At The House Of Correction
They seem quite ordinary – the two young women at the House of Correction, whose job it is to secure me over the wooden punishment trestle and prepare me for my caning. They are uniformed, of course – not civilians. But I couldn't help noticing earlier on as they had been fingerprinting me that, beneath their somewhat masculine, navy-blue-uniform, cargo pants, and unisex, hefty, black leather, lace-up ankleboots, they were wearing feminine socks – pink in the case of the black-haired, Asian girl; cartoon-themed (with lots of little multicoloured animal characters on a black background) in the case of the auburn-haired, African-Caribbean girl.
Nice girls; ordinary girls; in their early twenties. Casually talking about the weather, and their boyfriends, and their latest shoe purchases – anything but me, it seemed, as they tied me in knots, face down and stark naked, over the punishment trestle, my exposed buttocks high in the air and forming an immovable target for the cane.
I suppose it's just routine for them – just another male slave sent to the House of Correction by his mistress for some serious discipline to be imbued into him! But for me this is a whole new terrifying experience – my first professional punishment at the hands of an expert caner. I have already been made aware of her name – miss Marielle; not one of the two girls currently chatting to one another about various, everyday banalities above me – they are just the assistant correction officers, preparing the way for my pain. My actual caner has yet to enter the room, but her reputation (thanks to the loose talk of her two correction officer assistants) precedes her – cruel; unsympathetic; efficient; unforgiving. I am, apparently, about to experience a lot of pain!
The two giggly, young correction assistants sit down on stools on either side of me, content that their work, for now, is done i.e. that I am securely fastened over the punishment trestle, frightened and unable to move. They can now sit back and relax as all three of us await the arrival of punishment-officer miss Marielle.
The two girls take the opportunity to discuss the black girl's forthcoming wedding and honeymoon in Barbados, whilst I take the opportunity to admire their respective, exposed socktops as they sit cross-legged on either side of me – their right, booted feet hovering in the stale, punishment-room air on either side of my face.
The Asian girl (possibly Indian or Pakistani, judging by her accent) has lovely, soft brown ankleskin. But it is her thick, pink, fluffy bootsock that grabs all my attention to detail – partly because it is delightfully twisted at the top (thereby shamelessly exposing even more of her soft, brown ankleskin); and partly because it just seems so incongruous in this place of cruel, male punishment – a pink, fluffy, feminine sock on a pretty, Asian ankle, but worn by a bright, young woman whose job it is to prepare a man for flogging, and wind him up about how much pain he is about to suffer!
She does her job very well, for her casual indifference to my plight causes me to respect and fear her pink sock all the more. If I could move my head far enough to one side I would kiss it, and beg it for sweet feminine sock-mercy!
Meanwhile the multicoloured, cartoon-themed sock on my left is jigging about excitedly in the air as its black owner enthusiastically talks about the plans for her forthcoming nuptials. The various little animal characters are creasing and folding in tandem with the sock's subliminal spasms, though the young black woman's sock is pulled higher up her shapely, black anklebone, and thus, regrettably, only the tiniest slither of black-girl, upper ankleskin is visible to the naked eye beneath her navy-blue, cargo-pant hem.
The soon-to-be-happily-married, black girl has bigger feet than her pink-socked, already married, Asian-girl counterpart, and she looks tall, proud and strong. I'm glad she's not the one who will be caning me!
And, speaking of caners, my nemesis suddenly enters the room! I know it's her because both the other girls chirpily greet her by name:
'Hi, Marielle!'
'Hi, Marielle!'
'Hiya!' responds the similarly-uniformed, mixed-race girl as she bounces into the room – thin and whippy looking, rattan cane in hand!
Gosh, officer-mistress Marielle looks stocky and strong! No wonder she has a reputation as an excellent caner! Maybe I would prefer to be caned by her tall, black assistant officer with the cartoon socks after all!
No-nonsense, officer-mistress Marielle – who, no doubt, has many other male slaves to routinely cane on their bare backsides today – gets straight down to business:
'How many am I giving him?'
'Twenty,' chirps the Asian girl, happily – her happiness betrayed by an involuntary flexing of her right ankle (and consequently her pink, fluffy socktop) beneath my face.
'Will you do the counting, Anita?'
'Yeah sure!' replies the excited, pink sock.
Mistress Marielle, who looks and sounds that little bit older than the two correction assistants (mid thirties I would say – her voice is just that bit lower and more authoritative), stands directly in front of me, with her cane dangling down between her cargo-pants, and stretches forth her right, uniform-anklebooted foot on the dusty floor beneath my face:
'Kiss my boot, slave, and beg for mercy!'
I have absolutely no hesitation in complying with this command – not least because I do not like the look of that whippy cane in such dangerous and experienced, mixed-race hands! I lower my increasingly dry and parched lips to the thick, rounded toe of the outstretched, unisex, black leather boot and humbly and respectfully kiss a scuffmark.
I then blubber and stutter some beseeching words of contrition, and beg for mercy. (I can't remember my exact words, but I know they were humble, and heartfelt!)
I had expected goddess-of-pain, officer-mistress Marielle to then switch her right foot for her left beneath my face, for similar homage to be paid, but instead she merely hitches up her navy-blue, trouser hem to expose her plain, no-nonsense, black cotton bootsock-top, set against the beautiful backdrop of her mixed-race, pale brown, lower legskin:
'Now kiss me on the sock, slave!'
Again I comply, much to the giggling amusement of the two assistant mistresses, still seated on either side of me. I only wish I could kiss their socktops too – show them my respect for their socks, and their superior, female personages!
Satisfied with my sock worship, miss Marielle then lowers her right trouser-hem in order to walk around behind me and measure me up for the cane. Fortuitously for me, her right cargo-pant hem has actually settled into the upper rim of her heavy, black leather ankleboot – so there is still a slither of black sock showing, and will be throughout my impending caning.
A small comfort, at least – as I can try to focus on that sock throughout my pain; the sock of my better (though I could equally, I suppose, concentrate on the female socks on either side of me, since it appears the two, glorious assistant-mistresses shall remain seated beside me throughout the punishment. The difference is, of course, their socks are not the ones wielding the cane!)
Mistress Marielle makes a few final checks before readying herself to deliver the first stroke:
- She measures her distance with the cane
- She taps my behind gently with the cane several times in order to stimulate the nerve endings and increase their susceptibility to pain
- She asks the two assistant officers if the female doctor has declared me fit for 'severe correction' (the black girl confirms that she has – though I don't recall being examined by any female doctor!)
- She positions her booted feet on the ground so as to give herself good purchase as she swings the cane, such that her right foot is now stretched forward in front of her left, revealing even more of her black bootsock.
I home in on it. It is creased...
Swish... Crack!...
Pain!
All thoughts of female sock are banished from my puny mind; there is only room in there for Pain! Ever increasing circles of Pain!
I cry out – partly in shock, but mostly in Pain!
'One!', chirps the Asian voice to my right.
One! ... That was just one!...
The beautiful, assistant correction-officers are casually indifferent to the prisoner-slave’s judicious punishment…
Casual Indifference by patheticus on GoAnimate
