The Honeymoon of Rick and Michelle
- 2 years ago
- 21
- 0
When In Rome: Rick And Michelle Face The Consequences free porn video
The prison van, or “sweatbox” pulled up outside the Female Corrections Institute and waited. Inside the van were two convicted prisoners, Rick and Michelle Bodnarchuk. They had just pleaded guilty at the local Magistrates’ Court to allowing their sixteen-year-old twin daughters, Abbie and Bethany, to try and buy alcohol in a bar. The Canadian tourists had no idea that the incident was so serious and had even less idea of the sentence which the courts could impose for such a crime.
Indeed, their court-appointed lawyer had advised them to plead guilty in order to escape with just a fine for their failure to supervise their normally well-behaved daughters. Michelle had screamed and began crying uncontrollably, when the chairman of the bench, had announced their sentence. The mature woman had criticised the liberal parents and had coldly announced that, because of their daughters’ age, that they, as parents, would receive the punishment that would have been awarded to their girls had they been just one month older.
The parents had been almost dragged down to the cells by the female dock officers. Michelle in hysterics and Rick, simply numb with disbelief. Just over an hour later they had been taken out to the prison van to make the three-mile journey to the Female Corrections Institute. By the time the van had pulled up outside the drab, grey building, both were in disbelief at what was going to happen to them. The female magistrate had scolded them severely for their lack of responsibility in dealing with their daughters and had quickly announced their punishment – six strokes of the reformatory cane to be administered to their bare bottoms, in addition to a combined £450 in fines and costs.
After a few moments, the large doors at the back of the building were opened and the prison van crawled slowly inside, coming to a stop inches away from the wall of the three-storey building. Rick and Michelle sat in their individual “cells” or compartments for a few minutes, until they heard the doors open and moments later the door was opened by the lady who had escorted them to the van from the court cells a short while earlier. Michelle estimated her age at about mid-fifties. She had short, well-kept hair and a friendly face.
“Out!” The woman commanded and stepped back.
Michelle, her hands secured in handcuffs, struggled to her feet and slowly, and carefully, made her way down the tight corridor in the van and stood at the top of the three steps, allowing the lady with the dark hair to take hold of the handcuffs and gently guide her down the steps and onto the ground. She was led through the back door of the building and down the corridor. Michelle tried to look over her shoulder to see her husband, but he was nowhere to be seen. As they reached another door, they were met by a tall, dark-haired woman, who was wearing a short-sleeved white blouse and a black skirt. She wore a chain on the waist of her skirt with a large, and heavy-looking bunch of keys. The forty-year-old tourist was then taken through a heavy blue door, led up a flight of stairs, had the handcuffs removed and placed in a cell, the door slammed loudly behind her. The last sounds Michelle Bodnarchuk heard was the sound of keys turning in the lock and then the footsteps of the woman walking away down the corridor. She began crying once more.
Michelle sat on the padded bed and stared at the door with the peephole in it. She still had her watch on and checked the time – 1.00pm. It had been just under three hours since her husband and herself had been in court. As she became tearful again, the peephole was opened, and she could see a woman looking at her. The hole was shut a moment later and the sound of keys being placed in the lock focused Mrs. Bodnarchuk’s mind.
The door opened and the forty-year-old woman looked at the tall, dark-haired lady who stood in the narrow doorway.
“You need to remove your possessions and take all of your clothes off. Leave them on the bed and I’ll be back for you in a short while.” Senior Correction Officer Laura Concannon instructed coldly.
She paused for a few moments, staring at Michelle, before turning and leaving the cell, slamming the heavy door shut loudly and locking it with her bunch of keys. Michelle Bodnarchuk began crying once more as she heard the sound of the woman’s footsteps growing fainter as she walked down the cell-block.
The forty-year-old nurse slowly got to her feet and began to do as instructed. She removed her expensive watch and set it down on the thin, blue mattress. Next came the silver necklace she was wearing. Michelle sat down and carefully removed her high-heeled shoes which she placed to one side. She wiped her eyes and stood once more, unzipping her light blue summer dress and letting it fall onto the cold stone floor. Mrs. Bodnarchuk bent down and picked it up, folding it neatly and placing it down on the bed before reaching behind her and unfastening her bra which she removed and placed on top of her dress.
The sound of footsteps outside in the corridor made her panic and the woman slipped her hands down the sides of her knickers. She took a deep breath before pulling them down, stepping out of them and placing them on top of her other clothes. The forty-year-old woman sat down once more and waited.
“It can’t be much longer.” She thought to herself as she stared at the whitewashed brick walls of the cell.
“I wonder how Rick is?” Her thoughts shifted to the fate of her forty-two-year-old husband.
