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Punished in a Foreign Country

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Aslin nee 8ball

Magistrate
I would like to start a thread dedicated to someone being punished in a foreign land or country. I fantasize about such things and especially enjoy writing in “first person” about it. I will start with a story I am writing entitled “ I don’t do well with pain. “ I have started this story on the thread Waiting for Corporal Punishment but I am past the “waiting” stage and want to delve into the punishment as it happens. I will start transferring to this thread. The first parts of the story will follow:

I Don’t do Well with Pain part 1
Please! Please, Please. It’s almost morning. I don’t want to be whipped. Ten strokes for each 100 grams of opium is a horrible sentence. It was my boyfriend David’s idea. He said a kilo would be easy to hide. He said we would be set financially for a long time. He ran. He left me. My court appointed attorney said plead guilty. He said I would get a slap on the hand. Maybe a few days in jail and a small fine. But the judge said “ it was time to set an example. I am tired of young Americans buying and selling drugs in this country. Let this show that we will no longer allow drug trafficking in our country. I sentence this woman to be incarcerated for 10 years at the state penal institute for women.”My knees buckled as I looked at my lawyer. “Furthermore, prior to her prison term , I also sentence her to a public corporal punishment.” I looked at my lawyer with a what the hell does that mean look. He shook his head slowly as the judge continued, “ At 10 am tomorrow morning I sentence this young woman to be stripped completely naked, tied to the whipping frame , and to receive 100 lashes of the grade 5 whip. The strokes will be spread over her body so that no one part of her body receive more than the 25 strokes allowed by law.”
I am mortified. What does he mean my punishment will be public? I will not survive 100 strokes. I don’t do well with pain. The sun is shining trough the window of my cell. It’s morning and they will come for me.....I don’t deserve this . It was David’s idea. I won’t survive this. I can’t handle pain. Please! Please! Please. ( to be continued)
 

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Barbaria1

Rebel Leader
Staff member
I would like to start a thread dedicated to someone being punished in a foreign land or country. I fantasize about such things and especially enjoy writing in “first person” about it. I will start with a story I am writing entitled “ I don’t do well with pain. “ I have started this story on the thread Waiting for Corporal Punishment but I am past the “waiting” stage and want to delve into the punishment as it happens. I will start transferring to this thread. The first parts of the story will follow:

I Don’t do Well with Pain part 1
Please! Please, Please. It’s almost morning. I don’t want to be whipped. Ten strokes for each 100 grams of opium is a horrible sentence. It was my boyfriend David’s idea. He said a kilo would be easy to hide. He said we would be set financially for a long time. He ran. He left me. My court appointed attorney said plead guilty. He said I would get a slap on the hand. Maybe a few days in jail and a small fine. But the judge said “ it was time to set an example. I am tired of young Americans buying and selling drugs in this country. Let this show that we will no longer allow drug trafficking in our country. I sentence this woman to be incarcerated for 10 years at the state penal institute for women.”My knees buckled as I looked at my lawyer. “Furthermore, prior to her prison term , I also sentence her to a public corporal punishment.” I looked at my lawyer with a what the hell does that mean look. He shook his head slowly as the judge continued, “ At 10 am tomorrow morning I sentence this young woman to be stripped completely naked, tied to the whipping frame , and to receive 100 lashes of the grade 5 whip. The strokes will be spread over her body so that no one part of her body receive more than the 25 strokes allowed by law.”
I am mortified. What does he mean my punishment will be public? I will not survive 100 strokes. I don’t do well with pain. The sun is shining trough the window of my cell. It’s morning and they will come for me.....I don’t deserve this . It was David’s idea. I won’t survive this. I can’t handle pain. Please! Please! Please. ( to be continued)
Off to a promising start. Looking forward to the continuation. :)
 

