Sentence: Fifty Strokes Of The Cane free porn video

SENTENCE: FIFTY STROKES OF THE CANE

By Alex

Tracy Holmes stood paralyzed in the prisoner's dock, shocked into completesilence. She had heard the judge, in his slightly accented English, pronouncehis decision:

"Fifty strokes with the number 2 cane. Bailiffs! Take the prisoner downto the punishment room - I expect that room two will be free again now - andwill the next officer available please administer the punishment directly.Miss Holmes, I trust this will teach you to obey the laws of our country. Assumingthat it will, I am directing that as soon as you have suffered the appropriatepunishment then your record will be cleared and you may continue with yourtravels, here or elsewhere. Next case please!"

A female police officer opened the low door of the dock and beckoned Tracyout. Tracy moved like a robot, unable to believe that these events were real.Another female officer closed in from the opposite side. They pulled her handsbehind her and one of them snapped handcuffs around her wrists. Then they walkedher out of the courtroom. She was still wearing the tight jeans and a T-shirtthat she had put on that morning and, even in her shocked state, was awarethat several pairs of eyes were appraising her body. She was too shocked, however,to guess more specifically what was going in the minds behind the eyes.

The day had begun cheerfully enough, if not entirely innocently. Tracy wastraveling in Asia with three other co-ed juniors and some other boys from hercollege in Florida. They had been very severely warned not to have anythingwhatsoever to do with drugs, and had even been told that some Westerners hadbeen executed in an Asian country for trying to smuggle drugs. They had beensensible enough to stay far away from this activity, but not smart enough toremain completely away. That morning, in their hotel room, Tracy had produceda couple of tokes of pot that Jerry, one of the boys, had stupidly (even ifso far safely) brought along and had slipped her the night before. Two of them,Melissa and Florence, had said "No way!" But Tracy and her closestfriend Debbie had decided that a few puffs in their hotel room, for sororitytimes' sake, could not do any harm.

They were wrong. The smell had gone through the ventilator system and anemployee had alerted the police. While Tracy and Debbie had been puffing contentedlythere had been a knock on the door. One of the friends, Melissa, had been passingthe door at that moment and in an unfortunately oblivious moment had openedit.

Tracy and Debbie were busted and events had then moved so fast that the twoof them had been completely bewildered. They had been whisked off to the policestation and confronted with an accusation that had simply been undeniable.They had been allowed to call the American Embassy. A junior official therehad told them, in bored and reproving tones, that they had been very stupid,that under current policy they would probably be warned and released but thatit was just possible they would be sentenced to five days in prison. If theywere, he had said, then the American Embassy would contact the local authoritieson their behalf. He had also told them that they would know what was goingon because the courts simply switched to English when Americans were involved.

Unfortunately, the bored official had not realized that the local authoritieshad just changed their policy, and that Tracy and Debbie were to be the firstto foreigners to suffer from it. They had been sent immediately to a specialcourt that dealt rapidly with minor offences. This was, indeed, a deliberatemove on the part of the local authorities, who were determined to make an exampleof the immorality of visiting American tourists, before the Embassy could intervene.The two young women, left for a few minutes in a cell, had consoled each otherthat this was a real bummer but that they would simply be honest and that then,surely, they would be back with their friends very shortly, duly warned.

Marched into the court they had found themselves seated in an enclosure withseveral other accused. These were mostly young women, since the court dealtmostly with prostitutes. Tracy and Debbie, of course, knew nothing about this.They watched in embarrassment and horror as two young women were successivelyout in the dock, dealt with by the judge after police had spoken to him, andthen marched out. One of them, who was simply conducted out by two policewomen,but the second was also followed by another police woman wearing sergeant'sstripes who had been sitting with some other police officers in a separatesection. The second young woman had looked rather scared.

Then Debbie, in a rapidly intensifying state of dismay had been taken tothe dock. The court had, indeed, immediately switched to English. They policemanwho had arrested them in their room had presented his account and the judgehad asked her if it was accurate. Debbie had said yes and had begun to apologizebut the judge had simply cut her short and had announced the sentence: fiftystrokes of the cane.

It was not only Debbie who had gasped and dropped her jaw in stunned silence.Tracy and their two friends, who had followed them to the police station, hadreacted in the same way. It had, of course, made no difference. Debbie hadbeen conducted out, followed by another of the policewomen with sergeant'sstripes, and Tracy had found her self in the dock, with exactly the same results.

She was now walking in a daze, her hands cuffed behind her and a female wardenconducting her by each elbow. They had stepped into an elevator and one ofthe wardens pressed the button to go down several floors. She looked at Tracy'sface, which was still blank with bewilderment. "You're lucky you're onlyto get fifty strokes, and with the one-hand three foot cane! Some women geta hundred, like the woman before you … and she'll spend two weeks ina cell. She'll have to go to the punishment room twice. And the men get thefour-foot two-handed cane, and that really shreds their arses!" The otherwarden added, "They have to have a doctor there, to stop them fainting!" Tracyfound herself dissociating herself from this exchange and wondering at theirsurprisingly good English. The first warden was remarking, "With womenthey just rely on the sergeant knowing when to stop," to which the secondadded, "Too bad for you that you got the badminton champion!" Tracysuddenly began to feel sick.

