elephas
Senator
Very interesting. Can you give any excerpts from the books mentioned?
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Judicial Corporal Punishment Of Women: Stories And Novels
- Thread starter elephas
- Start date
Ennie10
Executioner
From Savage Eden by Constance Gluyas
Carolyn, an English Lady, is found guilty of manslaughter and theft. She is then stripped of her title, so she can be given a painful and humiliating punishment reserved for commoners. The former Lady, now reduced to the rank of a commoner, is sentenced to be stripped to the waist and whipped through the streets of London. Thousands of Londoners line up to see the former Lady Carolyn sing and dance barefoot and topless in the streets.
"Already, although the procession to advertise [Carolyn's] shame had started out from Newgate Prison a scant fifteen minutes ago, she was a pitiful sight. To make her humiliation the more complete, her bodice had been torn from her shoulders....The delicate skin of her wrists was rubbed raw from the thin leather thongs that boutn her to the tail of the cart. Her back was marked by a crisscross pattern of red lines that, as yet, oozed only small beds of blood, showing that the full savagery of her punishment had not yet begun. Drawn along by the slow-moving cart, she stumbled over the rough, raised cobbles, her bare feet cut and bleeding...
The lash whistled through the air and landing on her back, brought an explosion of pain. She stumbled, almost falling. Recovering, she clamped her lips together to stifle her scream...One man...his eyes fixed on the prisoner's bare breasts, exclaimed, 'well, jus' look t 'em tits of hers."
Carolyn, an English Lady, is found guilty of manslaughter and theft. She is then stripped of her title, so she can be given a painful and humiliating punishment reserved for commoners. The former Lady, now reduced to the rank of a commoner, is sentenced to be stripped to the waist and whipped through the streets of London. Thousands of Londoners line up to see the former Lady Carolyn sing and dance barefoot and topless in the streets.
"Already, although the procession to advertise [Carolyn's] shame had started out from Newgate Prison a scant fifteen minutes ago, she was a pitiful sight. To make her humiliation the more complete, her bodice had been torn from her shoulders....The delicate skin of her wrists was rubbed raw from the thin leather thongs that boutn her to the tail of the cart. Her back was marked by a crisscross pattern of red lines that, as yet, oozed only small beds of blood, showing that the full savagery of her punishment had not yet begun. Drawn along by the slow-moving cart, she stumbled over the rough, raised cobbles, her bare feet cut and bleeding...
The lash whistled through the air and landing on her back, brought an explosion of pain. She stumbled, almost falling. Recovering, she clamped her lips together to stifle her scream...One man...his eyes fixed on the prisoner's bare breasts, exclaimed, 'well, jus' look t 'em tits of hers."
nsur1
Governor
Thinking of German books, I just remembered "Die Wanderhure" (The Wandering Harlot) by Iny Lorentz. Although not a fetish, or even erotic, novel as such, it does have a very nice judicial flogging scene in it. The ebook is at Libgen.rs in German and in English, so I won't post it here. This is the flogging scene in English:
The day of Marie’s court appearance was also market day in Constance. Farmers from the surrounding area had been streaming into the city since early morning with their vegetables, poultry, lambs, and pigs. By late morning, most of their goods had sold, and the farmers began taking down their stalls. Suddenly the hectic activity stopped. Even the city residents who had been running anxiously from stand to stand as if time were running out grabbed hold of their fully packed shopping baskets and stared openmouthed at the old granary.
Three court bailiffs stood there with scepters decorated with ribbons as a sign of their office. The visitors in the marketplace crowded closer, asking one another what was going on, but no one had an answer. An offender’s punishment was usually announced days in advance by the town criers.
The spectators didn’t need to wait long, as another court bailiff appeared soon after and politely asked the spectators to make room for the venerable judge Honorius von Rottlingen and his retinue. A passage quickly opened through the growing crowd for the monks coming up the hill from the monastery to walk toward the pillory’s platform.
The judge, his bailiffs, and the secretary were met by expectant whispers and were followed by Counselor Rupert and his witnesses. Attracting the most attention, however, was Hunold who was pulling Marie along behind him like a calf on a rope. Two other men in the procession came several steps behind, barely capturing any notice. They were Mombert Flühi and Marie’s father, who was leaning heavily on his brother-in-law and continually shaking his head.
