My Stones of Shame
The above image is based on a work by Anagoria CC-BY-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0), via Wikimedia Commons. Modified by Patheticus using fotosketcher.
‘…Furthermore, you will wear the stones of shame around your neck for four years!’
My heart sinks, along with my neck, as the dreaded ‘stones of shame’, each weighing a hefty 180 pounds, are hung around my neck by the female Court Bailiff, in line with the sentencing of the most respected, 18 year old, good young lady judge. Two massive, heavy stones dangling on either side of my face which will force me to keep my head low at all times – below female-ankle level – as I go about my public-footslave business for the next 4 years. They shall be an extra burden to me, and a sign to all and sundry that I am a convicted, male felon – as well as a common footslave.
These particular stones have the words ‘Impotent’ and ‘Whipped’ engraved on them (on the left and right stones as I wear them respectively), so that the reason for my red-faced shame is clear for everyone to enjoy – I am an impotent, whipped fool! To ignominiously emphasise my foolishness, they also have engravings of Gynarchy fools on either side.
Of course, the stones shall accompany me everywhere I crawl on my hands and knees (for it would be quite impossible to stand with such heavy stones dragging one down), but I must equally make sure that they do not hit, or even brush against, the delicate and shapely anklebones of my female betters as I humbly kiss their feet; I must, therefore, endeavour at all times to minimise the stones’ swing as they dangle like cheap earrings from the perma-chain around my neck.
Actually, it is within my own best interests, in any case, to try to minimise their swing, as a swinging stone weighs down one’s weak and scrawny, male neck even more than a stationary stone – as you will soon find out if ever you are forced to wear the stones of shame yourself!
Some witty mistresses (or their freemale partners) have me tilt my heavy head to one side and rest one or other of the stones on the dusty ground as a platform on which the lady can then position her outstretched foot for kissing, meaning that I must kiss her foot at a humiliating 90 degree angle – on the dirty front-stitching of her dainty shoe or boot-toe. How the mighty laugh at my footkissing impotence and awkwardness at such an acute angle; it’s as if I am deliberately trying to get my tongue beneath the lady’s outstretched shoe-toe – where the bulk of the street dirt and filth is!
The above image (Comicdancepipetabor, by http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Comicdancepipetabor.png?uselang=en-gb) is free of known copyright restrictions.
Sometimes also, the Female authorities employ a real ‘fool’ – a piper dressed as a mediaeval jester – to pipe a gay tune next to my hanging head, in order to attract even more mockers to my bowed neck. Drunken young ladies dance around me to the happy tune, stopping only to have their feet kissed by me in accordance with the increasingly mocking rhythm.
Oh woe is me! Oh shame is me! For I am well and truly stoned!