The elevator had stopped, opening into a long corridor that was bare exceptfor a number of doors on one side. Each doors had a window and a couple ofmale police officers were looking through one of these, grinning broadly. Asthe two wardens started to walk Tracy along this corridor, one of the doors,beyond the one where the two policemen were standing, opened. Out of it emergedone of the female sergeants and a young woman, hands cuffed behind her backand two female wardens at each arm. Tracy recognized one of the young localwomen who had preceded Debbie in the dock. She was staring down as they passedin the corridor but Tracy could see that her face was very red and could hearher sobbing. Tracy had a horrible idea that she knew the reason.

Confirmation followed in another second, when she heard a sudden, muffled,thwatt!, followed by a cry, also muffled. The two men staring through the doorfurther down the corridor had reacted with a laugh. There was an understandingin the prison that the female police would allow men to watch the caning ofa woman if they paid a high enough bribe. These two had paid a handsome pricefor the privilege of watching two American girls stripped and caned. As Tracywas led past them by her two wardens, one of whom said something to the men,who reacted with another laugh, she glanced through the window between theirheads. In that instant she glimpsed an arm flashing up high and then down andheard another muffled thwatt and shriek. Her head swam as she realized thatthese must be the sounds of Debbie being caned.

In a moment they arrived at the door out of which the group of four had emergeda few moments before. One of the wardens pushed it open and the other pushedTracy through it, just as she heard another thwatt and shriek down the corridor.But now she was confronted with the room in which her own punishment was totake place. If she had had any doubt it would certainly have been dispelledright then. In fact, she had had no doubt, but had not known what to expect.

The room was bare concrete, the floor painted gray and the wall green upto shoulder level, with white above that. Two bare, bright lights hung fromthe ceiling. The room was cool, which would normally have been welcome in thetropical climate but made Tracy shiver at this moment. Against the wall tothe left was a large, heavy X-shaped frame, the crossing somewhat lower thanhalf-way up, with straps hanging from the crossing and the lower and upperarms. Terrifying as this sight was, it did not actually represent Tracy's fate.The punishment rooms were used for both male and female offenders and the X-framewas usually reserved for the whipping of men. But the rest of the room wasdisconcerting enough.

Hanging from racks on the back wall was arrayed a wide range of instrumentsfor corporal punishment, from whips, through straps, to canes. In the centerof the room was a curious piece of furniture, unlike anything that Tracy hadseen before, but horribly obvious in its function. It was a padded board, aboutfive feet long and two feet wide. The legs were higher at the further end,facing the wall on the instruments were hanging, and were splayed out and slopingback. The legs were actually at right angles to the board, but their backwardsangle made the board slope downwards to shorter legs that splayed out at thenearer end. There was a large hump in the padding at the high end. Straps hungfrom a third of the way down the longer legs and nearer the bottom of the shorterlegs, and two ends of a wider strap hung from the underside of the board, alittle more than a foot from its higher end. A small desk with a book and papersstood in the far right corner, while in the near left corner, behind the door,was another item of furniture, not altogether reassuring. It was a toilet,without a seat. Beside it, beneath a faucet sticking out of the wall, was abucket with cloths and a toilet paper holder was affixed to the wall.

Tracy now found herself positioned between the right wall and what was plainlythe caning bench, facing the latter, held by the warden on each side. Theyhad been talking in their own language, but suddenly switched to English.

One of them, the one with a more pleasant voice, saw Tracy staring in terroraround the room. "You don't have to worry about the X-frame - that's onlyused for men, and for women who are sentenced to flogging for violent crimes- they often get marked for life!" Tracy was not really comforted. Bothpieces of apparatus looked equally terrifying and she did not know enough aboutlocal law to realize how severe corporal punishment could be

"Where's the sergeant?" asked the other warden. "She's herein a moment … with foreigners she always like to bring her own cane."

Tracy's head swam even more. There could be no doubt that she was about tosuffer a very painful punishment, but the idea that the sergeant was bringinga special cane specifically to beat her somehow made it seem even worse. Shewas staring at the equipment in the room, knowing that some of it was therefor her, half trying to understand what might happen, half trying not to thinkanything at all.

The door opened and the warden's remark was confirmed. A female sergeantwith a distinctly deliberate manner entered, holding a long cane in her lefthand. She greeted the wardens and then passed behind them. Tracy was startledto feel a hand press across her bottom, accompanied by a remark by the sergeantin English.

"Nice round buttocks! I think we got the better bottom here, don't youthink?"

One of the wardens laughed in apparent assent and the sergeant added, "Niceenough to deserve special treatment. We'll see what we can do!"

The same warden laughed again. Then the sergeant gave an order that resultedin one of the warden's undoing the handcuffs. Even as Tracy felt relief atthis, bringing her hands together in front to rub her wrists, she began torealize it meant that it was only to facilitate something much worse.

The sergeant had now come around in front of Tracy and stood there, staringstraight in her eyes.

"Take your clothes off … leave them on the floor."

Tracy looked at her in stunned amazement, "Wh..wh..what..??"

The sergeant stared at her silently for a moment. She was flexing the longcane between her hands. The she said, icily, "You must be stupid to behere in the first place, but can you be so stupid that you don't understandyour own language, which we use for your convenience? I said take off you clothes … everything … andleave it on the floor. NOW!"

