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Priya's Punishment

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windar

Teller of Tales
This story takes place a few months after "Like Mother, Like Daughter", which if you haven't yet read it, is here http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/like-mother-like-daughter.7493/. I think many of you would also enjoy "The Cane Mutiny", which I wrote with Barb, which stands somewhat apart, though we may see one of two of the characters from that story make an appearance here;)

I have only written the first chapter at this point so all input will be considered seriously. The chapters will appear irregularly as time and circumstances allow.




Dr. Priya Raman clicked out of case files on her laptop and rubbed her eyes. The clinical trial she was running was underway, with several active sites and more coming on board shortly, mostly burn units and trauma services at large medical centers.

It was a randomized, double-blinded placebo-controlled trial of Trabco Pharmaceuticals’ wound-healing cream, a proprietary mix of extracts from plants found in the jungles of Trabbia, formulated by a Trabbian physician, Dr. Fong. Patients would receive either the actual ointment or a placebo designed to look and smell as close as possible to it. Neither they nor the doctors treating them would know which was which.

Priya had spent the last few hours looking at photographs of trial subjects on the dedicated server. Their wounds were photographed at the beginning and then at various times following treatment. It was clear that around half the patients were healing very rapidly, while the rest healed much more slowly. Priya thought it likely that the first group were the ones who had received the real cream, though they were coded and the code would only be broken at the end of the study. She and her boss, Dr. Fong, would certainly be ecstatic if that proved to be the case.

In addition to the hospitals, the cream was being tested at two sites run by Priya’s former employer, the Department of Corrections of her state. The studies were being run at two sites where severe corporal punishments were administered to non-violent offenders in lieu of jail or community service. One site flogged males and the other, females.

Up until a couple of months ago Priya had worked at the Female Corporal Punishment Center #3, located on the outskirts of Dorsbury, the college town where she lived now and had studied as an undergraduate. As Medical Officer at the facility, it had been her job to certify offenders as fit to receive their caning and to ensure that they did not suffer permanent damage that would render them unable to be contributing members of society.

Priya had left that job for the position with Trabco, tempted by a large salary increase, stock options and the chance to bring the benefits of the cream, which she had seen with her own eyes, to a large number of patients who she believed could benefit greatly from it.

Although she liked her new job very much, the challenges and independence, not to mention the ability to work at home in a T shirt and pajama bottoms as she was doing at present, there were things Priya missed about her former position. She had reveled in the official, almost ceremonial nature of the process, the offenders being checked in, made to strip, being subjected to an invasive search of their bodies, followed by the medical exam that she got to perform. The parade of women fascinated her, the different builds, ages, ethnic backgrounds, social status, all made equal in their nakedness and fear.

Most interesting and, sexually arousing-though Priya didn’t like herself for finding it thus, was the raw power and authority of the state, as wielded by the guards and she herself and the submission that it produced in even the most assertive offender. The two regular guards at the facility, Sgt. Sue Miller and Ofc. Beth Timmins, had a well-practiced set of threats, insults and intimidation that turned even the most recalcitrant offender into a compliant object resigned to accept her punishment.

And of course, observing the punishments had been an essential part of Priya’s job. Even after having worked at the Center for over a year, she couldn’t help feeling a small frisson of excitement watching the naked offenders being strapped down to the flogging frame, immobile, their ass presented to the caner, their most intimate parts spread wide open by the bent over, legs apart posture.

Priya had never tired of watching George, the muscular caner, slash the flexible rattan with all his might against the helpless butt flesh, dragging the tip against the skin so as to create maximum damage. But it was the reactions of the poor offenders that had really excited Priya. First, the attempt to suffer stoically, which rarely lasted beyond the first few strokes. Then, the moans, howls, useless pleas and imprecations as the pain built to unbearable levels. Finally, the silence, as the sufferer became too drained of strength to react to the lashes, no matter how much the mind wanted to protest.

At the end, they would be untied and helped, usually limping, to Priya’s clinic, where she would disinfect their wounds, which would usually set them to howling and squirming as the alcohol made its way into the wheals and cuts left by the cruel rattan. Then, she would apply the salve, not Fong’s cream, but some reasonably soothing off-the-shelf ointment and they would be sent off to pass the night in agony before Priya would examine them and discharge them the next morning.

But her pride in her former job wasn’t just in observing the women suffering, but also in knowing that, unlike the patients she had seen in the hospital before she had joined the Dept. of Corrections, their suffering was for a purpose. Their pain was part of demonstrating the majesty of the law and impressing upon them the need to obey it.

And the experience of the offenders had been all the more meaningful for Priya because of a dark secret from her past, a secret she had never told her husband, Sanjay, her parents, or any of her colleagues at the hospital or the Punishment Center. Many years ago, as an undergraduate at Dorsbury College, Priya had gone to Trabbia with her professor, Susan Gelden, and two of her classmates.

There, they had watched two young Trabbian students caned and then been caned themselves, an experience that Priya had found horrifying, but also extremely arousing. As she thought back over her experiences in Trabbia and at the Punishment Center, Priya found her right hand straying inside her pajama bottoms. She quickly pulled it out and sniffed the musky smell, then flicked out her tongue to taste the wet secretions.

Sanjay was visiting a client in the state capital a few hours away and wouldn’t be home until that evening. Priya knew she couldn’t wait. She stood and lowered the pajama bottoms to the floor and stepped out of them. Then she lay down on the sofa, and rested the laptop on her stomach.

