Janet spent the next two days quietly, mostly in her cell, helping Lucy get on and off the toilet, bringing her food from the mess hall, and trying not to think about her own upcoming ordeal. Lucy’s ass was quite swollen on Wednesday, but, by Thursday, the inflammation had decreased considerably and the cheeks were more normal in size, though still plumper than Janet’s, as they had been even before the caning. The cuts were scabbed over and healing and she was able to move more freely.
Lucy seemed much more subdued, politely thanking Janet for her help. The aggressiveness she had displayed earlier was gone, at least for the moment.
Thursday night, after lights out, though, Janet lay on her cot unable to sleep soundly as she had the two previous nights. Tomorrow, of course, would be Friday, and that meant it might be the day she would receive her court-ordered punishment. Part of her hoped that it would be done, to get it over with and let her get on with serving her sentence. Part of her wished it could be put off in the forlorn hope that her case might slip through the bureaucratic cracks, something she doubted would happen.
Either way, it wasn’t up to her, unlike most of the choices she had made in her previous life. Accepting that she was no longer in charge was maybe even harder for Janet than getting through the agony that lay just ahead.
Finally, Friday dawned; the block guard came down the row of cells, banging on the bars with her truncheon, shouting at the inmates to get their lazy asses out of bed. Lucy’s buttocks were healed enough to finally, after almost three days of nakedness, get her prison shorts on and go down to breakfast, though she ate standing up at the table, ignoring the jibes of her fellow inmates about how her ass was too sore to sit.
Janet sat, but ate sparingly, her stomach churning at the thought of her possible upcoming ordeal. All too soon, they were back in their cell and all she could do was wait. From the experience of Lucy’s caning, she knew that if today was her day it wouldn’t be too long.
And it wasn’t, probably less than half an hour, when she saw them standing in front of the barred cell door. It was the same two guards that had taken Lucy, accompanied by the block guard. “Let’s go, Tan. Time for your medical exam,” one of the caning detail guards said, opening the door.
Janet’s stomach sank, but she had resolved to face her ordeal with dignity. No pointless resistance like Lucy had shown. She rose to her feet, each of the guards took hold of an arm and they walked, down the row of cells.
In each cell, as they passed, the occupants stopped what they were doing and watched the procession make its way down the hall, paying silent tribute to a ritual that many of them had faced or were about to face.
They passed into the administrative wing of the prison, stopping before a door with a big red cross painted on it. Inside was a clinic that looked much like any that Janet had visited in the outside world. She took a seat in the waiting area, beside a fellow inmate who looked just as scared as Janet felt.
One by one, the guards brought in three more inmates, then took their places at the back of the room as the doctor called the inmate whom Janet had sat next to.
‘So there are five of us getting it today,’ Janet thought. She didn’t know how many each of the women were due, but she figured she’d find out soon enough.
The medical exam was perfunctory. The doctor, an older ethnic Chinese man with greying hair and metal-frame glasses took their blood pressures-Janet was sure hers was elevated from the fear of what lay ahead, but that didn’t seem to matter-and listened to their hearts. Then, he had them stand and lower their shorts and underpants and knelt to examine their buttocks, taking plenty of time to squeeze each of the cheeks.
They waited as he wrote in each of the five folders on his desk, signing a paper in each one with a flourish. Janet supposed that he was attesting to their fitness to receive their punishment, something which didn’t surprise her, but, nevertheless, took away her last hope of escaping her fate.
Finally, he stood, and without saying a word, disappeared through a door at the far end of the clinic behind his desk.
The prisoners waited anxiously. After a few minutes, one of the guards ordered, “On your feet, prisoners! Form a line.” Reluctantly, Janet stood and got into line with the others. The guard led them out of the clinic by the door through which they had entered and a short distance down the hallway, stopping in front of a door marked, “Punishment Room”.
“All right,” the guard announced, “Sit down now while you can.” There were no chairs, so the women sat on the floor, their backs against the wall. The guard who had spoken disappeared inside, while the other stood watch over the prisoners.
