A Lonely Place
Regular tormentress-mistress, Ms Karen madam, has come to visit me in the town square stocks on a bitterly cold day. She has actually come to gloat over the contrast between her own warm clothing and my semi-nakedness in my slave loin-cloth in such freezing weather.
She begins by asking me how I am liking it – shivering half-naked in the stocks? I politely confirm that I am not liking it, if the mistress would be so kind and understanding, as I am feeling numb with the cold. She then opines that must surely be a goodthing, as it means I shouldn’t be able to feel my muscle aches and cramps from being cooped up in the stocks for so long (it’s been 3 days now). I reply, honestly, that, if it pleases the mistress, I can still feel the dull, gnawing ache in my back, neck and shoulder muscles even beyond the bitter cold, if she would be so kind and understanding?
She orders me to stop moaning, and then points out that she herself is well wrapped up against the cold. She even hitches up her trench coat to show me her stockings, and asks me if I like them? I humbly reply to mistress Karen madam that I like them very much, and she laughs at me. She tells me not to lie, and that she knows full well I would prefer it if she was wearing thick, woolly socks inside her black leather kneeboots – it’s even written on my set of stocks that I like socks! But, she points out, even a pair of thick woollen kneesocks would leave her upper thighs exposed to the cold air, and so she just had to wear stockings today. She tells me I can like it or lump it!
She then turns her attention to the brown leather, braided whip she has kindly brought with her. She says that since I am such a ‘moaning minnie’ about the cold, would I like her to warm up my back with her whip? She suggests that the burning, searing sting of the whip on my back might help to dissipate the cold and even help me to forget my various muscle ailments and cramps? I shiver at the thought of the whip, and, profusely apologising to the mistress for declining her kind offer, humbly beg her not to whip me, since I would rather suffer the bite of the freezing cold air on my back than the biting sting of her expertly wielded whip.
She laughs, mockingly, at me, and tells me that in that case I can freeze to death for all she cares, and she calls me an ungrateful cur. She then demands that I lick the top of one of her kneeboots as a demonstration of my gratitude for her kind offer to whip me, before turning her back on me and leaving me to continue to shiver uncontrollably in the stocks.
As she walks away from me with a triumphant smirk on her pretty face, and as I watch her sexy boots slowly disappear into the distance, I begin to regret not taking Ms Karen madam up on her kind offer to whip me, as at least then I could have enjoyed her capricious company for a bit longer. It can be a very lonely place in the stocks!