She called up one of the popular porn sites and browsed through the latest postings. Most didn’t interest her, but there was one with two women, a pale blond and a black girl with a reasonably good looking guy. Priya forwarded through a few of the preliminary scenes stopping at one where the blond girl was eating out the black one while the guy was fucking her from behind.

Priya started the video and let her hand stray back to her pussy, which quickly became very wet. She could feel the tension building as the black girl moaned and grabbed the blond’s hair to pull her closer to her crotch. Priya’s legs were stretched straight out in front of her, her toes pointed.

She inserted a finger inside; it slid easily into the well-lubricated passage. Her thumb was pressed hard against her clit. Priya heard the black girl say, “I’m going to come soon,” but Priya wasn’t really focusing on her.

No, Priya was remembering that day a few months ago when her former professor, Susan Gelden had been given eighteen cane strokes, along with her daughter, Rebecca Goldman for a foolih ill-advised protest against the state’s corporal punishment law. Priya’s hand was moving rapidly, stimulating both her clit and her G spot now.

She watched the girl in the video’s whole body shake as she came, but Priya’s mind saw Susan’s arms and legs pulling against the restraints and heard her howl her distress as Priya felt the powerful orgasm tear through her body for what seemed like five minutes at least.

Finally, the contractions ebbed. Priya lay there, panting for breath, sweaty and totally drained.

After a while she stirred, retrieved her pajama bottoms and went to the kitchen to fetch a snack and bring it back to the sofa. She turned on the TV and idly flipped channels. She was part way into one of those home remodeling shows when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen. It was Paul Roberts, her former boss at the Dept. of Corrections.

‘I hope he’s calling to talk about adding more sites at other Punishment Centers,’ Priya thought. “Hi, Paul,” she said as she answered the call.

“Hi, Priya. Is this a good time to talk?”

“Sure,” she replied. “I’m pleased with the enrollment and the data from the two centers so far and I hope we can add more.”

“I’m waiting to hear back from the docs at those sites Priya,” Paul said. “I’ll let you know soon, I hope. But there is something else I need to speak with you about.”

“Oh, what’s that?” she asked.

“You remember that mother and daughter who were caned right before you left for protesting corporal punishment, Susan Gelden and Rebecca Goldman? You know, the day I was there with all those students and the legislators?”

“Of course, Paul. How could I forget that? That was quite a show. And you know that the mom was an old professor of mine.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, pausing. “There’s something I have to ask you, though? Nothing untoward happened after their caning, right?”

Priya’s heart started racing. ‘What was this about?’ she wondered. She had been alone with each of them. No one could have known what happened. “Untoward? What do you mean, Paul?” she asked, hoping that he didn’t notice the strain in her voice.

“They’ve filed a complaint with the Department.”

“A complaint?”

“They claim that you offered them the special cream from the trial, which, of course can’t be used outside of the study protocol and then had sex with them. They admit it was consensual, but of course prisoners are not legally able to give consent.”

Priya laughed. “Paul, I’m a happily married woman.”

“I know that. I’m just relaying what they claim. They have similar stories. Each was alone with you. You asked if they wanted the cream, then you stimulated their genitals until they had an orgasm and then asked them to do the same to you, which they felt in no position to refuse.”

“Paul, that’s ridiculous. Why would I so such a thing? And of course they tell the same story, they’ve had a couple of months to concoct all the details.” Priya tried her best to sound like an innocent person outraged at being falsely accused.

“Look, Priya, I support my staff, including former staff. I’m not inclined to take the word of a couple of criminal malcontents over a doctor with a sterling reputation.” Priya breathed a sigh of relief. Surely, this would all go away. “However, you have to understand the position I’m in. It’s a formal complaint. I’ve had to forward this to the Inspector General’s Office.”

“Paul, this is crazy,” Priya protested.

“Perhaps, but the rules are clear. They’ll sort it out. I would expect you will hear from their investigators in the next couple of days. But I felt I owed you a head’s up.”

“Thanks, Paul,” Priya said, though to tell the truth, she didn’t feel very thankful. What she felt was scared, scared that this would become a major scandal that could end her career, scared that this would mean having to tell the whole story to Sanjay and her family, even if she managed to escape charges for misconduct in public office, a crime for which she could end up in prison or caned or both, she was pretty sure, even though she wasn’t a lawyer.

‘Why would Susan and her daughter do this?’ she wondered. They had been happy to accept the cream, which had helped them to heal much better than the ointment that the other offenders got. And they had both willingly let her get them off and had clearly enjoyed themselves a great deal. Returning the favor after that had seemed natural and even kind of sweet, Priya thought.

She wondered what had induced Susan to come forward with this now, a couple of months after the event. Whatever it was, the deed was done. Priya went back to the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of wine. It would be her word against two witnesses, admittedly convicted offenders who would certainly have a grudge against the entire system and anyone who worked in it. Still, Priya knew this was trouble. It was likely to get out at some point and the press would certainly pick it up.

She had gone back and forth in her mind for a long time over whether or not to tell Sanjay about what had happened in Trabbia and the real reasons why she had gone to work at the Corporal Punishment Center. She had almost confessed to him more than once.

In the end, the fear of how he would react had stopped her. But now, with the very real possibility of public exposure, Priya knew she would have to bite the bullet and hope for the best.
 

