Tamil Tormentress

All I have managed to glean about her (from her gloating over me) is that she is in her early twenties; very pretty; married; an office cleaner by profession; originally from Tamil Nadu; and that she loves teasing and tormenting freshly-whipped prisoner-slaves like myself in the post-flogging, kneeling stocks!
It is the dead of night, and the happy crowds who witnessed my flogging have all gone to bed; but she has wrapped up warmly in her black hoodie top; traditional, modesty-preserving headscarf; and modern, brown cargo-pants in order to torment me during the night with her plain, black leather loafers and short, blue and red sneaker-socks, beneath her shapely and exposed, brown-skinned anklebones.






























She knows full well as I kiss-worship her leathery footwear, graciously held up to my kneeling face, that I cannot answer her back, thanks to the deliberately jagged, inner edge of the heavy, wooden neck hole which helps to confine me - digging into my Adam's Apple and thus rendering me speechless!
That amuses her:






























'Ha! Ha! Slave whipped? Sore? Ha! Ha! I like watching slave whipped! Hear slave cry; beg. See slave twist. Ha! Ha! You not able escape sting of whip! You broken. You cut. You red! Ha! Ha!
After you whipped, I feel horny; go make love with husband. He a real man, isn't it? Ha! Ha! He f**k me me; he satisfy me while I think of your sores! Ha! Ha!
You never make love with woman; you just a slave. You not a real man, like husband. He better than you. Tomorrow night, after you whipped again, I bring him here; make you kiss husband's feet; make you thank husband for he pleasure me and satisfy me. Ha! Ha! You fit only be whipped and kiss feet!'































As my Tamil tormentress continues to verbally berate me in her broken English, I demonstrate my slavish respect for her in the only way I can, by fervently kissing her dusty and street-soiled, black leather loafers and short, red and blue stripy sock tops, taking great care not to lip-touch her precious, feminine ankleskin, for I am not worthy to touch bare, female footflesh with my dirty, maleslave mouth.
The following night, however, after day two of my public flogging, the Tamil tormentress, true to her word, introduces my kneeling mouth to her manly husband's dirty and sweaty, bare feet and hairy toes in his musty-smelling, brown leather, flip flops!






























I'm too sore to resist, and humbly kiss the toes of the better man than me - the man who can satisfy women.





















































































At least my gloating, night-time, Tamil tormentress has graciously changed her socks from the night before, whilst she watches me being humiliated…

























































…socks, the backs of which, I subsequently get to see all close-up and personal, as she lovingly embraces the manly master-sir above me:

















































Truly, I am in the presence of Tamil greatness!

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