As the judge and his retinue took their seats, Hunold dragged Marie to the pillory, a pole with iron fittings that had been anchored deep in the ground to resist even the rage of strong men. Blackened with time, the wood had become as smooth as polished stone from the bodies of the condemned who had writhed in pain there. Hunold pushed Marie toward the pole, tied her hands over her head, and with a violent tug pulled her dress down and threw it aside. Marie froze in shame.
Hunold untied the rope behind Marie’s neck and ripped the gag out of her mouth. Then pulling a knife from his belt, he cut off her braids.
Marie turned her head to the side as much as she was able with her arms stretched over her head. “May God damn you to the darkest reaches of hell.”
Hunold smirked and made room for the court bailiff, who stepped up to the pole and began reading the judgment in an ostentatious tone. In the meantime, Mombert had leaned his half-conscious brother-in-law against a cart and made his way to the front row of spectators. He didn’t know what he thought he could do there. Didn’t anyone see that an appalling injustice was being committed? Why didn’t anyone intervene? The miracle he had hoped for did not happen.
The people around him didn’t know what to think of the whole matter. Some of them knew Marie and affirmed they had considered her a virtuous young woman, but most proclaimed loudly that she had duped them all, and their voices sounded malicious and complacent. A few levelheaded citizens inquired about the kaiser’s magistrate who was responsible for prosecution and punishment of crimes in Constance along with the city council, but they were informed that the magistrate had left town two days ago and was not expected back until the beginning of the following week.
The crowd quieted when a court bailiff handed Hunold three hazelnut branches. Marie clenched her teeth at the first blow. Again, the lash struck her back, and it felt like her body was in flames. The blows kept coming, and soon she could no longer think clearly, as every part of her body and soul was overcome with pain. Not even the torment of purgatory could be worse.
Finally, Hunold untied the ropes binding Marie to the post and watched as she sank to the ground. After a moment, he poured a nearby basin of cold water over her. Marie groaned and struggled to lift her head. “You are no longer human, Hunold. You are a monster.”
He laughed and turned away, leaving her to the two court bailiffs who would lead her out of the city. The men pulled her to her feet. While one of them held her, the other dressed her in a bright yellow robe that only reached her thighs. More of a sack than a garment, the cloth showed two grimacing faces that represented fornication and lust. Then the bailiffs beckoned to the servant holding their horses.
“Come, whore! Now we’re leaving town!” One of the bailiffs wrapped the end of a long rope around her tied hands and fastened the other end to a stirrup. Without giving her a second glance, he and his comrade leaped into their saddles and spurred their horses forward, Marie staggering along on foot behind them through a dense crowd of onlookers. As she passed through the Rhine Gate, the golden rooster perched on the cathedral ridge jeered a final farewell over the roofs of the old city.
I have to say, though, that the German original is considerably longer, and more explicit -- it looks to have been toned down for the English translation:
An dem Tag, an dem Marie vor Gericht stand, wurde in Konstanz Wochenmarkt abgehalten. Die Bauern aus der Umgebung waren früh am Morgen in die Stadt gekommen und boten Gemüse, Geflügel, Lämmer und Ferkel an. Am späten Vormittag, als der Großteil ihrer Waren verkauft war, begannen sie ihre Stände abzubauen und gaben das eine oder andere Stück billiger weg, um es nicht wieder mitnehmen zu müssen. Mit einem Mal stockte die hektische Betriebsamkeit. Selbst die Städterinnen, die eben noch nervös von Stand zu Stand gelaufen waren, als zerrinne ihnen die Zeit unter den Händen, umklammerten ihre voll gepackten Einkaufskörbe und starrten mit offenen Mündern zum Kornhaus.