Aslin nee 8ball

Magistrate
I Don’t Do Well with Pain Part 2

I shrink back against the far corner of my cell, sitting with my arms wrapped around my knees. My head bowed. I try to make myself invisible. Think it. Believe it. To no avail, they come for me. I hear the key inserted into the lock. I hear the deadbolt slide as the key is turned. I push back into the corner and start kicking ands screaming. David you said you would come back for me. David where are you? You said you would come for me but you ran. You left me. I told them it was your idea. The prosecutor said who is David? They found no David. They only found me and my backpack full of opium. David I hate you.
One of the burly guards grabs me by my arms and lifts me from the floor like I am a child’s doll. He begins to shake me , yelling at me to stop fighting. I try to kick him in the groin but he twists away. Suddenly he slams me hard against the concrete wall of the cell. The breath is knocked out of me. I am a rag doll in his hands as I gasp for breath. My lungs are aching for air. I can not speak.
He tells me to remove my clothing. I am still wearing the clothing I was wearing when arrested, t-shirt and shorts. I am still searching for air...I can’t speak. I shake my head to let him know . Without a moments hesitation he and his partner tear my t-shirt to shreds. He grasps my bra right between my breasts and with one meaty hand slowly pulls as he holds my body at arms length with the other hand.the material stretch’s to its limit and eventually begins to shred. It hurts as the skin under the bra becomes abraded. My brain is screaming. I don’t do well with pain. Finally the clasp gives way, my breasts bounce and I scream as he tears the bra from my chest. He nods at my remaining clothing. I immediately slide both my shorts and my lace panties down my legs and step out of them.
I realize I am naked and try to cover myself. The second grabs my arms and pulls my hands behind me. Soon my hands are in handcuffs. I have finally caught my breath but I am speechless as I stand naked and ashamed before my guards. I am petrified as they play with my breasts, weighing them with their hands, tweaking my nipples until they respond and harden.They laugh as to jump when the first guard reaches below and slides a meaty finger into my vagina. They laugh again when the finger comes out wet and glistening. A collar with a chain is affixed around my neck and I am led from the cell with the first guard leading me by the chain.
The walk is long thru many corridors. Finally we come to a tunnel with sunlight shining thru the opening.We pass thru the opening and I blink my eyes to adjust to the brightness. It is some sort of stadium and the capacity crowd roars at the sight of the naked young American woman that they have come to see punished. There are television cameras all around a central platform. In the center of the platform sits what must be the whipping frame. A very muscular young man stands next to the frame holding what must be the grade 5 whip. It looks vicious. My knees buckle. It is really happening . I am to be whipped naked in front of all these people. I am so afraid, I don’t do well with pain.
 

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Aslin nee 8ball

Magistrate
I Don’t Do Well with Pain. Part 3
A cameraman holding a portable tv camera rushes toward me. I can see him focusing a close-up on my face. The guards each grab hold of one of my biceps and hold me up straight. As I stare into the camera, the cameraman back focuses the camera to take in all of my body. I feel so naked! It wasn’t bad enough that the stadium was filled with people who were viewing me from a distance, but the people watching tv at home we’re getting a close up look at me....the tears starting to fill my eyes, my naked breasts, my trimmed bush, and my still unmarked back and bottom. Ashamed I tried to bolt but the burly guards had me under control before I took two steps. I could hear the crowd erupt at my unsuccessful escape attempt. Unfortunately, I thought and began blushing, the television viewers had a close up look at my flailing hair, bouncing breasts, and possibly even a glimpse or two between my legs as I kicked out at the guards.
The cameraman backed his way toward the platform , while keeping the camera focused on my face and body. I was turned toward the cursed platform. As I struggled the guards led me toward the platform steps. It was then I gasped as I noticed for the first time the two Jumbotron scoreboards at opposite ends of the stadium. On the huge screens was me , larger than life...tearful, struggling against the guards, my breasts jiggling and nipples erect with fear. God, everyone could see me up close and personal. I never felt so naked. A deep crimson blush flowed from my face, to my neck, to my upper chest. I could see it on the screen, they could see it. I tried to become small, cover up but the camera caught everything, my nakedness and my shame.
I felt myself forced up the steps and suddenly I was at the place I had feared and thought about every minute since the trial. I was told to sit as my sentence was read. The judge who had overseen my trial read my sentence and walked past me as he took his seat at the side of the platform. I guess judicial privilege gets you a front row seat in this god forsaken country. I was raised to my feet and struggled mightily as the guards forced me against the whipping frame and successfully secured me at wrists and ankles.
The crowd was loud and raucous, pointing and laughing at my futility. It became eerily quiet as the man with the whip took his position directly behind me. My body was shaking. My teeth were chattering as I tried to fight the impending feeling of doom that enveloped me. I feel the The eyes of all in attendance are all staring at me. I see the cameras all focusing on me. I know I won’t survive these 100 lashes. I don’t want to die.. I am young , I have so much life ahead of me. Why did I come to this country? Why did I listen to David? I am having trouble breathing...I don’t do well with pain... I hear the whip whistle thru the air and I hear it crack as the muscular man snaps it in the air. My punishment is about to begin...... ( to be continued)
 