Tracy jumped at the violence of the last command but, at least, was startledinto action. She kicked off her sandals, then, taking a deep breath, pressingher lips together and staring downwards, she reached for the edge of her T-shirtand pulled it up, up over her chest, over her head - which at least blockedthe awful view for a moment, and then off her head, dropping it on the floor.She was wearing a bra - they had all been warned not to walk around braless- and she was surprised to find the sergeant staring unabashedly at her chest.Tracy almost stopped her undressing but realized that this would probably provokeanother explosion, so she moved her hands to the poppers and zipper of herjeans. In the silence, the sounds of undoing them were strangely loud. Shepushed the jeans down and because of their tightness she had to wriggle herhips through them. She reached down to pull them off her feet and stood upagain, kicking the jeans away. The sergeant was looking down at Tracy's panties.These were bikini and not thong, but the sergeant still stared. Tracy stretchedher hands behind her back, fiddled with the fastener on her bra until it wasreleased and then slipped the garment over her shoulders and let it fall fromher breasts to the floor. Tracy had very fine breasts, high, full, round, firmand with small dark nipples. The sergeant stared at them, seeming both casualand interested. Tracy wondered whether she was a lesbian.

The sergeant was not, in fact, but she had developed an unabashed interestin observing both the prisoners she had to cane, and the effects of the caningitself. This, for her, was a unique moment, for she shared the interest ofmany of her countrywomen in observing what it was about American women thattheir men seemed to find so sexy. And she was now in a peculiar position todo this. She had not caned an American woman before and the sudden effort ofher government to inflict this lesson had put her in a singularly privilegedrole She stared at the now almost naked girl in front of her. She already knewwell that many female offenders found a visual inspection by a female policeofficer humiliating, and she was sure that this American girl would find iteven more so.

The sergeant's stare suddenly made her painfully self-conscious about herown sex in a way that had never happened before, even when she first gone allthe way with a boy friend. It was more like the mild hazing she had enduredwhen she had joined the sorority and the new girls had had to parade nakedin front of the sorority committee - only far, far worse. She was a naturalblond and her pubic hair was honey-colored. She also liked to wear bikinisand so kept up with her bikini waxing. Often she liked to admire in a mirrorhow she had removed the unwanted pubic hair so that the soft hairs of her muffneatly followed her slit down the center of her pubes. Now she could almostfeel it curving back between her thighs under the sergeant's gaze and beganto think of the hair as protecting her most intimate privacy. And she was becomingincreasingly uncomfortable as she saw the sergeant staring below her waistwith such interest. Instinctively, she pressed her thighs more tightly together.Unfortunately, never having been subjected to corporal punishment before, ithad not yet occurred to her that she would shortly be forced to present tothe sergeant's view even the most intimate details of her pussy, still at thismoment safe between her legs.

A long, excruciating silence continued until the sergeant, seemingly satisfiedwith her examination, stepped back, pointed over to the toilet in the cornerand ordered, "Go and relieve yourself!"

Tracy was stunned yet again, her jaw dropping once more. The sergeant, whoenjoyed such moments, stared at her, sighed and remarked with exaggerated patience.

"Since, in your own country, your stupidity has presumably not yet resultedin the situation that you've now landed yourself in, you may not realize thatwhen you are bent over for a caning you may well find yourself needing to urinate.If you do that during your caning then your punishment will be extended. Weare therefore kind enough to provide the opportunity to relieve yourself beforeyour caning starts. Get over there and do it!"

The warden to her left had moved back to let Tracy past and, with a deepgasp of dismay and embarrassment, Tracy turned to go over to the toilet inthe opposite corner. As she did so, she suddenly caught sight of two headsin the door window. She swallowed in disgust at the knowledge that two menwere staring at her, naked as she turned towards them. But there was nothingshe could do except hurry her steps towards where she didn't want to go. Atthe same time, the sight of the two men made her remember that she had heardthe clunk of a door closing a minute earlier. Debbie's caning must have finishedand the guards had moved to the next display, which was her. She could onlybarely wonder what state Debbie was in, because she was now becoming so consumedby her own distress.

All she could do was to stare at the floor as she shuffled over to the toilet,avoid looking at the window in the door, and try not to think more than a secondahead. She turned around to sit on the toilet bowl, recoiling slightly at thefeel of the cold porcelain on her skin and the uncomfortable way that the hardedge, without a seat, pressed into her thighs. She was supposed to pee butit was hard to do so while the sergeant and the two wardens were staring ather. The thought flickered through her mind that normally she wouldn't havethought twice about peeing while other women were around, now it was so different.She managed to force herself and was immediately shocked at the noise of herpee splashing in the bowl. The embarrassment brought her effort to an end -she couldn't manage any more. She had to force herself to tear some of thetoilet paper and wipe herself off. Somehow she thought that she didn't wantto show herself still dripping. The paper was coarse and unpleasant. She stoodup awkwardly and barely remembered to flush.

She didn't know what to do next. The sergeant pointed to the near side ofthe caning bench and one of the wardens moved around the bench to the sameside. She found herself standing beside it, bewildered. "Go on! Don'tjust stand there! Get up on it!" ordered the sergeant. She didn't knowhow to get up. She knew, without thinking, that her bottom had to go at thehigher end, but the back legs sloping outwards made it very awkward to mountit. The warden still standing at the other side, rather more helpful, said, "Putyour hands on the bench and lie down on it with your hips at the end." Shebent forward, placed her hands halfway down the padding and tried to swivelupon to it. As she did so, she suddenly felt her hips lifted by strong handsand found herself moved bodily onto the bench with the two wardens hoistingher. Then she was lying down on it, head it, head near the lower end. She felteach knee grabbed and her legs forced apart as straps were quickly fastenedaround her thighs.

