Rough hands arouse me from my fitful slumber. It is barely light and at first I am confused but realisation swiftly comes. Today is the day of my punishment.
My mouth is dry and I feel extremely thirsty. I reach for my water bowl but it is no longer there. Swiftly I am pulled from my crude bunk by wordless guards and dressed in a short white shift. I am aware that my bladder is full but I know there is going to be no offer for relief. I am fully awake now and I begin to feel the first pangs of fear.
I am lead from my cell and we begin to walk slowly along the long corridor. My legs are unable to support me and I stumble. Hands reach out to hold me upright and steer me to my fate. We reach the door of the medical room and the prison doctor emerges, he glances at me and consults some papers in his hand. He opens my mouth and looks inside, then takes my temperature. He declares me healthy and next, without a backward look, he hurries away. The whole episode, my medical examination to determine fitness for punishment has taken perhaps ten seconds.
We continue along the corridor, the torturous journey seems interminable and the guards begin to chatter amongst themselves as if I did not exist. Suddenly, we are at the entrance to the punishment room, a guard swings the heavy oak door open and we enter.
The room is quite large but very sparse, a cold stone floor and bare white white painted walls. My eyes fix immediately on a wooden contaption at one end, leather straps are fastened to it at various points. I have seen such a cruel looking device before and I know it is this to which I will be securely fastened. An array of canes hang on the wall near it. A short distance away are about 20 or 30 chairs in tiers to ensure the comfort of those who are to watch my ordeal. On the wall above the device is the one concession to modern technology, a large screen television on which a conveniently placed camera will allow the spectators to view my face.
Before I have time to think further, my shift is torn from my body and, completely naked, I am hustled towards the loathsome contraption and thown over it. I feel straps biting into me tightly as they secure my wrists and ankles to its legs. Two more straps just above my knees and one right over my lower back complete the process. I am completely helpless now, My legs apart and my delicate bottom exposed to it's inevitable fate. My most intimate parts are on clear view to my audience.
I hear people entering the room, the sound of chairs scraping and the buzz of conversation. I hear the cheerful voices of men and women and an occasional burst of laughter. I know that, in a short while, all these sounds will be drowned by my screams of agony. I am aware that attendance at these events is much sought after and that some of these people will have paid a lot of money to be here. To see a young girl such as myself, barely into her twenties, receive such a horrific punishment, to see her marked and scarred for life, both physically and mentally, is indeed a rare treat for these affectionados.
Fear grips me like a vice now, it devours my whole body and the feeling is totally indescribable. Sheer and utter terror! My bladder finally gives way and I feel my warm piss running down my legs. I begin to weep, silently at first and then loudly and uncontrollably. I beg and plead for mercy but nobody answers my cries. I scream and strain against my restraints but to no avail. The sound of laughter grows louder in the room.
Every muscle in my body is beginning to protest in agony caused by the rigid position my bonds are forcing me to maintain. When I first entered the room it felt cool but now my whole body is bathed in sweat, it soaks my hair and it stings my eyes. Almost delirious with pain and fear, time ceases to have any meaning for me and I lie in complete misery until I become aware of the magistrate calling the assembly to order. I am desperately thirsty.
The magistrate begins to recite my crimes and the punishment decreed but, in my state, his words have no meaning and I remain a blubbering incoherent wreck. My feet are in a pool of my own piss and my once pretty face is streaked with tears,sweat, saliva and snot. Anyway I already know my sentence, 300 strokes of the cane on my buttocks and the backs of my thighs.
The 300 strokes are to be administered by four muscular men in relays of 25 strokes. At 150 strokes there will be a short break of 10 or 15 minutes while light refreshments are served to the audience and they have a chance to discuss the events so far. Friends have told me that the men will be very experienced and will use the cane to maximum effect. They like to play to the audience and will take every opportunity to do so at my expense. They will also prolong the procedure as much and as often as possible. Should I pass out, I will merely be cruelly revived in order that my nightmare may continue. I know that at the conclusion of my caning my damaged body will be left on display for maybe an hour or two.
The magistrate talks for an eternity but finally he stops and there is a ripple of applause. All goes silent and an atmosphere of suppressed excitement fills the room.
My true hell is about to begin.