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Loxuru

Graf von Kreuzigung
I would like to start a thread dedicated to someone being punished in a foreign land or country. I fantasize about such things and especially enjoy writing in “first person” about it.
I find it an interesting topic too.

Traveling to a foreign country is always an enriching experience.
But beware : foreign country means foreign rules and laws!
And foreign punishments!
Although that could be part of the travel experience too!
 

slave6665

Guard
I Don’t Do Well with Pain. Part 3
A cameraman holding a portable tv camera rushes toward me. I can see him focusing a close-up on my face. The guards each grab hold of one of my biceps and hold me up straight. As I stare into the camera, the cameraman back focuses the camera to take in all of my body. I feel so naked! It wasn’t bad enough that the stadium was filled with people who were viewing me from a distance, but the people watching tv at home we’re getting a close up look at me....the tears starting to fill my eyes, my naked breasts, my trimmed bush, and my still unmarked back and bottom. Ashamed I tried to bolt but the burly guards had me under control before I took two steps. I could hear the crowd erupt at my unsuccessful escape attempt. Unfortunately, I thought and began blushing, the television viewers had a close up look at my flailing hair, bouncing breasts, and possibly even a glimpse or two between my legs as I kicked out at the guards.
The cameraman backed his way toward the platform , while keeping the camera focused on my face and body. I was turned toward the cursed platform. As I struggled the guards led me toward the platform steps. It was then I gasped as I noticed for the first time the two Jumbotron scoreboards at opposite ends of the stadium. On the huge screens was me , larger than life...tearful, struggling against the guards, my breasts jiggling and nipples erect with fear. God, everyone could see me up close and personal. I never felt so naked. A deep crimson blush flowed from my face, to my neck, to my upper chest. I could see it on the screen, they could see it. I tried to become small, cover up but the camera caught everything, my nakedness and my shame.
I felt myself forced up the steps and suddenly I was at the place I had feared and thought about every minute since the trial. I was told to sit as my sentence was read. The judge who had overseen my trial read my sentence and walked past me as he took his seat at the side of the platform. I guess judicial privilege gets you a front row seat in this god forsaken country. I was raised to my feet and struggled mightily as the guards forced me against the whipping frame and successfully secured me at wrists and ankles.
The crowd was loud and raucous, pointing and laughing at my futility. It became eerily quiet as the man with the whip took his position directly behind me. My body was shaking. My teeth were chattering as I tried to fight the impending feeling of doom that enveloped me. I feel the The eyes of all in attendance are all staring at me. I see the cameras all focusing on me. I know I won’t survive these 100 lashes. I don’t want to die.. I am young , I have so much life ahead of me. Why did I come to this country? Why did I listen to David? I am having trouble breathing...I don’t do well with pain... I hear the whip whistle thru the air and I hear it crack as the muscular man snaps it in the air. My punishment is about to begin...... ( to be continued)
I would like to be in your place. I would beg them to whip me with a nine tails whip which has nails at the edges just like the whip my mistress whips me into blood.
 

ledoux

Governor
Always nice to welcome a very good writer to the Forums. Love your first person perspective and the little reminders that "I don't do well with pain."

Although I'm pretty certain by now the character won't do well in the story, I'm just as certain the writer will do well in the Forums.
 