Barbaria1

Rebel Leader
Staff member
“They claim that you offered them the special cream from the trial, which, of course can’t be used outside of the study protocol and then had sex with them. They admit it was consensual, but of course prisoners are not legally able to give consent.”
Uh oh! It was just a matter of time, Priya. This is serious!
 

Totila

Condemned
Uh-oh, Priya risks prison and the cane!?

I'd gotten the impression that caning in America is intended as an alternative to incarceration, so Priya's freshly caned ass would be guaranteed to attract a lot of unwanted attention in the prison showers.
 

twonines

Tribune
This story takes place a few months after "Like Mother, Like Daughter", which if you haven't yet read it, is here http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/like-mother-like-daughter.7493/. I think many of you would also enjoy "The Cane Mutiny", which I wrote with Barb, which stands somewhat apart, though we may see one of two of the characters from that story make an appearance here;)

I have only written the first chapter at this point so all input will be considered seriously. The chapters will appear irregularly as time and circumstances allow.




Dr. Priya Raman clicked out of case files on her laptop and rubbed her eyes. The clinical trial she was running was underway, with several active sites and more coming on board shortly, mostly burn units and trauma services at large medical centers.

It was a randomized, double-blinded placebo-controlled trial of Trabco Pharmaceuticals’ wound-healing cream, a proprietary mix of extracts from plants found in the jungles of Trabbia, formulated by a Trabbian physician, Dr. Fong. Patients would receive either the actual ointment or a placebo designed to look and smell as close as possible to it. Neither they nor the doctors treating them would know which was which.

Priya had spent the last few hours looking at photographs of trial subjects on the dedicated server. Their wounds were photographed at the beginning and then at various times following treatment. It was clear that around half the patients were healing very rapidly, while the rest healed much more slowly. Priya thought it likely that the first group were the ones who had received the real cream, though they were coded and the code would only be broken at the end of the study. She and her boss, Dr. Fong, would certainly be ecstatic if that proved to be the case.

In addition to the hospitals, the cream was being tested at two sites run by Priya’s former employer, the Department of Corrections of her state. The studies were being run at two sites where severe corporal punishments were administered to non-violent offenders in lieu of jail or community service. One site flogged males and the other, females.

Up until a couple of months ago Priya had worked at the Female Corporal Punishment Center #3, located on the outskirts of Dorsbury, the college town where she lived now and had studied as an undergraduate. As Medical Officer at the facility, it had been her job to certify offenders as fit to receive their caning and to ensure that they did not suffer permanent damage that would render them unable to be contributing members of society.

Priya had left that job for the position with Trabco, tempted by a large salary increase, stock options and the chance to bring the benefits of the cream, which she had seen with her own eyes, to a large number of patients who she believed could benefit greatly from it.

Although she liked her new job very much, the challenges and independence, not to mention the ability to work at home in a T shirt and pajama bottoms as she was doing at present, there were things Priya missed about her former position. She had reveled in the official, almost ceremonial nature of the process, the offenders being checked in, made to strip, being subjected to an invasive search of their bodies, followed by the medical exam that she got to perform. The parade of women fascinated her, the different builds, ages, ethnic backgrounds, social status, all made equal in their nakedness and fear.

Most interesting and, sexually arousing-though Priya didn’t like herself for finding it thus, was the raw power and authority of the state, as wielded by the guards and she herself and the submission that it produced in even the most assertive offender. The two regular guards at the facility, Sgt. Sue Miller and Ofc. Beth Timmins, had a well-practiced set of threats, insults and intimidation that turned even the most recalcitrant offender into a compliant object resigned to accept her punishment.

And of course, observing the punishments had been an essential part of Priya’s job. Even after having worked at the Center for over a year, she couldn’t help feeling a small frisson of excitement watching the naked offenders being strapped down to the flogging frame, immobile, their ass presented to the caner, their most intimate parts spread wide open by the bent over, legs apart posture.

Priya had never tired of watching George, the muscular caner, slash the flexible rattan with all his might against the helpless butt flesh, dragging the tip against the skin so as to create maximum damage. But it was the reactions of the poor offenders that had really excited Priya. First, the attempt to suffer stoically, which rarely lasted beyond the first few strokes. Then, the moans, howls, useless pleas and imprecations as the pain built to unbearable levels. Finally, the silence, as the sufferer became too drained of strength to react to the lashes, no matter how much the mind wanted to protest.

At the end, they would be untied and helped, usually limping, to Priya’s clinic, where she would disinfect their wounds, which would usually set them to howling and squirming as the alcohol made its way into the wheals and cuts left by the cruel rattan. Then, she would apply the salve, not Fong’s cream, but some reasonably soothing off-the-shelf ointment and they would be sent off to pass the night in agony before Priya would examine them and discharge them the next morning.

But her pride in her former job wasn’t just in observing the women suffering, but also in knowing that, unlike the patients she had seen in the hospital before she had joined the Dept. of Corrections, their suffering was for a purpose. Their pain was part of demonstrating the majesty of the law and impressing upon them the need to obey it.

And the experience of the offenders had been all the more meaningful for Priya because of a dark secret from her past, a secret she had never told her husband, Sanjay, her parents, or any of her colleagues at the hospital or the Punishment Center. Many years ago, as an undergraduate at Dorsbury College, Priya had gone to Trabbia with her professor, Susan Gelden, and two of her classmates.

