by James Nash
“The punishment is immediate at the start of your sentence ...” he answered quietly “... and will be administered in the punishment block below the court now, when I have left you.”
Jane was wild eyed and crying loudly. “No! Not immediately! I can’t face it, Mr. Lien! You didn’t prepare me for this ... please what will I wear... how will they...?” but before she could finish, he got up, very flushed and anxious to end the conversation.
“I must go now, Miss Callender ...” he said hastily “... but please bear up. It could have been so much worse, you know!” then Mr. Lien snapped his briefcase closed and left the court room.
Jane sat crying, her head shaking from side to side in disbelief, as the policemen moved in and gently took her by the arms. She stood up, trembling from head to foot as they led her slowly out of the court room. She half walked, half stumbled, like a zombie, supported by the policemen, down the steps at the back of the court room and down a menacing dimly lit corridor past rows of cells where short term prisoners leered out, rattling coffee mugs against the bars as Jane walked past, all gleefully aware of the fate in store for this pale young English girl, for news travels fast in a prison. Jane cried out, her legs turning to jelly, as they approached a big wooden door at the end of the corridor. She pulled back in fright but the policemen urged her roughly forward. One of the policemen knocked on the door which was immediately opened to them.
As the door opened, Jane, breathing rapidly in fright, could see into the large room and her frantic eyes took in two armed policemen who stood against the wall at the back of the room, and, to the left, the solemn figures of the three magistrates who had passed her sentence. In the middle of the room stood a low bench which was constructed with a leather saddle. On one side was attached a wooden extension which looked like the running board on an old car, but was somewhat wider. On the other side was a metal bar held in place by steel supports shaped rather like the holding bar of a pram.
Jane guessed what this piece of equipment was for and she shrank back in terror as a policeman pushed her rapidly through the door, where she stood trembling and crying, facing the apparatus. Shaking with fear, she was eased into the centre of the room while her frightened eyes scanned the area she was unable to see before. She was standing at right angles to the large door and behind her she knew stood the magistrates and, to the left and right of her, armed policemen around the walls. She looked down to the end of the room and gasped in horror at the observation window, behind which sat six people, four men and two women, all busily making notes and speaking into telephones on a desk in front of them. Jane guessed they must be journalists who stared down at her, some conferring with one another, others simply staring coldly at the young terrified girl whose legs had turned to jelly in the middle of the room.
She still had no idea what they would make her do, she had not even wanted to think about the implications of caning, but one thing was clear. However they chose to administer the punishment there were so many spectators that it might as well be in the town square! Jane had hoped desperately for some privacy during this degrading ordeal but it was obviously not to be. She felt her insides beginning to churn and a painful stomach ache develop as the acid began to play havoc with her system. She frantically clenched her bottom cheeks, terrified of an involuntary burst of flatulence, for she could feel her intestines swelling with wind. She stared down at the equipment in front of her, and for the first time the true horror of what was in store began to fill her mind. She had been about to ask Mr. Lien where on her body she would be caned but in truth there was no need. She had immediately known which on which part of her anatomy the shaming punishment would fall. Oh God, in front of all these people! She tried not to think about too many possibilities, for the more she imagined, the worse her stomach ache became and she tried to think of something to steady her nerves. She was here now ... there was no escape, no recourse to the British Consul for a last minute reprieve ... she would have to take what they gave her with courage and as much dignity as she could muster.
Dignity! What if they left her with no dignity! What if they made her...? Jane almost cried out but instead she hung her head and cried softly as she waited for her immutable nemesis.
Just behind the equipment and to the left by a small table stood the remaining two people in the room, one, a woman aged about forty five, was dressed in a prison officer’s uniform of some seniority and Jane whimpered as she noted the steely mirthless expression on her Asiatic peasant face, her squat ugly features and thickly muscled brown body which hardly contained her blouse and prison skirt.
It was the sight of the second of the two people at the table, however, which caused the now terrified girl to buckle at the knees. The policemen who had brought Jane into the room held her upright as she stood wide eyed in horror, staring at the six foot tall man in police trousers who stood in his shirt sleeves, his thick bulky arm muscles a testament to his craft, for in his right hand he held a thick bamboo cane, some three feet in length. As Jane stared at him, wide eyed in terror, he looked straight into her face, smiling grimly as he tested the arc of the cane, bringing it through the air with a savage swiiish! He smiled again as Jane buried her head in her hands and wept copiously.
Oh God, please let’s just get it over! She still couldn’t believe they would shamefully cane a young woman in front of all these men! Then she thought back to the intimate body search at the airport and the policeman who stood there, grinning, as the girls were examined naked. The thought prompted fresh tears for she knew what role humiliation played in the oriental psyche and she now began to panic as the hideous possibilities began to manifest themselves again in her mind.
