With a loud crack the gavel slammed onto the judge's desk. "This court will come to order. Mr. Smith, you've been charged with DUI, Careless and Reckless Driving, and Resisting Arrest. I understand you wish to enter into a plea agreement. Is that correct?"
"Yes, Your Honor. I have spoken with the District Attorney, and we have reached an agreement that will allow me to be punished without the undue hardship that jail time would place on my family. I understand that what I did was wrong, and I throw myself on the mercy of the court."
"Young man, this court has little mercy on people who endanger others by driving drunk. Especially those that drive recklessly and resist arrest on top of it all. However, this court also realizes that it is not fair to penalize your family, who are blameless in this and rely upon your income for their sustenance. I see in your plea agreement you have agreed to be subjected to corporal punishment to pay your debt to society. I wish to inform you that this will be no adolescent schoolboy spanking. You have committed major adult offenses, and your bottom will be severely punished in a major adult manner. It is this court's wish to ensure that society's will be imprinted forever on your mind, and likely for some time on your behind. Are you sure you wish to continue with this arrangement?"
Yes, Your Honor. I realize that I am to receive punishment unlike anything I have ever experienced in the past. I wish it were not so, but it is the only honorable thing that I can do."
"Very well. In the matter of the Careless and Reckless Driving, I sentence you to not less than 100 nor more than 200 strokes of the prison strap. On the charge of Resisting Arrest, I sentence you to not less than 100 nor more than 200 strokes of the penal paddle. On the most serious charge, the DUI, I sentence you to a judicial caning of not less than 24 strokes nor more than 48. All strokes will be given full force, and on the bare buttocks. The exact number of strokes in each punishment will be determined by your Punishment Officer. He will make his determination based on how much contrition you show, while simultaneously ensuring that you take every stroke that he feels you are physically able to endure. I assure you, you will be extremely sorry by the time he is done. Punishment to be carried out one week from today, at the residence of the Punishment Officer. You may obtain that address from the bailiff. This court is adjourned."
The ensuing week dragged out ever so slowly. While on the one hand I never wanted the appointed day to arrive, on the other the suspense and anticipation were killing me. Finally, after a week of nearly sleepless nights, the day arrived. I went to work as usual, but my mind was not on my job. Even my co-workers commented on the fact that I seemed to be squirming around and more nervous than usual. Every time I sat, I relished the feeling of being comfortable...of not yet having to deal with the pain that I knew this simple act would involve in just a few hours. Finally it was 4, and my shift was over. I knew I didn't have a lot of time, so I hurried out to my car. My appointment with the Punishment Officer was at 5, and he lived clear across town. I didn't relish the idea of being late, as I would sure I would pay for such a transgression with even more licks.
I arrived at his residence about 5 minutes early, thank goodness. After a few moments to collect myself, I walked to the door and timidly knocked. Now that the punishment was almost upon me, the butterflies seemed to be doing a "Riverdance" in my stomach. The door opened, and I was immediately struck by the size of the Punishment Officer. He was about 6 feet tall, and built large. While he didn't look like a weight lifter, the size of his hands and arms instantly told me this man would swing a mean strap, paddle and cane. And I was going to find out just how mean in a few minutes.
Upon entering the residence, I was ushered to his study. The officer told me to place my hands on my head, and then he frisked me. Finding I had no weapons, he ordered me to strip. He ran his hands over every inch of my bottom. "Got to make sure you haven't taken any type of numbing shot, you know," he stated matter-of-factly.
After the search, the Punishment Officer stood and walked to the wall next to what was evidently the spanking bench. Retrieving a large prison strap and a can of Neatsfoot Oil, he returned. "This is the strap I will be applying to your bare bottom. You are to oil it well. It is my opinion that the time it will take you to do so will allow you to reflect on why you are here and what you are about to receive. Please ensure that it is well-oiled. This will make it more supple, and will also add in the effectiveness of its bite, as you will soon see. When you have finished preparing the strap, you will bring it to me in the next room. You will present it to me, and in a manner befitting someone who has misbehaved as badly as you have, you will ask me to carry out the first stage of your punishment. I shouldn't need to tell you that the job you do preparing and presenting the strap will have a direct bearing on the number of strokes you will receive with it."
With that, he turned on his heel and left me to my task. Not wishing to make matters worse, I carefully oiled the strap, working it deep into the leather. As I turned it over in my hands, I could but imagine the cadence it would soon be making on my backside, and the accompanying tune I would no doubt be singing. After a few minutes I had completed my task, the strap shining with a glistening sheen of oil. Carrying it into the next room, I presented it to the Punishment Officer, politely handle first. "Here is your strap, Sir. I have prepared it as you directed. Please, Sir, take it and apply it as hard as you can across my bare ass, for as long as you think you need to teach me a lesson to never drive recklessly again."
With a nod he took the strap, and guided me back into the study. "Lay face down on the bench please. Place your midsection over the elevated area." Once in position, he fastened my wrists together and then to the bench. He then fastened each ankle to the sides of the bench. As a final step, he passed a strap over the small of my back, securing me firmly to the bench, and ensuring I could not move my bottom out of the path of the strap. Satisfied with his handiwork, he placed the strap directly in front of my face, and starting a 3-minute timer remarked, "I'm going to give you three minutes to think about how nice and cool and white your bottom is right now. I'm sure you'll also be thinking about this strap, and how it's going to change all that very shortly."