There, they had watched two young Trabbian students caned and then been caned themselves, an experience that Priya had found horrifying, but also extremely arousing. As she thought back over her experiences in Trabbia and at the Punishment Center, Priya found her right hand straying inside her pajama bottoms. She quickly pulled it out and sniffed the musky smell, then flicked out her tongue to taste the wet secretions.

Sanjay was visiting a client in the state capital a few hours away and wouldn’t be home until that evening. Priya knew she couldn’t wait. She stood and lowered the pajama bottoms to the floor and stepped out of them. Then she lay down on the sofa, and rested the laptop on her stomach.

She called up one of the popular porn sites and browsed through the latest postings. Most didn’t interest her, but there was one with two women, a pale blond and a black girl with a reasonably good looking guy. Priya forwarded through a few of the preliminary scenes stopping at one where the blond girl was eating out the black one while the guy was fucking her from behind.

Priya started the video and let her hand stray back to her pussy, which quickly became very wet. She could feel the tension building as the black girl moaned and grabbed the blond’s hair to pull her closer to her crotch. Priya’s legs were stretched straight out in front of her, her toes pointed.

She inserted a finger inside; it slid easily into the well-lubricated passage. Her thumb was pressed hard against her clit. Priya heard the black girl say, “I’m going to come soon,” but Priya wasn’t really focusing on her.

No, Priya was remembering that day a few months ago when her former professor, Susan Gelden had been given eighteen cane strokes, along with her daughter, Rebecca Goldman for a foolih ill-advised protest against the state’s corporal punishment law. Priya’s hand was moving rapidly, stimulating both her clit and her G spot now.

She watched the girl in the video’s whole body shake as she came, but Priya’s mind saw Susan’s arms and legs pulling against the restraints and heard her howl her distress as Priya felt the powerful orgasm tear through her body for what seemed like five minutes at least.

Finally, the contractions ebbed. Priya lay there, panting for breath, sweaty and totally drained.

After a while she stirred, retrieved her pajama bottoms and went to the kitchen to fetch a snack and bring it back to the sofa. She turned on the TV and idly flipped channels. She was part way into one of those home remodeling shows when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen. It was Paul Roberts, her former boss at the Dept. of Corrections.

‘I hope he’s calling to talk about adding more sites at other Punishment Centers,’ Priya thought. “Hi, Paul,” she said as she answered the call.

“Hi, Priya. Is this a good time to talk?”

“Sure,” she replied. “I’m pleased with the enrollment and the data from the two centers so far and I hope we can add more.”

“I’m waiting to hear back from the docs at those sites Priya,” Paul said. “I’ll let you know soon, I hope. But there is something else I need to speak with you about.”

“Oh, what’s that?” she asked.

“You remember that mother and daughter who were caned right before you left for protesting corporal punishment, Susan Gelden and Rebecca Goldman? You know, the day I was there with all those students and the legislators?”

“Of course, Paul. How could I forget that? That was quite a show. And you know that the mom was an old professor of mine.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, pausing. “There’s something I have to ask you, though? Nothing untoward happened after their caning, right?”

Priya’s heart started racing. ‘What was this about?’ she wondered. She had been alone with each of them. No one could have known what happened. “Untoward? What do you mean, Paul?” she asked, hoping that he didn’t notice the strain in her voice.

“They’ve filed a complaint with the Department.”

“A complaint?”

“They claim that you offered them the special cream from the trial, which, of course can’t be used outside of the study protocol and then had sex with them. They admit it was consensual, but of course prisoners are not legally able to give consent.”

Priya laughed. “Paul, I’m a happily married woman.”

“I know that. I’m just relaying what they claim. They have similar stories. Each was alone with you. You asked if they wanted the cream, then you stimulated their genitals until they had an orgasm and then asked them to do the same to you, which they felt in no position to refuse.”

“Paul, that’s ridiculous. Why would I so such a thing? And of course they tell the same story, they’ve had a couple of months to concoct all the details.” Priya tried her best to sound like an innocent person outraged at being falsely accused.

“Look, Priya, I support my staff, including former staff. I’m not inclined to take the word of a couple of criminal malcontents over a doctor with a sterling reputation.” Priya breathed a sigh of relief. Surely, this would all go away. “However, you have to understand the position I’m in. It’s a formal complaint. I’ve had to forward this to the Inspector General’s Office.”

“Paul, this is crazy,” Priya protested.

“Perhaps, but the rules are clear. They’ll sort it out. I would expect you will hear from their investigators in the next couple of days. But I felt I owed you a head’s up.”

“Thanks, Paul,” Priya said, though to tell the truth, she didn’t feel very thankful. What she felt was scared, scared that this would become a major scandal that could end her career, scared that this would mean having to tell the whole story to Sanjay and her family, even if she managed to escape charges for misconduct in public office, a crime for which she could end up in prison or caned or both, she was pretty sure, even though she wasn’t a lawyer.

‘Why would Susan and her daughter do this?’ she wondered. They had been happy to accept the cream, which had helped them to heal much better than the ointment that the other offenders got. And they had both willingly let her get them off and had clearly enjoyed themselves a great deal. Returning the favor after that had seemed natural and even kind of sweet, Priya thought.