Part of her wanted to scream in furious protest, but she was rapidly beingoverwhelmed by an urge simply to submit. The wardens had now moved level withher shoulders, pulling her arms down and strapping her wrists to the frontsupports of the bench. The face of the warden on her right was just inchesfrom her own and she heard her whisper, "It'll be over in about 5 minutes."

Tracy realized that the warden was actually trying to be kind, but it didn'twork. What was "it"? She knew that "it" was the sergeantand her cane, but beyond that she knew only fear. The warden reached down underthe bench and Tracy felt the wide straps flipped across the small of her backand tightened. This pulled her down against the bench, forcing the hump atthe rear end of the bench hard into her belly, tilting up her hips. She suddenlyrecognized an utterly unexpected and highly discomforting sense of familiarity.She had thoroughly enjoyed having sex wither latest boyfriend, who liked bestto enter her from behind. When she had got used to this doggy-style sex, shealways looked forward to kneeling down on her elbows, with spread her legsand her bottom tilted up towards him when he was kneeling ready and rampantbehind her, for she knew that offering him such an inviting view between herthighs drove him almost crazy with the desire to thrust hard and deep intoher. This sudden sense of familiarity in her exposed position, now forciblyrestrained on the caning bench, almost choked her with disgust and fear.

The wardens had stepped back and Tracy saw the one on her left nod towardsthe sergeant. Tracy couldn't help herself staring back, to where she couldsee the sergeant carefully adjusting her stance. She suddenly felt a thin lineof firm pressure across the center of her bottom. The sergeant's gaze was focusedon it. Then she turned briefly and her eyes met Tracy's.

A wave of panic and fear overwhelmed Tracy's mind and body. Abruptly sheknew she was going to pee and, a helpless moment later, felt the liquid spurtfrom between her thighs. She squeezed her eyes shut in agonized embarrassment,which at least saved her from seeing the grinning faces at the door. But shecould hear the spurt of her pee splashing softly on the concrete floor. Asit slowly and erratically stopped, she forced herself to open her eyes andlook back. The warden's eyebrows were raised and the sergeant had a look ofdisgust on her face.

Tracy was not to know that the sergeant's feelings were of satisfaction ratherthan disgust. "So you foreign girls can't even control yourselves! Well,that will certain guarantee a little extra attention … and you can cleanthe mess up yourself when we've finished with you! Meanwhile, if you're finished,we can begin."

She focused her gaze on Tracy's bottom again and Tracy felt the thin lineof pressure harden across her cheeks. At same time she was ludicrously aware,in the cell's cool air, of a warm trickle of urine slowly dripping from herclitoris. For a moment, life seemed to stand still, and then WHAP!

Tracy actually saw the sergeant's arm and the cane suddenly lift high overher shoulder and start to sweep down. In the same instant her senses fusedin a shockwave of pain exploding in her bottom and surging through her body.For a few seconds the unbelievable pain seemed unbelievably to grow even worse … andthen slowly recede into a furious burning across her cheeks.

Tracy didn't hear her own shriek and she wasn't aware of her body's franticjerk against the straps. But she slowly became aware of herself gasping inhorrified surprise, of the shocking pain in her bottom, and her body pressingdown on the bench. With mind still swirling, she heard the warden to her leftcall out, "One!" And then, a few seconds later, felt pressure acrossher cheeks again. Her mind just clear enough to tell herself, "Omigod!Another stroke!" When WHAP! again. Her brain just registered the hissand crack of the cane a split second before another explosion of pain jerkedher body along the bench and brought another shriek to her throat. "Two!" sheheard the warden call as she desperately gasped for breath a second time, andthen sshhwishhTHWATT! Again, once more sending her senses whirling in agony.Her mind was spinning off into chaos as her bottom exploded in continuing burstsof unbearable fire. Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten times thewarden called out, as the sergeant whipped her cane down across Tracy's helplessbottom in a series of ferocious strokes.

The spinning of Tracy's mind seemed to slow and she became aware once againof the warden standing silently beside her, eyes shifting between Tracy's bottomand her face, as Tracy's recovering brain and the ghastly pain in her bottomtold her that, yes, here she really was, helpless as the beating to which shehad heard the judge sentence her, had actually begun. Now she was breathingdeeply, trying to regain her self-control, when she saw the warden exchangeglances with the sergeant, and felt the cane pressing across her bottom again.She couldn't do anything but wait, helpless and hopeless, for the next stroke.

THWATT! It came almost immediately, then, before she could recover, it cameagain, slamming her into another helpless spasm of jerks and squeals and gasps.With the rapidly building pain in her bottom, a cycle of fiery explosions andthrobbing, agonizing aching, this second set of ten strokes seemed worse thanthe first, sending her mind spinning into confusion and leaving her screamingand twisting against the straps.

Gasping for breath, she began to recover slightly in the next interval. Shewas normally considered the opposite of a cry-baby and her skill and enthusiasmfor several sports made her seem usually tough and disciplined. But this punishmentwas turning her world completely upside down. Since at least the eleventh gradeshe had been very proud of well-shaped prominence of her bottom, and of itsrounded firmness. Other girls admired it and she liked it when boys ogled.But she had never, for a single instant, thought of her bottom as her body'sgateway to excruciating pain, which it had now suddenly become. She had neverbeen in the position that she was now in, utterly helpless, with her bottomas the focus of other people's attention, especially when those people weremaking her bottom the target through which to inflict deliberate pain. It wasnot just the pain, excruciating though that was, but the also the circumstancesin which that pain was being inflicted, that were sending her mind spinningout of control.

