A Sting In Every Tale
A sting in every tale (the burning sting of the whip!)
Photo By Balzac [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)], via Wikimedia Commons
My new mistress's family and friends wish to impress upon me, in advance of my introduction to her as her personal foot and footwear servant, that I am to worship and adore her in a manner befitting of a humble footservant. And they have, quite rightly, decided that the best way to do this is by means of the whip!
I am therefore kneeling, bare-backed, in the middle of my mistress Zoe's living room, surrounded by her 40-something mother, mistress Caroline madam; her 30-something husband, master Greg sir; and her 20-something best friend, young miss Sarah madam.
Short and stocky, blonde-haired mistress Caroline madam currently holds the whiphand, and so she is doing the talking whilst I kiss-worship her black leather kneeboots.
She begins by informing me that her daughter has an unfortunate, and oftentimes painful, bunion on her big toe on her right foot, and she stresses to me that it shall be part of my role, in between caring for her beloved daughter's socks and boots, to attend to slavishly her bunion – by regularly sucking on it and softening it. She asks me if I have a problem with that, to which I reply that I do not, as it will be an honour and a privilege for me to suck-soften her married daughter's unsightly bunion.
But mistress Caroline madam – a firm believer in the efficacy of the whip – is not convinced that I will not baulk at this degrading, quasi-medical task, and therefore decides to whip me across my bare back and shoulders at her booted feet, just to impress upon me the importance of showing proper footslavish respect for her daughter's, as yet unseen, but doubtless unsightly, bunion.
I scream in pain and beg mistress Caroline's boots for mercy, secretly wondering whether she herself suffers from bunions inside those black leather kneeboots and tan nylon stockings, which might explain her obsession with, and sensitivities to, the whole subject of unsightly foot warts?
Meanwhile her son-in-law, and her daughter's best friend, mock me whilst I am being whipped, and encourage a furious mistress Caroline madam to whip me harder.
Once she is exhausted, she hands the single-tailed, brown leather, cowhide whip to master Greg sir, and he takes it in turn to whip me. I am not permitted to kiss another man's feet – not even a superior free man and not even the feet of my mistress's husband (that's the law) – and so I must confine myself to kissing the dusty carpet in front of his feet, whilst he takes it in turn to lay into me with the household slave-whip, and emphasises to me that I am never to look at his beautiful, young wife above the boot or sock line which, as she only ever wears ankleboots and anklesocks, means my head must always be kept bowed down and lowly.
Again, master Greg sir asks me if I think this will be a problem for me, but, despite my assurances to the mighty master-sir that it will not be, since I am but an impotent footslave with no business looking at his beautiful, young wife – my future mistress Zoe – above the ankle, he too feels the need to reinforce his masterful instructions to me by means of the biting sting of the whip on my back!
Meanwhile, mistresses Caroline and Sarah madams appear breathless with excitement at the sight of the all-powerful, young master-sir belabouring me with the female whip (though I suppose in the case of mistress Caroline madam that breathlessness could, at least in part, be due to her own, still-recent exertions with the whip?)
Needless to say, my bare, kneeling back is very sore and cut-up by the time the now well-warmed whip is handed over by master Greg sir to his young wife's best friend – the comely, and somewhat portly, brunette-haired miss Sarah madam, who is wearing black slacks with black, laced-up, chunky-heeled and round-toed, leather shoes and matching, black socks (her socks and shoeleather may be black, but the laces are a pleasing black and white speckled colour, and incredibly thick!)
As I respectfully, and imploringly, kiss her musty-smelling shoes and thick shoelaces, miss Sarah madam whips me as a warning never to take advantage of her best friend's good and kind nature, or I shall have her to answer to! Yet again I seek to assure the superior, free being with the whip that I am a good and obedient slave, and would never seek to exploit a kindly mistress's sweet nature (as evidenced by my previously unwhipped back!), but a cruelly smiling mistress Sarah madam continues to whip me anyway!
By the time my mistress Zoe herself (who turns out to be the spitting image of her beautiful, blonde-haired mother – only younger and fatter) actually makes an appearance in the living room, and my mouth is presented to her heavy, DM style, black-laced, flat-heeled, black leather ankleboots and thick, navy-blue socks, I am well and truly whip-sore, and thus suitably contrite and submissive.