Michelle Bodnarchuk began fidgeting nervously. Firstly, biting her fingernails. Then playing with her hands. She was just about to check her watch when the sounds of footsteps outside her cell became louder and louder until the peephole in the cell door opened. It closed a moment later, followed by the sound of keys in the cell door. It opened and the tall, dark-haired woman in the white blouse and black skirt stood in the doorway, looking at the older woman.
“Right. I need you to stand up and hold out your hands," she instructed coldly.
Michelle Bodnarchuk complied immediately and watched as the younger woman fastened the handcuffs around her thin wrists, closing them tightly with a “click.”
“Step out of the cell and stand in the corridor.” Came the next instruction.
The forty-year-old brown-haired woman took three steps and stood in the cold corridor. She watched as Senior Correction Officer, Laura Concannon pulled the cell door closed and locked it with one of her keys on the bunch that was secured to her thick belt.
“Walk to the end of the corridor and wait at the blue door.” She turned and faced Michelle and indicated with her right hand.
The mother-of-two walked slowly and as calmly as she could down the corridor and stopped once she had reached the heavy blue door. She was conscious that the taller, younger, dark-haired woman was only about three paces behind her. Once they had reached the end of the long, grey-walled corridor, Laura Concannon placed a key in the lock, turning it and pushing the heavy door open, stepping aside to allow Michelle through.
Once she had locked the door behind them, Laura paused as she searched for the next key she needed.
“Down the stairs and wait at the bottom.” Again, she gestured with her right hand.
Mrs. Bodnarchuk followed the instruction and carefully made her way down the stairs, where she was joined shortly after by the stern-looking young Corrections Officer. Again, another key opened another heavy, dark-blue door and Michelle was gently pushed forward and through into the corridor. She did not look back but could hear Laura locking the door behind her. Again, Michelle waited, and Laura Concannon walked past her.
“Follow me.” The thirty-four-year-old woman began walking along the corridor.
Michelle followed a few paces behind until they came to the third door along the corridor. Laura already had her keys out and had unlocked the door by the time that Michelle Bodnarchuk had joined her.
“In you go. Walk over to the bench, stand behind it and face the front of the room. Do you understand?” Laura stared at the shorter woman through her piercing green eyes.
Michelle Bodnarchuk paused. She wanted to burst out crying at the thought of what was about to happen to her. Was her husband going through the same humiliation at that moment? Was his punishment over with? Was he still waiting in a freezing cell for his sentence to be administered?
“Yes," she finally answered and stepped through the door.
The first thing that the forty-year-old noticed when she entered the room was that everything was very clinical, from the brilliant white walls and floor to the smell of disinfectant that began to assault her nostrils. Michelle looked around the room and could see the padded bench with its restraints, then the table that was in the right-hand corner of the large room, on which, the canes and straps were laid out. Next, she set her eyes upon the short, well-built redheaded woman in the uniform who stood watching her with her hands on her hips.
Conscious that she had probably been standing still longer than intended, the older lady walked around to the punishment bench and stood behind it and stared straight ahead. She shuddered as the door closed loudly and watched as Senior Corrections Officer Laura Concannon walked over to her and grabbed her wrists roughly. The younger woman undid the handcuffs from Michelle’s wrists and walked over to the table, placing the handcuffs on the table and picked up a clipboard, her shoes making an almost deafening sound as she walked back to face Michelle Bodnarchuk.
“Michelle Jessica Bodnarchuk you have been found guilty of allowing a minor to enter a premises while underage and attempt to purchase alcohol. You have been sentenced to six strokes on your bare buttocks with the reformatory cane. Do you understand?” Laura remained emotionless.
“Yes,” Mrs. Bodnarchuk replied, aware that the pressure in her bladder was becoming unbearable.
“Very well. You will bend over the punishment bench and place your knees as high up here.” Laura indicated with her right hand.
The older woman slowly stepped forward and placed her hands flat on the padded bench, carefully moving her knees until they touched where Laura had indicated. She watched as the tall, dark-haired Corrections Officer placed the clipboard on the floor and began securing the prisoner to the padded bench. First, her right wrist was secured tightly with a leather strap which was fastened tightly with a metal buckle. Next, her right ankle was secured in the same fashion. Finally, Laura Concannon repeated the procedure to Michelle Bodnarchuk’s left ankle and wrist and, once satisfied, picked up her clipboard from the floor. She took a pen from her left breast pocket and signed the sheet of paper. The Senior Corrections Officer then walked across to where her colleague was standing, and out of Michelle’s view, handed her the clipboard.