As the sergeant and the warden exchanged glances again, and as the sergeantraised her cane again to begin the third set of ten strokes, Tracy became ahelpless, almost mindless body. THWATT! The thirtieth stroke cracked acrossher now badly bruised bottom. She reacted as a mere bundle of reflexes, herbody jumping forward on the caning bench with each CRACK! of the cane, herhair flying as her head jerked up with a squawk of agony .

The sergeant knew exactly what was going on, since she had observed it manytimes, both formerly as a warden and now under her own administration of thecane. She expected it and was normally satisfied to continue this way untilthe caning was finished and the poor woman, whoever she was on that occasion,slowly came back to life. She was, hover, more than a little fascinated toobserve the effects of the cane on the bottom of an American girl. The girl'sskin was much paler than that of the local women. As usual, the cane strokeswere leaving a line of white for a brief moment before the blood rushed backinto the line of its impact and the flesh under the skin's surface began toshow the damage. With this girl's bottom, each mark was starting to grow purplebeneath the skin and then crimson would rise to the surface, creating a satisfyinglybrilliant pattern of strikes across the bruised cheeks. By half-way throughthe third set of ten strokes, the marks of several strokes were starting tobecome prominent welts and, where later strokes had landed over earlier, theircrossings were turning deep purple. On the outside of the girl's right bottomcheek, even more deeply crimsoned fingers of raised welts splayed outwardsand downwards, where the flexible rattan had curled around the bottom and itstip had bitten more deeply into the skin.

The sergeant, as was her practice, had begun by aiming the first two setsof ten strokes more or less across the crown of the bottom presented to her,and had now shifted her aim slightly higher. This girl's bottom was ratherfuller and rounder than many she caned, and the upper part of her bottom, beingbetter padded, was better able to absorb the cane strokes. Even so, the cane'simpact here had a harsher sound and the bruises were appearing faster and darker.The sergeant did not consider herself sadistic but, having long before gotused to the idea that her duty was to inflict pain deliberately and fulfillthe purposes of the legal system in which she had found her career, she nowfound considerable satisfaction in administering these punishments with themaximum efficacy possible. And she was more than pleased to have the privilegeof administering such punishment to one of the many young Americans who seemedto take such pleasure in flaunting their disrepect for local customs, and thefirst who had been called to account. THWATT! She delivered the thirtieth strokewith perhaps a bit more strength than was normal and watched without surpriseas the accumulating pain caused the girl to jerk and shriek in reaction.

Tracy felt almost as though she were about to faint. Apart from the awful,throbbing pain in her bottom, her brain was now blurred, tears were drippingfrom her eyes and she could feel her body covered with sweat. She breathedas deeply as she could. The oxygen seemed to help with the pain. And some needof self-control, developed in her years of sport, was reasserting itself. Shebegan to think again, knowing she shouldn't just lie there helplessly, beingbeaten. She realized that the strokes had been coming at very regular intervals.This was where she could recover some grip on herself. Looking at the wardenon her left again, she felt there was a very fleeting look of encouragement,but it came just before the warden turned to her right and exchanged anotherlook with the sergeant. This was it. Tracy knew the beating was about to startagain.

Her hands found the wooden supports to which they were strapped and she grippedthem as though her life depended on it. She made herself look back at the sergeant,something she had been unable to do for the last twenty strokes or so. Sawthe sergeant fix her gaze on her bottom and felt the thin cane pressing againstit. Realized that the line of pressure was now low across her cheeks, justabove her thighs, and for a fleeting moment remembered the inviting vulnerabilitybetween her thighs that she had once been so happy to exploit. Then the pressurevanished and she saw the cane lift high over the sergeant's shoulder. Thistime she forced herself to stay aware of it all: the swish of the cane, theTHWATT as it struck low across her own bottom, the explosion of pain in herup-thrust rear end, even the jerk of her own body as it reacted to the impactand the gasp of agony that burst from her own throat. For a moment her brainstarted to swim and then her ability to think suddenly returned and, in thatmoment, she knew, not only that she would survive this horrible ordeal, butalso that she could salvage some self-respect from it. She started to count.She knew that she had missed the count of one, so she started at two. She heardthe warden callout "thirty-one!" and she kept on counting. As shewas counting "four" she saw the sergeant's arm and the cane risehigh. Still forcing herself to watch, she counted "five" and then,as the stroke landed, another shock wave ran through her body and her mind.Then she heard it all again and the feeling came, with a peculiar surprise,that her mind seemed to disconnect from her body as she saw the lift of armand cane starting the next stroke. As her bottom flared again and her bodyjumped of its own accord, she began to feel that she was seeing it all as froma distance. The strokes were coming at five second intervals and she startedto count again. swisshhTHWATT! She realized she could hear quite clearly boththe sound of the cane's swish through the air and the explosive sound of itlanding across her bottom. It was becoming weirdly fascinating. Count and swisshhTHWATT!Count, "thirty-three!" and swisshhTHWATT! Start counting again. Asthe warden's call rose to forty strokes, Tracy was still gasping and twistingagainst her straps, still sweating all over (even on her bottom, the bizarrerealization suddenly entered her mind), but she had made it to forty, she hadher mind back, and there were only ten more to go.