Indeed, mistress Zoe is the only one of my betters not to feel the need to whip me, despite being handed the whip, as I feverishly kiss her feet, conscious of the hidden bunion on her right, big toe deep inside her beautiful boot and sock. I see what miss Sarah means about her best friend's good nature!
Miss Zoe nevertheless enjoys having her boots and socks worshipped by her freshly whipped slave, as well she might.
Swish…Crack!
As I lickshine my regular, and favourite, customer-mistress's black leather, ankle-length, black-laced, heavy DM boots on my 'sit-down', public shoelick-stall in the busy, suburban, railway station, I tentatively make so bold as to suggest to the fat, blonde-haired mistress that it would be my honour to become her personal bootslave, and to keep myself only onto her boots.
She laughs at my ridiculous proposal, and rejects it out of hand, stating that she already has a personal bootslave at home and that, in any case, her husband wouldn't like her having more than one household bootservant!
Regular customer-mistress Zoe then grabs hold of the public-use, whipping stick and belabours me with it across my bare, kneeling, back and shoulders beneath her for having the audacity to propose such a thing! I catch a glimpse of her thick, navy-blue, bootsock tops beneath her slightly-raised, trouser hems with every stinging cut of the whip.
I feel such a fool!
Swish…Crack!
Have you ever noticed how even an ostensibly petite and fragile, young woman seems to tower over you like a veritable giantess, when you are down on your knees with your slave-mouth glued to her booted feet? Especially if she is wearing heavy, buckled, knee-length, platformed, black leather boots with scuffmarked, rounded boot-toes? And especially if she is carrying a coiled up, black leather whip to match?
Her red hair makes her even seem even more of a towering inferno – ready to lash out at you at any moment! And so you politely and fearfully kiss her unpredictable boot-toe – repeatedly so, until she withdraws her dusty, bad-tempered boot from your kneeling mouth and mercifully removes her whip from the immediate vicinity of your bent-over, bare back.
Even then you must try to calculate the terrifying whip’s length and girth – for it could be a trick; the redheaded mistress might suddenly twist round and whip you at the speed of sound, causing both the flaying tip of her female whip, and your baying male voice, to break the pain-sound barrier as it bites you mercilessly across the shoulderblade!
Swish…Crack!
34 year old, blonde mistress Trisha loves her whip. She is forever lubricating it and cleaning it, and it accompanies her everywhere she goes.
That's because it is in more or less constant use on her poor, personal footslave's back – much to everyone's amusement! And miss Trisha just loves to show off her feminine skill and dexterity with the whip on her slave's kneeling back – which is her perfect right, since it belongs to her. It's her way of marking out her territory in painful, red ink on a bare, white canvas.
And she likes to then blot the fresh 'ink' on her slave's back with her black-socked feet, rubbing them all over his whip-wounds until the stinging, salty sweat of her warm bootsock-soles is successfully transferred into his gaping gashes, thereby increasing his pain and suffering.
Her malevolent maltreatment of her whipped slave in this way earns her the respect and admiration of her Gynarchy peers – both female and freemale – and leads other male slaves to quiver and quake with fear in her blonde-girl presence as they eye for themselves her ever-ready whip, and endeavour to win over her sweet feminine mercy by some feverish, pre-emptive, black ankleboot and black bootsock kissing!
Meanwhile, her own, freshly-whipped footslave – an example to all the other slaves – has his nuzzling nose firmly ensconced in the V-shaped indent at the back of her upper, right bootrim as he sobs into the upper cuff of her anklesock – the same black sock that, deep down inside her boot, is now moist with his bright red back-juices, whilst his whipped back itself reeks of her vinegary socksweat!
How the surrounding free people laugh at him! And how his fellow-slaves don't envy him – though they share in his slavish respect for miss Trisha's boots, socks and whip!
Swish…Crack!
‘Slave, you will now be whipped until you no longer have the strength to even look at the stripy-red tops of my pretty wife’s nice, white tubesocks!’
