Masochistic Musings Vol 1

Musing No. 1 - Report

By Our Court Reporter, Ms Jasmine (21)

On 15 September, at the Gynarchy High Court in Barbaria, Ms L (34) of the city of Femina was found guilty of 3 counts of fraud, relating to non-payment of taxes. Her personal footslave (59) was duly sentenced to 50 harsh lashes of the judicial scourge, the punishment being carried out immediately in front of the assembled court.

During punishment, proceedings had to be halted on the 45th stroke when the lashes of the three-thonged scourge became entangled in the elderly, male slave's naked and red raw ribcage. However, following a short adjournment, the court doctor, Ms Stacey (22), deemed the slave fit for the remainder of his punishment, and the flogging resumed. The slave writhed, twisted and begged for sweet feminine mercy in a most amusing manner throughout his prolonged ordeal.

Afterwards, Ms L mocked her slave's wounds by digging into them with the dirty toe of her black leather ankleboot, and expressed her satisfaction with the slave's pain and suffering on her behalf. She further told this reporter that she had absolutely no regrets concerning her crimes, and would doubtless commit similar crimes in the future. She then graciously required her whipped slave to humbly kiss this reporter's dirty, pink sneakers and pure white anklesocks.

This paper is extremely grateful to the convicted felon, Ms L, for taking the time to speak to our court reporter immediately after her sentencing and her slave's vicarious punishment, and congratulates her on her conviction.

A video recording of the punishment is available to stream or download, free of charge, from the Gynarchy High Court website. Enjoy!

Musing no. 2 – The Distressor

It’s a cruel variation on the already cruel ‘concentrator’ device – the ‘distressor’; an electronic implant in the footslave’s brain which not only causes him sharp pain in the absence of his mistress’s socks, but downright distress! Anxiety and phobia – he MUST see his mistress’s socks, even though the distressor simultaneously makes him FEAR them, because of the socks’ absolute power over him.

The distressor reminds him that the female socks are better than him, imbued as they are in his pretty footmistress’s foot-DNA (and smell); even her dead footskin-cells, attached to the inner stitches of her socks, are a superior class of organism compared to the lowly slave, and the cruel distressor device warps the slave’s mind into believing that he cannot live without the continuous sight, sound, smell, feel and taste of his mistress’s socks.

Yes, even the humble soundof his mistress’s cotton socks rubbing against her soft, bare, feminine ankleflesh fills him with dread – but dread to which he is irrevocably drawn, due to the even greater fear of life without his mistress’s socks continuously in his face!

Poor slave! Pathetic slave! The distressed slave of a beautiful, young woman’s SOCKS! Ha! Ha!

Musing no. 3 – Glimpses Of Freedom Land

It must be winter,

Outside,

Up there,

In Freedom Land.

For, down here,

In my dungeon punishment cell,

My civilian treadmill-taskmistresses

Are wearing heavy boots and thick, woollen socks

On their pretty feet,

In front of my toiling face.

Now it must be spring,

Outside,

Up there,

In Freedom Land.

For, down here,

In my dungeon punishment cell,

My civilian treadmill-taskmistresses

Are wearing soft leather ballet flats,

And short cotton socks

On their pretty feet,

In front of my toiling face.

Now it must be summer,

Outside,

Up there,

In Freedom Land.

For, down here,

In my dungeon punishment cell,

My civilian treadmill-taskmistresses

Are wearing sandals

On their bare feet,

In front of my toiling face.

Now it must be autumn,

Outside,

Up there,

In Freedom Land.

For, down here,

In my dungeon punishment cell,

My civilian treadmill-taskmistresses

Are wearing sneakers and socks

On their pretty feet,

In front of my toiling face.

It must be winter again,

Outside,

Up there,

In Freedom Land.

For, down here,

In my dungeon punishment cell,

My civilian treadmill-taskmistresses

Are wearing heavy boots and thick, woollen socks

On their pretty feet,

In front of my toiling face…

Musing no. 4 – Chastisement

It’s a common enough sight in the Gynarchy – a bright and beautiful, young woman determinedly chastising her male slave at the local whipping post:

Musing no. 5 – Impressive

This demure and chaste, young woman is immensely impressed by her immaculately dressed gentleman-friend having his spats lick-cleaned by a lowly, head-in-the-wall, public footservant:

Musing no. 6 – Table Bottom

I very much admire my master’s girlfriend’s boots and socks, which is why I make a point of kneeling unobtrusively behind them and studying them, whilst she is engaged in warm conversation with him above me at his opulent dining table.

They are, without doubt, the boots and socks of my better – a superior, and very beautiful, young woman, whom I am not worthy to look in the eye.

Musing No. 7 – The Fly Trap

The caged, groundhead slave is surrounded by flies – much to the amusement of his master and mistress, and their dog:

Even the flies mock the helpless slave, copulating in front of him and laying their larvae on top of his bald, imprisoned head:

Of course, the master and mistress do nothing to help alleviate the slave’s suffering – and instead keep their mocking distance from him. And rightly so. It means, of course, that not even their feet and shoes are close enough to comfort him!