The sergeant saw that Tracy's reaction to her caning had changed, noticinga difference in Tracy's eyes and in her reaction when the cane landed. It wasunusual but not unknown for women to emerge from a passive state of acceptancetowards the end of their caning. She decided to deliver the last ten strokeswhere she had aimed the previous ten, low across the bottom, where she knewwomen were psychologically as well as physically more vulnerable. The weltswere already showing crimson and purple just above the crease where the girl'sthighs began. The position of punishment, with the hips raised by the humpat the end of the bench and thighs pulled apart by the straps, always exposedthe private parts and she had been interested to see that this American girl'slabia were much pinker than those of local women. And the pubic hair was different.She could tell now that this girl had taken care to remove any pubic hair thatwould show when wearing a bikini, for the hair covering the front end of herslit had a sharp edge. Local women had a smaller area of pubic hair that softenedinto the intimate skin of their crotch. Her own crotch was like that. She thoughtthis was much more attractive and why men didn't always prefer local girls,she couldn't imagine. She'd been told that American girls called their pubichair their muff, and now she could see why. It looked, somehow, muff-like,whatever a muff was. Well, pubic hair or no, this girl was certainly not goingto want to wear a bikini for three weeks at least. The sergeant rememberedthe spurt of urine that had shot from the girl's slit a few minutes beforeand which was still puddled on the floor. She smiled slightly. The girl's punishmentwas not yet over.

The sergeant's champion skills at badminton had given her the ability towield the cane with remarkably fine nuances of delivery and, before startingthe final set of ten strokes with the cane, she made one final assessment.When the prisoners were bending over in this position, their labia sometimesbecame so prominent that it was possible for the sergeant to make her canejust tip this delicate skin, and she was not above doing this deliberatelyfor the sake of a few final effects. But this girl's labia were too deeplyprotected between her thighs. Too bad, it would have interesting to see herreaction - and to tell her husband about it. The sergeant's husband alwayswanted to hear the detail when she caned a women prisoner. They usually hadvigorous sex afterwards and this little detail always made him even more excited.And with an American girl as the prisoner her husband would be desperate tohear every little detail. The sergeant smiled to herself, for she knew shecould bargain something extra out of her husband for the privilege of thesedetails. She hadn't yet decided whether that would be sexual favors or housework.She had to finish the job first.

She proceeded to deliver the final ten across the rapidly darkening swatheof bruises low across the girl's bottom cheeks, carefully adjusting her armstrength and wrist flexion for each stroke. The wardens, who had come to knowthe peculiarities of each sergeant's style of caning, could tell by the slightvariations of sound, both of the cane's sizzle through the air and its impacton the Tracy's bottom, that the sergeant was giving an extra edge to thesefinal strokes.

Tracy felt only that the pain was unrelenting, each successive set of tenstrokes yet another passage of agony. Gripping the bench legs frantically andtrying desperately to take a deep enough breath before each stroke, her bodybucking against the straps as it absorbed the shock of each impact, she knewthat she was hanging on to her self-control only by the thinnest margin. Ahot, sharply throbbing numbness began to spread through her bottom, even betweenher thighs, offering some relief from the immediate explosions of pain as eachstroke landed. Finally she heard the warden call out fifty, just as she wasfeeling as though she might be cut right in half.

She was left gasping for breath, tears flooding her eyes, and an agonizingthrob of pain in her bottom. But it was over. She had survived. Through tear-blurredsight she saw the sergeant turn to place her cane across the small desk. ThankGod! The sergeant had now walked behind her, where she could not see, and aftera moment reappeared, holding another implement. Oh God! Was there somethingelse? The answer came in a moment: "Well, if you had behaved then yourpunishment would be over. But since you've messed up this room we will seehow you take six more strokes with a whip."

The sergeant actually took care to show Tracy what she was now holding. Itwas a whip, a short one, about four feet long, looking as though it was madefrom plaited leather, thicker at the handle than at its business end. Tracy,in renewed despair, glanced at the warden. She thought she saw a glimmer ofsympathy, but it was not going to help her. Once more her hands went to thebench legs and she gripped them desperately. The sergeant took up her stanceagain and as she raised her arm Tracy took another deep breath and squeezedher eyes shut.

WHAPP! The whip seemed to cut right through the numbness that had begun tobring relief to her bottom and Tracy felt herself once more jerk and shriekwith the pain. WHAPP! Again. Her mind was spinning out of control once moreas the whip cut across the center of her bottom in six vicious strokes. Thenit stopped, and she heard the sergeant say something. But she didn't know whatit was, because she felt suddenly and completely exhausted by the anguish,her mind in state of numbed awareness, without real thought, floating somewhereat the edge of the terrible pain filling her bottom.

The sergeant had gone behind her again to hang the whip back up on the rackbut, while she was there, stopped to gaze shamelessly between Tracy's thighs,at the details of her sex in the white recesses of her cleft, untouched bythe cane and the whip that had covered each cheek with brilliantly coloredweals and swelling welts, now rising from a ground of angry red that had nowsuffused the girl's entire bottom. The six strokes of the whip had broken theskin in a few places where strokes had crossed, and there were some spots ofblood. The sergeant reverted to her own language and remarked, quite matterof factly, "I'd better take a good look because my husband won't forgiveme if I can't tell him all about it!" The warden who had been on Tracy'sleft said nothing, but the other one laughed coarsely. "OK, you can undoher now," the sergeant added.

Tracy realized that the straps at her waist, her wrists, and her thighs werebeing undone, and that she was being helped down from the bench. She movedstiffly and with great reluctance, as though fearing that her legs might fallapart from her body where the pain had seared her. Without thinking she movedone hand very gingerly to a bottom cheek and was shocked to find the normallysilken, smooth skin swollen and deeply dented.

