your prone and vulnerable, galley-slave shoulderblades if you are perceived to be slacking at your oar, even for one second!
Pain is the only stimulant on a prison-galley slave ship; and, having efficiently 'refuelled' you with pain, tomboyish taskmistress miss Tara's plain, white crew socks will then crease on her well-proportioned ankles and on the backs of her shapely heel-tendons as she turns to nonchalantly walk away from you, leaving you in a sea of lingering, smarting whip-pain and with a sense of dry-mouthed, maleslavish admiration and awe at her absolute young-womanly power and authority over you in this gloomy, God-forsaken place of hard-labour punishment.
You feel scarred and rejected by her beautiful, white socks – and wish only to please them. And so you continue to pull harder, lest they return to hurt you again!
At the end of her shift, tomboyish taskmistress miss Tara shall walk triumphantly down the gangway, pausing briefly beside each oarsman so that he may kiss one of her socks on her anklebone. I shall get to kiss her on the right sock, since I am seated and chained on the left wing of the galley-ship. I shall feel the ribbed, white stitching of her soft, cotton sock beneath my trembling-with-fear, dry and parched lips – reminding me of the ridges caused earlier by her whip on my bare back. And those of us who have been whipped the hardest shall kiss her proffered, white crew-sock the longest, out of respect for her tomboyish cruelty and dexterity with the whip. We feel truly honoured to be at her lowly, white-sock level as she towers over us, her brown whip still to hand!
Tomboyish taskmistress miss Tara shall then return to the relatively luxurious surroundings of the local sink-estate where she operates as a drug-supplier and girlgang-leader, having fulfilled her civic duty as a female benefits' claimant for another week, leaving you feeling bereft and hankering for more of her seemingly soft, but ribbed, white crew-socks on your lips – and even for more of the invigorating sting of her taskmistressly whip; at least, until next time!
But rest (?) assured – there will be plenty more punitive, part-time or full-time, prison-galley taskmistresses to watch over your back in the intervening period…
On the prison-galley ship it is only we galley-slaves who remain until ‘death us do part from our wooden oars’; the prison-galley taskmistresses are forever coming and going; some of them are just civilians, employed on a part-time, work-experience or voluntary basis; others are employed as full-time, plain-clothed employees of the Gynarchy Prison Service, but they too are forever moving on with their, superior, female lives and thus are also requiring to be regularly replaced by new, and therefore predictably ultra-keen, prison-galley taskmistresses!
Here is just a small cross-section of the current crop of taskmistresses we must submissively serve under on board our motionless ship:
*The dirty-blonde, slim and shapely, Scottish taskmistress, miss Heather – young (in her early twenties); a full-timer; but self-evidently overpromoted, overpowering, and overly-cruel with the whip. And yet, she is a painful joy to work under, due to her penchant for wearing deliciously spike-heeled and pointy-toed, black leather, zip-up ankleboots which clip-clop ominously up and down the wooden gangway beside our confined and sweating heads; and due to her incongruous kindness in always hitching up her black cotton, trouser hems whenever she presents her dusty boot-toes to our foot-level faces for the customary kissing at the end of her taskmistressly shift, so that we lecherous oarsmen invariably get to observe the elasticated tops of her black anklesocks set against the pleasing backdrop of her smooth, pale white, lower legskin (and her dangling, brown leather slave-whip!)
Actually, I don't think she is being intentionally kind in showing us her socks inside her supervisory boots – I think she merely sees it as an act of further degradation upon us on her sadistic part; but the prison-galley gangway to hell is paved with bad intentions, and young taskmistress Heather still has a lot to learn about the prisoner-footslave psyche! She does not (yet) appreciate the power and influence of her socks on the sock and ankleboot-level heads of her pathetic, sex-starved, prison-galley, male charges.
*Also somewhat sweet and naive in this department is the pint-sized, dark-haired Filipina taskmistress – miss Anita. She too, like most inexperienced taskmistresses, tends to overcompensate for her lack of experience and authority with the overuse of the whip, but what she doesn't realise is that she gives each of us a cheap thrill whenever she is whipping the man in front of us, as we get to see her black anklesocks creasing and folding inside her daintily-sized, black leather loafers due to her exertions with the whip!
