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You say it's not your concern, but when the disgruntled shift worker whipping your ass also hasn't had his morning coffee...?
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A Very Judicial Caning
- Thread starter windar
- Start date
windar
Teller of Tales
Anyone ever hear the phrase "Supply chain dislocations"? First the rattan plantations in Trabbia all shut for COVID. Then they re-open and our shipment of new canes is stuck on a ship somewhere off the coast, waiting for a dock space to open. We'd reuse the old ones (yeah they might give the offenders splinters, but who cares) but the Health Dept says we need a validated disinfection protocol. A little appreciation for the fine public servants keeping our streets safe would be appreciated.
Don’t worry, @Barbaria1 , when I build my punishment centre for blue state girls there will be Riesling available for all those who wish it at a simple cost of doubling your punishment per glass! So that’s 2 glasses, 12x 4 = a reasonable 48 lashes and all the Riesling you’ll need!
Of course that’s before any penalty strokes for cursing, complaining, or for the crime of having such a tight little….
For everyone else a video shall be made available soon after the show.
windar
Teller of Tales
Chapter 4
Judge Vanessa Porter had resolved that she would comply with all orders during her time at the Center. She knew that this was a lawful punishment, being conducted under full authority of the State and that resistance would be futile, only dragging things out and possibly resulting in additional punishment.
Nevertheless the abruptness of the order to strip took her a bit by surprise. Oh, she knew that the punishment was carried out in the nude, and had resigned herself to that, but perhaps she hadn’t expected to be divested of her clothes so soon.
It wasn’t that unusual for her to be naked in front of other women-she had been in countless locker rooms. But this was different. There, the women were all equals, relaxing after a hard-fought match or preparing for one. Here, the guards were fully clothed representatives of authority who would not be stripping themselves.
Vanessa stood motionless for a moment, processing the situation. She noticed the other two offenders were doing the same.
“I know you must be stupid or you wouldn’t be here,” Ofc. Timmins said, glaring at each of them in turn, “So let me rephrase that. All the clothes come off! Everything goes in one of those lockers! NOW! I want you all standing before us naked inside of thirty seconds! Is that clear?”
Vanessa quickly shed her coat and hung it in the locker, then pulled her T shirt over her head and hung it beside the coat. She could see that Shanice was doing the same.
But Sharon Wilson was standing there motionless. “You want us naked?” she asked. “Why? Are you a lez?”
Before Ofc. Timmins could react Sgt. Miller strode over to stand in front of the insolent young girl. “In case you haven’t figured it out, Wilson, you’ve been a very naughty girl and you’re here to be punished. Flogged. And you have to be naked so your clothes don’t get in the way.”
“I’ve heard enough from that mouth of yours! I’m giving you two extra strokes and any further trouble will earn you two more. Now strip, or we’ll get some very large male guards in here to help you out of those clothes.”
Vanessa could sense Sharon debating how to react to this. She knew that on the street, this would have had her fists flying; hence, the assault charge that had brought her here. But, despite her instincts, the girl seemed to realize that the odds were stacked against her and that neither Vanessa nor Shanice would risk further punishment to help her.
Still glaring at the guards, she removed her leather jacket and hung it in one of the lockers.
Vanessa sat on the bench and began untying her sneakers. She placed them in the locker, pulled her socks off, balled them up and placed them inside the shoes. The concrete floor was cold and rough on her bare soles.
Then, she stood and lowered her sweatpants, placing them in the locker. She shivered a bit in just her bra and panties. Shanice Davis was similarly clad.
“What’s the matter, Johnson?” Ofc, Timmins asked. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of here. We’ve had plenty older than you, right Sue?”
Sgt. Miller laughed. “Man the drooping tits I’ve seen, Beth.” Then she turned to look at Vanessa (or Cynthia as she was now). “Everything comes off Johnson. You, too, Davis.”
Vanessa was not ashamed of her body-quite the opposite, in fact. She kept herself in excellent shape with regular exercise and a healthy diet and could pass for ten years younger than her chronological age. Trying to look as casual as possible, she reached behind her and undid her bra, placing it into the locker. Then she lowered her panties and stepped out of them. She was naked.
Shanice Davis was in the same state. Vanessa was shocked at how scrawny the girl was-small breasts and a skinny ass. ‘Not much there to cane,’ she thought. She wondered a bit that men would pay to have sex with her, but she knew there was no accounting for taste. Besides, she probably mostly gave blow jobs, so her body didn’t matter that much, Vanessa supposed. Shanice had a few tattoos, but no piercings.
Sharon Wilson, who was in the process of removing her undergarments under the steely eye of the two guards, had tattoos-ugly ones at that-on her thighs, ankles, feet, boobs and back. In addition to the piercings Vanessa had already noted, she had nipple studs and a few rings down below as well.
Sgt. Miller stared at the girl. “Beth, have you ever seen such a collection of ugly-ass tattoos?”
Ofc. Timmins shook her head. “No, Sue, I haven’t.”
Vanessa could see that Sharon wanted desperately to defend her body art, but, with some effort, the girl maintained her silence. For her part, Vanessa had never been tempted to alter her body; she liked the clean, natural look and thought she held up well against the two much younger women.
“Any of the jewelry come off, Wilson?” Sgt. Miller demanded.
“Yeah, some of them,” Sharon replied.
The Sergeant went to stand in front of the recalcitrant girl. “That’s ‘Yes, Sergeant,’ or ‘No, Sergeant,’ Wilson, you got that?” Vanessa wanted to applaud Sgt. Miller on how authoritatively she was handling the young punk, but kept the thought to herself.
“Yes, Sergeant,” Wilson replied. “The ones on the nipples have screws.” Vanessa thought she still detected a snide manner in her tone.