Senior Corrections Officer Joanne Wilson read the details on the sheet of paper attached to the clipboard before signing the sheet with her own pen and placing the board down on the table. Her older colleague handed her the three-foot long reformatory cane before walking back to the front of the room where she faced Michelle Bodnarchuk. She allowed herself a slight smile as she watched the woman bury her head into the black, padded bench.
“Michelle Jessica Bodnarchuk you have been sentenced to six strokes with the reformatory cane for allowing a minor to enter a premises while underage and attempt to purchase alcohol. You have been sentenced to six strokes on your bare buttocks with the reformatory cane. The sentence will now be carried out.” Laura placed her hands on the older lady’s shoulders and pushed her down into the padded bench.
Out of sight, Joanne Wilson walked to the front of the room and took up her position to Mrs. Bodnarchuk’s left-hand side. The red-headed Senior Correction Officer took a few practice swings with the cane, smiling as it made a loud swooshing sound, before tapping the thick cane against the exposed buttocks lying in front of her.
“You may administer the strokes, Miss Wilson,” Laura commanded, pushing Michelle further into the padded bench.
The red-headed Corrections Officer continued to tap Michelle’s bottom with the thick reformatory cane for a few moments until she was satisfied where her first stroke would land. Once she was ready, she drew the twelve-millimetre thick cane back and took a deep breath, bringing the cane swinging through the air a moment later. It found its target and signalled its arrival with a loud noise that echoed around the cold, tiled room.
Thwack!
“One!” Laura Concannon announced sternly.
Michelle Bodnarchuk remained still for a second but once the pain had registered in her brain, she tried to move away from the pain that had been ignited in her bottom. It was no use. She was held down solidly by the tall, dark-haired Corrections Officer, plus the wrist and ankle restraints made it impossible for her to move more than a few centimetres. She let out a loud scream and the tears began flowing. To her left-hand side, Joanne Wilson had already raised the cane in the air once more and sent the second stroke on its way within a few seconds.
Thwack!
“Two!” The dark-haired Senior Corrections Officer announced.
Michelle Bodnarchuk began to struggle to breathe as the gasps, sobs and tears took over. The pain was intense and unlike anything she had felt before. No matter how much she tried to move it was no use and her sobs and shouts seemed to fall on deaf ears as the two ladies ignored her totally. Moments later, Joanne landed the third stroke across the centre of the forty-year-old woman’s fleshy buttocks.
Thwack!
“Three” Laura said, unintentionally raising her voice.
Michelle could feel the pain across her bottom and continued to cry and shout, but it was no good. The two ladies were obviously not going to stop until the six strokes had been administered to her bottom. Out of her view, Joanne Wilson had paused and leaned close to inspect the prisoner’s bottom. She smiled with satisfaction as she saw the three, neat red lines that her cane had imprinted on the woman’s bottom. They had landed across the centre of the buttocks, within millimetres of one another. Joanne Wilson smiled at Laura Concannon and re-took her stance in order to deliver the fourth stroke.
Thwack!
“Four!” Senior Correction Officer Laura Concannon pushed Michelle down into the bench.
The woman shouted and screamed as the cane once more bit into her bottom. Senior Correction Officer Wilson ignored the noise and took aim once again. The final two strokes were going to be a lasting reminder to the tourist that if you break the law, or allow others to break the law, then a judicial caning would be the result. Joanne tapped Michelle Bodnarchuk in the crease between her buttocks and thighs and once satisfied where the cane would land, administered the fifth stroke as hard as she physically could.
Thwack!
“Five!” Laura had to use all her strength to hold the older woman in position over the caning bench.
The forty-year-old woman was gasping for breath in between the sobs, tears, and shouting. She tried to settle herself but failed to manage this by the time that Joanne had administered the sixth, and final, stroke of her sentence. This caught her in exactly the same place as the previous one and Michelle screamed and swore.
Thwack!
“Fuck!”
“Six!” Miss Concannon shouted over Michelle, ignoring the curse.
Senior Correction Officer Laura Concannon held Michelle Bodnarchuk down on the bench until she was happy that the older lady was calm. Joanne Wilson had walked over to the table to the right side of the room and removed the prisoner’s copy of her sentence from the clipboard, placing it on the table. The twenty-six-year-old reached across for the first aid kit and picked up the clipboard from the table before walking the short distance over to where Laura was watching Mrs. Bodnarchuk, who was still crying and gasping.
Joanne allowed herself a quick look at her handiwork and smiled. There were four, neat red lines across the dead centre of the woman’s bottom and then two additional red lines that had been imprinted across her lower buttocks and thighs. Miss Wilson nodded with satisfaction at Laura and handed the first aid kit over to her taller friend.
