Warmth of the Whip
Regular customer-mistress, Ms Karen madam, has kindly come to visit me – her local neighbourhood public footkisser – on a bitterly cold day.
Noticing that some clever wag has placed a broken toilet seat around my neck she begins by mockingly ‘thanking me for my kind offer’ but explain that ‘she has already been’! She then goes on to explain that she has just been visiting a dirty prisoner-slave in the stocks, in order to offer him the warmth of her whip’s sting on his bare back as a cloak against the cold, and that this had got her to wondering whether or not I too would like to have my face warmed up by her whip? She points out that her whip is made of braided leather, and therefore should hurt my face much more than the public-use whip hanging next to my humble head on the alleyway wall, thus warming my exposed cheeks more efficiently.
She then crouches down close to me so that she can hear and see my humble reply to her kind offer more clearly. I can smell the remains of a curry meal on her stale breath, and I start to feel hungry. I duly thank customer-mistress Ms Karen madam most warmly for her kind offer to whip my face, but plead with her not to do so, as I am a cowardly slave who very much fears the sting of the whip, though I express my undying gratitude to Ms Karen madam for thinking of me in this way. She laughs and informs me she’s not having much luck with regard to her whip offers today (from which I surmise that my slave-colleague in the stocks must have likewise declined Ms Karen’s kind offer).
Fortunately for me she doesn’t seem to be too offended by my ‘rejection’ of her whip, and she stands up straight and proud again in order to present her boots to me for lickshining. She points out, as her right boot is in my face, that these stylish, black leather kneeboots were a gift from her husband, and probably cost more than I would on the open slave-market. I respectfully agree with Ms Karen madam that her boots are worth more than me, and express what an honour it is for me to clean them with my tongue. I must say, the leather does taste expensive though, like all leather, it also tastes vile.
At one point during the bootlicking process Ms Karen madam sneezes above me and, although she instinctively attempted to politely stifle her sneeze with her gloved hand, some of her expelled nasal mucus droplets still managed to spray down onto the top of bald head. I ‘bless’ her, and Ms Karen madam just silently wipes her nose on her gloved finger offering me no apology for spraying me with her mucus. Nor should she – after all, I’m just a slave and should feel privileged to be sneezed on by her.
Eventually she informs me that she is off to see my colleague, Old Rusty Neck, at his sit-down shoelick stand just around the corner, as maybe he would like to be warmed up by the sting of her whip? Now, I know Old Rusty Neck well and he is an even greater coward than I am when it comes to being whipped, so I think I can safely say that kindhearted Ms Karen madam is on a ‘hiding to nothing’, so to speak – although, she can, of course, whip any public slave any time she wants to.
I hope, for his sake, that Old Rusty Neck has his wits about him today – otherwise he doubtless will feel the warm embrace of Ms Karen’s womanly whip! Mind you, you could say that the warmth of the whip is not to be sneezed at!