She wondered what had induced Susan to come forward with this now, a couple of months after the event. Whatever it was, the deed was done. Priya went back to the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of wine. It would be her word against two witnesses, admittedly convicted offenders who would certainly have a grudge against the entire system and anyone who worked in it. Still, Priya knew this was trouble. It was likely to get out at some point and the press would certainly pick it up.

She had gone back and forth in her mind for a long time over whether or not to tell Sanjay about what had happened in Trabbia and the real reasons why she had gone to work at the Corporal Punishment Center. She had almost confessed to him more than once.

In the end, the fear of how he would react had stopped her. But now, with the very real possibility of public exposure, Priya knew she would have to bite the bullet and hope for the best.
Have Susan and Rebecca been conspiring with a certain Dr. Moore?
 

windar

Teller of Tales
Uh oh! It was just a matter of time, Priya. This is serious!
You think?
Uh-oh, Priya risks prison and the cane!?

I'd gotten the impression that caning in America is intended as an alternative to incarceration, so Priya's freshly caned ass would be guaranteed to attract a lot of unwanted attention in the prison showers.
Around here, we make up the laws as we go along!!
Have Susan and Rebecca been conspiring with a certain Dr. Moore?
Anything is possible...
 

windar

Teller of Tales
But, Priya didn’t have her talk with Sanjay that evening. It was already almost 8 when he got back, looking tired from his trip. Priya knew that it would take quite a bit of time to adequately explain the whole situation, so they snuggled on the sofa, watched a movie and went to bed.

That morning, over breakfast, Priya said, “Can you be home early this evening, darling? There’s something we need to talk about.”

Sanjay looked up from his phone, his eyebrows raised. “What? Is everything OK?” he asked.

Priya’s stomach fluttered. ‘Did he know? Were there already rumors out there?’ She decided that it was just husbandly concern. “Yes,” she replied, trying to convince herself as well as him, “Everything’s fine. It’s just we haven’t had a romantic dinner in a little while. I’ll make something Indian.” Despite their common heritage, they didn’t make Indian food all that often. Some of the dishes took more effort to make than either of them had the time for most evenings so when the urge hit them, they usually went out to one of the local Indian restaurants.

Sanjay smiled. “Sure, Priya. I’ll be home by 5, no problem. Maybe after dinner we could, you know…”

Priya smiled. “Who knows? Anything could happen.” She watched him leave, wondering whether he would leave for good once he came to know the deep dark secrets of the woman he had married. She went upstairs and took a nice hot shower, keeping her self-imposed vow not to get herself off, saving it for later in case Sanjay wasn’t totally disgusted with her.

She put on jeans and a T shirt and went back downstairs to reply to a series of emails that had come in overnight, including one from Dr. Fong in Trabbia, whom she updated on the latest enrollment figures.

Before she could finish it, though, the doorbell rang. Sanjay, being a tech junkie, had installed one of those video doorbells that communicated through her phone. There were two people, an older man and a younger woman, neither of whom she knew. But she’d spent enough time in the Dept. of Corrections to be pretty sure that they were cops of one variety or another.

‘Shit!’ she thought, ‘Paul wasn’t kidding.’ “Yes,” she spoke into the phone.

“Is Dr. Priya Raman here?” The man asked.

“That’s me,” Priya replied.

“We’re from the State Police,” he said. They both flashed badges in front of the camera. They looked authentic. “May we come in and speak with you?”

“What is this about?” Priya asked, trying to sound as though she truly had no idea why they were there.

“We’ll be happy to explain it, if you wouldn’t mind letting us in,” the woman said. Priya padded over, barefoot, and opened the door. Without much ceremony they came through the opening and stood in the foyer. “I’m Inspector Margaret Nelson,” the woman said.

“And I’m Inspector John Adams. No relation to the late President in case you were wondering,” the man said.

Priya hadn’t been wondering. All she wondered was whether they were going to arrest her. A call from the local lockup wasn’t how she wanted to break the news to Sanjay. She led them towards the sofa where she been sitting. She picked up her laptop. “Please have a seat.” They sat, a professional distance from each other.

“Would you like some coffee? I’d be happy to make some.”

The two cops glanced at each other. “That won’t be necessary. This shouldn’t take too long,” the woman said.

Priya sat on the loveseat facing them. “So, what is this about?” she asked.

“Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?” Inspector Adams asked. Priya nodded. “Do you remember the day a few months ago, right before you left your position at Female Corporal Punishment Center #3, when Susan Gelden and her daughter, Rebecca Goldman, were flogged?”

“Yes, of course. It was quite a spectacle. We had our inspection and some legislators decided to tag along and there was a professor who brought some students.”

“And you knew Professor Gelden from before, right?” Inspector Nelson asked.

“Yes, she was a professor of mine when I was an undergraduate here at Dorsbury College.” Priya was quite sure they knew that already.

“And when the whole event was over, you offered to stay until the night guard arrived?”

“I wanted to give Sergeant Miller and Officer Timmins a break and I had nothing planned here at home.”

“I see,” Inspector Adams said. “Was that something you did often?”

“No,” Priya said, not sure where this was going. “A few times before maybe, if they had something urgent to take care of.”

“But normally, it would have been their job to stay until the night guard arrived?” the woman asked.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Priya replied. This was definitely headed in a direction that made her uncomfortable.

“Now, this was not Rebecca Goldman’s first visit to the center, right?” Adams asked. “On her originally scheduled punishment date she showed up with two of her co-conspirators, right?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“But she didn’t receive her lashes that day, did she?”