Sgt. Miller reached her left hand out to grab the nipple ring on the left breast. “Ow!” Sharon cried, twisting away and reaching her hand up to remove the Sergeant’s hand. “Don’t touch me, you dyke bitch!”
“You just earned yourself two more strokes, Wilson!” Sgt. Miller announced. “Beth, would you hold this bitch’s hands behind her?”
“With pleasure, Sue!” Ofc. Timmins replied, grabbing Wilson’s hands from behind and holding them firmly.
The Sergeant took hold again of the ring in the left nipple and unscrewed it, dropping the metal stud into her shirt pocket. She did the same with the ring on the right nipple. Then she reached down and pulled on one of the rings on Sharon’s labia. “This one doesn’t have screws?”
“No,” the girl replied, sounding pained.
“No, what?” Sue Miller demanded.
“No, Sergeant.”
Miller released her hold. “Alright, all of you, line up, toes on the tape,” she ordered pointing at piece of white tape laid out on the concrete floor, a few feet in front of and parallel to the bench. Reluctantly, Vanessa padded over to the indicated spot, followed by Shanice and Sharon.
“Johnson, a bit to the right,” Timmins ordered, motioning with her hand. “Feet shoulder length apart.”
Vanessa adjusted her posture until Timmins nodded her approval. The guard pulled a small flashlight out of her belt and turned it on. The LED bulbs were quite bright. “Run your hands through your hair, Johnson,” she ordered. Vanessa did as she was told.
“Open your mouth.” Vanessa opened her mouth. Ofc. Timmins shone the light inside. “Wider,” she ordered. “Tongue up.” Then, “Tongue down.” She peered inside Vanessa’s ears.
“Hands on the back of your head,” Timmins ordered. Vanessa complied. The guard peered into her armpits and under her breasts. It felt strangely humiliating to be examined like this, somehow even more intimate for not being touched. But she knew it was an unavoidable part of the procedure, something that she had to endure, as the people she had sentenced to prison had endured it. Yes, the excuse was that it was necessary to prevent contraband from being snuck into the facility, which was true, but it also served to re-inforce to the offenders who was in charge and how little say they had in things.
She lifted each foot in turn as ordered, Timmins examining the soles, which carried debris and dirt from the concrete floor, but no hidden contraband.
“Squat,” the guard ordered. Vanessa bent her knees. “Lower.” She bent more. “Lower, Johnson.”
Finally Ofc. Timmins was satisfied. She squatted down so that her head was right next to Vanessa’s crotch, shining the flashlight into her bodily cavities. “Cough!” she ordered. Vanessa coughed. “Again.” Vanessa coughed again.
Timmins rose back up. “She’s clean,” she reported. Vanessa stood back up.
Timmins repeated the procedure with Shanice Davis, pronouncing her clean as well. Then, she moved in front of Sharon Wilson. Vanessa anticipated that the young rebel might well resist such an encroachment on her personal space, but, perhaps intimidated by the extra strokes she had been awarded and by the fact that the other two offenders had complied, she did what was asked of her.
However, at the point she had squatted and coughed as ordered, Timmins announced, “I can’t see past all that jewelry, Sue.”
“We’d better get the doc in here, Beth. With a troublemaker like Wilson, we can’t be too careful.” She went to a telephone on the wall and spoke a few words.
Very shortly, the door opened and a woman in a white coat came in. She was of Indian ethnicity and appeared to be mid-30s. Her badge said ‘Dr. Raman’.
The doctor barely even glanced at Sharon. “Bring her to the table,” she ordered. Beth and Sue each took an arm and marched Sharon to the table in the far corner. None too gently, they bent her over the table, each pressing down on her torso to keep her in position.
The doctor put on a pair of surgical gloves and smeared some lubricant on the right hand and reached down between Sharon Wilson’s legs. The girl squirmed and shouted, “No! I don’t have anything up there!”
“It will be much easier for you if just hold still and relax,” the doctor advised. Sharon continued struggling. “Have it your way,” the doctor said, and stuck two fingers into the offender’s vagina, feeling around for a few moments, then removing them and placing them against her anal sphincter.
“Please, not there!” Sharon begged. The doctor pressed against the muscle and was soon inside, twisting her finger back and forth.
Finally, she withdrew. “She’s clean,” the doctor announced, removing the gloves and depositing them in a waste receptacle. Vanessa knew that this invasive search had been completely unnecessary, done to humiliate and subjugate Wilson for the resistance she had shown.
“Alright, form a line and follow the doctor down the hall for your medical exam. We need to be sure you’re fit to have your asses shredded,” Sgt. Miller ordered.
Vanessa decided that a small spark of resistance might be in order at this point. “Can we at least have some flip-flops. This floor is rough.”
“This is a punishment center, not a spa, Johnson,” the Sergeant replied. “Now move your ass!”
Judge Vanessa Porter had resolved that she would comply with all orders during her time at the Center. She knew that this was a lawful punishment, being conducted under full authority of the State and that resistance would be futile, only dragging things out and possibly resulting in additional punishment.
Nevertheless the abruptness of the order to strip took her a bit by surprise. Oh, she knew that the punishment was carried out in the nude, and had resigned herself to that, but perhaps she hadn’t expected to be divested of her clothes so soon.
It wasn’t that unusual for her to be naked in front of other women-she had been in countless locker rooms. But this was different. There, the women were all equals, relaxing after a hard-fought match or preparing for one. Here, the guards were fully clothed representatives of authority who would not be stripping themselves.
Vanessa stood motionless for a moment, processing the situation. She noticed the other two offenders were doing the same.
“I know you must be stupid or you wouldn’t be here,” Ofc. Timmins said, glaring at each of them in turn, “So let me rephrase that. All the clothes come off! Everything goes in one of those lockers! NOW! I want you all standing before us naked inside of thirty seconds! Is that clear?”