Three short minutes later, the timer sounded. The Punishment Officer returned, and picking up the strap said, "Well, young man, I guess it's time to get down to business.
The inevitable cliche followed. "Not nearly as sorry as you will be when I'm done with you!"
Moving to my left, he laid the strap lightly across my ass to get his aim, causing me to flinch even though it wasn't even a stroke. His aim set, his arm raised over his head, then the strap came down with a loud CRACK! It sounded like a pistol shot in the small room. Instantly I felt a 3-inch wide strip of agony branded across both butt cheeks. After a delay of about 3 or 4 seconds, to make sure I got the full effect of the stroke, the strap again lashed across my cheeks. He continued strapping my bare bottom with a regular cadence. After only 4 strokes, every inch of my ass, including the sensitive undercheeks, had been visited by the strap. That meant every stroke from there on out would be landing on already punished flesh, intensifying the pain and damage that already existed there.
After 25 strokes, the strapping stopped. "Could this be all?" I wondered. "Maybe he's going to have mercy on me."
As if reading my mind, the Punishment Officer snapped me out of my reverie. "Don't think we're done. We're not done by a long shot. I didn't stop out of kindness to you. I will give you a break after every set of 25 strokes. This will allow me to rest and regain my strength, and will also ensure your bottom does not become numb. It is important that you feel each stroke deeply, that the pain from each stroke build, until you feel that you cannot take any more. In the interest of equality, I will alternate sides after each set. We wouldn't want your left cheek feeling left out, would we?"
After another minute or two, he took up the strap and positioned himself to my right. The next 2 minutes were pure hell, the only sounds in the room being the crack of the strap on bare flesh and the grunts and yelps each stroke produced. My bottom felt as though it was being blowtorched. At the next break, the realization that I was, at best, halfway through my strapping burned into my mind. That and the fact that I still had the paddling and caning to go after that!
Three more sets followed, each more painful than the last. When the 125th stroke landed, he told me, "I'm going to let that be all for the strap. You're getting off lightly, because I like the job you did on oiling and presenting the strap."
"Gee, thanks." escaped my lips before I realized it. I've always had a habit of putting my mouth in gear before my brain. The only thing I was thinking was "If that was 'lightly', I'm Mother Theresa!"
Catching my flippant response to his generosity, he actually chuckled. "Well, I see you've still got an attitude. True to my word, you won't get any more of the strap. But I don't think you'll be too happy with what that remark will cost you with the paddle." With that, he picked up a lexan paddle that had holes throughout. "I like to use this one, because I can lay it on really hard. The holes here will blister that backside of yours, although I doubt you'll be thrilled about that. Just so happens I like putting white blisters on top of purple strap welts. And together, they make a nice foundation for the caning you'll be getting. Oh, and by the way, when I finish your punishment paddling with this paddle, I'll address the penalty strokes for your comment with 50 swats of my wooden frat paddle. That should make you think twice about being a smartass."
The paddling followed the same routine as the strapping: 25 strokes from one side, a break, then 25 strokes from the other side. About 30 minutes and 175 agonizing swats later, my paddling was finally over. Despite my bucking, pleading and yelping, he had laid each swat on full force. My butt cheeks felt like they were swollen to twice their normal size, but in my heart I knew I had brought this on myself. Not only was I receiving the punishment I deserved, but I had made it worse on myself by copping an attitude the one time he had tried to show mercy.
"All right, young man. Only one aspect of your punishment left, but it will be by far the worst. Your caning is for the most serious offense, the DUI. I have not yet decided how many strokes to administer. As you know, it will be at least 24. However, I am particularly against drunk driving. Therefore, it is my hope that I will be able to administer the 48 allowed. I will not do any permanent damage, as that is beyond the scope of my duties. I will, however, make sure that each stroke brands a stripe across your backside that you will wear for at least a week. It is likely that you will scream, and it is equally likely that you will bleed. Neither of those things will deter me from administering the caning you have earned and richly deserve. It will be administered in sets of 6, alternating sides as I have been doing thus far. Prepare yourself."
Each stroke of the cane came with a loud SWISH, and landed with a THWACK that resounded through the room. The Punishment Officer timed these strokes with a longer delay, about 10 seconds between each. After each stroke landed, I could feel a white hot streak across both cheeks. The pain seemed to swell into a crescendo over the period of a few seconds. Each stroke brought a clenching of my entire body...my fists curled into balls, legs and cheeks tightened. It was only after I had relaxed that the next stroke fell.
Finally, after 36 strokes, my ordeal was over. Released from my bonds, the Punishment Officer directed me to a bathroom to examine the damage and refresh myself. True to his word, he had drawn blood in several spots from the tip of the cane. My entire bottom, from just at the top of my crack, to about an inch below the crease dividing cheeks and thighs, was a dark maroon in color. There were purple welts marking some places where the strap had fallen with particular force. The crowns of both cheeks bore the telltale greyish-white blisters produced by a hard paddling. Across both cheeks were dark, raised weals from the cane. I splashed cold water on my face, and gingerly wiped my bottom with tissue to remove some of the blood. Scarcely wanting to, I put on my pants, foregoing my underwear, which would have been to tight on my beaten bottom.
I was certainly a well-punished young man, and it was highly unlikely I'd ever be guilty of the same offenses again.