She began to shake again as she thought back to the first minutes of her incarceration when she had been pushed into that tiny cell by a wardress and a policeman. While the policeman had stood in the doorway of her cell, the wardress had pushed Jane to the far end of the cell, then walked round to the front of her and unbuttoned Jane’s sun dress to the waist, pulled the dress off the shoulders as Jane had stood trembling, too frightened to resist, and then simply removed the terrified girl’s bra. All this had been done with no suggestion of titillation, with Jane’s back to the policeman and with speedy efficiency. They had then confiscated the brassiere and her shoes, presumably because regulations considered that she could damage herself with these items. Presumably the wardress had spoken no English and to simply perform the task of removing the girl’s bra had been easier than trying to explain, but with the man standing in the cell doorway, Jane had felt cheap and abused, treated like dirt. Now, faced with humiliating destiny, Jane was ever more conscious that her sole items of clothing were the sun dress and her panties. Dear God, what would they let her wear? Surely they wouldn’t...? Oh God, don’t even think about it! Her abdominal discomfort got worse as she waited.
Her teeth chattering and her body shaking like a leaf, Jane was snapped out of her mental torment by the sharp tones of the woman who shouted to her in, to Jane’s amazement, almost perfect English with just a hint of staccato lisp.
“Prisoner ...” the woman called and Jane chilled at the sudden impersonality of her situation “... you are aware of the sentence laid down by this court, are you not?” and Jane began to cry again, her legs trembling and her breath pumping rapidly.
“Answer me!” the woman snapped angrily and the terrified girl whimpered an acknowledgement.
“Very well ...!” the woman snapped “... we will proceed to administer the punishment!” She turned and spoke a few words to the policeman at her side, who nodded and slapped the cane against his palm. This last gesture was too much for Jane, whose swollen stomach gave a kick, then to her horror she felt the distension of her lower bowel and she desperately squeezed her buttocks together, knowing that disgrace was imminent in front of all these people.
“Please, Maam...” she shouted out, not sure how she should ad
dress the officer, not knowing or caring whether she was supposed to speak at this time “... I’m desperate for the toilet. Please Maam!”
The woman stared at Jane with narrowed eyes, taking in her obvious discomfort, then to Jane’s relief, she pointed to a door at the back of the room and signalled for a policeman to accompany the girl.
“You have ten minutes!” the woman said curtly and Jane, clutching her stomach, dived for the door, forcing the policeman into an ungainly half run to keep up with her. Once inside the toilet, with the policeman keeping guard outside, Jane relieved her needs in very dramatic fashion, afraid to leave the seat for some considerable time. When she finally made the move to leave, the significance of her plight hit her with some force and she realised what she was walking back to. She had to turn tail again and bend over the toilet, retching into the bowl. She had eaten virtually nothing for some hours, so terrified had she been of the court hearing, thus it was a dry retch but did nothing for the soreness in her stomach.
Almost on the deadline, Jane wiped her face, brushed away a tear and opened the toilet door. The policeman on guard looked relieved as she materialised and he accompanied her back into the large room. Returning to them, knowing they were waiting for her, just her, to inflict painful and degrading punishment on her person made the return journey as terrifying as her initial entry into the room, when she had first seen that awful bench, and she was again aware of the kicking of her stomach as she awaited her fate.
Jane had begun to tremble again as she walked past the line of magistrates and into the centre of the room facing that dreadful bench. She walked up to it and stood perfectly still. Her eyes flicked round nervously at the policemen who stood impassively around the walls, then at the journalists behind the observation window who seemed to be on the edges of their seats, waiting like vultures for the show to begin and she began to cry again. She lowered her head so she would not see them and shook uncontrollably.
The woman prison officer looked Jane up and down with obvious contempt at this exhibition of fear. This pretty, fine boned, pale skinned young English girl, tall and slender, with such long legs, stood there trembling with fright and the woman was much amused. These Europeans come to our country bringing drugs which spell death for thousands, yet they have no guts for punishment! The woman would have them all flogged until their backsides were raw ... but she did not make policy! She stepped forward one pace and addressed the terrified girl.
“Take off your dress!” the woman ordered abruptly. The command was met with a frantic whimper. Jane had somehow believed that they would simply make her raise the dress to her waist, but when the order came! ... Oh God, no she couldn’t! Not without a bra underneath! All she wore underneath the dress were her pants! Oh God, no!
Jane shook her head desperately and turned to face the woman, unbuttoning her dress down the front as she did so and pulling it open enough under the bosom to show the woman the reason for her reluctance. She stood, desperately hoping for understanding, an alternative to disrobing. The woman simply stared impassively at the panic stricken girl and repeated her order.
“Take off your dress, I said ... and be quick about it! You have ten seconds to obey or I will rip it off!”
Jane squealed in fear and shame, stepping back slightly, only to be pushed back into position by the policemen at her side. In those few brief seconds, the trembling girl tried to rationalise her situation. That would be it, that would have to be it ... surely they would demand no more! She thought desperately, young girls take off their dresses and bras on topless beaches every day these days, though she would always have been too shy. Crazily, she began to wonder if the men would think her breasts were too small, for she knew that they would be the focus of attention. She bit her lip, realising by the heat of her face she must have gone crimson, and brushed a tear aside. Realising that further procrastination was hopeless, she briefly put her head in her hands, uttering a loud shuddering sob, before completing the unbuttoning of her dress. She hung on to it for a few fleeting seconds, her eyes pleading for reprieve, then, crying softly, she pushed the dress off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, stepping out of it.