“I’ll take care of the admin if you clean her up and send her on her way. I’ll be back in a bit and I’ll get the room ready for the next one.” Joanne Wilson smiled sweetly and left the room, closing the heavy door with a loud 'slam!'
Laura placed the green first aid box on the floor and opened it, taking out a pack of antiseptic wipes which she opened and removed a couple. She looked at Michelle’s bottom which was red and bruised and had the signature red tram lines from Joanne’s reformatory cane. She wiped the moist wipes over every inch of the older lady’s bottom, ignoring her sniffs and sobs until she was satisfied. She bent down and closed the first aid kit and threw the used wipes in the bin before returning the first aid kit to the table and then walking back to the bench over which the prisoner was still secured.
Without a word, Laura Concannon gently undid the restraints on Michelle Bodnarchuk’s left wrist and left ankle before repeating the procedure on her right ankle and wrist. She listened to the woman sniffing and gasping and stood watching her for a few moments before deciding to get her on her way.
“Stand up please.” Laura walked towards the heavy door and watched as the forty-year-old struggled to her feet. She immediately began rubbing the tears from her eyes. Senior Correction Officer Concannon opened the door into the corridor.
“Follow me.” She said softly and watched as the older woman complied, walking past her and out into the corridor.
Laura returned Michelle Bodnarchuk to her cell on the first floor and told her to dress. Her possessions that had been taken from her at the Police station were in a black plastic tray on the bed next to her clothes. Mrs. Bodnarchuk struggled to dress but had managed to replace all her clothes by the time Laura had returned and opened the cell door once more.
“Come with me.” The tall, dark-haired woman instructed and led the older woman down the corridor.
Less than five minutes later, Michelle was outside the FCI building and walking across the car park in the brilliant summer sun. She reached into her handbag and brought out her mobile phone which she switched on. Within seconds, it beeped, and she noticed messages from her daughters, both indicating how sorry they were for what they had done. Nothing from her husband. She tapped out a message and sent it, hoping for a quick reply. She hoped that his ordeal was over. The reply did not come.
At the moment that Michelle was being shown out of the building, her husband, Rick, was being strapped down over the punishment bench by Correction Officer Nicola Smith. The short, brown-haired woman placed her hands on Rick’s broad, strong shoulders and pushed him down into the padded leather bench. Behind him, Correction Officer Charlotte Paulsen measured the three-foot long reformatory cane across Rick Bodnarchuk’s muscular bottom. She began tapping the cane gently against them until she was happy where her first stroke would land and waited for her colleague to initiate the punishment.
“Richard Patrick Bodnarchuk you have been sentenced to six strokes with the reformatory cane for allowing a minor to enter a premises while underage and attempt to purchase alcohol. You have been sentenced to six strokes on your bare buttocks with the reformatory cane. The sentence will now be carried out.” Nicola looked up at Charlotte before continuing.
“You may administer the strokes, Miss Paulsen.”
Five-foot-four-inch tall Charlotte Paulsen adjusted her short-sleeved white blouse and made sure that her stance was perfect in order to administer the punishment as hard as she physically could. Although only small in stature, thirty-five-year-old Charlotte had been working at the Female Corrections Institute for nearly ten years now and was one of the most experienced, and severe, Correction Officers there. When the FCI had been awarded the contract to take over the discipline of males, two years previously, she had welcomed it, imagining each male bottom as if it was her ex-husband’s. They received absolutely no mercy or sympathy from the well-built, blonde-haired woman.
Ms. Paulsen placed her small left foot in front of her right and bent her left knee slightly. She placed her left hand on her hip and continued to tap Rick’s bare bottom with the reformatory cane until she was satisfied. She took a deep breath, looked over at Nicola Smith and smiled, pausing for a second before bringing the thick cane flying through the air until it announced that it had reached its destination with a loud 'thwack!' as it buried itself deep into the forty-two-year-old prisoner’s bottom.
“One!” Nicola Smith announced, tightening her grip on the broad-shouldered Rick Bodnarchuk.
The man groaned but did not move. Charlotte lifted the cane once again and soon had the second stroke on its way.
Thwack!
The second stroke landed millimetres lower than the previous one in the centre of the fleshy bottom.
“Two!” Miss Smith announced, pushing the older prisoner down into the padded bench.
Again, Rick Bodnarchuk simply groaned. Charlotte Paulsen leaned close and looked at the bottom in front of her. Two neat, red lines had appeared, and this made her determined to give the prisoner a full set of six red tram lines. She re-took her position and raised the cane once more.
Thwack!
The third stroke announced its arrival, cutting into the fleshy bottom lower than the previous two swipes.