As she tried to regain her senses she was abruptly brought up short by thesergeant again. "Right! Now that your punishment is over you can cleanup the mess you've made of this place! Get a bucket of water and mop it up!" Shewas pointing over towards the toilet, where Tracy's humiliation had begun andwhere a bucket and cloth stood beneath a faucet.

Tracy could not believe this renewed assault on her self-respect, but neithercould she do anything to resist. She hobbled awkwardly across to the toiletcorner, not daring to place her hands on her throbbing bottom. She half-filledthe buck and then lugged it to the back of the room, where the sergeant wasstill standing. Sure enough, splashes of her own pee were glistening on theconcrete floor, where it had spurted almost all the way to the wall on whichthe array of instruments was hanging. Tracy fell to her knees and began toclean up what was indeed her own mess. She was cringing, not only at this newhumiliation but also at the knowledge that she was once more, in this position,presenting her severely damaged bottom to the eyes of her tormentor.

The sergeant, finally, said, "OK! That's good enough. Take the bucketand empty it in the toilet." Tracy staggered to her feet and did as shewas ordered. The sergeant had turned to the desk, where she was entering arecord of Tracy's caning in the book. Then, she said something to the two wardens,picked up her cane, looked at Tracy again, and said, "Perhaps now youwill know to respect our laws!" and turned to leave the room without waitingfor a reply.

Tears were still running from Tracy's eyes as the warden who had been standingto her left said, not unkindly, "Alright … it's finished. Comeand get your clothes on again and we'll take you back upstairs to where youcan leave. Your friend is probably waiting for you … her punishmentwas over a little while ago." Tracy, incapable of speech, returned towhere her clothes were still lying in the ignominious heap into which theyhad fallen just a short while before, and thankfully started to get dressed.She regretted having worn the tight jeans that she had picked up that morningwithout any sense of what the day would bring. Pulling them up over her corrugatedand throbbing bottom was painfully difficult, though the feeling of the fabricstretched taut around her cheeks became strangely comforting, like a protectiveshell. And it was an enormous relief to be wearing her clothes again.

The wardens, no longer grasping her elbows, motioned her out of the roomand accompanied her down the corridor along which she entered this hell. Themen she had seen were no longer there, but a disconcerting reminder of whatshe has just endured came in the sound of more muffled thwatts and shrieks,from the other side of a door they passed. One of the wardens, reminding herof an earlier exchange, remarked, "Just be grateful that you didn't geta hundred …and that you can leave instead of being left in a cell!" Tracycould not even imagine what that would have been like.

They re-entered the elevator, went up several floors, and the wardens lether out. She was in a large, bare hall. There, perched very uncomfortably onthe edge of a hard chair, was Debbie, face still red and wet with tears. Withher were Melissa and Florence, who had escaped their fate but had followedthem to the police station. They had actually been in the courtroom, followingthe proceedings with horror, and were now extremely anxious to get them backto their hotel as quickly as possible.

Her friends didn't wait to talk, saying only "Let's get out of here!The clerk's been helpful and gave us permission to go out a back entrance toavoid the press. There's a taxi waiting there, and the hotel's done the samething. Let's go! Can you two walk OK?" Tracy looked at Debbie's tearfulface and they nodded together. In truth, she was walking stiffly because herbottom was throbbing with pain, but she gratefully followed them in a rapidexit. The taxi was waiting and they got in. The other girls had already madearrangements with the driver and they didn't have to tell him where to go.They didn't talk in the taxi, either, just staring at each other, still indisbelief.

The drive was only about ten minutes and, as they swung around a corner toa tradesman's entrance, Tracy saw that, indeed, the press was clustering atthe main entrance. They paid the driver, asking him to tell no-one and gavehim a very large tip, then hustled into the building, into the service elevator,still staring at each other as it went up to their floor, exited in a hurry,down the corridor, finally locking the door of their room behind them.

Only then did Tracy and Debbie burst into sobbing tears and their two friends,deeply distressed, tried to find a balance between comforting them and findingout what had happened. One friend was hugging Debbie and the other Tracy. Oneof them said, "Why don't you both have a good hot shower, it'll make youfeel better, and then you can lie on the bed and we'll use cream and stuffon your poor butts."

Their two friends started to help them both get undressed. Tracy and Melissawere standing to one side and behind Debbie and Florence. After getting offher T-shirt and bra, the friend moved to the fastenings of her jeans. Debbiereacted immediately, "Oh God! Be careful! My butt's so painful I can hardlytouch it!" Together, with great care, they eased down her jeans and panties.Tracy and Melissa were attending to the same needs, but both glanced at Debbie'sbottom cheeks as the jeans were eased down over them.

They both reacted in the same instant with a gasped "Omigod!" Tracy'sreaction continued with, "That's what it looks like! No wonder it feelsso awful! Mine must be the same!" Up to that point, except for a verybrief contact through her fingers when her caning had finished, her only informationabout the state of her bottom had been fed by its nerves directly to her brain.She winced as Melissa helped ease her own jeans and panties down. Melissa hadjust said, "Yes, I'm afraid your butt looks just as bad!" and thengasped in horror, "In fact I think it's even worse … I can't believethis! It's bleeding!" Tracy reached behind her and very gingerly slida hand over her corrugated, throbbing cheeks and felt something wet. She lookedat her hand and, sure enough, there was a smear of blood. She thought, "Thatmust have been the whip." Melissa was saying, "Come on ….Let's get you in the shower and then we'll see what we can do to help you withthis awful mess."

