Masculine Smells
Prison-visitor mistress Ms Karen madam has already draped a pair of her husband’s soiled underpants over the top of my head, and her friend and colleague, Ms Anna madam, is about to do the same with a pair of her husband’s dirty, black socks. The two young women gleefully explain, much to the approval and amusement of the accompanying prison-guard mistress, that they feel it will do me good to be surrounded by dirty male smells for a change, as it will teach me humility and respect, and remind me that I am at the mercy of all and sundry – including free males who are much better men than me as they are married to the likes of them!
Ms Anna madam then kindly asks for my humble opinion on the matter, and, mindful of my guard’s nearby whip, I obsequiously thank both her and Ms Karen madam for their kindness and thoughtfulness in adding to my distress and humiliation in the stocks. I also ask them to convey my undying gratitude to their respective husbands for the loan of their dirty smalls, and smells!
The two young women laugh at me, after which Ms Karen madam enquires as to the wellbeing of my neck. She fakes concern that it must surely be feeling very sore and stiff after 3 years in the stocks? I humbly and respectfully confirm to the prison-visitor mistress, whose husband’s dirty underpants are now adorning my humble head, that my neck is indeed feeling most sore and stiff, with a constant gnawing and throbbing pain, since I am unable to move a single neck muscle. She just laughs and reminds me that the pain can only get worse as the years go by, and that I have been sentenced to life in the stocks, so my neck, and my pain, aren’t going anywhere! She then opines that it is a good thing I cannot move my neck, as otherwise her husband’s soiled underpants might fall off the top of my head, leading to my being whipped for disobedience and disrespect. She then asks the prison-guard whether that would indeed be the case – would I be sorely whipped if the underpants fell off?
The smiling prison-guard mistress duly confirms that would most definitelybe the case, and that the same would go for the other man’s dirty socks. And so, not that I have much choice in the matter, I resolve to keep my neck perfectly still for at least the next few weeks as the soiled, male smalls fester on top of me until such time as the superior owners of the pants and socks need them back. They are, after all, only on loan to me – with the gracious permission of the men’s wives – as I could never be considered worthy enough to have two real men’s pants and socks adorning my face on a permanent basis!
Needless to say, I selfishly would much prefer to have the ladies’dirty, used pants and socks adorning my face and head, but footslave-prisoners can’t be choosers, and I know I must just be grateful for the intimate smells of any of my betters down here in the Gynarchy dungeon. At least it will make a change from having the female prison-guards’ dirty, white uniform bootsocks adorning my face (the guards often air their sweaty bootsocks on my face – and rightly so.)
The three ladies then leave me alone in my dungeon cell to fester and rot, making sure to lock the cell door behind them, even though I could never escape from my set of stocks, let alone my prison cell, if I tried. At least the sealed door helps to stop the masculine smells from escaping.