She stood, head bowed, her arms across her bare breasts, the slender body adorned only by a pair of pink cotton panties. Her eyes were closed and her face bright scarlet in shame and embarrassment. Jane had always been so shy, so modest, and standing here in just her knickers in front of all these men was the most shameful experience of her life. She kept her eyes closed for what seemed an eternity before she plucked up courage to open them and look briefly ahead. The men at the observation window were glued to the proceedings, enjoying her shame and she briefly glared in disgust, but then dropped her head again.
“Put your arms by your sides!” The woman, now so obviously in charge of these proceedings, spat out the command angrily and Jane, knowing she could not stand like a shy mannequin forever, quickly dropped her hands to her sides and stood with lowered head, not wanting to see the faces or hear the sniggers of the men who now could feast their eyes on her snow white naked breasts. She could study her breasts, heaving up and down in time with her fast, shallow breathing and, madly, to distract herself from what came next, Jane tried to do a visual assessment of whether her right breast was fractionally larger than her left. Would anybody notice? Was she normal? She’d never thought...
“Kneel up on the bench, body and arms across the leather!” Oh God, the time had come and suddenly Jane couldn’t swallow. A big lump had appeared in her throat which seemed to disperse only at the third attempt at gulping. She walked forward, suddenly feeling the chill as movement created slight currents of air and bit her lip to stop herself crying as she did as she was told. Trying to just keep the bench in her eye line so that she couldn’t see the watching people, she knelt up on the low wooden board, leaned forward and rested her shaking arms right across the leather centre of the punishment bench.
The tears had begun to flow again now as she knelt for what seemed like an eternity in this penance position, conscious ever more now of how vulnerable she was, and must look, dressed only in her tiny panties which would be no protection at all. At least her breasts were now concealed, pressed into the leather as she lay with her torso and arms across the centre of the bench. She heard voices and movement and raised her head to see a policeman, his face squat, Asiatic, cruel standing in front of her. She let out a frightened gasp and tried to bury herself deeper into the leather to protect her modesty. He showed no interest in ogling her breasts, just seized her arms and pulled her about a foot further forward, before handcuffing both her wrists to the metal bar on the far side of the bench.
Jane cried out in terror at both the suddenness and the effect of this action. She had been pulled forward far enough to expose her breasts, which were now hanging over the far side and her tummy now lay across the leather centre of the bench. Her legs had been stretched by this action so that the bend of her knees was much less acute and she was in a sprawling, rather than kneeling, position across the punishment bench. She began to tremble quite considerably and whimper in dread for the two effects of her new position were that she was handcuffed to the rail and could not get up and, worst of all, that her bottom had now been raised up so it was the highest point of her body. She cried, choking, gasping sobs as she imagined how she must look with her buttocks thrust right up through the thin material of her panties.
She closed her eyes, glad at least that she could no longer see the powerful man with that terrible cane, convinced that had she seen him swish it before her eyes once more she would have vomited or embarrassed herself in some way. Shame and terror were competing strongly for pride of place in Jane’s mind. She suddenly cried out as she heard something being screwed onto the low bench on which her knees rested, something which sounded like a vice. Any strange noise or unexpected happening now was reducing the terrified girl to jelly. Then the noise began on the ot
her side of her body and she began to shake in dread. As she lay wondering and waiting, she thought of that dreadful cane, how it had looked in the man’s hands ... how powerful he had looked, so strong, so well-muscled ... so enthusiastic to begin. She thought of her tender buttocks clad only in the thin panties which served only to give her some modesty, nothing more, and how within a matter of seconds, the irresistible force of his cane would meet the immovable object of her tender bottom ... twenty times! Unlike the adage, Jane knew there would be a winner, she knew who it would be, and began to weep uncontrollably.
Her knees were becoming sore from kneeling on the hard wooden bench and she began to think that soon she would not notice the soreness in her knees ... they would be the last of her worries and she continued to weep in dread. Suddenly a strong arm lifted her left leg and moved it about six inches to the left so that her knee rested now on soft canvas. The same was done with her right leg in the opposite direction so both her knees were protected from the hard wood and her legs were about a foot apart. Then she cried out as she felt cushioned locking clamps placed firmly in place across first her left, then her right calf and a clicking noise which signified they had been secured in position.
Jane really began to weep loudly at this latest indignity, for although she no longer had the discomfort from the hard wooden bench, she would gladly have tolerated that in preference to the alternative ...complete imprisonment of her legs in a position which left her bottom uppermost and her thighs apart. Her body began to tremble as she wept and she started to pray for deliverance. Her terror, now her fate was imminent, was almost overwhelming and she had to bite her lip to prevent herself shouting out ‘Please let me go. I’ll never do it again!’ like a panic stricken child. She tried to stop the helpless gulping sobs, knowing it would feed the delight of the people who had assembled to watch her punishment.