A Sock-Fancy's Impending Punishment

Regular customer-mistress miss Arabella madam, from the local sink-estate, has come to gloat over my impending public whipping in two days’ time for being a ‘socks fancier’. I am to be taken out from my wall and whipped by the Female Municipal Authorities because of my sock-fancying proclivities for the entertainment and delectation of the general populace – and miss Arabella madam gleefully informs me that she and her boyfriend never fail to attend such public whippings as they both very much enjoy watching slaves like me being whipped.

As she presents me with her ubiquitous, plain black loafer shoes to lickshine, softly-spoken miss Arabella madam gently reminds me of what my impending pain and suffering will be like:

Ø  She begins by emphasising that I deserve to be whipped, as fancying my customers’ socks is a crime under the Female Laws of the Gynarchy (even though customers like her clearly aid and abet such crimes by repeatedly wearing such nice pairs of socks as she has on now!)
Ø  She reminds me that I shall be transported to the place of punishment in the town square by being paraded through the streets on a wooden ‘hobby horse’ of shame and with a sign around my neck declaring me to be a ‘sock fancy’, so that all and sundry may jeer at me and revile me
Ø  I shall then be tied to the public whipping post in the aforementioned town square where I shall receive 60 harsh lashes of the Female Whip – wielded across my bare back in slow time by a fully trained and strong-armed Gynarchy police-officer mistress – as I hang limply and powerlessly in my bonds begging for public mercy. Miss Arabella madam counsels me that I can beg all I like, but I won’t receive any sweet feminine mercy, since the punishment must be carried out in full in accordance with the Gynarchy’s Legal Code – and rightly so, in her opinion
Ø  She advises me that, like many other people, she and her boyfriend George (a much older but more handsome man than me) shall be seated in front of me and enjoying the agony etched into my face by each slice of the female whip across my bare back, as they simultaneously tuck into a picnic lunch
Ø  She further promises to get there early in order to secure a front row seat, so that I can observe her socks whilst I am being whipped. She advises me to try focussing on her socks (whichever type of socks she is wearing, as she doesn’t know yet which pair of her socks she will choose to wear in two days’ time, since her socks are not something she thinks a great deal about when she casually and unthinkingly ‘throws’ them onto her feet of a morning!) However, she suggests that focussing on her front-row socks just might help to alleviate my pain during the whipping as it will give me something else to think about?
Ø  Kind-hearted and thoughtful, young woman that she is, Miss Arabella madam also promises to visit me again shortly after I am returned to my wall on the day of my whipping so that I can study in close-up the individual stitches in her socks and the pattern of the weave. That too should help to alleviate my pain (you see what I mean about customers like her aiding and abetting my sock-fancying weaknesses?)

Throughout her pre-whipping diatribe this afternoon, I must confess I am very much focussed on the bright pair of thick-weaved, magenta-coloured socks she has on her feet right now, and I can’t help hoping that she will be wearing a similar pair of brightly coloured socks on the day of my public flogging since they certainly give a sock-fancier like me much to study and think about, given the texture of the weave etc.

Miss Arabella madam knows full well the effect her magenta socks are having on me, and laughs out loud at me. She says she hopes the whip will teach me a lesson, and compel me to be a better public footslave in future – concentrating on licking the exteriors of my customer-mistresses’ and masters’ shoes, rather than being distracted all the time by their socks. But we both know that no amount of whip-pain will ‘cure’ me of my customer-sock addiction, and that I shall therefore deserve everything I get.

As she walks smugly away from me, I internally praise and bless miss Arabella madam and her magenta socks, and I must confess I am very much looking forward to the sight of her, as yet unknown, socks on the day of my impending punishment, though at the same time I am naturally dreading the accompanying sting of the judicial female whip which I shall be having to endure on my publicly chastised back! 



















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