Barabbas

Magistrate
I Don’t Do Well with Pain. Part 3
A cameraman holding a portable tv camera rushes toward me. I can see him focusing a close-up on my face. The guards each grab hold of one of my biceps and hold me up straight. As I stare into the camera, the cameraman back focuses the camera to take in all of my body. I feel so naked! It wasn’t bad enough that the stadium was filled with people who were viewing me from a distance, but the people watching tv at home we’re getting a close up look at me....the tears starting to fill my eyes, my naked breasts, my trimmed bush, and my still unmarked back and bottom. Ashamed I tried to bolt but the burly guards had me under control before I took two steps. I could hear the crowd erupt at my unsuccessful escape attempt. Unfortunately, I thought and began blushing, the television viewers had a close up look at my flailing hair, bouncing breasts, and possibly even a glimpse or two between my legs as I kicked out at the guards.
The cameraman backed his way toward the platform , while keeping the camera focused on my face and body. I was turned toward the cursed platform. As I struggled the guards led me toward the platform steps. It was then I gasped as I noticed for the first time the two Jumbotron scoreboards at opposite ends of the stadium. On the huge screens was me , larger than life...tearful, struggling against the guards, my breasts jiggling and nipples erect with fear. God, everyone could see me up close and personal. I never felt so naked. A deep crimson blush flowed from my face, to my neck, to my upper chest. I could see it on the screen, they could see it. I tried to become small, cover up but the camera caught everything, my nakedness and my shame.
I felt myself forced up the steps and suddenly I was at the place I had feared and thought about every minute since the trial. I was told to sit as my sentence was read. The judge who had overseen my trial read my sentence and walked past me as he took his seat at the side of the platform. I guess judicial privilege gets you a front row seat in this god forsaken country. I was raised to my feet and struggled mightily as the guards forced me against the whipping frame and successfully secured me at wrists and ankles.
The crowd was loud and raucous, pointing and laughing at my futility. It became eerily quiet as the man with the whip took his position directly behind me. My body was shaking. My teeth were chattering as I tried to fight the impending feeling of doom that enveloped me. I feel the The eyes of all in attendance are all staring at me. I see the cameras all focusing on me. I know I won’t survive these 100 lashes. I don’t want to die.. I am young , I have so much life ahead of me. Why did I come to this country? Why did I listen to David? I am having trouble breathing...I don’t do well with pain... I hear the whip whistle thru the air and I hear it crack as the muscular man snaps it in the air. My punishment is about to begin...... ( to be continued)
Love this model. Do you know her name?
 

Aslin nee 8ball

Magistrate
Always nice to welcome a very good writer to the Forums. Love your first person perspective and the little reminders that "I don't do well with pain."

Although I'm pretty certain by now the character won't do well in the story, I'm just as certain the writer will do well in the Forums.
Thank you for your kind words. I will do my best to earn more of the same.
 

Aslin nee 8ball

Magistrate
I find it an interesting topic too.

Traveling to a foreign country is always an enriching experience.
But beware : foreign country means foreign rules and laws!
And foreign punishments!
Although that could be part of the travel experience too!
Yes foreign countries are sometimes an unknown. Thoughts of punishments from bygone days still existing. Imagine yourself in that situation..mmm…
 

Aslin nee 8ball

Magistrate
I Don’t do Well with Pain part 4

I am staring at the big screen, the cameras are focused on my face.i look terrified. I am terrified. Suddenly the screen changes to a split screen- one side still focused on my face , the other side focused on my backside from a perspective behind the man with the whip.Everyone in the stadium and at home watching on tv is getting an x-rated look at my naked body bound for punishment and a close up look at my face, with the suffering it is sure to show. This disgusting country. They would punish their own with modesty, the lashes over their robes, faces covered. But an American women won’t be granted these courtesies. No ,I come from the country of no morals. So let me flaunt my nudity under the lash. I feel so exposed and vulnerable. I don’t do well with pain. Soon all those watching in person or watching from the comfort of their homes will witness that. Then suddenly there is movement on the screen. I hear a faint whistle and hear the sickening thud of oiled leather impacting tender skin......
( to be continued)

