Repentance

It’s a Sunday morning, and this happy couple have come to instil some repentance into me in my Gynarchy dungeon cell, as they inform me that, in their righteous opinion, only the sting of the whip can make me see the error of my ways and repent of my sins of sock-fancying, thus turning me into a better and more diligent, public shoelicker (although, privately, the mistress madam crouches down to whisper into my confined ear that she doesn’t really give a damn whether I repent or not – she just likes watching her handsome husband whipping helpless prisoner-slaves!)

The bible-carrying mistress madam then stands directly over me pinning my head between her soft, bare thighs. Her husband, who is standing behind me with the whip, asks me how I am liking it – feeling his lovely wife’s soft, feminine legskin digging into my confined temples? I humbly respond to the master-sir by saying I like it very much, if it is pleasing to him, and he laughs and orders me to thank his wife for steadying my stupid head with her bright and intelligent legs. I thank her kindly.

The irony is, of course, that throughout the whipping I am obliged to look down at the mistress’s socks – something which no genuinely repentant sock-fancying slave should surely be permitted to do during punishment? But, then again, this married couple are cleverer than me, and perhaps they believe that the association of pain with socks will put me off fancying socks for life?

Whatever, I stubbornly endeavour to seek solace in the mistress’s grey socks and bare legs whilst the whip falls repeatedly onto my back. I am particularly enthralled by the way the mistress’s socks crease and fold every time she shouts enthusiastic words of encouragement to her husband to whip me harder.

When the couple eventually leave my cell I am left with great pain emblazoned in my back and the memory of the mistress’s soft skin and grey socks emblazoned on my mind.

What do you think? Have I been ‘cured’? Or do I need yet more lessons in repentance?













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