Meagre Comfort For The Prisoner-Slave
It’s 05:00 AM on the morning of the prisoner-slave’s impending public whipping. In accordance with Gynarchy punishment tradition he has spend the night in the stocks, his back already bared and bent over, ready for the whip.
A young woman suddenly approaches him out of the gloom and crouches down beside him. She feigns sympathy for him:
‘Aww, how are you doing, slave? Are you cold?’
The prisoner-slave in the stocks has little choice but to engage with his visitor – politely, as befits a slave:
‘Yes, mistress. Thanking you kindly for your kind concern, miss.’
She giggles:
‘Haha! Well, never mind. I expect in that case you must actually be looking forward to the sting of the whip, then? I mean, it’s bound to warm you up, isn’t it though?’
‘Oh pray, mistress, if it pleases you pretty mistress, there is indeed some truth in what the mistress says, madam. But this slave nevertheless fears the whip, miss, for he is a cowardly slave!’
‘Haha! Don’t worry, slave. I don’t blame you! After all, I’ve never been whipped, obviously – and I never will be – but I’m told there is no greater pain known to man than the sting of the whip! You’re right to be afraid!’
‘Yes, miss. Thanking you kindly for your kind understanding, miss.’
‘Haha! I’ll bet you’ll be wishing you could run away from that biting sting of the whip when it happens, but, of course, you won’t be able to. You’ll just have to grin and bear it. Or cry out and bear it. Haha! Do you think you’ll cry out and beg for mercy while you’re being whipped, slave?’
‘Oh pray, mistress, I expect so, mistress. I’m just a weak slave, miss. I won’t be able to take my punishment like a man, miss. I’m pathetic, miss!’
‘Haha! I hope you do cry out, slave. I love watching public whippings, especially when the slave cries out and writhes in agony. Promise me you’ll writhe for me, slave,’ she pouts.
‘Yes, mistress. I promise I’ll do my best to be pleasing to you, miss, since you are such a kind and considerate young woman, madam.’
The slave avoids any hint of sarcasm in his humble tone. After all, by Gynarchy standards, this young woman is being kind and considerate towards him. She is taking the trouble to keep him company in the middle of the night, and is offering her friendly ‘advice’ as to how he should behave during his forthcoming whipping! Not many Gynarchy girls would be prepared to do that!
She suddenly changes the subject:
‘What do you think of my bright red socks, slave? Do you like them?’
It’s a strange question, but the prisoner-slave knows that whenever a Gynarchy mistress asks if you like something about her, the answer must always be a humble ‘yes, mistress, thanking you kindly mistress’:
‘Yes, mistress, thanking you kindly mistress. This slave likes your red socks very much, miss!’
‘Good, because I wore them just for you, slave – to remind you of how red and sore your back will be after your whipping. Aren’t I kind? Haha!’
Now that’s sarcasm! But the response from the prisoner-slave remains humble:
‘Oh yes indeed, kind mistress! Thanking you kindly, miss! God bless you, miss! Your red socks are indeed a timely reminder to me of my impending pain, miss!’
‘Haha! Would you like to kiss the tops of my socks, slave, in order to thank them?’
The prisoner-slave is genuinely flattered by the offer to kiss the young woman’s socks, for that is considered such an honour for a slave in the Gynarchy – let alone a dirty prisoner-slave!
‘Oh pray, mistress! Oh bless! Oh bliss, mistress! Oh your socks, miss!’
‘I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then, slave? Here…’
She stands up straight in order to hold the side of her pretty, bright red bootsock-top up to the prisoner’s confined lips. He promptly kisses the soft cotton sock material. It feels warm. The sock wearer laughs at him:
‘Haha! That’s right, slave. Kiss my sock. You can even think about my sock while you’re being whipped, if you like – if you think it will help to take your mind off the pain?’
‘Oh pray, mistress! Oh bless! Oh your sock, miss!’
She withdraws her sock from his face:
‘I’m off to get some breakfast now, slave, but don’t worry – I’ll be back later in plenty of time to witness your whipping! In the meantime I suggest you keep a stiff upper neck! Haha!’
And with that witticism she departs.
‘God bless you, mistress. Praise be to you, pretty mistress madam!’
The prisoner-slave watches the flashes of bright red bootsock disappear back into the darkness. He is alone again in the fear and dread of his forthcoming whipping. But at least he now has the memory of this young woman’s sock on his lips to comfort him! It’s meagre comfort, admittedly – but the prisoner-slave should be grateful for such small mercies, for he won’t be receiving any other form of mercy today!