Vanessa quickly shed her coat and hung it in the locker, then pulled her T shirt over her head and hung it beside the coat. She could see that Shanice was doing the same.
But Sharon Wilson was standing there motionless. “You want us naked?” she asked. “Why? Are you a lez?”
Before Ofc. Timmins could react Sgt. Miller strode over to stand in front of the insolent young girl. “In case you haven’t figured it out, Wilson, you’ve been a very naughty girl and you’re here to be punished. Flogged. And you have to be naked so your clothes don’t get in the way.”
“I’ve heard enough from that mouth of yours! I’m giving you two extra strokes and any further trouble will earn you two more. Now strip, or we’ll get some very large male guards in here to help you out of those clothes.”
Vanessa could sense Sharon debating how to react to this. She knew that on the street, this would have had her fists flying; hence, the assault charge that had brought her here. But, despite her instincts, the girl seemed to realize that the odds were stacked against her and that neither Vanessa nor Shanice would risk further punishment to help her.
Still glaring at the guards, she removed her leather jacket and hung it in one of the lockers.
Vanessa sat on the bench and began untying her sneakers. She placed them in the locker, pulled her socks off, balled them up and placed them inside the shoes. The concrete floor was cold and rough on her bare soles.
Then, she stood and lowered her sweatpants, placing them in the locker. She shivered a bit in just her bra and panties. Shanice Davis was similarly clad.
“What’s the matter, Johnson?” Ofc, Timmins asked. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of here. We’ve had plenty older than you, right Sue?”
Sgt. Miller laughed. “Man the drooping tits I’ve seen, Beth.” Then she turned to look at Vanessa (or Cynthia as she was now). “Everything comes off Johnson. You, too, Davis.”
Vanessa was not ashamed of her body-quite the opposite, in fact. She kept herself in excellent shape with regular exercise and a healthy diet and could pass for ten years younger than her chronological age. Trying to look as casual as possible, she reached behind her and undid her bra, placing it into the locker. Then she lowered her panties and stepped out of them. She was naked.
Shanice Davis was in the same state. Vanessa was shocked at how scrawny the girl was-small breasts and a skinny ass. ‘Not much there to cane,’ she thought. She wondered a bit that men would pay to have sex with her, but she knew there was no accounting for taste. Besides, she probably mostly gave blow jobs, so her body didn’t matter that much, Vanessa supposed. Shanice had a few tattoos, but no piercings.
Sharon Wilson, who was in the process of removing her undergarments under the steely eye of the two guards, had tattoos-ugly ones at that-on her thighs, ankles, feet, boobs and back. In addition to the piercings Vanessa had already noted, she had nipple studs and a few rings down below as well.
Sgt. Miller stared at the girl. “Beth, have you ever seen such a collection of ugly-ass tattoos?”
Ofc. Timmins shook her head. “No, Sue, I haven’t.”
Vanessa could see that Sharon wanted desperately to defend her body art, but, with some effort, the girl maintained her silence. For her part, Vanessa had never been tempted to alter her body; she liked the clean, natural look and thought she held up well against the two much younger women.
“Any of the jewelry come off, Wilson?” Sgt. Miller demanded.
“Yeah, some of them,” Sharon replied.
The Sergeant went to stand in front of the recalcitrant girl. “That’s ‘Yes, Sergeant,’ or ‘No, Sergeant,’ Wilson, you got that?” Vanessa wanted to applaud Sgt. Miller on how authoritatively she was handling the young punk, but kept the thought to herself.
“Yes, Sergeant,” Wilson replied. “The ones on the nipples have screws.” Vanessa thought she still detected a snide manner in her tone.
Sgt. Miller reached her left hand out to grab the nipple ring on the left breast. “Ow!” Sharon cried, twisting away and reaching her hand up to remove the Sergeant’s hand. “Don’t touch me, you dyke bitch!”
“You just earned yourself two more strokes, Wilson!” Sgt. Miller announced. “Beth, would you hold this bitch’s hands behind her?”
“With pleasure, Sue!” Ofc. Timmins replied, grabbing Wilson’s hands from behind and holding them firmly.
The Sergeant took hold again of the ring in the left nipple and unscrewed it, dropping the metal stud into her shirt pocket. She did the same with the ring on the right nipple. Then she reached down and pulled on one of the rings on Sharon’s labia. “This one doesn’t have screws?”
“No,” the girl replied, sounding pained.
“No, what?” Sue Miller demanded.
“No, Sergeant.”
Miller released her hold. “Alright, all of you, line up, toes on the tape,” she ordered pointing at piece of white tape laid out on the concrete floor, a few feet in front of and parallel to the bench. Reluctantly, Vanessa padded over to the indicated spot, followed by Shanice and Sharon.
“Johnson, a bit to the right,” Timmins ordered, motioning with her hand. “Feet shoulder length apart.”
Vanessa adjusted her posture until Timmins nodded her approval. The guard pulled a small flashlight out of her belt and turned it on. The LED bulbs were quite bright. “Run your hands through your hair, Johnson,” she ordered. Vanessa did as she was told.
“Open your mouth.” Vanessa opened her mouth. Ofc. Timmins shone the light inside. “Wider,” she ordered. “Tongue up.” Then, “Tongue down.” She peered inside Vanessa’s ears.
“Hands on the back of your head,” Timmins ordered. Vanessa complied. The guard peered into her armpits and under her breasts. It felt strangely humiliating to be examined like this, somehow even more intimate for not being touched. But she knew it was an unavoidable part of the procedure, something that she had to endure, as the people she had sentenced to prison had endured it. Yes, the excuse was that it was necessary to prevent contraband from being snuck into the facility, which was true, but it also served to re-inforce to the offenders who was in charge and how little say they had in things.
She lifted each foot in turn as ordered, Timmins examining the soles, which carried debris and dirt from the concrete floor, but no hidden contraband.