Dort waren drei Gerichtsdiener mit umwickelten Stäben, den Zeichen ihres Amtes, erschienen und wiesen einige Bauern an, ihre Wagen beiseite zu schaffen, da sie den Zugang zum Schandpfahl versperrten. Die Marktbesucher drängten näher und fragten einander verwundert, was dort stattfinden sollte, aber niemand wusste darauf zu antworten. Normalerweise wurde die Bestrafung eines Delinquenten Tage vorher von Ausrufern bekannt gemacht und gab den Bürgern Gelegenheit, sich frühzeitig auf der Richtstätte oder hier auf dem Marktplatz einzufinden.
Die Zuschauer brauchten sich nicht lange zu gedulden, denn wenig später erschien ein weiterer Gerichtsdiener mit einem Bündel Ruten als Zeichen seiner Autorität und ersuchte die Umstehenden mit höflicher Stimme, dem ehrwürdigen Richter Honorius von Rottlingen und seinem Gefolge Platz zu machen. Schnell bildete sich in der anschwellenden Menschenmenge eine Gasse, die von der Plattform mit dem Schandpfahl bis zu dem Weg reichte, durch den die Mönche vom Inselkloster heraufkamen.
Erwartungsvolles Raunen begrüßte den Richter, seine Beisitzer und den Gerichtsschreiber. Den vier Mönchen folgte Magister Ruppertus mit seinen Zeugen. Die meiste Aufmerksamkeit aber lenkte Hunold auf sich, der Marie wie ein Kalb am Strick hinter sich herzog. Zwei anderen Männern, die ebenfalls noch zu dem Zug gehörten, aber um etliche Schritte zurückgefallen waren, schenkte kaum noch jemand Beachtung. Es waren Mombert Flühi und Maries Vater, der sich schwer auf seinen Schwager stützte und ununterbrochen den Kopf schüttelte.
Während der Richter und seine Begleiter auf den Bänken Platz nahmen, die die Gerichtsdiener für sie aufgestellt hatten, schleppte Hunold Marie zum Schandpfahl, einem eisenbeschlagenen Baumstamm, der so tief im Boden verankert worden war, dass er selbst dem Toben kräftiger Männer widerstehen konnte. Sein Holz war im Lauf der Zeit schwarz geworden von den Leibern der Verurteilen, die sich in ihrem Schmerz daran gewunden hatten, und so glatt wie polierter Stein. Hunold ließ den Anblick einen Augenblick auf Marie wirken, dann stieß er sie gegen den Pfahl und band ihre Hände hoch über ihrem Kopf fest, so dass nur noch ihre Zehen den Boden berührten. Mit einem Ruck riss er ihr den Kittel herunter und warf ihn beiseite.
Marie wurde starr vor Scham, als sie sich nackt den Blicken der Menge ausgesetzt sah.
Hunold schien immer noch nicht zufrieden zu sein, denn er legte sein Kinn auf ihre Schulter und sprach so leise, dass nur sie seine Worte verstand. »Ich mag es, wenn die Weiber schreien, wenn ich sie auspeitsche. Deswegen nehme ich dir jetzt den Knebel ab.«
Er löste das Band in Maries Nacken und riss ihr den Stab aus dem Mund. Dann zog er das Messer aus seinem Gürtel, schnitt ihre Zöpfe ab und steckte sie unter sein Hemd.
Marie drehte den Kopf zur Seite, so gut sie es mit den überstreckten Armen vermochte. »Gott verdamme dich in die tiefste Hölle.«
Hunold lachte nur und trat zurück, um dem Gerichtsschreiber Platz zu machen. Dieser stellte sich mit gewichtiger Miene neben dem Pfahl auf und verlas auf einen Wink des Richters das Urteil. Inzwischen hatte Mombert seinen halb bewusstlosen Schwager an einen Karren gelehnt und war bis in die erste Reihe der Zuschauer vorgedrungen. Was er dort suchte, wusste er nicht. Sah denn niemand, dass hier himmelschreiendes Unrecht geschah? Warum schritt keiner ein? Aber niemand hörte seine stummen Fragen, und das Wunder, auf das er hoffte, blieb aus.
Die Leute um ihn herum waren sich nicht einig, was sie von dem Ganzen halten sollten. Viele kannten Marie und versicherten einander, dass sie das Mädchen für eine tugendsame Jungfrau gehalten hatten. Doch die meisten äußerten lautstark die Überzeugung, dass ihre Nachbarn auf eine verworfene Heuchlerin hereingefallen sein mussten, und ihre Stimmen klangen schadenfroh und selbstzufrieden.