‘Yes, master sir. Thank you, master sir.’
Actually, by the time the angry master-sir has finished whipping me, I no longer have the strength to even look above his pretty, young wife’s shapely, white-socked anklebones. I keep my head respectfully lower than the aforementioned stripy-red tops of her otherwise pure white, knee-length tubesocks, and kiss her low-top, laced-up, white leather sneaker-toes, as a gesture of my submission to her will, whilst she lovingly embraces the out of breath master-sir above me.
Such is the power of the whip to instil humility in a mere male slave!
Swish…Crack!
My clever mistress has spotted it! She saw how I, momentarily, turned my nose up at her socks inside her plain, black loafers – just because her socks were pale grey with white spots and, in my opinion, did not go very well with her black shoes and matching black trousers.
And so she is now going to correct me with the whip; teach me respect for her choice of incongruous sockwear - through the medium of red pain!
I am, therefore, hanging by my wrists in her basement dungeon whilst she ominously oils her single-tailed, black leather, cowhide whip in front of me – still wearing her black, office trousersuit and black loafers with spotty, grey and white socks. This is going to hurt!
Moments later those same, slighted, shoes and socks are behind me, positioning themselves at a suitable distance to deliver my first singing, burning stroke.
Swish...Crack!
Sure enough - pain! Almighty, incredible pain!
Her grey and white spotty socks, or what I can see of them behind me, seem to crease up with joy and laughter at me, as my back starts to burn. Oh what I wouldn't give for the opportunity to kiss-worship those socks right now in true, devoted penitence – and that, after only one lash! Imagine how I shall feel after two dozen lashes!
Swish...Crack!
I twist, and writhe, in my suspended bonds; and cry out for mercy. But my screams echo hollowly off the bare walls of my mistress's basement...
..............
Afterwards, when my corrective flogging (but not the resultant pain) is all over, and I have been lowered to the ground once more (where I belong), my lips crawl over to where the triumphant, female socks are standing and pay feverish homage to them. Never has a pair of cheap, grey and white, spotty socks been so admired and respected on a young woman's feet and ankles inside her musty-smelling, plain black leather, everyday, common or garden, loafer shoes. My nose is now turned down towards the socks - and is affectionately nuzzling the grey areas whilst my blubbering lips kiss-worship the white spots.
Meanwhile, my stripy-red back throbs and burns. Such is the glorious, corrective power of the female, cowhide whip!
Swish…Crack!
My fat, but comely, exotic, mixed-race mistress, mistress Allison, has kindly offered to embrace me – with her whip!
She has me kneeling (sobbing, actually) in her basement-dungeon, whilst she herself hovers behind me with her ominous, single-tailed, black leather, three-foot-long, cowhide whip, gently flicking it towards my arched back in order to judge the requisite distance for a 'wraparound' (by which she means a stinging wraparound of the whip across my ribs!)
Even the gentle test-flicks make me wince with fear and pain – for, despite being a male slave of many years, I am a complete coward when it comes to the burning smart of the female whip!
I had earlier embraced my comely mistress Allison's chunky, black leather, laced-up ankleboots in an effort to elicit sweet feminine mercy in her (the embrace of her black boots and socks is really the only warm embrace I hanker after!), but seemingly to no avail. Goddess-mistress Allison wishes to whip me – so whipped I shall be!
The best I can hope for is to be allowed to embrace her boots and socks with my trembling lips once more – immediately after my whipping – so that they can help dull my pain. I just hope my mistress doesn't put her faux-sympathetic arm around me after my whipping, however, since my poor back and torso shall by then be very sore to the touch!
'Stop crying, slave! They're just flesh wounds,' she will say, contemptuously.
Yes – stinging flesh wounds which she has so gleefully inflicted!
Swish…Crack!
Prison-cleaner mistress, miss Priti, is supposed to just mop the blood and sweat off the floor of the lonely punishment cell in which I am confined in the kneeling-stocks (in case the female prison guards slip in it and injure themselves), but, being a natural dominant, she also can't resist picking at my whip-wounds – running her long, purple-painted, Punjabi fingernails through the glistening gashes whilst they are still fresh; or squeezing them; or picking off the scabs and crusts from the dried-up wounds.