“Squat,” the guard ordered. Vanessa bent her knees. “Lower.” She bent more. “Lower, Johnson.”
Finally Ofc. Timmins was satisfied. She squatted down so that her head was right next to Vanessa’s crotch, shining the flashlight into her bodily cavities. “Cough!” she ordered. Vanessa coughed. “Again.” Vanessa coughed again.
Timmins rose back up. “She’s clean,” she reported. Vanessa stood back up.
Timmins repeated the procedure with Shanice Davis, pronouncing her clean as well. Then, she moved in front of Sharon Wilson. Vanessa anticipated that the young rebel might well resist such an encroachment on her personal space, but, perhaps intimidated by the extra strokes she had been awarded and by the fact that the other two offenders had complied, she did what was asked of her.
However, at the point she had squatted and coughed as ordered, Timmins announced, “I can’t see past all that jewelry, Sue.”
“We’d better get the doc in here, Beth. With a troublemaker like Wilson, we can’t be too careful.” She went to a telephone on the wall and spoke a few words.
Very shortly, the door opened and a woman in a white coat came in. She was of Indian ethnicity and appeared to be mid-30s. Her badge said ‘Dr. Raman’.
The doctor barely even glanced at Sharon. “Bring her to the table,” she ordered. Beth and Sue each took an arm and marched Sharon to the table in the far corner. None too gently, they bent her over the table, each pressing down on her torso to keep her in position.
The doctor put on a pair of surgical gloves and smeared some lubricant on the right hand and reached down between Sharon Wilson’s legs. The girl squirmed and shouted, “No! I don’t have anything up there!”
“It will be much easier for you if just hold still and relax,” the doctor advised. Sharon continued struggling. “Have it your way,” the doctor said, and stuck two fingers into the offender’s vagina, feeling around for a few moments, then removing them and placing them against her anal sphincter.
“Please, not there!” Sharon begged. The doctor pressed against the muscle and was soon inside, twisting her finger back and forth.
Finally, she withdrew. “She’s clean,” the doctor announced, removing the gloves and depositing them in a waste receptacle. Vanessa knew that this invasive search had been completely unnecessary, done to humiliate and subjugate Wilson for the resistance she had shown.
“Alright, form a line and follow the doctor down the hall for your medical exam. We need to be sure you’re fit to have your asses shredded,” Sgt. Miller ordered.
Vanessa decided that a small spark of resistance might be in order at this point. “Can we at least have some flip-flops. This floor is rough.”
“This is a punishment center, not a spa, Johnson,” the Sergeant replied. “Now move your ass!”
windar
Teller of Tales
Chapter 5
The clinic was a fairly ordinary looking room. There was a row of cots, on one of which Vanessa imagined she would be lying after her punishment, and a desk at the front with a plain metal chair in front of it and an office chair behind it.
To one side of the desk was a cabinet that contained what seemed to be standard medical supplies. On the other side was a door. Vanessa was fairly certain that led to the room where she would suffer her caning.
The doctor sat behind the desk. “Have a seat on one of the cots; I’ll be with you shortly,” she instructed. Vanessa chose one and sat, something she suspected she wouldn’t be doing comfortably for some time. Shanice and Sharon did the same. The doctor picked up one of the folders on her desk and opened it. “Cynthia Johnson,” she called.
Vanessa stood and approached the desk. It felt strange, humiliating but also a bit exciting, to be examined fully nude; even at the gynecologist’s she had always worn a hospital gown. She sat in the metal chair which was cold against her bare buttocks.
The exam was perfunctory-pulse rate and blood pressure. Her heart was pounding, so she wasn’t surprised that the doctor noted the elevated readings. “I’m scared, to be quite honest,” Vanessa admitted. “I hope I can get through it.”
“You have no choice, so you will,” Dr. Raman replied.
It seemed to Vanessa that the doctor might be happy to talk a bit with an older, educated woman, a contrast with the young delinquents like Shanice and Sharon, who likely made up the majority of those she saw here. “I suppose it’s going to hurt like crazy.”
“I’m sure it does,” the doctor replied, a bit enigmatically.
‘Of course, she doesn’t really know how it feels,’ Vanessa thought. ‘But I soon will.’
“It’s supposed to be extremely painful,” the doctor continued. “To deter you from doing something stupid like driving drunk ever again, despite all the warnings. You seem like someone who should have known better.”
“I can’t explain it, doctor. It was just a moment of bad judgement.”
“Well, you’ll pay for it and get on with your life. I’m sure we won’t see you back here.”
Vanessa shook her head. “You won’t.”
The doctor drew a tube of blood-“To check for banned drugs,” she said as she wrote Cynthia’s name on the tube. Vanessa had, of course, abided by the instructions and was totally clean. She wondered if either of her fellow offenders would test positive and have to return for a repeat punishment.
“Stand up, please and turn around,” the doctor ordered.
Vanessa stood. The doctor came around the desk and bent down to examine Vanessa’s ass, running a gloved hand over the fleshy globes. “Very firm,” she commented. “Most of the women your age who come here are not fit like you.”
Normally, Vanessa would have taken that as a complement, but she knew that meant that there would be no medical exemption from her flogging.
The doctor sent her back to her cot and called Shanice and then Sharon up, subjecting them to the same examination with seemingly less conversation.
Then she sat for a few moments, writing in the folders. Finally, she stood. “All of you are fit for punishment. The guards will be in shortly.” Then, she disappeared through the door at the far end of the room, leaving the three offenders in the room, watched by a bored-looking female guard, who stood with arms crossed next to the door by which they had entered.
As soon as the doctor left, Sharon announced, to no one in particular, “If those bitches think they’re gonna make me cry and beg, they’re fuckin’ nuts.”