Besonnenere Mitbürger fragten nach dem kaiserlichen Stadtvogt, der zusammen mit dem Rat der Stadt für die Verfolgung und Bestrafung von Verbrechen in Konstanz zuständig war. Andere belehrten sie, dass der Vogt die Stadt vor zwei Tagen verlassen hatte und nicht vor Anfang der nächsten Woche zurückkehren würde.
Die teilweise heftigen Wortwechsel verstummten, als ein Gerichtsdiener Hunold drei Haselnussruten reichte. Die Stäbe hatten einige Tage im Wasser gelegen, um elastischer zu werden. Hunold zog die Stirn kraus. Er hätte gern stärkere Äste verwendet. Honorius von Rottlingen achtete jedoch streng darauf, dass Frauen mit Ruten gestrichen wurden, die nicht dicker waren als sein Daumen, und zu Hunolds Ärger besaß der Richter recht zierliche Finger.
Der Büttel schnaubte verächtlich und schwor sich, dass Marie trotzdem jeden Hieb bis auf die Knochen spüren würde. Er nahm die kräftigste Rute und schlug ein paarmal damit durch die Luft, so dass es pfiff. Dann wählte er den richtigen Abstand zu Maries Rücken und tippte ihn kurz an. Voller Vorfreude nahm er wahr, wie sich ihre Muskeln vor Angst verkrampften. Mit zufriedener Miene drehte er sich zum Richter um und blickte ihn auffordernd an. Als Pater Honorius den Daumen senkte, holte er aus und schlug zu.
Marie biss die Zähne zusammen, als die Rute ihren Rücken versengte. Wie durch dichten Nebel hörte sie den Gerichtsschreiber »eins« zählen. Erneut klatschte die Rute auf ihren Rücken. Diesmal war es so schlimm, dass sie glaubte, ihr Rückgrat breche unter der Wucht. Ihr Körper schien in Flammen zu stehen, und sie verfluchte ihre Sturheit, die sie gehindert hatte, den Weg ins Kloster zu wählen. Bald konnte sie keinen klaren Gedanken mehr fassen, denn jeder Winkel ihres Seins wurde von Schmerzen durchflutet. Schlimmer konnten selbst die Qualen des Fegefeuers nicht sein.
Marie hatte Hunold nicht den Triumph gönnen wollen, sie jammern zu hören. Doch schon beim fünften Hieb hatte ihr Wille keine Macht mehr über ihr Fleisch. Eine rote Woge überflutete sie und drohte sie zu ersticken. Sie riss den Mund weit auf, um nach Luft zu schnappen, und hörte sich im selben Moment schreien. Zuerst stieß sie ihre Qual nach jedem einzelnen Hieb hinaus, doch irgendwann brach ein schier nicht enden wollender Ton aus ihrer Kehle, der nichts Menschliches mehr an sich hatte. Bis zum zwanzigsten Hieb hörte Marie den Schreiber mitzählen, dann nahmen ihre Sinne nichts anderes mehr wahr als Schmerz.
Hunold genoss den Anblick des zuckenden, sich windenden Frauenkörpers, dessen Rücken sich mehr und mehr rot färbte, und als er das Aufklatschen des dreißigsten Hiebs vernahm, spürte er ein erlösendes Ziehen in seiner Lendengegend, das einen Herzschlag später seine Hose nässte. Mehr Befriedigung hätte er selbst dann nicht erlangt, wenn er das Mädchen noch einmal vergewaltigt hätte. Wohlgefällig betrachtete er das blutige Muster, das sich in die bis auf die Muskeln zerfetzte Haut auf Maries Rücken eingegraben hatte und sich wie ein Schachbrett von den Schultern bis zu den Hinterbacken zog.