They do say she even takes the prisoners' crusts home with her, to lust over with her husband.
The Female Prison doctor tacitly approves of such treatment, as it is exquisitely painful and prolongs my agony, preventing my back from healing. And, all the while, I must observe pretty miss Priti's scruffy and bobbled, navy-blue anklesocks and plain, black loafers creasing and folding beneath my face as she leans over to pick on me (she deliberately stands in front of the kneeling-stocks so that I can view her feet whilst she torments me) – Punjabi-girl shoes and socks which I am subsequently obliged to kiss, by way of a thank you to her for prolonging my punishment.
Truly I am helpless and at her picky mercy!
Swish…Crack!
Petite and comely, brown-haired, prison-guard mistress Catherine, who just so happens to be a deaf mute, sure knows how to whip, and somehow finds the strength, despite her petite frame, to shackle me up by the wrists by means of a pulley so that I am hanging helplessly from the ceiling, with my prisoner, bare back fully stretched and exposed to the whip, and then to lower me down to the dirty ground again – all by herself – so that, immediately post-whipping, I can be made to respectfully and penitently kiss her plain black, backless, leather mules and scuzzy, sweat-faded, black cotton anklesock-heels!
I blubber and sob into the empty, cold-stone ground after she silently exits my cell, taking her whip with her – not because of the absence of that frighteningly efficient whip, but because I have no dusty, female shoes and socks to continue respect-kissing.
But I don't have to wait long for the next pair to come along to my punishment cell, namely the black leather ballet-flats and matching, soft and bobbled, black cotton anklesocks, beneath black, bootcut trouser-hems, of the Filipina, prison-cleaner mistress – miss Sanctity – who kindly rests on her mop whilst I pay labial homage to her equally dusty, civilian footwear, much to her sunny-disposition delight (for, although not empowered to whip-punish the male prisoners herself, she nonetheless chose to work in the prison, as she just loves having her Filipina-girl ballet flats and socks worshipped by a weeping, whipped, male prisoner-slave!)
She is as deaf to my pleas for forgiveness as officer-mistress Catherine is.
Swish…Crack!
23 year old miss Paramjit is a bright and bubbly, outgoing, avuncular, slightly overweight, young Indian woman with lots of friends who enjoys:
But, above all, she loves her full-time, well-paid job as a surly and cruel treadmill-taskmistress in one of the Gynarchy's most notorious male prisons, since she is a natural dominant, and thus exceptionally good at:
- Working her charges half to death on the treadmill
- Beating their hard-labouring backs to a pulp with the whippy taskmistress's rod
She loves her fearsome reputation amongst the male prisoner-slaves in the Gynarchy, and watching them tremble with dismay as they recognise her heavy, chunky-heeled, laced-up, black leather, uniform ankleboots entering their cell. Equally she enjoys the feel of their petrified lips on her black bootleather and black cotton socktops as she regally sits herself down on the taskmistress's seat of power in front of and above them, and grabs the whippy rod from its holder.
She then loves sitting on the treadmill-driver's seat for hours on end, whipping and driving the helpless and impotent prisoner-slave beneath her without mercy, and eventually leaving him red-raw, exhausted, and weakly weeping.
She loves to then go home to her own comfortable bed at the end of her shift and either masturbate to the thought of the unfortunate prisoner-slave's continued, lonely suffering at her hands as his whip-wounds continue to smart (if she is in bed alone), or make love with a free man – again inspired to dizzy heights of young-womanly sexual lust at the mere thought and memory of her treadmill-prisoner's suffering back in the dungeon.
Sometimes she can't even wait to get home, and pleasures herself in front of her whipped prisoner-slave, inspired by his suffering sobbing.
Above all, she loves the approval and admiration of her fellow, female prison-guards and peers who, quite rightly, envy her natural cruelty and brutality with the whip, and wish they could be as good as her at their job!
Swish…Crack!