It's not so nice, of course, if you are the one being whipped at the time (partly because you can’t observe her socks behind you), but we all have to take the roughness of the Filipina whip from time to time, and just hope that it will be our turn next to witness the softness of the Filipina sock as she turns her whip on the unfortunate oarsman in front of us!
*We all, to and oarsman, like the dry and chapped heels of chain-smoking, brown-haired, part-timer, civilian chav-taskmistress Bianca, who doesn’t even attempt to conceal her chapped heels from us! Indeed, if anything, she flaunts them before our faces in her cheap, pink flip-flops (which match her pink-painted toenails and pink, lycra, calf-length leggings!)
How we all selfishly yearn for the galley-slave colleague in front of us to merit the whip from miss Bianca, so that we can admire the skin in her mottled-white, cracked heels creasing and folding directly in front of our mesmerized eyes as she applies the whip to the our miscreant-colleague’s bare back!
Right now, sadly, it is my turn to be the unfortunate ‘miscreant’, so I not only have the indignity of suffering pain at the hands of a brash, young, civilian chavette-mistress – but neither do I get to focus on her chapped heels as she puts all her effort, cigarette in mouth, into opening up my bare back even further to the elements! For oarsman no. 17 directly behind me, however, it’s a good day, as he mentally urges taskmistress Bianca on to ever greater efforts on my back so that he can enjoy the spectacle of her chapped heels creasing and cracking even further from her exertions with the brown leather slave-whip!
At least, when the most acute pain is over, I shall still get to hear miss Bianca’s cheap and nasty, footgerm-laden flip-flops pacing up and down the gangway as she seeks out her next galley-slave victim!
At the end of her shift I kiss her single, pink flip-flop strap on her arrogantly outstretched, right foot – between her big and second toe – as a mark of my respect for her dry-skin-revealing footwear! (Besides, she chooses only to allow the unwhipped galley-slaves to kiss her bare, pink-painted toenails – as a ‘reward’ for being such good, hard-working slaves that day!)
*Muslim-taskmistress miss Tahira, a full-time recruit to the Prison Galley Service who emigrated only recently from rural Pakistan, doesn't wear flip-flops, or, indeed, any kind of footwear, on her pretty, Pakistani feet, and actually supervises us in her dusty, bare feet – but we all truly admire the resilience of her dusty, bare, brown footskin beneath the tapered hems of her yellow-silken, salwar-kameez style, trouser hems as she marches barefoot up and down the wooden gangway next to our faces, plying her whip on our bare backs with former-peasant-girl relish and gusto, whilst repeatedly adjusting her black, dupatta-style headscarf.
I mean, she must be in constant danger of getting painful splinters in the soft, brown soles of her Muslim-Pakistani feet, just as we are in constant danger of getting infected wounds from her dirty, brown leather whip which she carelessly trails along the wooden gangway behind her – but neither of these two dangers seem to bother her that much (and it is always nice to kiss a taskmistress's dusty, bare feet at the end of her shift – regardless of whether or not one has been a ‘good’ slave, and even if her toenails are unpainted and darkened by cheesy-smelling, sticky black toejam beneath the upper cuticles!)
Unlike some of my oarsmen colleagues, I’m convinced that miss Tahira only whips us so much as she is anxious to impress her new employers, and achieve her target, set by her line manager, of delivering at least 300 whip-stripes per shift! If that is the case, who can blame her? After all, the poor, former-peasant girl lacks any formal, academic qualifications, and therefore may struggle to get a job anywhere else!
I only wish I could transfer my academic qualifications (from my previous, pre-galley-slave existence as a university professor) to her, so that she could get a better-paid job, earn enough money to buy herself a nice pair of socks and boots, and not have to come into work barefoot all the time (again, I differ from many of my fellow oarsmen in this regard – especially since they would miss her brown, bare feet marching up and down the gangway next to them!)
*There is no danger of any dirty, barefoot toejam-contamination from the fastidious, blonde-haired English rose, full-time taskmistress Louisa, who delights in soaking her brown leather slave-whip in purifying brine at the start of each shift, not just in order to clean it, of course, but because the brine adds an extra element of biting sting to our backs when it strikes!