Seine Hand griff unwillkürlich zu dem wohlgefüllten Geldbeutel an seinem Gürtel. Die dreißig Pfennige, die er für die Auspeitschung bekommen würde, waren ein Bettel, verglichen mit der Summe, die er von dem Advokaten für seine Dienste erhalten hatte. Doch das Geld würde ihm nicht halb so viel Vergnügen bereiten können, wie die kleine Schärerin es ihm verschafft hatte. Mit sich und der Welt zufrieden drehte er sich um und meldete dem Richter den Vollzug der Strafe.
»Ist die Hure noch am Leben?« Pater Honorius’ Stimme klang bei dieser Frage so unbeteiligt, als fragte er den Küster von Sankt Stephan nach der Tageszeit.
Hunold löste die Stricke, die Marie an den Pfahl gefesselt hielten, und sah zu, wie sie in sich zusammenfiel und zu Boden rutschte. Einen Moment blickte er auf sie herab, dann leerte er ein Schaff mit kaltem Wasser über ihr aus, das eigens für den Zweck bereitgestellt worden war, und stieß ihr mit dem Fuß in die Rippen.
Marie stöhnte auf und hob mühsam den Kopf. »Du bist kein Mensch mehr, Hunold, sondern ein Dämon.«
Der Büttel lachte dröhnend. »Ich hätte dich auch totschlagen können, Hure. Also danke mir lieber, dass du noch lebst.«
Er wandte sich ab und überließ Marie den beiden Gerichtsdienern, die sie aus der Stadt schaffen sollten. Die Männer stellten sie auf die Beine. Während der eine sie festhielt, löste ihr der andere die Fesseln und streifte ihr einen Schandkittel über, der ihren Körper gerade nur bis zu ihren Oberschenkeln bedeckte und eher einem Sack als einem Kleidungsstück glich. Das Hemd war von grellgelber Farbe und zeigte vorne und hinten zwei verzerrte Dämonengesichter, welche die Unzucht und die Wollust darstellten. Die Männer fesselten Marie wieder und drehten sie um ihre Achse, so dass die Zuschauer sie noch einmal betrachten konnten. Dann winkten sie dem Knecht, der ihre Pferde hielt.
»Komm, Hure, jetzt geht es zur Stadt hinaus!« Ehe Marie begriff, was der Gerichtsdiener damit meinte, schlang der Mann das Ende eines langen Seils um ihre vor dem Leib zusammengebundenen Hände und befestigte das andere Ende an einem Steigbügel. Ohne ihr noch einen weiteren Blick zu gönnen, schwangen er und sein Kamerad sich in die Sättel und trieben die Pferde an.
Da Marie die Beine nicht gehorchen wollten, wurde sie zu Boden gerissen und ein Stück über das Kopfsteinpflaster geschleift. Eine mitleidige Seele hob sie auf und gab ihr einen kleinen Schubs, der sie hinter den Reitern hertaumeln ließ. Ein dichtes Spalier von Menschen säumte den Weg, der sie am großen Spital und dem welschen Kaufhaus vorbei die Ufergasse hinabführte, die am Rheintor endete. Von dort aus würde es über die Brücke nach Petershausen weitergehen und dann ins freie Land hinaus.
Marie fühlte sich wieder wie in einem Albtraum gefangen. Ihr Körper vibrierte mit jeder Faser, doch im Augenblick schien ein gütiger Engel ihr den Schmerz genommen zu haben. Vor ihren Augen tanzten vielfarbene Flecken, die die Gesichter der Menschen um sie herum gnädig vor ihr verbargen. Dafür tauchte manch anderes mit erbarmungsloser Klarheit vor ihr auf, wie der vergoldete Hahn, der über dem Chorfirst des Münsters thronte und ihr über die Dächer hinweg einen höhnischen Abschiedsgruß zuzurufen schien.
For comparison, here is the scene as adapted for German TV. No nudity, and she's kneeling rather than standing stretched on her tiptoes (@Jon Smithie and I had a recent exchange on that topic):
elephas
Senator
"The Punishment of Belle Sauvage" by M. Lyttleton (Richard Manton)
Charleston, South Carolina, times of slavery. Colonel Ashbee, a plantation owner and member of Charleston high society, maintains discipline among his female slaves with severe punishment. He sends the most guilty girls for formal punishment to a whipping house ...
