Pins and Needles

As if having to kneel in a foetal position for days on end in the public kneeling stocks wasn’t painful enough, the Gynarchy authorities like to encourage members of the public to stick red flags into my bent-over back – flags which declare my crimes and failings for all and sundry to see. This adds enormously to my pain and suffering as I have an innate fear of needles, and each small flag proclaiming my public shame is inserted through a nerve ending by means of a sharp needle.

Some mistresses and masters even manipulate the flag once it is inserted into the nerve, thereby agitating the punctured nerve still further. How they laugh at me as I cry out with both shame and pain, and in utter powerlessness, as they penetrate my skin with their chosen flag-needle.

Take, for example, the happy, twenty-something, heterosexual couple lording it over me right now. The ginger-haired, mighty master-sir chooses the flag from the assortment laid out by the authorities. It says:

‘Socks Liker’

and I am forced to watch the master-sir’s black socks creasing and folding beneath his blue trouser-hems as he politely hands it over to his beloved, blonde-haired wife to insert into my back. She chooses a nerve perilously close to my neck on my left hand shoulder – a particularly sensitive and sore nerve, as it is already stretched and contorted by my unnatural position in the kneeling stocks.

I now must observe her grey socks crease and fold (with laughter) as she skilfully, and smilingly, crouches down to deftly insert the sock-liker, red flag into my shivering shoulder blade. She takes her time – allowing me to feel the sharp end of the needle for several agonising seconds before pushing it through my skin with her dainty, feminine fingers.  I feel the needle break the skin. It is much more than a ‘sharp scratch’. It burns; and bleeds.

I feel the flag slowly dig deeper into the now naked and exposed nerve ending, and I scream. Unmanfully, I know – but then, I am not a man; I am a mere male prisoner-slave, being exposed to public ridicule for the delectation of my betters. The realman in the scene laughs out loud, and encourages his pretty wife to ‘push it all the way in and move it around, sweetheart!’. He is clearly revelling in seeing his wife penetrate me – as well he might, for she would never dream of hurting him in this way.

Being the obedient wife that she is, she duly manipulates the flag – inflaming and agitating my slavish shoulder nerve and thus using the needle to conduct me in a symphony of pain. I cry out for mercy, but the time for mercy is long gone – if it was ever there. She is having too much fun adding to my public shame and humiliation – literally flagging my weakness for all to see (my crime had been to kiss a customer-mistress’s stripy, red and green sock without permission, for I am but a humble ‘head in the wall’ footslave tasked with lickshining my customers’ outer footwear; not their socks. I thus deserve all I get!)

Once the pain-flag has been successfully inserted and manipulated for several excruciating minutes, the young mistress-madam, and her manly husband, hover over me examining their handiwork. As they move around me, taking photographs of my flag-furnished back for subsequent uploading onto their various social media sites, I notice their socks crease up with laughter at me. I must then watch as their socks crease in different places whilst they embrace one another high above me – proud of their public-spirited work in adding to a lowly prisoner-slave’s suffering in the stocks. And, all the while, the white socks of female authority in the form of a booted and socked, uniformed Gynarchy police-officer mistress watch on – gleefully.

They call it the ‘pins and needles’ treatment, and it is truly a procedure to be feared – if you are a helpless prisoner-slave in the stocks!