Up to this moment, none of them had seen a bottom punished in any way atall, let alone one that had just undergone a severe judicial caning. Stillshocked at both the day's events and the results now before them in the appearanceof Tracy's and Debbie's bottoms, they all agreed the best thing was to getthem in the shower and talk about it afterwards.

Tracy and Debbie got in the shower together. They had often done that before,sometimes even larking around in a jokingly sexual way. Now they found themselvesclinging together, emotionally bonded under the hot stream of water, cryingbitterly, and their hands began very gently feeling for each other's bottom.At first without consciously thinking, their minds slowly started to connectthe astonishment they felt at the hardening irregularities of the other's bottomwith their own sense of both pain and relief, as they felt the same corrugationsacross their own bottom softly massaged with hot water and slippery soap.

They did felt a bit after their shower. Their friends helped with dryingtheir bottoms as gently as possible, and then led them to the bed, where theylay face down side by side, and Melissa and Florence got out a variety of creamsand lotions, preparing to repair the damage, in so far as this was possible.

They were still gasping words of horror at the condition of Debbie's andTracy's bottom. Melissa, now bent closely over Tracy's bottom, for a momentbecame so completely amazed at what she saw. Perhaps because she was a studioart major and a rather skilled oil painter, she simply stared at it for a fewmoments, as though it were something spectacular, like an amazing new painting.How had the smooth, pale spheres she had last glimpsed, without giving thema thought, when they were all dressing that morning, been so transformed?

By now Tracy's bottom was deep purple and crimson all over, an angry crimsonspreading out into the edges of the cheeks even beyond were the cane had actuallylanded. Its paired spheres was now matched by deep grooves and prominent ridgesthat ran across Tracy's cleft and stretched, on the outer side of the rightcheek, into prominently swollen fingers of crimson, curling round where thetip of the cane had buried itself in the flesh, stroke after stroke after stroke.A little blood was still oozing from a few spots. Melissa slipped a hand carefullyover the once smooth skin of Tracy's cheeks, feeling the still hot corrugations,moving her finger tips gently down the jagged lines of welts bordering thebottom cleft, tracing the grooves from left to right cheek and following thedeep imprints of the cane stretching across the bottom, astonished at how thetramlines of bruises still offered such a startling record of each stroke.

Florence began to stare at her friend with some disapproval. "What areyou doing, Melissa? Stop staring and get down to something helpful!" Shepicked up a jar of skin cream, removing the lid and scooping out a liberalamount of cream to apply to Debbie's bottom. Melissa woke up from her peculiarreverie and began to work on Tracy's bottom in the same way. Then slowly, astactfully as possible, they began to ask about what had happened after Debbieand Tracy had been marched from the courtroom..

At first, Tracy could hardly bear the idea of revisiting the experience butthen it began to seem therapeutic to share it with her friends, and to compareher own experience with Debbie's. It was clear that Debbie had also receivedan extremely severe caning, but it sounded as though her sergeant had not beenso vicious. The both agreed on how they had at first been stunned with disbelief,how they had been marched off as if into a nightmare, their horror at theirfirst glimpse of the punishment room, their humiliation at undressing, theiranger when they were strapped to the bench and how it turned into helplessterror, the excruciating shock of the first stroke, the way in which they'dfelt overwhelmed by a nightmare of pain that seemed it might never end, andthen the final silence, also somehow unbelievable, as they realized that thebeating had ended and their bottoms were still there, throbbing with pain.

Tracy found out that Debbie had also been told to pee. It was obviously theusual thing. But Debbie had not disgraced herself when strapped to the bench.When Melissa and Florence heard that Tracy had practically peed in the sergeant'sface, they even managed a laugh. But they also managed to identify the six,vivid welts from the whip with which Tracy's punishment had concluded, andthey knew it had been a very long way from a joke.

Their tension and pain was finally beginning to ease slightly when therewas a knock on the door. There was an immediate argument as to whether theyshould answer it, but Melissa finally went to the door and, leaving the doorchain in place, opened it slightly ajar. It was one of the boys who were travelingwith them but Melissa kept the door chained, for Tracy and Debbie were stilllying butt-naked (and striped) on the bed.

Tracy could hear the whispered conversation.
"I just wanted to know whether they're OK?"
"Sure, if you can call having your arse beaten black and blue OK!" .
"It's so awful …. Jerry feels really bad."
"So he should, and more! The stupid jerk! You can tell him that nobody gave him away, even though they probably should have. He just deserves to have his buns totally busted."
"Yeah .. we all think that … well, just checking in with you. Should warn you that the press is trying to get at Tracy and Debbie, but the hotel is being pretty helpful in keeping them out. Need anything?"
"OK … no, I don't think so right now, but we appreciate it. I'm guessing that we'll stay holed up in this room, at least until tomorrow. Maybe you could call us on the phone in about an hour to see if they want anything to eat. Let the phone ring twice, hang up and then dial again immediately … that way we'll know it's you!"
"OK, will do, take care!"
"Thanks!"

Melissa closed and locked the door again. "That was Robert … Italked with him 'cause I think he's OK."

This was followed by a sudden silence, because all four girls had had thesame thought at the same moment. Tracy expressed it first: "Omigod! Youknow what ….the press is bound to print something and EVERYONE is goingto know … the whole school … and our parents! What a goddam mess!" "Yes," addedMelissa, not too helpfully, "You'll probably be in Time and Newsweek!"