A related Manton's novel on this topic is "Fancy Girl" ("Miss Jolly").
Another book on corporal punishment in the United States during the time of slavery: Jean de Virgans. Corrections féminines. Souvenirs d'un médecin français. Paris, 1908.
Events also take place in South Carolina, in the mid-19th century. The main character is a young French doctor employed by the owner of a whipping house.
Charleston, South Carolina, times of slavery. Colonel Ashbee, a plantation owner and member of Charleston high society, maintains discipline among his female slaves with severe punishment. He sends the most guilty girls for formal punishment to a whipping house ...
A related Manton's novel on this topic is "Fancy Girl" ("Miss Jolly").
Another book on corporal punishment in the United States during the time of slavery: Jean de Virgans. Corrections féminines. Souvenirs d'un médecin français. Paris, 1908.
Events also take place in South Carolina, in the mid-19th century. The main character is a young French doctor employed by the owner of a whipping house.
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Quite interesting... is there historical data on such whipping houses, or were they phantoms of author's fantasies?
elephas
Senator
This issue requires special study. Perhaps our American members could shed some light. The fact that at least two authors from different countries wrote about "whipping houses" most likely indicates some kind of historical data.
I also had ideas for such places in my modern setting. So the possible existence of historical ones is quite intriguing.
windar
Teller of Tales
There was one in Charleston, South Carolina https://www.charlestonchronicle.net...-house-a-slave-torture-chamber-in-charleston/
nsur1
Governor
I won't do a full translation of the German original to compensate for the unsatisfactory nature of the published English version, but this short paragraph may give a flavour of what is missing (NB: Hunold, the beadle who is whipping Marie, had raped her the previous night, taking her virginity):
Hunold enjoyed the sight of the writhing, twitching female body, whose back was stained more and more in red, and as he heard the impact of the thirtieth lash, he felt the pull of release in his groin, which a heartbeat later soaked into his trousers. He wouldn't have got more satisfaction even if he had raped the girl once more. Approvingly, he took in the sight of the bloody pattern which was carved down to the muscle into the torn skin on Marie's back and stretched like a chessboard from the shoulders down to the buttocks.
Thanks! Interesting that it seems to have had some sort of sanctuary function.
Ennie10
Executioner
Lady Good-For Nothing also provides a good description of a cart-tail whipping. A young girl who, as the daughter of one of the founding families of her colonial Massachusetts town has enjoyed a life of privilege, commits a petty crime and is sentenced to be whipped at the cart's tail and then locked in the stocks for five hours. She is horrified to find out that although she is from one of the town's leading families, she will be punished as a commoner and suffer the same painful and degrading punishment meted out to any other common miscreant--after all, the law applies to everyone. So she is stripped to the waist and must bend under the lash as she is paraded through the town before an excited crowd of adults and children. Then she must endure five hours in the stocks wearing a sleeveless top made of coarse material that irritates her stripes. Following her punishment, her family berates her for the disgrace of having been "paraded naked through the streets" as the lowest and commonest of criminals.
Harsh Martinet
Consul
Sounds like she might have been a forum member 
elephas
Senator
The Whipping Post
by Alex Birch
They came for her at daybreak, the four men who banged on her mother's cottage door before barging past the shocked woman and into the bedroom where the young girl lay sleeping, attired only in her nightgown. Terrified, she was dragged from her bed and not even allowed to dress before being pulled out into the street and down the cobbled stones toward the village green. Weeping, she had demanded reasons for the outrage and told she was to be punished as an adherent of the new religion. She protested, sobbing, but was told that were it not for her tender years she would have stood trial for heresy.
As the girl was dragged down the street, she could see as they neared the green that all the villagers were assembled, her neighbours, all the traders, girls from her sewing class and she knew it meant abject humiliation. Her eyes fixed on the whipping post which had been hastily assembled and the bucket containing two birches soaked in brine then she screamed in terror. She was manhandled onto the green and her wrists secured firmly to the post. The village blacksmith, grinning, walked behind her and with one wrench tore her nightdress to her waist. She was a modest, shy girl and the exposure of her firm young breasts to the grinning locals was more than she could bear.
