This little vignette was inspired by the manip below, which was recently posted in another thread. I liked the pic and started to think about the story behind it.
PUBLICLY CANED IN 1923 FOR PROMISCUITY
It was the summer of 1923. I went to the Middle East to join my husband who was serving there on a colonial posting with his regiment. I began my married life, reveling in my new name … Barbara Moore … but quickly found my days to be filled with boredom … he was always gone during the days, and to make matters worse, the sod rarely came home in the evening. My only escape from the dreariness of life was to wander daily in the bazaar … a place of constant activity and exotic delights.
I met a man there, a rakishly devil-may-care fellow from Australia, and then a very wild French woman. We would meet in the bazaar and then repair to the tea room of the Grande Londres Hotel. It wasn’t too long before the three of us were taking a private room in the hotel as well, and my boredom melted away… that is until he found out.
He was furious beyond reason and coldly turned me over to the local authorities, who were all too eager to try a pretty western woman for alleged promiscuity, find her guilty and sentence her to be publicly caned before a standing-room-only, all-male audience. Twenty strokes they said! I could hardly imagine what it would be like.
I spent the night in a cold dark cell and the next day was taken back to the Grandes Londres Hotel … the scene of my crime … stripped completely naked and led to a stage in the hotel’s grand salon, watched as I passed down the central aisle of the packed room by hundreds of darkly appreciative eyes.
Humiliated and frightened, I tried to cover myself, shielding my breasts and crotch as best I could with arms and hands. I waited quietly as my sentence was read, and tried to avoid eye contact with the mass of spectators, jostling with one another for a better look. Looking out across the room I saw the bastard, my husband, standing with arms folded in the back of the room, a spiteful look frozen on his aristocratic face. I hated him.
Told to bend forward, I obeyed, grasping the railing in front of me for support. A white robed man with a wicked looking cane took his position behind me. I sucked in my breath, spread my legs slightly as instructed, tightened my tummy, and waited … trembling, my dangling breasts swaying slightly.
The moment had come. I heard his robes rustle as he raised his arm. I closed my eyes. A tear ran down my cheek. A brief pause … absolute terrifying silence. Then the cane descended on my defenseless upturned bum with a zinging swish followed by a slicing whack of incredible force. I jumped, reflexively grabbed my stinging buttocks with my hands, and hopped about, breasts bouncing wildly.
Firm hands grasped my shoulders, held me still, and then forced me back down as a firm voice ordered me to resume the position for nineteen more……
PUBLICLY CANED IN 1923 FOR PROMISCUITY
It was the summer of 1923. I went to the Middle East to join my husband who was serving there on a colonial posting with his regiment. I began my married life, reveling in my new name … Barbara Moore … but quickly found my days to be filled with boredom … he was always gone during the days, and to make matters worse, the sod rarely came home in the evening. My only escape from the dreariness of life was to wander daily in the bazaar … a place of constant activity and exotic delights.
I met a man there, a rakishly devil-may-care fellow from Australia, and then a very wild French woman. We would meet in the bazaar and then repair to the tea room of the Grande Londres Hotel. It wasn’t too long before the three of us were taking a private room in the hotel as well, and my boredom melted away… that is until he found out.
He was furious beyond reason and coldly turned me over to the local authorities, who were all too eager to try a pretty western woman for alleged promiscuity, find her guilty and sentence her to be publicly caned before a standing-room-only, all-male audience. Twenty strokes they said! I could hardly imagine what it would be like.
I spent the night in a cold dark cell and the next day was taken back to the Grandes Londres Hotel … the scene of my crime … stripped completely naked and led to a stage in the hotel’s grand salon, watched as I passed down the central aisle of the packed room by hundreds of darkly appreciative eyes.
Humiliated and frightened, I tried to cover myself, shielding my breasts and crotch as best I could with arms and hands. I waited quietly as my sentence was read, and tried to avoid eye contact with the mass of spectators, jostling with one another for a better look. Looking out across the room I saw the bastard, my husband, standing with arms folded in the back of the room, a spiteful look frozen on his aristocratic face. I hated him.
Told to bend forward, I obeyed, grasping the railing in front of me for support. A white robed man with a wicked looking cane took his position behind me. I sucked in my breath, spread my legs slightly as instructed, tightened my tummy, and waited … trembling, my dangling breasts swaying slightly.
The moment had come. I heard his robes rustle as he raised his arm. I closed my eyes. A tear ran down my cheek. A brief pause … absolute terrifying silence. Then the cane descended on my defenseless upturned bum with a zinging swish followed by a slicing whack of incredible force. I jumped, reflexively grabbed my stinging buttocks with my hands, and hopped about, breasts bouncing wildly.
Firm hands grasped my shoulders, held me still, and then forced me back down as a firm voice ordered me to resume the position for nineteen more……
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I agree that pic is very erotic and certainly lends itself to fantasizing...
Of course maybe if you stopped wandering around in bazaars....