“A friend of mine got it a little while ago and she said it hurt like you wouldn’t believe,” Shanice replied. She looked very scared.
“Yeah, well I’m no wuss,” Sharon replied. “Those dykes can kiss my ass!” she spat.
“They have other plans for your ass,” Vanessa said. Shanice giggled.
Sharon turned to Vanessa, looking angry. “What the fuck are you doing here, Grandma?” she demanded. “Did you steal from the PTA or something?”
Vanessa looked down at the floor. “I had one drink too many at a party and, stupidly, tried to drive home.”
“Didn’t you read the signs-Drive Sober or Bend Over? Everybody knows that you dumb cow.” Vanessa was shocked that Wilson was looking for a fight even here, but she wasn’t going to take the bait and earn herself extra strokes. She suspected the twelve she was due would be quite sufficient.
Just as Wilson turned to Shanice Davis and looked like she was going to start something with her, the door at the far end opened and Timmins and Miller marched purposefully towards the three naked offenders.
Vanessa’s heart was pounding. Was this it for her?
But they made straight for the cot the young Black girl was sitting on. “On your feet Davis,” Sgt. Miller ordered. “Time for your ass whuppin’.”
Shanice managed to push herself halfway to standing, but then her knees gave way and she started to collapse back onto the cot. Acting quickly, the two guards took hold of her and pulled her to her feet. She looked like she was going to be sick.
The doctor came over and looked her in the eye. “It’ll be over soon and you can come back here and rest,” she told the terrified girl. Miller and Timmins turned her around and marched her to the door, with the doctor following and closing the door behind the punishment party.
Sharon snickered. “Such a baby!”
Vanessa understood that Wilson was putting on a brave and tough front to cover up the fear she must be feeling. How could one not feel fear when they came to take you into the Punishment Room-naked and alone, surrounded by people whose job it was to make you suffer?
Vanessa imagined they were preparing Shanice, strapping her down to the frame on which she would receive her lawfully-prescribed flogging, as they would do with her and Sharon when their turns came. Soon, they heard a loud call, Sgt. Miller’s voice shouting, “Stroke 1!”, and a moment later there was a loud “Thwack!”, the sound of a very flexible rattan whip connecting with the Shanice’s minimal butt flesh.
There was a long pause, around 30 seconds, Vanessa estimated, and then the call of “Stroke 2!” and the sound of the cane hitting its target again. Vanessa could see that Sharon was fidgeting nervously. How could one not, knowing that the same-worse since they were both due many more strokes than Davis was getting-awaited you?
On the third, they heard a load cry as poor Shanice’s resistance broke. Vanessa put her hands to her forehead. This was awful! How had she been so foolish as to arrange this? But it was too late to back out now.
She and Sharon sat in silence as Shanice howled her way through the remainder of her sentence. Finally, they heard Sgt. Miller shout, “Punishment complete!”
Vanessa was intensely curious, but also terrified to see what state Shanice would be in after her flogging. It didn’t take long for the door to open. The doctor came through first, followed by Shanice, held tightly between Miller and Timmins.
To say the girl looked terrible would be an understatement. She walked stiffly, looking as though she would collapse if the guards loosened their grip. But it was her eyes that told the full story, staring blankly ahead, shrouded with tears.
Under the doctor’s guidance, the guards maneuvered Shanice onto her cot, face down. The doctor fetched a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some cotton swabs from the supply cabinet. Ofc. Timmins sat on the girl’s legs, while Sgt. Miller rested her weight on her back, while the doctor swabbed Shanice’s battered hindquarters, as the poor offender yelped and squirmed.
“You rest now,” the doctor ordered as the guards rose and she accompanied them back into the Punishment Room to prepare for the next victim-whether Vanessa or Sharon, time would tell.
When they were gone, Sharon got up and went over to examine Shanice’s buttocks. “Jesus!” she said. Vanessa saw a shadow of fear pass over Sharon’s face.
Vanessa really didn’t want to look, since it would only make the fear in the pit of her own stomach all the worse, but, like a bad accident on the highway, she couldn’t not look.
Shanice Davis’ scrawny ass was decorated with six vivid welts, standing out even against her dark skin. The edges were raised and looked almost to be glowing with heat.
Shanice turned her head to look at her two fellow offenders, who were due twice as many strokes as she had received, and even more in Sharon’s case. “It hurts so much,” she told them, shaking her head in amazement that anything could be that painful.
Vanessa reached down and stroked the girl’s hair. “The doctor said to rest,” she told her.
No sooner had she and Sharon sat on their cots, then the door to the Punishment Room opened and Vanessa’s heart skipped a beat. Which one of them would be next?
The clinic was a fairly ordinary looking room. There was a row of cots, on one of which Vanessa imagined she would be lying after her punishment, and a desk at the front with a plain metal chair in front of it and an office chair behind it.
To one side of the desk was a cabinet that contained what seemed to be standard medical supplies. On the other side was a door. Vanessa was fairly certain that led to the room where she would suffer her caning.
The doctor sat behind the desk. “Have a seat on one of the cots; I’ll be with you shortly,” she instructed. Vanessa chose one and sat, something she suspected she wouldn’t be doing comfortably for some time. Shanice and Sharon did the same. The doctor picked up one of the folders on her desk and opened it. “Cynthia Johnson,” she called.
Vanessa stood and approached the desk. It felt strange, humiliating but also a bit exciting, to be examined fully nude; even at the gynecologist’s she had always worn a hospital gown. She sat in the metal chair which was cold against her bare buttocks.
The exam was perfunctory-pulse rate and blood pressure. Her heart was pounding, so she wasn’t surprised that the doctor noted the elevated readings. “I’m scared, to be quite honest,” Vanessa admitted. “I hope I can get through it.”
“You have no choice, so you will,” Dr. Raman replied.