The semi-naked, male prisoner in the dock, with a mixture of angry-looking and faded whip marks all over his bare back, shoulders and ribs, is kneeling before the bench where the beautiful, black, good-lady magistrate and his accuser, miss Melanie – who just so happens to be the good lady magistrate’s 19 year old niece – are both seated in female judgement over him.
The younger, black woman is wearing a short, white halter-top, with a matching white, leather miniskirt; black anklesocks; and a pair of sock-revealing, black, strappy, open-toed sandals on her pretty, black feet which are crossed over at the ankles and stretched outwards directly beneath the kneeling prisoner-slave’s bowed and humbled face. He is, therefore, ignominiously obliged to observe, close-up and personal, the gleeful creasing in the young black woman’s black socks as her aunt hands down her considered, judicial sentence upon him:
‘Prisoner in the dock, I hereby find you guilty of the heinous crime of physically assaulting your mistress Melanie whilst she endeavoured to whip you, in that you did grab hold of her arm and attempt to prevent the stinging, female lash from coming into contact with your maleslave-body.
Needless to say, such a crime must be severely punished, since you are your mistress’s property, and the whip is a perfectly legitimate means of disciplining and controlling a male slave. You therefore had no right to protect yourself from the biting sting of your mistress’s whip – let alone to cause such distress and consternation to your mistress through your rebellious, physical resistance to the whip!
Perhaps a lifetime of labour spent under the perpetual sting of the whip will teach you a lesson in humility and respect for your female betters and masters? I hereby sentence you to hard labour for life in the underground slave-mines, with the following additional stipulations:
· That you be required to work 18 hours a day under the constant supervision and application of the whip by female taskmistresses
· That said taskmistresses resemble the young woman whom you have so disgracefully offended against, in that they be fit and healthy, young black women
· That, in addition to your hard labouring under the female whip, you receive a lifetime penalty of an indeterminate number of lashes, to be delivered at monthly intervals, in 50-stroke batches, whilst you are tied to the slave-mine whipping post, again at the hands of a black whipmistress who shall resemble my darling niece
· That my niece, your accuser miss Melanie, be granted unrestricted access to the mines, and to your solitary confinement dungeon-cell, so that she may gloat over your whipped condition, and that you may show repeated penitence and remorse for manhandling her, though the enforced kissing of her feet
· That you show such maleslavish remorse towards her right here and now, in front of this court, by kissing her outstretched shoes and socks beneath your face 10,000 times. And that you verbally praise and bless her before this court for bringing your male crime to the attention of the female authorities, so that you may be judiciously punished.
Begin, prisoner-slave!
The prisoner-slave does not hesitate to lower his lips to the creased and twisted, plain black cotton anklesocks of his beautiful, black mistress Melanie, and to kiss her awaiting feet. In particular, he spots a tiny, foreign hair stuck into one of the stitches on her uppermost right sock, directly on top of her shapely anklebone, and starts to kiss that – since he suspects it may be a pubic hair belonging to his mistress’s fiancée, master Trayvon sir, over whom he was being whipped in the first place when he had attempted to interfere with his punishment (his young, black mistress Melanie had accused her slave of disrespecting her boyfriend by not earlier kissing the dirty ground in front of his feet in front of her friends!)
So, having to publicly kiss miss Melanie’s boyfriend’s stray, pubic hair, in front of him in the public gallery, whilst it is attached to her sweaty, black anklesock, and all in the sure and certain knowledge that he shall now never be free of the female whip’s sting for the rest of his miserable workslave-life, all seems like a suitable punishment to fit his crime, doesn’t it?
The penitent prisoner therefore kisses the triumphant, black girl’s socks with public humility and genuine remorsefulness, even though there is just the faintest whiff of sweat and corruption about them, and, in between his black-sock kisses, pleads for his accuser-mistress Melanie’s forgiveness whilst simultaneously thanking her for reporting him to the authorities (i.e. her aunt) – much to her, her boyfriend’s, the female magistrate’s, and the female court’s, victorious delight!
Swish…Crack!
A public-spirited, freemale vigilante makes sure the public footservants of the Gynarchy serve their customer-mistresses with proper humility and respect.
Good for him!
The Vigilante by patheticus on GoAnimate