Her protests were to no avail and he finished the job, ripping the remnants of her nightdress away as she wept hysterically, hugging her thighs together and into the post, desperate to hide her auburn pussy curls from the leering crowd. She felt the cold air on her bare bottom and turned her head desperately, only to see the blacksmith walk toward her armed with a birch rod. He raised his powerful arm and she turned her head away only to scream in anguish as the birch whipped into her bottom. The excruciating whipping continued apace as the crowd jeered and the heat flooded through her arse and genitals. She closed her eyes as red heat flooded her cunt, suddenly ashamed as her hips began to undulate in time with the birching, the sexual arousal building as the birch did its work. The crowd noticed the change and men began to snigger as her cries changed to moans of delight, her thighs parting, showing them everything now before.
..'Jenny, wake up, you've overslept again' her mother's voice broke her dream and as the sleeping girl came to life, her mother noticed the historical novel still lying on the coverlet. 'Filling your head with this rubbish .' she said without rancour '.then you can't wake. Jenny sometimes I think you need your bottom smacked, old as you are!'
To her mother's consternation, Jenny grinned and sat up in bed then put her arms lovingly round her mother's neck.
'Go on then, mom, I dare you. I might enjoy it!' she whispered.
by Alex Birch
They came for her at daybreak, the four men who banged on her mother's cottage door before barging past the shocked woman and into the bedroom where the young girl lay sleeping, attired only in her nightgown. Terrified, she was dragged from her bed and not even allowed to dress before being pulled out into the street and down the cobbled stones toward the village green. Weeping, she had demanded reasons for the outrage and told she was to be punished as an adherent of the new religion. She protested, sobbing, but was told that were it not for her tender years she would have stood trial for heresy.
As the girl was dragged down the street, she could see as they neared the green that all the villagers were assembled, her neighbours, all the traders, girls from her sewing class and she knew it meant abject humiliation. Her eyes fixed on the whipping post which had been hastily assembled and the bucket containing two birches soaked in brine then she screamed in terror. She was manhandled onto the green and her wrists secured firmly to the post. The village blacksmith, grinning, walked behind her and with one wrench tore her nightdress to her waist. She was a modest, shy girl and the exposure of her firm young breasts to the grinning locals was more than she could bear.
Her protests were to no avail and he finished the job, ripping the remnants of her nightdress away as she wept hysterically, hugging her thighs together and into the post, desperate to hide her auburn pussy curls from the leering crowd. She felt the cold air on her bare bottom and turned her head desperately, only to see the blacksmith walk toward her armed with a birch rod. He raised his powerful arm and she turned her head away only to scream in anguish as the birch whipped into her bottom. The excruciating whipping continued apace as the crowd jeered and the heat flooded through her arse and genitals. She closed her eyes as red heat flooded her cunt, suddenly ashamed as her hips began to undulate in time with the birching, the sexual arousal building as the birch did its work. The crowd noticed the change and men began to snigger as her cries changed to moans of delight, her thighs parting, showing them everything now before.
..'Jenny, wake up, you've overslept again' her mother's voice broke her dream and as the sleeping girl came to life, her mother noticed the historical novel still lying on the coverlet. 'Filling your head with this rubbish .' she said without rancour '.then you can't wake. Jenny sometimes I think you need your bottom smacked, old as you are!'
To her mother's consternation, Jenny grinned and sat up in bed then put her arms lovingly round her mother's neck.
'Go on then, mom, I dare you. I might enjoy it!' she whispered.
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Hah - that's a good one!
tomd01
Condemned
Is it possible that you have a connection for Corrections feminines also? Thanks.
elephas
Senator
Jean de Virgans. Corrections féminines. Souvenirs d'un médecin français. La Flagellation des esclaves aux États-Unis. Paris: Librairie du Temple, 1908.
tomd01
Condemned
thanks again!
elephas
Senator
I have long wanted to read this rare book, but it was not online. Someone was selling the paper version for $ 1000! I recently found out that "Shades Of Singapore" has appeared on the net.
BM-146 Shades Of Singapore by Angus Balfour (EB) | Triple X Books - The Best Adult XXX E-Books
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