KATIE
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Katie free porn video
Katie
Katie and Jeff were, at last, airborne from their
intermediate stop at Cairo, squeezed into "el cheapo" seats
on a foreign airline that made BA, "Bloody Awful", seem
like luxury in comparison. Katie was glad she took so little
into the cabin with her, just her handbag, with her passport,
ticket, purse, lipstick and cigarettes. Of course, there was
no smoking allowed. She was dressed for comfort in the
tropics, casual slip-on shoes, socks, not nylons, a
lightweight cotton dress, light green, to compliment her
russet hair, and a "sports bra", a simple, knitted thing, that
she could wear for hours and hours without it binding or
leaving strap marks. When flying coffin class, looks don't
count.
Somewhere over central Africa, the captain came
on the speakers, first in French, then Arabic, then English.
Jeff went stiff before Katie understood the message. There
were reports of a bomb on board, and they would have to
make an unscheduled emergency landing. Twenty white-
knuckle minutes later, they were on the ground near some
awful African town with an unpronounceable name. The
emergency slides were deployed, and the passengers slid
down, to stand on the tarmac. It wasn't easy to get
information, but no, they could not get their baggage. The
airplane would stand there, to see if it blew up, and if it
didn't, every bag must be searched. Yes, arrangements
were being made to put them up at a hotel. A bus was
being found, which would shuttle them to town.
It was hours later that they checked into the Prince
Edward Hotel, which might once have been grand but
which looked as if it hadn't been cleaned or repaired since
Prince Edward died, roughly a hundred years ago. It was
also not really adequate for a whole plane load of
passengers. Jeff and Katie would have to share a narrow
bed in a tiny room with a bath down the hall. The sun had
not yet gone down, so the temperature was still a few
degrees above body temperature, and, of course, Prince
Edward had never heard of air conditioning. The dining
room, it seemed, would not be open until dark, so Jeff and
Katie went out for a stroll. The humidity was oppressive,
and Katie's panties were drenched with sweat, clinging and
riding up between her legs. "Jeff," she said, "we have to
find a shop where I can buy a hat and some sun screen, and
maybe some clean underwear. If we have to stay here long,
I'll be a mass of freckles. You know redheads don't tan
properly." Jeff, ever amiable agreed. After all those years
of marriage, he knew it was pointless to disagree. Secretly,
he wished that Katie would be a little less the strong,
independent businesswoman and more the traditional
British bride, whose primary desire is to serve her master.
Well, at 46, she wasn't going to change.
They found street of shops, noisy and confusing,
and Katie finally found a stall with a big, floppy hat, just
the thing to keep the sun off. "How much?" she asked the
shop keeper. He clearly didn't speak English. She tried
again to communicate, but it seemed hopeless.
Jeff said, "Look, just hand him a bill and hope he
gives you the correct change."
Katie took out her purse and selected a ten pound
note. She held the hat in one hand and handed the note to
the shopkeeper with the other.
The shopkeeper looked at it and said, "British
pound sterling?"
"Yes, yes," replied Katie, with appropriate nods and
gestures. The man squatted down and rummaged under the
counter, coming up with a huge wad of the local currency,
which he handed to Katie with a wide grin and happy-
sounding noises. She put the hat on her head and held the
wad of bills in her hand.
"So, how much did he charge you?"
"Haven't a clue."
"How much did you get in change?"
"Haven't a clue. For all I know this could be toilet
paper. But even if it cost me ten pounds, I'm glad to have
the hat. Now, let's look for a chemist or a lingerie shop."
At the corner was a uniformed policeman. He
looked at Katie, at her wad of local currency, and asked,
"Excuse me, madame, but where did you get that money?"
"A shopkeeper, down that way, gave it to me in
change." She gestured toward the shop.
"And how much did you give him?"
"Ten pounds."
"And how much did he give you?"
"I don't know." she fanned out some of the bills
and held them so the policeman could see.
"I'm afraid, madame, that you will have to come with me."
"Why?"
"Illegal exchange of currency."
"It can't be all the serious. Here, you take the
money and let us go." He was not dissuaded, though he did
take the money and her passport. He led them to a tiny
police station and spoke to the sergeant in charge in the
native language. The sergeant gestured and spoke rather
loudly, pointing at a squalid jail cell with bars and a hole in
the floor for a toilet.