And there is little or no danger of picking up any infections from her protective footwear either, since her strappy, stiletto-heeled, pointy-toed, designer, black leather shoes are always highly-polished and clean, and she wears sheer, tan-coloured nylons beneath her black trousers in order to ensure her personal footsweat is fully absorbed and does not sully the luxuriant inner linings of her expensive shoes.
She looks like she could be dressed for the office!
Of course, the nylon-loving prisoner-footslaves amongst us (and they are legion) adore kissing miss Louisa's slightly pungent feet at the end of her shift, but I myself can take them or leave them – invariably they aren’t smelly or dirty enough for me! Still much too neat and clean, despite her being on her taskmistress’s feet all day and probably walking for miles up and down the gangway! Though I do acknowledge that it is an honour for any slaveman to kiss the pointy, black leather, shoe-toes of a brown-whip-carrying, blonde-haired, English-rose girl as she towers above you at the end of her shift, and once again prepares to dip her whip in brine, ready for the next taskmistress to use on our backs; especially since you get to see all close up and personal the perfect lines of minute stitching in her still remarkably uncreased, finest denier, tan-coloured nylons covering her shapely, well-turned anklebones whilst your nervous, trembling lips pay homage to her highly-polished, highly-heeled shoeleather!
Nice blonde-girl toe cleavage as well, with just a hint of red-painted toenails beneath the designer leather! Truly taskmistress Louisa is a rose amongst thorns – though she too can prick a man’s back with her expertly applied whip!
*Not so polished are the scruffy, black and white, loosely laced-up, high-top, converse-style sneakers and brightly-coloured, scrunched-up, cartoon-themed, calf-length socks of laid-back, bright red haired, blue-denim-hotpant wearing miss Gemma – the delightfully nose-pierced, rebellious black girl who would much rather be chatting away on her phone to her mates than whipping us on the prison-galley, slave ship!
Rumour has it that she really doesn’t want to be here – and that she is obliged to supervise we galley-slaves once a fortnight as part of a female, community service order? That would certainly explain her devil-may-care attitude to her job!
But I, for one, can forgive her her professional negligence with the whip, in view of her excellent, mitigating taste in scruffy-looking, causal sneakers and socks, and, in particular, the entertainment contained in her socks in the form of the brightly-coloured, cartoon characters. I have no idea who, or what, they are – all I know is that they brighten up our prisoner-slave lives by bringing light, colour, and even some ‘fun’ into our humble, sock-level lives!
Again, I don't think this is a deliberate act of kindness and forethought on her taskmistressly part – miss Gemma's air-head is too full of thoughts about her own busy, social life to spare a thought for us prisoners; they just happen to be a pair of socks she picked up off the floor of her bedroom and hastily put on her shapely, black feet this morning as she suddenly remembered it was her community-service day (one of the socks even appears to be on inside out!). But I like such callous carelessness in a young, unthinking woman – one who just doesn't give a damn about anything or anyone else as she subliminally presents her dirty, scuffmarked, white-rubbery, high-top sneaker toe to you for kissing, whilst still gabbling away on her mobile phone! Innit?
Her attitude betrays her inner contempt for us – and all we represent i.e. the human spirit, broken by authority! No chance of her spirit ever being broken – thank goodness!
*Middle-aged, Indian taskmistress Jaswinder also tends to whip our backs only feebly and halfheartedly, but, in her case it's not so much a case of deliberate negligence; it's just that, fundamentally, she is a sweet-natured and kind woman who would probably much rather be working in a sewing room, or cooking her family a meal, than overseeing prison-galley slaves! And yet – she has chosen a full-time career in the Gynarchy Prison Service!
Poor woman – cruelty just isn’t part of her nature, as evidenced by the fact that she even chooses to wear an arm-movement-inhibiting, silken orange sari whilst carrying her coiled-up, brown leather slave-whip! She has even been known, on occasion, to apologise to us for having to hurt us with the whip!
But we oarsmen forgive her for her little eccentricities – partly because she is that bit older and frailer than most of the other taskmistresses (being in her early forties); and partly because we adore her veiny, brown, middle-aged, Indian-woman footskin inside her shiny, low-heeled, black patent leather courts as she walks up and down the gangway next to our prisoner-faces, stopping only occasionally to, somewhat reluctantly and embarrassedly, have her black leather shoe-toes kissed beneath her plain, black cotton trouser-hems, or to apply a lacklustre lash to one of our lazy backs!
