Island Justice, a novella
Chapter 5
We went to Harriet's favorite spot for lunch. I thought about the "lunch" that
the girls were probably getting. I had called Linnea and given her the bad news.
She was disappointed but later philosophical about the punishment the girls were
to receive in the morning.
"A good whipping never did anybody any harm," she mused." It hurts like hell,
though. Believe me, I know. My father, your great uncle, was a firm believer in
the corrective power of a good strapping for disobedience and I found myself
being marched out to the barn on more than several occasions growing up. He
raised some welts on my behind with a harness strap, I can tell you. I guess
Erin could be bruised a bit but that's to be expected. Don't get me wrong. I
feel sorry for Erin and her friends, and it must be scary, being in jail, but
Lord, those girls brought it on themselves. Drugs! And they knew better!"
Softening, she added, "You'll look out for her, I know, Rollin.
Just...just...make sure it's legal--I mean how they do it, you know?"
I told Linnea that my collegue had assured me that they followed a strict
procedure, before , during and after. I even put Harriet on the line to tell her
that the punishment is designed to be painful but not cause permanent injury.
That's scant consolation when you know that at 10pm the next morning you're
going to be whipped as hard as a sturdy matron can manage, I thought.
Harriet told me to meet her on the street outside the compound at 5pm. That
would be when the punishment detail would bring Susan out to prepare the
switches for the birch rod to be used on her the next day.
When I arrived outside the grounds to the Justice Center there were about 20
people standing around. Most looked like islanders although there were a few
tourists. A grove of willow trees took up one corner of the greenspace inside
the iron fence shutting the grounds off from the rest of the world. I sidled up
to Harriet who regarded the crowd with a dour expression.
"Voyeurs," said Harriet disgustedly, waving her hand at the onlookers. "They've
got nothing better to do than watch some poor girl be humiliated. They must get
this vicarious thrill knowing that the girl they see out here cutting and
skinning switches is going to get her bottom whipped in the morning."
Just like Madame LaFarge at the foot of the guillotine, I thought-- a few
"courthouse rats" with too much time on their hands. They were talking excitedly
and avidly reading the notice displayed at the entrace gate announcing the fact
that one Susan Pemberton, having been convicted of drug possession, would
receive 36 lashes with the island birch on the morrow in the courtyard.
"Serves 'em right, I say," proclaimed a stolid matron loudly. "These little
madames parading around in their little thong bikinis should all have their
behinds whipped. Yes indeed. Whipped real hard!" she added, eyes aglow.
I surmised that it would do no good to point out to her that the punishment had
nothing to do with thong bikinis. She was obviously rapturous over the prospect
of a good flogging for any attractive young woman who could display herself in a
thong bikini.
At about five we could see a small procession emerging from the side of the
building. It was Susan with two matrons and a guard. Susan wore the tight
regulation denims and a halter top. I decided that she was a tiny bit bottom
heavy--still very attractive--the slender waist maybe offset her swelling
bottomcheeks, making them look all the more prominent, perhaps. They stopped at
the grove of willow and I could see the matron pointing to several choice
switches. She the handed Susan a small scissor-like pruning tool. Susan stood up
on tiptoe throwing her bounteous bottom into stark relief as she reached to cut
the indicated withes. Even from where I stood I could see her blushing with
shame at having to perform such an ignominious task. The catcalls and comments
from the watchers added to her humiliation.
"Look at the ass on that one--she'll get it good."
"Yeah, they've got a lot to work with--that's a butt that's going to get a right
smart whippin'."
"She'll be standing up on the plane for sure. I heard they're deporting her
right aftewrwards."
"Ralph--stop ogling. She'll be getting that fanny whipped good and proper--a
taste of our island justice. Ralph, you disgusting oaf, you're practically
drooling. Well, that's enough of this. I should cut a switch for you at home.
Come along." Ralph reluctantly trotted after the formidable housewife like a
puppy.
"It says it's to be 36 strokes. Ouch! She'll feel that for a long time."
"Hey, sweetie, just remember", called out some jerk in the throng, "--this hurts
us more than it'll hurt you." General laughter followed.
"Grin and bare it, honey, grin and bare it." More chuckles.
Susan must have been mortified. I know she was trying to ignore the remarks, but
I could not imagine the shame inflicted by a bunch of strangers looking on and
discussing your imminent whipping like it was a circus sideshow.