“No, her blood pressure was very high and her pulse was racing. I decided it would be safest to have her come back on a later date.”

Inspector Nelson reached into her briefcase and extracted a piece of paper. She handed it to Priya. “This is Rebecca Goldman’s Medical Fitness form, is it not?”

Priya looked at it. “Yes,” she said.

“I note that the box labelled ‘Fit for Punishment’ is checked and then crossed out and the box ‘Temporarily Unfit’ is checked.”

“Yes, that looks to be the case.”

“Did you change that before Susan Gelden showed up to protest her daughter’s caning or after?” Adams asked.

“I don’t remember. It was a while ago,” Priya said. She hoped the two cops wouldn’t notice the tremor in her hands.

“You interrupted the exam to go outside to speak with Professor Gelden, didn’t you? He asked.

“I recognized her on the video camera when Sue and Beth showed it to me. She hasn’t changed that much since I was her student. I wanted to warn her that she would get in trouble if she didn’t stop her protest. Unfortunately, she didn’t listen.”

“Now you had been close to Professor Gelden, back when you had been her student? Closer than a normal professor-student relationship, wouldn’t you say?” the female inspector asked.

“Well, she invited me and a couple of other students on an archaeological dig, so we spent a lot of time together.”

“That would have been to Trabbia, right?”

They had done their homework. “Yes,” Priya replied, “Trabbia,” trying to keep the emotion out of her voice as best as she could.

“Did you know Rebecca Goldman was her daughter?” the male inspector asked.

“I knew she had a daughter who would have been around Rebecca’s age, but I didn’t make the connection until Susan told me why she was there protesting.”

The two cops looked at each other. “I see,” the female one said. “Just one more thing,” she continued pulling two more items out of her briefcase. They were photos of two naked buttocks, female by appearance. In case Priya was wondering, they were labelled in the corner; one said “Goldman, Rebecca” and the other said, “Gelden, Susan” along with a date which was approximately two weeks ago.

Priya was puzzled. “What is this?”

“You’re a doctor,” Adams said, “Surely you know buttocks when you see them?”

“Of course, but what does this have to do with anything?”

“Wouldn’t you say they look a bit different than you would expect?” Inspector Nelson asked.

Priya stared at the photos. It was odd to look at Susan’s ass in such a context. She remembered fondling it when they had been lovers in Trabbia and applying the cream after her caning here. The thought made her wet. “They look like normal human female buttocks,” she said.

“But that’s just the thing,” Nelson said. “They had gotten eighteen lashes a couple of months before this. Wouldn’t you expect more scarring?”

Priya’s heart sank. She was in real trouble and wasn’t sure how she could get out of this. “People heal differently,” she said. Even she didn’t believe that was an adequate explanation.

“Your replacement at the Center, Dr. Alison Taylor, took these photos. She thinks the healing is remarkable. In fact, the only time she’s seen such healing is in the trial of the Trabco Pharmaceuticals cream, the trial in which she is an investigator and which you are in charge of in your new position.”

Priya didn’t know what to say. She was well and truly fucked. “I don’t know. I really can’t say. The trial is blinded, so Dr. Taylor doesn’t know who got the cream and who got placebo.”

The two cops stood. “I think we’ve covered what we wanted to discuss,” Adams said. “Thank you for your time. We’ll be in touch.” Priya saw them to the door and shut it behind her. She sat back on the loveseat and looked at the unfinished email to Fong. ‘What’s the point?’ she thought. ‘My career is finished. I’ll be lucky to escape a caning and maybe prison. I was an idiot to fool around with Susan and her daughter and now I’m going to pay the price.’
 

twonines

Tribune
But, Priya didn’t have her talk with Sanjay that evening. It was already almost 8 when he got back, looking tired from his trip. Priya knew that it would take quite a bit of time to adequately explain the whole situation, so they snuggled on the sofa, watched a movie and went to bed.

That morning, over breakfast, Priya said, “Can you be home early this evening, darling? There’s something we need to talk about.”

Sanjay looked up from his phone, his eyebrows raised. “What? Is everything OK?” he asked.

Priya’s stomach fluttered. ‘Did he know? Were there already rumors out there?’ She decided that it was just husbandly concern. “Yes,” she replied, trying to convince herself as well as him, “Everything’s fine. It’s just we haven’t had a romantic dinner in a little while. I’ll make something Indian.” Despite their common heritage, they didn’t make Indian food all that often. Some of the dishes took more effort to make than either of them had the time for most evenings so when the urge hit them, they usually went out to one of the local Indian restaurants.

Sanjay smiled. “Sure, Priya. I’ll be home by 5, no problem. Maybe after dinner we could, you know…”

Priya smiled. “Who knows? Anything could happen.” She watched him leave, wondering whether he would leave for good once he came to know the deep dark secrets of the woman he had married. She went upstairs and took a nice hot shower, keeping her self-imposed vow not to get herself off, saving it for later in case Sanjay wasn’t totally disgusted with her.

She put on jeans and a T shirt and went back downstairs to reply to a series of emails that had come in overnight, including one from Dr. Fong in Trabbia, whom she updated on the latest enrollment figures.

Before she could finish it, though, the doorbell rang. Sanjay, being a tech junkie, had installed one of those video doorbells that communicated through her phone. There were two people, an older man and a younger woman, neither of whom she knew. But she’d spent enough time in the Dept. of Corrections to be pretty sure that they were cops of one variety or another.