It seemed to Vanessa that the doctor might be happy to talk a bit with an older, educated woman, a contrast with the young delinquents like Shanice and Sharon, who likely made up the majority of those she saw here. “I suppose it’s going to hurt like crazy.”
“I’m sure it does,” the doctor replied, a bit enigmatically.
‘Of course, she doesn’t really know how it feels,’ Vanessa thought. ‘But I soon will.’
“It’s supposed to be extremely painful,” the doctor continued. “To deter you from doing something stupid like driving drunk ever again, despite all the warnings. You seem like someone who should have known better.”
“I can’t explain it, doctor. It was just a moment of bad judgement.”
“Well, you’ll pay for it and get on with your life. I’m sure we won’t see you back here.”
Vanessa shook her head. “You won’t.”
The doctor drew a tube of blood-“To check for banned drugs,” she said as she wrote Cynthia’s name on the tube. Vanessa had, of course, abided by the instructions and was totally clean. She wondered if either of her fellow offenders would test positive and have to return for a repeat punishment.
“Stand up, please and turn around,” the doctor ordered.
Vanessa stood. The doctor came around the desk and bent down to examine Vanessa’s ass, running a gloved hand over the fleshy globes. “Very firm,” she commented. “Most of the women your age who come here are not fit like you.”
Normally, Vanessa would have taken that as a complement, but she knew that meant that there would be no medical exemption from her flogging.
The doctor sent her back to her cot and called Shanice and then Sharon up, subjecting them to the same examination with seemingly less conversation.
Then she sat for a few moments, writing in the folders. Finally, she stood. “All of you are fit for punishment. The guards will be in shortly.” Then, she disappeared through the door at the far end of the room, leaving the three offenders in the room, watched by a bored-looking female guard, who stood with arms crossed next to the door by which they had entered.
As soon as the doctor left, Sharon announced, to no one in particular, “If those bitches think they’re gonna make me cry and beg, they’re fuckin’ nuts.”
“A friend of mine got it a little while ago and she said it hurt like you wouldn’t believe,” Shanice replied. She looked very scared.
“Yeah, well I’m no wuss,” Sharon replied. “Those dykes can kiss my ass!” she spat.
“They have other plans for your ass,” Vanessa said. Shanice giggled.
Sharon turned to Vanessa, looking angry. “What the fuck are you doing here, Grandma?” she demanded. “Did you steal from the PTA or something?”
Vanessa looked down at the floor. “I had one drink too many at a party and, stupidly, tried to drive home.”
“Didn’t you read the signs-Drive Sober or Bend Over? Everybody knows that you dumb cow.” Vanessa was shocked that Wilson was looking for a fight even here, but she wasn’t going to take the bait and earn herself extra strokes. She suspected the twelve she was due would be quite sufficient.
Just as Wilson turned to Shanice Davis and looked like she was going to start something with her, the door at the far end opened and Timmins and Miller marched purposefully towards the three naked offenders.
Vanessa’s heart was pounding. Was this it for her?
But they made straight for the cot the young Black girl was sitting on. “On your feet Davis,” Sgt. Miller ordered. “Time for your ass whuppin’.”
Shanice managed to push herself halfway to standing, but then her knees gave way and she started to collapse back onto the cot. Acting quickly, the two guards took hold of her and pulled her to her feet. She looked like she was going to be sick.
The doctor came over and looked her in the eye. “It’ll be over soon and you can come back here and rest,” she told the terrified girl. Miller and Timmins turned her around and marched her to the door, with the doctor following and closing the door behind the punishment party.
Sharon snickered. “Such a baby!”
Vanessa understood that Wilson was putting on a brave and tough front to cover up the fear she must be feeling. How could one not feel fear when they came to take you into the Punishment Room-naked and alone, surrounded by people whose job it was to make you suffer?
Vanessa imagined they were preparing Shanice, strapping her down to the frame on which she would receive her lawfully-prescribed flogging, as they would do with her and Sharon when their turns came. Soon, they heard a loud call, Sgt. Miller’s voice shouting, “Stroke 1!”, and a moment later there was a loud “Thwack!”, the sound of a very flexible rattan whip connecting with the Shanice’s minimal butt flesh.
There was a long pause, around 30 seconds, Vanessa estimated, and then the call of “Stroke 2!” and the sound of the cane hitting its target again. Vanessa could see that Sharon was fidgeting nervously. How could one not, knowing that the same-worse since they were both due many more strokes than Davis was getting-awaited you?
On the third, they heard a load cry as poor Shanice’s resistance broke. Vanessa put her hands to her forehead. This was awful! How had she been so foolish as to arrange this? But it was too late to back out now.
She and Sharon sat in silence as Shanice howled her way through the remainder of her sentence. Finally, they heard Sgt. Miller shout, “Punishment complete!”
Vanessa was intensely curious, but also terrified to see what state Shanice would be in after her flogging. It didn’t take long for the door to open. The doctor came through first, followed by Shanice, held tightly between Miller and Timmins.
To say the girl looked terrible would be an understatement. She walked stiffly, looking as though she would collapse if the guards loosened their grip. But it was her eyes that told the full story, staring blankly ahead, shrouded with tears.
Under the doctor’s guidance, the guards maneuvered Shanice onto her cot, face down. The doctor fetched a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some cotton swabs from the supply cabinet. Ofc. Timmins sat on the girl’s legs, while Sgt. Miller rested her weight on her back, while the doctor swabbed Shanice’s battered hindquarters, as the poor offender yelped and squirmed.
“You rest now,” the doctor ordered as the guards rose and she accompanied them back into the Punishment Room to prepare for the next victim-whether Vanessa or Sharon, time would tell.
When they were gone, Sharon got up and went over to examine Shanice’s buttocks. “Jesus!” she said. Vanessa saw a shadow of fear pass over Sharon’s face.