They cut quite a few switches. Harriet told me that their regulations called for
one rod per dozen strokes. As Susan cut where they told her, a matron took and
trimmed the switches to length using a yardstick to measure. We understood that
30" was the uniform length specified.
It took all of 15 minutes to complete this mortifying chore, but I'm sure that
for Susan they were long minutes, though probably not as long as the 15-20
minutes that it would take tommmorrow for them to give her the actual
punishment. The trimmed and peeled switches were tied in a bundle and the
punishment detail escorted Susan back to the compound. I have to confess, I was
watching the gentle sway of her sexy rear in those tight denims as she walked
away.
Harriet and I retired to her house that evening. There was nothing more to be
done. Harriet changed into a very fetching sundress made of some thin cotton.
She made us some fruit concoction with rum in it, and brought the pitcher over
to the table in front of the sofa. "If we tried to mount some sort of appeal or
PR campaign we would only prolong this thing, and in the end the girls would be
whipped anyway, right?" I just wanted to confirm this. I sort of felt that maybe
we hadn't done everything we could have.
"Right," said Harriet. "This island is rough for law 'n order. Especially drugs.
I know how they think. If they let these girls off with a scolding it sends the
wrong message. As I told you, they use the birch for petty thievery too. I had a
client a few months back--court appointed, you know, we all get them. Pretty
girl. Single mom. Two young children. She says she didn't lift anything from the
store, that it was a mistake. I believed her, and I told her she'd sound and
look good to a jury. Well, they offered her 24 strokes for a guilty plea. She
couldn't raise the money for bail and she had those two kids to take care of--so
she opted for the birch."
"She did a lively dance, Rollin. When they commenced to whipping her little seat
she was stoic at first, then she started yelping and squirming. At the end she
shrieked and cried like a baby. They took their time, too-- 24 slow deliberate
strokes in the noonday sun. She said later that at first it stung like bees and
then like a slow fire building up. Not so bad at first but then as the pain
builds on top of itself it takes your breath away. By about number six she was
yelping and dancing. But you know, by 20 she was doing sort of a slow grind
against the bar...." Her voice trailed off and her eyes had a distant look.
"Is this how you learned all this? the procedure, I mean? Through this client?"
" What?" She'd been distracted. "Oh, yeah, she was my first. This was all new. I
had done a little bit of everything, you know, divorce, wills, real estate--even
some juvenile and criminal stuff. The corporal punishment law had been in effect
for about 3 years before I got here. At first I was appalled, but I don't
know--it's probably better in a lot of cases than jail. And for women it's not
really brutal in the sense of injury or scars, but it stings like hell. Also,
it's more shameful. You know, to get your ass whipped like that. Frankly, I
think there's a sexual element too. In fact," her voice dropped to a
conspiratorial level, "I've heard that some women even become ah...aroused by a
birching." She blushed as she said it. It brought something back to me that
she'd said the previous night. I couldn't pin it down--it was hanging on the
edge of my memory--out of focus.
I acknowleged that I knew something about this, and under the influence of
Harriet's island punch or whatever, started to tell her about Karen and her
experiment with the "sandal". Her eyes grew wide as the tale unfolded. I guess
we'd both had a few drinks. Harriet flushed as the details poured out. I could
swear her nipples hardened, from what I could see through the thin top of her
dress. Something was going on with her.
"You spanked her?" she said breathlessly. I nodded. "Over her skirt?" I shook my
head. "Nooo...on her ...panties?" Another head shake. "Bare... er, bottomed?" A
yes nod. "I can't believe this! This was a...an experiment? And then what? Tell
me!" She was visibly excited. She licked her lips, eyes shining.
"Well...the sex was pretty.. ah..intense."
"Oh, my! Rollin! And I always thought you were so very proper with us ladies.
Now I know how naughty you are," she teased, "and a brute as well." She was
trying to compose herself. She paused, then asked, "Did you put her across your
knee like some bratty little girl?" I nodded. "So you put her over your knee,
pulled down her pants and gave her a spanking just so she could feel what a
correctional paddling felt like. And then you...then you..."
"That's about the size of it."
"I wonder about the size of it," she giggled.
"Now who's being naughty?"