‘Shit!’ she thought, ‘Paul wasn’t kidding.’ “Yes,” she spoke into the phone.

“Is Dr. Priya Raman here?” The man asked.

“That’s me,” Priya replied.

“We’re from the State Police,” he said. They both flashed badges in front of the camera. They looked authentic. “May we come in and speak with you?”

“What is this about?” Priya asked, trying to sound as though she truly had no idea why they were there.

“We’ll be happy to explain it, if you wouldn’t mind letting us in,” the woman said. Priya padded over, barefoot, and opened the door. Without much ceremony they came through the opening and stood in the foyer. “I’m Inspector Margaret Nelson,” the woman said.

“And I’m Inspector John Adams. No relation to the late President in case you were wondering,” the man said.

Priya hadn’t been wondering. All she wondered was whether they were going to arrest her. A call from the local lockup wasn’t how she wanted to break the news to Sanjay. She led them towards the sofa where she been sitting. She picked up her laptop. “Please have a seat.” They sat, a professional distance from each other.

“Would you like some coffee? I’d be happy to make some.”

The two cops glanced at each other. “That won’t be necessary. This shouldn’t take too long,” the woman said.

Priya sat on the loveseat facing them. “So, what is this about?” she asked.

“Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?” Inspector Adams asked. Priya nodded. “Do you remember the day a few months ago, right before you left your position at Female Corporal Punishment Center #3, when Susan Gelden and her daughter, Rebecca Goldman, were flogged?”

“Yes, of course. It was quite a spectacle. We had our inspection and some legislators decided to tag along and there was a professor who brought some students.”

“And you knew Professor Gelden from before, right?” Inspector Nelson asked.

“Yes, she was a professor of mine when I was an undergraduate here at Dorsbury College.” Priya was quite sure they knew that already.

“And when the whole event was over, you offered to stay until the night guard arrived?”

“I wanted to give Sergeant Miller and Officer Timmins a break and I had nothing planned here at home.”

“I see,” Inspector Adams said. “Was that something you did often?”

“No,” Priya said, not sure where this was going. “A few times before maybe, if they had something urgent to take care of.”

“But normally, it would have been their job to stay until the night guard arrived?” the woman asked.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Priya replied. This was definitely headed in a direction that made her uncomfortable.

“Now, this was not Rebecca Goldman’s first visit to the center, right?” Adams asked. “On her originally scheduled punishment date she showed up with two of her co-conspirators, right?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“But she didn’t receive her lashes that day, did she?”

“No, her blood pressure was very high and her pulse was racing. I decided it would be safest to have her come back on a later date.”

Inspector Nelson reached into her briefcase and extracted a piece of paper. She handed it to Priya. “This is Rebecca Goldman’s Medical Fitness form, is it not?”

Priya looked at it. “Yes,” she said.

“I note that the box labelled ‘Fit for Punishment’ is checked and then crossed out and the box ‘Temporarily Unfit’ is checked.”

“Yes, that looks to be the case.”

“Did you change that before Susan Gelden showed up to protest her daughter’s caning or after?” Adams asked.

“I don’t remember. It was a while ago,” Priya said. She hoped the two cops wouldn’t notice the tremor in her hands.

“You interrupted the exam to go outside to speak with Professor Gelden, didn’t you? He asked.

“I recognized her on the video camera when Sue and Beth showed it to me. She hasn’t changed that much since I was her student. I wanted to warn her that she would get in trouble if she didn’t stop her protest. Unfortunately, she didn’t listen.”

“Now you had been close to Professor Gelden, back when you had been her student? Closer than a normal professor-student relationship, wouldn’t you say?” the female inspector asked.

“Well, she invited me and a couple of other students on an archaeological dig, so we spent a lot of time together.”

“That would have been to Trabbia, right?”

They had done their homework. “Yes,” Priya replied, “Trabbia,” trying to keep the emotion out of her voice as best as she could.

“Did you know Rebecca Goldman was her daughter?” the male inspector asked.

“I knew she had a daughter who would have been around Rebecca’s age, but I didn’t make the connection until Susan told me why she was there protesting.”

The two cops looked at each other. “I see,” the female one said. “Just one more thing,” she continued pulling two more items out of her briefcase. They were photos of two naked buttocks, female by appearance. In case Priya was wondering, they were labelled in the corner; one said “Goldman, Rebecca” and the other said, “Gelden, Susan” along with a date which was approximately two weeks ago.

Priya was puzzled. “What is this?”

“You’re a doctor,” Adams said, “Surely you know buttocks when you see them?”

“Of course, but what does this have to do with anything?”

“Wouldn’t you say they look a bit different than you would expect?” Inspector Nelson asked.

Priya stared at the photos. It was odd to look at Susan’s ass in such a context. She remembered fondling it when they had been lovers in Trabbia and applying the cream after her caning here. The thought made her wet. “They look like normal human female buttocks,” she said.

“But that’s just the thing,” Nelson said. “They had gotten eighteen lashes a couple of months before this. Wouldn’t you expect more scarring?”

Priya’s heart sank. She was in real trouble and wasn’t sure how she could get out of this. “People heal differently,” she said. Even she didn’t believe that was an adequate explanation.