Vanessa really didn’t want to look, since it would only make the fear in the pit of her own stomach all the worse, but, like a bad accident on the highway, she couldn’t not look.
Shanice Davis’ scrawny ass was decorated with six vivid welts, standing out even against her dark skin. The edges were raised and looked almost to be glowing with heat.
Shanice turned her head to look at her two fellow offenders, who were due twice as many strokes as she had received, and even more in Sharon’s case. “It hurts so much,” she told them, shaking her head in amazement that anything could be that painful.
Vanessa reached down and stroked the girl’s hair. “The doctor said to rest,” she told her.
No sooner had she and Sharon sat on their cots, then the door to the Punishment Room opened and Vanessa’s heart skipped a beat. Which one of them would be next?
twonines
LIMERICUS
More great work, Windar, the contrast between the three women makes it even more interesting, and the thought that tough girl Sharon is soon to discover that she isn`t as tough as she thinks, is an eagerly anticipated bonus. We also can ponder on how Vanessa is going to cope with her dozen having now seen the effect of Shanice`s six close up.
twonines
LIMERICUS
The short answer is painfully and gritting her teeth. At least she only has Priya and not Alison Miller to contend with when she`s taken off the frame.
windar
Teller of Tales
I suppose one could consider the drive home as part of the punishment
What a superb chapter, tension and release!
Hopefully she thought to bring a cushion? I’ve had experience driving after canings, it’s possible but yes it does smart a bit!
Switchsrap
Spectator
Great story so far. She should be held in a cell nude until morning. Maybe several visitors.
windar
Teller of Tales
Chapter 6
Vanessa couldn’t even have begun to say why it mattered whether she or Sharon was taken into the Punishment Room next. After all, she was going to receive the full measure of her court-ordered punishment regardless. But she couldn’t help hoping for a little more time to come to terms with the ordeal that lay ahead.
Her prayers were answered when the guards went over to her fellow offender and Sgt. Miller ordered, “Let’s go, Wilson! And let me warn you, any trouble in there and you’ll regret it.”
Sharon stood, the look on her face no longer quite so defiant. In fact she looked resigned to the inevitability of her suffering, cowed by having seen the results of the caning engraved on Shanice’s ass and the extra strokes she had already earned. The guards marched her through the door to her fate, leaving Vanessa and Shanice alone with the third guard who stood impassively at the back of the room.
Vanessa heard sobbing coming from the young Black girl lying on her cot. Vanessa went over and knelt on the floor beside her head. “It’s OK, Shanice,” she counselled, “You’re done. You’ve paid your debt to society. No more lashes for you.”
The girl looked at her. “Look, I know you’re trying to be nice, but someone like you just can’t understand. I’m sure you have a good job and a house and maybe a husband or whatever. You made one dumb mistake, and next time you’ll call for a ride.”
“But me, I got nothing except what I can hustle for. So, I’ll be careful, but you can’t always tell who’s a cop and I know I’m gonna end up back here sooner or later.”
Vanessa considered this. She knew there were lots of resources that she could put Shanice in touch with that might help her, but here she wasn’t Judge Vanessa Porter, she was Cynthia Johnson, who didn’t even exist.
She stroked the girl’s head again, and said, “I’m sorry, Shanice.”
“So am I,” the girl replied and started crying again.
While Vanessa and Shanice had been talking, the guards had obviously secured Sharon to the frame, because they heard Sgt. Miller’s announcement of “Stroke One!” and then, a few seconds later the sound of the rattan connecting with Sharon’s flesh.
Shanice shook her head. “I don’t know how that girl is going to take twelve. I thought six was gonna kill me.”
Vanessa was going to point out that Sharon was getting sixteen because her foolish rebellious behavior had earned her four extra, but she let it go unsaid. After all, she was due twelve herself and wasn’t at all sure that she would be able to bear it.
Of course, they couldn’t really tell how Sharon was bearing up under her punishment, since they could only hear the strokes striking home. At least on the first three strokes, Sharon wasn’t making noises loud enough to carry through the closed door.
But, on the fourth, Vanessa heard a loud, “Fuck!” That gave her a mark to strive for when she faced her own ordeal. Could she hold out as long as Wilson had?
The next few strokes drew a variety of imprecations from the poor sufferer. After that, up to the count of twelve, there were only wordless howls. Now, the girl’s court ordered punishment had been administered. However, there were still the four penalty strokes to come.
Vanessa could only imagine the psychological effect of having arrived expecting twelve lashes and ending up with sixteen. Wilson took them in silence, at least so far as Vanessa could hear, probably too exhausted to protest her fate.
When they brought Sharon in, Vanessa could see that the brutal punishment had taken a toll. Her eyes were vacant, her hair bedraggled and plastered against her forehead. She looked defeated, the fighting spirit that she had shown on her arrival, gone. As the song went, she had fought the law and the law had won.
And when they laid her down on the cot, Vanessa was shocked by the sight. As bad as Shanice’s hindquarters had looked, Sharon’s were much worse. Despite her much larger target area, the sixteen strokes had covered the fleshy globes fully. The individual cane marks had merged into one bruised and inflamed mass. A welling of blood and fluid was visible on the most abraded areas.
Although the guards held her down as the doctor worked on her, that seemed almost unnecessary, since she was too exhausted to struggle much. She lay there whimpering softly as the doctor cleaned and dressed her wounds.
After the guards and doctor had gone back into the Punishment Room, Vanessa thought about comforting Sharon, but decided the girl would prefer being left alone. At least, she thought, Sharon Wilson was probably the type of offender for whom corporal punishment was most appropriate. Unlike, Shanice, who seemed to have little choice but to sell her body to survive, Sharon didn’t have to pick fights or respond to imagined provocations, just as Cynthia Johnson could have called for a ride.