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Aslin nee 8ball

Magistrate
I Don’t do Well with Pain part 4

I am staring at the big screen, the cameras are focused on my face.i look terrified. I am terrified. Suddenly the screen changes to a split screen- one side still focused on my face , the other side focused on my backside from a perspective behind the man with the whip.Everyone in the stadium and at home watching on tv is getting an x-rated look at my naked body bound for punishment and a close up look at my face, with the suffering it is sure to show. This disgusting country. They would punish their own with modesty, the lashes over their robes, faces covered. But an American women won’t be granted these courtesies. No ,I come from the country of no morals. So let me flaunt my nudity under the lash. I feel so exposed and vulnerable. I don’t do well with pain. Soon all those watching in person or watching from the comfort of their homes will witness that. Then suddenly there is movement on the screen. I hear a faint whistle and hear the sickening thud of oiled leather impacting tender skin......
( to be continued)
For a split second the face on the big screen remains unchanged but suddenly it seems to explode. The eyes widen and seem to bulge out ,as the mouth opens wide . The head is thrown back , hair flailing about, and the cords in the neck sticking out. I realize that the vision I see is me. I hear the sudden expulsion of breath. My breath, they have micro phoned me. Not only can everyone see me suffer but now they can hear me suffering. Oh my god… I feel so vulnerable.
The crowd roars as that first blow targets the virgin flesh between my shoulder blades. As I try to fill my lungs once again I can feel the sear of that first lash start to radiate to all parts of my body. I start to pull at my bonds trying to tear myself free. My body bucks and weaves fighting for release from the leather straps that pinion me the wooden frame.
The man with whip is taking his time, letting the full effect of the first lash sink in before he strikes again. The crowd quiets,mesmerized by my facial expression and my futile contortions fighting the frame. I realize they will take their time between lashes. Enjoying every nuance of my suffering. My mind and body are wracked with a red haze of pain. I don’t do well with pain and I have only received the first lash. I feel that I will not survive the remainder. I see the terror etched into that face on the screen. I can’t hide that terror. I do not deserve this. It was David’s idea. Why did you leave me, David? The crowd becomes deathly quiet . There is a sudden movement on the split screen , I squeeze my eyes closed…… ( to be continued)

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Jollyrei

Angelus Mortis
Staff member
I don’t want to be whipped. Ten strokes for each 100 grams of opium is a horrible sentence. It was my boyfriend David’s idea.
We see this all the time - the boyfriend who has stupid ideas and then leaves the girl in the lurch. Some better system for choosing boyfriends might be in order. Even so, 100 lashes - some chance of surviving that, I suppose, especially since the judge sentenced her to 10 years in prison. Can't serve that sentence if she's dead. And if you smuggle drugs into Thailand or Indonesia, you might get the death penalty. All in all, better to skip having a boyfriend, I suspect.
:rolleyes:;):confused::devil:
 

Aslin nee 8ball

Magistrate
I don’t do Well with Pain Part 6

I am still struggling for air as the second lash bites home mid back. My body is tense still fighting against my bonds, trying to thwart the pain that has inflamed my system of nerves. This stroke draws a loud groan as my half filled lungs empty again. The crowd erupts again as I fling my head back , my body so rigid immediately after the blow, begins to shake as my lungs ache. I suck in air. I see the face again on the screen, head thrown back, teeth clenched, biting down hard trying to expel the radiating fire from my body.


I see my lips quiver, I see the people in the stands excited and pointing. Pointing at a naked body wildly reacting to pain, pain it cannot escape. The panic on my face evident even to me, has the crowd mesmerized. It is getting harder to focus as my eyes fill with tears. They can see my pain, maybe even try to feel my pain. But they are not feeling the extraordinary pain that curses thru my body.....engulfing my thoughts, my naked body, my whole life.

He is taking more time between lashes now, the man with the whip. I am able to gulp welcome air to my lungs . He is cruel. He will prolong my agony. He wants me to suffer, feel the full effects of my pain… so far he is succeeding.

The third lash strokes my back just below the welt from the previous lash. My back is aflame. I don’t do well with pain and I have never felt pain like this and it is only the third lash. I won’t survive this. I scream for the first time, not yet a full fledged scream but loud enough. I hear the sound of my scream echo thru the stadium….the microphones capturing the sound of my agony and amplifying it so all can hear. That sound excites the crowd. I hear comments, I see them entranced, watching intently, as my body thrash’s around on the frame, muscles bulging, tendons straining, hair flailing. ( to be continued)

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