"Madame, you will have to spend the night in jail,
and tomorrow you will meet the magistrate. Your husband
is free to go."
"No, no! That can't be. I won't run away. We're
staying at the Prince Edward Hotel, just down the street.
Can't you release us, and I'll come back tomorrow?"
After some discussion with the sergeant, the
policeman said. "All right. Be at the Central Court at ten
o'clock, sharp. We must keep your passport,"
"Yes, of course. Where is the Central Court?" The
policeman showed her on a map. It wasn't far from the
hotel. "And what will I be charged with?"
"Black market currency trading and attempting to
bribe an officer. You would be advised to plead guilty."
"Oh, and if I don't plead guilty?"
"You will be remanded for trial, kept in jail until
your court date. I expect they will keep you maybe ninety,
a hundred days, and then you will be convicted and given a
more serious sentence, because you are not contrite."
"Oh, then, I give you my word I'll be there at ten,
ready to plead guilty. Ah, what is the sentence likely to
be?"
"For a first time offender, probably corporal
punishment, the cane."
"The cane? You beat criminals in this forsaken
country?"
"You bet, madame. Very low recidivism rate."
That night, at the hotel, was hellish. They bolted
the door of the little room and stripped off everything, as
they had no night clothes, and they were dripping with
sweat, even after sundown. Jeff tried to cheer up Katie by
being extra affectionate, trying to make love, but Katie
could not be consoled. All she could think of was the
punishment she might receive. She had seen pictures of a
man being caned in Singapore, she thought it was. He had
been trussed up on a sort of triangular frame, while an
athletic looking chap beat his arse with a six foot cane!
She didn't get much sleep, especially as Jeff took up two
thirds of the narrow bed. She would have fled, if she could
have, but the plane was not ready, and there was no where
to flee to.
They had asked at the hotel for a lawyer, but the
best they could get was a young woman, an interpreter, not
a lawyer. The three of them were at the Central Court
Building at 9:30 and before the magistrate precisely at
10:00. The interpreter was impressed. She had expected
they might have had to wait for hours, even days.
The arresting officer was there, and he spoke to the
magistrate earnestly for several minutes. The magistrate,
already perspiring in his black robe and white wig, so
strange on a native, took it all in. He spoke to the
interpreter in the local lingo, and she replied in kind. The
judge said one short burst of words.
"What did he say?" asked Katie.
"He says that, since you plead guilty, sentence can
be carried out immediately." Katie almost fainted. She had
not yet come to grips with the idea of being caned.
"And what is the sentence?"
"Very light. Practically nothing. A dozen strokes,
on the bare, below the waist."
Katie might have collapsed, except that two burly
bailiffs took her by the arms and half carried her down the
corridor from the courtroom. Jeff tagged along behind.
Katie was taken into room at the end of the hall, but the
interpreter told Jeff he must remain outside.
A uniformed woman policeman stood impassively
beside a large wooden table, eight or nine feet long. She
spoke to the interpreter, who translated for Katie. "She
wants you to take off your dress. Don't worry, I'll stay
here with you." Katie pulled her dress up and off over her
head. The interpreter hung it on a peg. "She says now you
must take off your panties." Katie slipped the damp
panties down her long legs and off over her shoes. She was
taller than most of the locals. The uniformed woman
approached Katie and buckled leather straps, cuffs, on her
wrists and then on her ankles, over the knee socks. There
were chains attached to the cuffs. She motioned to the
table. Katie didn't quite understand what was required.
She had quite enough coping with being practically naked
in front of strangers, even if they were women. The young
translator explained what to do. Katie had to climb on the
table and lie on her front, arse uppermost. In the middle of
the table was a wooden post, approximately a cube of
wood, perhaps ten centimeters on a side, which stood up
between Katie's necessarily parted thighs. The police
woman pulled on the ankle chains, dragging Katie across
the table until the wooden cube was pressed up against the
curly red hairs between Katie's legs, mashing her labia and
digging into the flesh of her thighs on either side. The
chains fit into slots at the corners of the table, to hold them
taut and keep Katie's limbs spread in a vee. The chains
from her wrists went to the other corners, holding her down
tightly, with her full breasts pressed flat against the table,
stretching her bra out of shape..
"The wooden post was introduced when male
prisoners complained that the cane damaged their testicles.