It wasn’t long before the guard who had gone inside re-appeared accompanied by a second guard. “Stephanie Chao, you have the honor of being first,” she announced. A young woman, shorter than Janet but a bit larger on top, got to her feet. The two guards each took one arm and led her through the door.
Janet had tried to see into the room where her fate awaited, but couldn’t. She heard the buzz of voices, guests talking softly amongst themselves, but then the door shut.
For a few moments, Janet heard nothing. Then she heard a voice call “ Stroke one!” and, immediately after, she heard a sound like a muffled gunshot. Then, there was a pause that seemed to last about thirty seconds, before the call of “Stroke two!” and the sound of a second impact.
After the third there was something that might have been a shout, a sound which was more definitive after the fourth. The prisoners sitting outside the door looked at each other. Janet’s stomach was churning and she imagined the others were feeling similarly.
Janet heard two more impacts. After the second, she counted to thirty, but there was only silence. ‘Six strokes,” she thought. ‘I’m due two more than that.’
She wondered if they’d bring Stephanie out by the door next to them, but there was obviously another door to take the prisoners out after their flogging, because after a while the two guards appeared and summoned Alice Chen to stand. Janet counted silently in her head the six strokes that Alice got.
‘Now the odds are one in three that they take me next,’ Janet thought. She’d always been good with numbers. The door opened. "Tan, you’re next,” the guard announced.
Janet started to stand, but felt her knees almost giving way. She put her hand on the shoulder of the inmate next to her for support, then slowly got up.
“That’s right, Tan, you don’t want to go in there. I don’t blame you. But, you should have thought of that before scamming people,” one of the guards said, taking hold of Janet’s left arm as the other guard took hold of her right and led her through the door.
The room was about the size of a basketball court, high-ceilinged, but Janet’s eyes weren’t taking in the whole scene. No, they were fixed straight ahead on the object that was the reason the room existed-The Frame.
It stood in the center of the room, a contraption shaped somewhat like a letter H with four solid uprights connected by crossbars. It was made of solid wood, painted a dull institutional blue, and bolted to the concrete floor. Janet didn’t want to look at it but she couldn’t help herself.
Finally, she tore her eyes away from it to take in the full scene. To the left of the Frame was a table where a few men in dress uniforms, with many more badges and medals than the average guards-obviously high level administrators of the prison-sat along with the doctor who had examined her. That, she supposed was normal procedure that they would be in attendance.
What was much more disturbing was to the right of the Frame-a cordoned off area with approximately fifty folding chairs, almost all of which were occupied. But, it wasn’t the chairs that made Janet feel sick to her stomach, it was who was occupying them-her investors, bankers, some government officials, some wealthy local businessmen, even someone from a venture capital firm in California, who’d flown across the Pacific just to see her punished for losing his money.
A murmur broke out among the assembled crowd as Janet passed by. “Please, dear guests, let me remind you that this is an official proceeding” one of the officials at the head table cautioned. “You are here to observe, but not to speak.” The crowd quieted.
The guards escorted Janet to stand in front of the seated officials. “You are Janet Tan?” the head officer asked.
“Yes,” Janet replied. Seeing his displeased look, she quickly added, “Sir.”
“And you have been sentenced to receive eight strokes of the cane?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, her voice catching in her throat.
The man nodded. “The prisoner will strip to receive her punishment.”
Janet looked around helplessly at the fully-clothed officials, guards and guests. She was deeply ashamed at the prospect of standing naked before them. However, she had resolved to behave in a dignified fashion, following orders and not creating a scene. She knew that the end result if she did resist would be the same-the guards would forcibly strip her, because the rules were that prisoners must be naked for their caning.
So, resigned to her fate, she kicked off her sandals. The concrete floor felt rough and cold against her bare soles.