“Three!” Nicola said loudly.
Again, the prisoner hardly moved and exhaled heavily. Ms. Paulsen was determined to break him and took aim against the creases in his muscular legs. Once satisfied, she sent the thick reformatory cane on its way once again.
Thwack!
The fourth stroke landed painfully right where Correction Officer Paulsen had intended.
“Four!” Correction Officer Smith said coldly, looking up at her colleague and smiling.
Mr. Bodnarchuk finally felt this and began to react. He yelled in pain and tried to move but soon found that he couldn’t go anywhere thanks to the restraints and also by Nicola using her full weight to hold the ex-ice hockey player in position. After a few moments he had settled, and Charlotte re-took her position and soon had the next stroke flying through the air. It announced its arrival a few moments later.
Thwack!
Again, the crease in between buttock and thighs received a painful visit.
“Five!” Nicola Smith said, struggling to stop herself laughing.
Rick struggled and was breathing heavily. The pain was intense, and he tried to keep his composure, but the pain was unlike anything that he had experienced before. Correction Officer Paulsen paused and allowed the man a few moments to settle before she resumed her position to his left-hand side and sent the final stroke on its way, landing with a loud and painful 'thwack!' which echoed around the cold, stone-walled room.
“Six!” Correction Officer Smith announced as she continued to hold the man down, pushing him into the padded bench as she did so.
Out of Rick’s view, Charlotte Paulsen walked over to the table in the corner of the room, her shoes making a loud noise on the hard floor. She picked up an antiseptic wipe and began cleaning the spots of blood from the reformatory cane. Once satisfied that it was clean, she placed it down on the table and threw the used wipe in the bin. Ms. Paulsen picked up the clipboard and removed the top sheet which she placed on the table and walked back to the door, which she opened.
“I’ll drop these off and check to see if the next one has arrived. Can you sort him out and get him on his way please?” She smiled at Nicola before walking out into the corridor and allowing the heavy door to slam shut behind her.
The thirty-eight-year-old, dark-haired Correction Officer said nothing as she stopped holding the man down into the bench and walked across to the table, where she opened the first aid kit. She returned a moment later with some antiseptic wipes and some cooling cream. Nicola quickly wiped the wipes over every inch of the fleshy bottom in front of her before placing a blue latex glove on her right hand, squeezing some cream into it and then rubbing it quickly into Rick’s buttocks. Once done, she removed the glove, picked up the wipes and tube of cream and walked back to the table, where she threw the rubbish in the bin and replaced the cream in the first aid kit.
The noise of her heels on the floor drowned out everything else as she walked back over to where Rick Bodnarchuk was secured. Correction Officer Smith bent down and undid the restraint on Rick’s right ankle, followed by the one on his right wrist. She then walked around to the other side of the bench and repeated the procedure on the man’s left wrist and ankle. She left him lying there, face down over the bench for a moment. She walked back to the table and picked up the sheet of A4 paper before returning to the front of the room.
“Up you get and go and put your underpants on. I’ll take you back to your cell and you can get ready and then we’ll get you on your way. Take this with you," she said coldly as she handed him the copy of the sheet which detailed his punishment.
The forty-two-year-old slowly pushed himself up and onto his feet before turning and heading to the back of the large room, where his underwear were laid on a chair. He awkwardly stepped into them and was escorted back upstairs to the cell where he had been left to wait for his punishment. Once inside, he noticed that his possessions that had been taken from him at the Police station were on the bed in a plastic tray. With some difficulty, but as quickly as he could, the ice hockey player, turned sports lawyer, dressed and waited for the female Correction Officer to come and escort him from the premises.
Ten minutes later, the diminutive Nicola Smith opened the cell door and they were soon making their way along the corridor, down the stairs and within five minutes, Rick Bodnarchuk was standing outside the drab, grey FCI building. His bottom was throbbing, but he resisted rubbing it. He walked a few steps before he could see that his wife Michelle was standing waiting for him. He quickened his pace and was soon holding her in his arms. They kissed and headed back to their hotel as quickly as they could.
Rick and Michelle Bodnarchuk never told any of their friends about their conviction in the UK for allowing their girls to drink underage. Neither was the episode spoken of at their home. The couple never holidayed in the United Kingdom ever again. They still took pride in themselves as liberal parents who gave their daughters the choice of what they would like to do, but they became much more interested in what they were up to when they were out unaccompanied – who were they with? What were they doing? They certainly did not want another court appearance or worse still, a dose of court-ordered corporal punishment to show them the error of their ways.
Elle
- 03.11.2020
- 22
- 0
- Category:
- Spanking