There was at least a decent chance, Vanessa thought, that Wilson would not find herself back at this Center. She resolved that once her state brought in corporal punishment, she would try to apply it to the cases where it had the best chance of making a positive difference in the life of the offender.
That was when she heard the door open and saw the guards entering. She knew there was no one left but her. Without waiting to be ordered, she stood, ready, or doing her best to pretend to be ready to suffer her fate. She suspected that was the last chance she would have for the next little while to exercise her free will.
Vanessa couldn’t even have begun to say why it mattered whether she or Sharon was taken into the Punishment Room next. After all, she was going to receive the full measure of her court-ordered punishment regardless. But she couldn’t help hoping for a little more time to come to terms with the ordeal that lay ahead.
Her prayers were answered when the guards went over to her fellow offender and Sgt. Miller ordered, “Let’s go, Wilson! And let me warn you, any trouble in there and you’ll regret it.”
Sharon stood, the look on her face no longer quite so defiant. In fact she looked resigned to the inevitability of her suffering, cowed by having seen the results of the caning engraved on Shanice’s ass and the extra strokes she had already earned. The guards marched her through the door to her fate, leaving Vanessa and Shanice alone with the third guard who stood impassively at the back of the room.
Vanessa heard sobbing coming from the young Black girl lying on her cot. Vanessa went over and knelt on the floor beside her head. “It’s OK, Shanice,” she counselled, “You’re done. You’ve paid your debt to society. No more lashes for you.”
The girl looked at her. “Look, I know you’re trying to be nice, but someone like you just can’t understand. I’m sure you have a good job and a house and maybe a husband or whatever. You made one dumb mistake, and next time you’ll call for a ride.”
“But me, I got nothing except what I can hustle for. So, I’ll be careful, but you can’t always tell who’s a cop and I know I’m gonna end up back here sooner or later.”
Vanessa considered this. She knew there were lots of resources that she could put Shanice in touch with that might help her, but here she wasn’t Judge Vanessa Porter, she was Cynthia Johnson, who didn’t even exist.
She stroked the girl’s head again, and said, “I’m sorry, Shanice.”
“So am I,” the girl replied and started crying again.
While Vanessa and Shanice had been talking, the guards had obviously secured Sharon to the frame, because they heard Sgt. Miller’s announcement of “Stroke One!” and then, a few seconds later the sound of the rattan connecting with Sharon’s flesh.
Shanice shook her head. “I don’t know how that girl is going to take twelve. I thought six was gonna kill me.”
Vanessa was going to point out that Sharon was getting sixteen because her foolish rebellious behavior had earned her four extra, but she let it go unsaid. After all, she was due twelve herself and wasn’t at all sure that she would be able to bear it.
Of course, they couldn’t really tell how Sharon was bearing up under her punishment, since they could only hear the strokes striking home. At least on the first three strokes, Sharon wasn’t making noises loud enough to carry through the closed door.
But, on the fourth, Vanessa heard a loud, “Fuck!” That gave her a mark to strive for when she faced her own ordeal. Could she hold out as long as Wilson had?
The next few strokes drew a variety of imprecations from the poor sufferer. After that, up to the count of twelve, there were only wordless howls. Now, the girl’s court ordered punishment had been administered. However, there were still the four penalty strokes to come.
Vanessa could only imagine the psychological effect of having arrived expecting twelve lashes and ending up with sixteen. Wilson took them in silence, at least so far as Vanessa could hear, probably too exhausted to protest her fate.
When they brought Sharon in, Vanessa could see that the brutal punishment had taken a toll. Her eyes were vacant, her hair bedraggled and plastered against her forehead. She looked defeated, the fighting spirit that she had shown on her arrival, gone. As the song went, she had fought the law and the law had won.
And when they laid her down on the cot, Vanessa was shocked by the sight. As bad as Shanice’s hindquarters had looked, Sharon’s were much worse. Despite her much larger target area, the sixteen strokes had covered the fleshy globes fully. The individual cane marks had merged into one bruised and inflamed mass. A welling of blood and fluid was visible on the most abraded areas.
Although the guards held her down as the doctor worked on her, that seemed almost unnecessary, since she was too exhausted to struggle much. She lay there whimpering softly as the doctor cleaned and dressed her wounds.
After the guards and doctor had gone back into the Punishment Room, Vanessa thought about comforting Sharon, but decided the girl would prefer being left alone. At least, she thought, Sharon Wilson was probably the type of offender for whom corporal punishment was most appropriate. Unlike, Shanice, who seemed to have little choice but to sell her body to survive, Sharon didn’t have to pick fights or respond to imagined provocations, just as Cynthia Johnson could have called for a ride.
There was at least a decent chance, Vanessa thought, that Wilson would not find herself back at this Center. She resolved that once her state brought in corporal punishment, she would try to apply it to the cases where it had the best chance of making a positive difference in the life of the offender.
That was when she heard the door open and saw the guards entering. She knew there was no one left but her. Without waiting to be ordered, she stood, ready, or doing her best to pretend to be ready to suffer her fate. She suspected that was the last chance she would have for the next little while to exercise her free will.
windar
Teller of Tales
Gillian
Magistrate
Ha ha yes. I reminds me vividly of the hard wooden bench outside the headmasters study when I was at school (and I am old enough to have been there in the days when corporal punishment was allowed with parental consent- which my stepfather was happy to provide).
And the butterfly dance in my belly as I waited alone. And the feeling of helpless dread…. But tinged with a small flutter of - well - excitement…
twonines
LIMERICUS
Thirty years earlier, they didn`t need parental consent, they just dished it out, and it wasn`t just the boys. Several girls who were contemporary and attended Grammar Schools were frequently on the receiving end. I once had to withdraw from a Tennis tournament because my potential partner had eight livid welts some of which showed below her tennis outfit.