A guard approached with a plastic bag. “In here,” she ordered. Janet bent, picked up the sandals and placed them in the bag. Then, she pulled her T shirt over her head. The prison did not allow bras, because they could be used to hang oneself, so she was naked from the waist up now. Her nipples stood erect from the shame and the cool air.
Janet placed her T shirt in the bag. Then, seeing no point in delaying the process, Janet reached down to her waist and lowered her shorts and underpants, stepped out of them and placed them in the bag. She was naked now.
“The prisoner will place her hands behind her head,” the head officer ordered. Janet complied.
“The prisoner will turn and face the honored guests.” This was difficult. These were her investors for whom Janet had given presentations dressed in expensive suits. Now she was being asked to face them naked. But what choice did she have?
She turned to face them. She could see every eye fixed on her. She blushed in shame, though they were probably too far away to notice.
The head official let the investors have a good look at the naked body of the woman who had fleeced them. Finally, he ordered, “Secure the prisoner for punishment.”
Two guards came forward. They each took hold of one of Janet’s arms and moved her to the Frame, neither gently nor roughly, but professionally and efficiently, pressing her pelvis against the padded crossbar, which was still warm from the two women who had already suffered there.
Working quickly, they knelt, pulled her feet apart and buckled heavy leather straps around Janet’s ankles. Then, one went around to the front. The other pushed on Janet’s lower back, causing her to bend at waist and reach her hands out for the front crossbar.
The guard in front attached Janet’s wrists to the front crossbar while the one in back wrapped a heavy padded belt around Janet’s waist. “Prisoner secured!” one of the guards exclaimed.
Janet tested the straps that held her, pulling hard with her arms and legs. She was indeed secured, virtually immobilized against the Frame. Moreover, her position, bent over with her legs apart, left her most intimate areas, her pussy and her butthole completely exposed to the eyes of the crowd. ‘My investors are certainly getting their money’s worth,’ she thought.
Out of the corner of her eye, Janet saw movement. A figure who had been standing in the far corner of the room, whom she hadn’t noticed before, a large man, his muscles showing in an athletic T shirt, was approaching.
More than his appearance, it was what he carried that made Janet’s heart skip a beat. It was the rotan, over a meter long and as thick as the middle finger on Janet’s hand. He was swishing it as he approached. The sound of the instrument cutting through the air sent chills down her spine. It was clear that the business end, the part that would be contacting Janet’s butt flesh was highly flexible.
He passed behind the Frame and took his position behind Janet. She felt the cane tapping lightly against her lower cheeks as he adjusted his aim. Janet wanted desperately to look behind her and see what was happening, but the guard in front of her held her head immobile.
Soon, the tapping stopped. All was silent. Then a guard shouted, “Eight stroke punishment! Stroke one!”
Almost immediately, Janet heard the “Whoosh!” of the rotan cutting through the air and felt the impact against her butt cheeks, driving her pelvis forward into the padded crossbar. But, other than that, she felt…nothing. ‘Could it be that all the talk, my worst fears, were for nothing?’ she thought.
Then, just as that comforting idea flashed through her mind, it began-a burning sensation in her ass cheeks that grew and grew like a balloon inflating. All of Janet’s muscles tensed as she rode the rising wave of fire. She pulled hard at the straps that held her wrists and ankles, desperate to escape, but they held her fast.
Slowly, far too slowly, the pain ebbed. Janet took three deep breaths and then waited, helpless, unable to do anything to protect her exposed rear from the next assault that would inevitably come her way.
All too soon, she heard the call, “Stroke two!” and felt the next blow, cutting like a knife. Now, with the tissue already inflamed, the pain was immediate, rising high, higher than on the first one and barely ebbing at all as the seconds passed. Janet felt sweat welling out from every pore, dampening her hair which was sticking to her forehead.
Much too soon, Janet heard the third stroke called. She had told herself that she would retain her dignity and wouldn’t cry out, but even someone as strong-willed as Janet couldn’t keep that vow in the face of such unbearable agony. “Oh, God!” she wailed. And she wasn’t even halfway through!