"Well, Rollin you come in here looking all fine and fit and start telling tales
of spankings for girls on their bare bottoms...what's a lady to do?" Her voice
was now an octave lower and she leaned toward me. I grabbed her around the waist
and pulled her to me. She mashed her lips to mine and we kissed, deeply, her
furtive tongue seeking mine. My hand found her breast and I palmed it gently
pinching the erect nipple. She groaned with pleasure. I stood up pulling her
with me. She pulled away for a moment then unzipped the little sundress. It fell
to the floor leaving her in a wispy bra and thong panties. Wow! She was
gorgeous. She was sort of long waisted with baseball sized perky breasts and
wide flaring hips. Now as we resumed the kiss my hands roamed her sumptuous
seat, caressing and kneading the resilient mounds. She responded with a low moan
and by grinding her pelvis against mine.
We moved back to the couch. I sat down and cradled her face up in my lap and
continued kissing her while my hand caressed her breasts. After awhile I slid my
hand between her legs. Yep, the gusset of the thong was slippery wet. She
groaned as I slid my fingers up and down her slit. She started humping against
my hand then stopped. She propped herself halfway up.
"Try it on me," she said in a throaty whisper. I thought, "Huh?" But I got her
meaning as she turned over and crawled face down across my lap, stretching her
body out along the couch, her hips cocked over my right thigh. Her impudently
rounded bottomcheeks jutted up, soft, inviting. She looked back at me. "Go
ahead, spank me. I want to see what it feels like. Smack my bottom."
"You want me to spank you?"
"Umm...yes. The idea of it gets me hot. I just want to feel what it's like to
get a real fanny warming. You will won't you? Don't you think I have a nice
fanny?" And she gave it a little wiggle. Who could resist?
"As you wish, my dear." I patted and rubbed the fleshy mounds. She purred, and
arched her fanny up even higher. Then I started smacking her with little half
force slaps. Her rear wobbled deliciously, and she gasped in pleasure. I spanked
from side to side, slowly to let her absorb each one. She writhed and ground her
hips in response to each one. Then I picked up the pace, briskly spanking now.
She let out a stream of "Oh...oh...oh" as my palm went smack! smack! smack! Her
bottom was getting pink now, then hot pink as I spanked a little harder. These
spanks were interspersed with rubbing, kneading and a few trips by my hand to
that wet spot between her legs. Then I landed about ten good hard smacks, in a
right! left! right! left! pattern. She gave a squeal and ground her hips into my
lap.
"Oooh....Rollin..that stung!" she bleated.
"Well this is a spanking you know. It's supposed to sting."
And with that I delivered another 10, this time medium hard. My hand struck
firmly, flattening each jouncy summit. The delicious mounds gave a little quiver
and than spang back to their original rounded shape as each solid smack landed.
Smack! A firm crack to her left cheek.
"Owwww....Rollin!"
Smack! Another one to the other side.
"Oooh....ahhhh...!"
Smack! Smack!
"Ouch! Ouch!" She gave a little jump and kicked her legs.
I kept it up, alternately smacking her bouncing derriere soundly and pausing to
rub. When I did this she humped her hips, ginding her pelvis on my leg. Her
bottom color changed from pink to hot pink to a tomato red hue as I continued
her sexy chastisement. She started humping in time now, pushing her bottom up to
meet my descending hand. I could sense she might be close to cumming.
After a fast flurry of about a dozen, I stopped and pulled her up. Her mouth
was a wide "O" and she rubbed her cheeks as she knelt on the couch, her eyes
shining, her chest heaving.
"Now I know what all the fuss is about," she said. "Ooo...I'm hot. Everywhere.
Mmmm, that was wonderful," she breathed and slid to the floor kneeling between
my legs. She undid my zipper and pulled out my rock hard penis. "Did spanking me
do all that?" she said licking her lips. I could only groan in assent because
she proceeded to slip my member between her lips and swirl her tongue around the
head. I was lost in a paroxism of pleasure. She eventually stopped, shucked down
my pants and slipped off her bra and thong. My cock was sticking straight up as
she lowered herself on it and started to pump up and down. The sliding friction
was exquisite. She was moaning now and pumping harder and faster. She came in a
shuddering climax, shaking like a rag doll. I came a second or two later,
pushing up with my hips, banging against her pelvic bone. We collapsed in each
other's arms, breathless and spent. Until we recovered, that is. The next one
was longer and more leisurely. Finally, exhausted, we fell asleep in each
other's arms.