*Next up above us, and in super-girlpower over us, is our full-time, Russian taskmistress – miss Tatiana. Not one to suffer galley-slave fools gladly, she is yet another expert exponent of the whip, though in her case she prefers to use her own, three-thonged, Siberian knout!
That Russian-girl whip may be from the Frozen North, but it sure warms the cockles of our backs during the long winter months! Needless to say, our galley-ship is not heated – though we do suspect there may be underfloor heating along the wooden gangway for those exotic taskmistresses who like to supervise us barefooted!)
Miss Tatiana, for her part, always wears brown, furry boots and thick, black, woollen kneesocks to supervise us – whatever the weather! And, unlike all the other taskmistresses I know, she has us pay labial homage to her footwear at the very start of her shift – before we must start pulling on our oars for her!
A most unusual, and idiosyncratic taskmistress – but one whose gnarly knout we all very much dread and respect!
*Finally, we have the dark and mysterious, softly-spoken, Chinese-whispers girl – full-time taskmistress Jia-Hui – who, unlike her Indian elder, is more than happy to let her Asian whip do all the talking for her!
I think that may, in part, be because miss Jia-Hui doesn't speak very good English (having recently arrived from China), but it's probably also because she is, again unlike her Indian counterpart, imbued with a sense of her own, innate superiority over the male prisoner-slaves in her command! She certainly likes to linger when having her brown leather loafers kissed, and I am happy to pander to her fully justified, superiority-complex by repeatedly kissing her musty-smelling, brown leather shoe-toes because of the close-up view I get of the elasticated tops of her ultra-short, manky-white, sneaker-style socks beneath her brown, corduroy trouser-hems.
Even when she is wearing her much more slutty, black leather miniskirt and oversized, clearly borrowed, spike-heeled, black leather kneeboots, as she sometimes does in order to make herself look stronger and more powerful than she actually is, I can kiss her second-hand, pointy, black boot-toes in the fairly certain knowledge that she is wearing those same, or very similar, short, manky-white, sneaker socks on her dainty, Chinese feet inside her boots – for I rather suspect she is poor, and cannot afford many differing pairs of socks!
Two-faced miss Jia-Hui (sometimes the demure, brown-loafered taskmistress; sometimes the knee-high booted tart – depending on her mood) may be poor when it comes to her worldly possessions, but she is certainly rich in her cruelty towards male galley-slaves, and by the end of her shift we can all expect to have been judiciously marked by her whip – however diligently we have kissed her Chinese-girl comfortable shoes or spike-heeled boots, and however respectfully we have pondered the sweatiness of her greyish-white sneaker-socks inside them!
Who knows how long this current crop of prison-galley taskmistresses will stick around? Like I said, they come and they go; they finish their community service, or, if they are full-timers, they fall in love with free men and get married; they then fall pregnant, and leave to give birth; or they get promoted to supervising the even more unfortunate male prisoners in the underground slave-mines.
Either way, I'm always delighted to see new, female foot-blood entering our galley-ship, since variety is, as they say, the spice of life; and the youthful exuberance, middle-aged diffidence, or even self-centred laziness of each new, prison-galley taskmistress spurs we prisoner-slaves on to ever greater efforts, as we labour under the harsh reality of their stinging whips, whilst absorbing the inspirational sights, sounds, smells and tastes of their very individual, superior-female, feet and footwear!
Has a week really passed by already? It must have done, for miss Tara is back on the galley, tomboyishly taunting our backs with her brown leather whip, and our faces with her pure white crew-socks. We notice also that there are a few more needle-marks in her fetching calf-veins above the sock – but what she gets up to in her spare time is really none of our damned business, deep down here in the galley prison-ship!
Miss Tara can get as high as a kite if she wants to; we galley-slave prisoners must remain low – for we are not worthy to look her above the sock.
Swish…Crack!
Aiiiiee!
As her stinging, brown leather whip suddenly reminds me!
Taskmistress Tara by patheticus on GoAnimate
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