“Stroke four!” and the implacable cane struck again, at full force, always as hard as the caner could strike. No mercy for criminals. Janet howled. The room spun around her and she felt sick.
“Halfway through, Janet,” the guard holding her head advised her; small comfort with four more to go and each one hurting more than the previous one.
‘Why didn’t I stay at Harvard and take a job in the States or with a company here in Singapore?’ Janet asked herself. But it was much too late for that.
The fifth stroke broke Janet’s will. “Please stop!” she begged through tear-clouded eyes. “I can’t stand it!” She imagined her investors smiling at her pitiful submission.
Of course they wouldn’t stop, she knew that. This was a legal punishment that would be carried out as ordered no matter how much she begged. The only answer to her plea was the call of ”Stroke Six!” and the cruel rotan stripping more skin from her poor battered ass.
Janet barely had the strength to moan her distress. “Only two more, Janet,” the guard informed her.
The seventh lash struck lower than the others in a very sensitive spot. The pain was unbearable, but what choice did Janet have but to bear it?
Finally, the eighth stroke was called and delivered. Janet howled her distress, but also her relief, as the words she had desperately longed to hear, “Punishment complete!”, were announced. Janet lay limp against the frame, her body in agony, her will completely broken.
The guard who had called the strokes began unbuckling the belt that had held Janet’s waist against the padded crossbar, while the guard who had held Janet’s head undid the wrist straps. Once the ankle straps were undone, each guard took an arm and helped Janet to her feet. She felt dizzy and her ass felt like she was sitting on a red hot stove.
Janet turned to look at her investors. They were staring at her, smiling broadly at the idea that justice had been done. Perhaps some of them considered the money they had lost well spent in view of the spectacle they had just witnessed. Then the guards guided her slowly through the Punishment Room to a door at the far end. As they passed the caner, Janet saw that the cane, which he was about to place in a bucket filled with disinfectant was tinged pink with her blood.
The door led Janet and her accompaniers back into the clinic. She noticed Stephanie Chao and Alice Chen lying face down on a cot, naked, their butts scored with bright red inflamed-looking wheals. Janet knew that hers was similarly decorated.
The guards helped Janet lie face down on a cot. The bending motions sent lightning bolts of pain shooting through Janet’s buttocks. Once Janet was lying down, the nurse began cleansing her wheals with cotton swabs soaked in alcohol. The liquid burned intensely as it worked its way into the abraded skin. Then, she daubed on a purple disinfectant, which also stung, though a bit less than the alcohol. Finally, she applied a soothing cream, which eased the burning a bit, though not as much as Janet would have wished.
Soon, she heard the sound of the cane impacting female butt flesh as the first of the two prisoners who had been left outside the Punishment Room when they took Janet in suffered her designated flogging. Janet counted eight strokes. The victim soon appeared in the clinic, looking dazed and subdued and received the same care that Janet had.
The final prisoner received her six and joined the other four in the clinic, where they spent much of the day under observation by the nurse. Eventually, the doctor arrived. He had a quick glance at each of the women and then sat down at his desk and signed some papers. Janet presumed that these were medical release forms, because, shortly afterwards, the guards took the first woman out.
Soon they came for Janet. The walk back to her cell, naked, the bag with her prison uniform in her hands, was much harder than the walk to the Punishment Room earlier that day. Everything hurt. The prisoners along the hall whistled and catcalled. The floor felt cold and sticky against her bare feet.
But finally they arrived at the cell. Lucy looked up from her magazine as they brought Janet in and laid her down on her cot. She had the good sense to leave Janet alone until the call for dinner came. Then she leaned down and said, softly, “I’ll bring you some soup, OK?”
“Thank you,” Janet replied. “You’re very kind.” And she meant it. While Lucy was at dinner, Janet cried from the pain and shame of her ordeal. But she made herself stop before her cellmate returned. She knew she would have to be strong to get through the rest of her sentence.
THE END