“Your replacement at the Center, Dr. Alison Taylor, took these photos. She thinks the healing is remarkable. In fact, the only time she’s seen such healing is in the trial of the Trabco Pharmaceuticals cream, the trial in which she is an investigator and which you are in charge of in your new position.”

Priya didn’t know what to say. She was well and truly fucked. “I don’t know. I really can’t say. The trial is blinded, so Dr. Taylor doesn’t know who got the cream and who got placebo.”

The two cops stood. “I think we’ve covered what we wanted to discuss,” Adams said. “Thank you for your time. We’ll be in touch.” Priya saw them to the door and shut it behind her. She sat back on the loveseat and looked at the unfinished email to Fong. ‘What’s the point?’ she thought. ‘My career is finished. I’ll be lucky to escape a caning and maybe prison. I was an idiot to fool around with Susan and her daughter and now I’m going to pay the price.’
This is well done and maintains the high standard we have come to expect from your writing.
Ptiya is really starting to worry now and the thought of another caning is frightening not exciting her.Looking forward to further developments.
 

Jon Smithie

Governor
Priya, No! Haven't you watched any American police procedurals? Smile at the nice officers when they ask you that first question and say, "With all due respect, officers, I refuse to answer any questions unless an attorney is present." And then SHUT UP!

On the other hand, if I was the prosecuting attorney I would argue that her willingness to talk is evidence of a guilty conscience, and should earn her an extra six strokes. If she lawyered up, then I would argue that her unwillingness to talk is evidence of a guilty conscience, and should earn her an extra six strokes.
 

Totila

Condemned
Priya, No! Haven't you watched any American police procedurals? Smile at the nice officers when they ask you that first question and say, "With all due respect, officers, I refuse to answer any questions unless an attorney is present." And then SHUT UP!

On the other hand, if I was the prosecuting attorney I would argue that her willingness to talk is evidence of a guilty conscience, and should earn her an extra six strokes. If she lawyered up, then I would argue that her unwillingness to talk is evidence of a guilty conscience, and should earn her an extra six strokes.
I'm not usually the one to advocate mercy, especially not in cases like this, but come on, man!
She's in for the full 24 strokes as it is. Her buttocks are going to be completely raw after that, imagine 6 more strokes on top of it!?
The sheer bloodshed will probably cause more than a few of the official witnesses to excuse themselves before the punishment is over.
 

The Beast

Governor
Priya has failed the trust the state has placed in her. For that punishment should be more severe than for normal criminals. This must set an example to other officials that they should follow the rules of the law without any doubts. Besides, she didn't learn the lesson she got in Trabia. That's recidivism and law should have regulations for that.
 

windar

Teller of Tales
This is well done and maintains the high standard we have come to expect from your writing.
Ptiya is really starting to worry now and the thought of another caning is frightening not exciting her.Looking forward to further developments.
Thank you for the kind words.
Priya, No! Haven't you watched any American police procedurals? Smile at the nice officers when they ask you that first question and say, "With all due respect, officers, I refuse to answer any questions unless an attorney is present." And then SHUT UP!

On the other hand, if I was the prosecuting attorney I would argue that her willingness to talk is evidence of a guilty conscience, and should earn her an extra six strokes. If she lawyered up, then I would argue that her unwillingness to talk is evidence of a guilty conscience, and should earn her an extra six strokes.
Priya has failed the trust the state has placed in her. For that punishment should be more severe than for normal criminals. This must set an example to other officials that they should follow the rules of the law without any doubts. Besides, she didn't learn the lesson she got in Trabia. That's recidivism and law should have regulations for that.
You know that never helps and just this makes the whole thing looks fishy. It's better to take fire escape ladder as in good old movies.
I'm not usually the one to advocate mercy, especially not in cases like this, but come on, man!
She's in for the full 24 strokes as it is. Her buttocks are going to be completely raw after that, imagine 6 more strokes on top of it!?
The sheer bloodshed will probably cause more than a few of the official witnesses to excuse themselves before the punishment is over.
I suppose we need to consider that Priya might actually WANT to be punished for her transgressions. In Stan Goldman's experience that is not so unusual...
 

Jon Smithie

Governor
I'm not usually the one to advocate mercy, especially not in cases like this, but come on, man!
She's in for the full 24 strokes as it is. Her buttocks are going to be completely raw after that, imagine 6 more strokes on top of it!?
The sheer bloodshed will probably cause more than a few of the official witnesses to excuse themselves before the punishment is over.
Your concerns are well founded. Certainly the health and safety of the prisoner must be an important consideration, and frankly I'm the last person who would want to see Priya permanently injured or maimed. I'm sure there would be an upper limit placed on the number of strokes as a matter of law, probably varying slightly by state, and certainly the federal system would have its own limit as well. Honestly, as Windar describes the severity of the punishment, twenty-four would seem excessive to me. The answer is obvious--a Punisment Installment Plan, or PIP. After each punishment installment, there would be a suitable interval for recuperation, again consonant with the health and safety of the prisoner. So let's say Priya is given a punishment of thirty strokes. This could be broken up, for instance, into three installments. However, as with every installment plan, interest would have to be added. I think twenty per cent per installment would be reasonable. So Priya would be given a total of three installments of ten, plus an extra six strokes.

Of course, we're not in the driver's seat here. I'm sure Windar is equally concerned with Priya's health and well being as we are. On to Windar's next installment.
 
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