It is for your protection, so the cane cannot strike your
private parts." The policewoman put a leather strap across
Katie's back. "To assure that the strokes hit below the
waist, avoiding possible damage to the spine or kidneys."
Katie, stretched taut, as on a medieval rack, wondered what
sort of weapon might break her spine. The policewoman
went to the door and let in a man in a suit, some sort of
official witness, Katie supposed, incongruous in a suit in
the tropics. A second man entered, carrying a cane, narrow
but long and gleaming wet. The man, in shorts and a short
sleeved shirt, looked like a weight lifter, about six and a
half feet tall and bulging with muscles, maybe 250 or 300
pounds of him. His head was shaved and looked like an
eggplant, gleaming black in the sun which streamed in
from open windows high on the walls. Katie could hear
noises form the street, and conversations from the hallway,
so surely passers by could hear her screams, if she did not
control herself. When he saw Katie, the executioner made
a noise like a suppressed laugh and spoke in a deep voice,
like James Earl Jones. The interpreted told Katie: "he says
he sometimes gets women, but never a white woman of
such charms, mature and curvy, with such nice, soft, full
arse cheeks. He says he will enjoy his work." Katie
shivered at that. Stretched out as she was, she could do no
more than shiver. The man in the suit said something, and
the big man swished his cane through the air. Then,
suddenly, it fell right across Katie's upthrust buttocks.
Jeff, in the hall outside, could hear everything, for
the walls were mostly louvers, to let the air through, and
the sound came through, too. He heard the translator's
explanations, and imagined his wife, stretched out on the
table with a wooden post pressing her vulva. He heard the
swish of the cane, heard the crack as it met soft flesh, heard
the scream as Katie reacted, heard a monosyllable from the
suit, and the translator saying, "One." He nearly wept, at
the idea of Katie suffering, but his imagination pictured her
quivering arse, and his own penis stirred. It seemed half a
minute before Katie stopped blubbering, then there was the
"swung-splat!" of the cane and another torrent of
incoherent screams and sobs. The translator said, "Two."
By the fourth stroke, Jeff had a problem with his
penis trying to climb behind his belt. It had been years
since it felt so stiff and insistent. The translator said,
"Madame, you must control yourself, or it will take all
morning." Katie must have bit her lip or something, for the
next swish-splat elicited only a brief yelp of pain, and it
was not until the twelfth blow that Katie again dissolved
into squeals and sobs. Jeff pressed on his penis, willing it
to go down, but that, of course, wouldn't help.
Even before Katie stopped sobbing, the executioner
left the room, and Jeff got a quick glimpse of his wife's
white arse, striped with parallel bright red welts in a neat
horizontal array from the tops of her thighs to the top of her
arse crack. Then the door closed. It seemed several
minutes before Katie and the interpreter and the man in the
suit came out into the hall. Jeff went to Katie and put his
arm around her, thankful that his erection had subsided.
Katie sobbed into his shoulder, "The beast took my panties
as a souvenir."
The interpret said softly, "You are better off
without them. You will want to lie on your bed at the
hotel, naked, with nothing touching your sore bottom until
you recover from the caning. If you like, you can give me
some money and I can get it changed legally, at the official
rate. You will only have about a third as much as the
shopkeeper would have given you, but it will spare your
bottom. Perhaps I can buy you some soothing lotion, and,
if you insist on wearing panties, I can get you the thong
type, which will not press on your bruises." Jeff gave her
some pounds and said he would appreciate her help in that
respect.
Back at the hotel, Katie lay on the bed, totally
naked, still smarting from the judicial punishment. Jeff
wanted to comfort her, but she wouldn't let him touch her,
and he was forced to sit there, only two feet from his naked
wife, staring at her plump, garish bottom. He could see the
wisps of reddish pubic hair peeping out between her thighs,
each of which sported a bright red track where the cane had
fallen. He could see the swell of her breasts, on the bed
sheet, there below her arm pits. He lusted for his wife,
whom he hadn't seen naked in daylight for years, as best he
could remember, and he wondered if, when they got back
to Merrie ol' England, he would ever again see her naked
in the sunlight. He rather hoped he might. "Jeff," she said,
her face still stained with tears, "I'm sorry this happened. I
love you."
Madison
- 25.10.2020
- 36
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