The coffee and the shower were a surprise. Trudy had not known what to expect. Troops on the move do not carry dungeons. She was sure she would have been chained in one had it existed. The hot drink and lukewarm water revived her spirits. When she was handcuffed and taken to her tent and her own cot, and her ankle firmly padlocked to it she was in a whirl of hope.
“You have been a foolish girl,” Galla told her as she rearranged the covers over the fettered foot. “You think about it.”
Trudy did not think about anything. She went to sleep.
There was no great ceremony. Two meek and handcuffed girls stood nude before their peers. Nikola gently wept. Trudy wondered if a girl became unconscious when she was flogged.
“You could have screamed.” said Sergeant Galla.
“You allowed this young buck to walk off with you like a pair of sheep. One shout would have awakened the whole tent.” Captain Rulua surveyed them crossly.
“A hot crotch, that was her trouble.” W.O. Ringbolt glowered at a tearful Nikola. “Needs it thrashed.”
“The poor dear was in love with him and scared of getting him into trouble. I was just trying—”
“Silence!”
Ringbolt’s command shattered Trudy’s protest into fragments. She subsided into silence, fingering her handcuffs nervously, awaiting sentence, wondering if a girl’s back ever completely healed afterwards.
“We do understand the motives were not disloyal,” said Galla.
“It is a demonstration of the demoralising effect of so-called ‘boyfriends’ on members of the President’s Guard,” said Rulua.
“Need their arses kicked,” said the W.O. leaving it uncertain whose posteriors he referred to. “For desertion the penalty is mandatory, a flogging.” The Captain’s voice was hushed with regret. Trudy’s heart missed a beat. This was it!
“You both been good girls otherwise,” Galla mourned.
“Fine pair of troopers!” Ringbolt pointed at Trudy. “Especially her: a cunt in a million.”
“The Court is disposed to leniency,” the Captain interposed hastily. “Your story has been corroborated by the prisoners. The young man named George has accepted responsibility—”
“Yo’ don’t do nothin’ bad to George—?”
“Silence!”
“No dear, Your George will receive the same corrective education as any other prisoner of war in our enlightened Republic.”
“I sooner be flogged so he don’t take no blame—”
“Silence!!!” Ringbolt was in excellent voice. “Neither of you will be flogged, dear.”
The relief was a sensation beyond words. Trudy glowed. Nikola stopped weeping, and dried her cheeks, sheepishly, with handcuffed hands. The Court beamed.
“But your stupidity in allowing this whole affair to happen cannot be overlooked. The results of your meekly following that absurd young man from the tent were bad enough, but they could have been much worse. You will be punished.”
Trudy did not care. Just so long as she was not to be flogged!
“You, Nikola, will be corrected in the manner wisely suggested by our Warrant Officer. He will administer a sound whipping to that area between your legs which is the source of your libido.”
“Thank yo, ma’am” Nikola managed to sound grateful.
“And you, young woman, will receive twelve of Mr. Ringbolt’s best on your bare bottom. It is the lightest penalty I can invoke.”
“Oh, thank you. Captain!”
“I’ll make ’em sting,” promised the W.O. cordially.
“Thank you, sir, I’m grateful.” Trudy’s heart was singing.
“Well, that looks after that,” said Galla. “You girls trot along with Mr. Ringbolt and get attended to. I’ll expect you back in an hour.”
“The Court is adjourned,” intoned Captain Rulua impressively.
The handcuffed girls walked meekly to their pain.
“Here, have a tot of rum,” said W.O. Ringbolt hospitably. “And don’t think I’m going to ask you to stand still for it—the punishment. I mean, not the rum. I’ll tie you so you won’t embarrass yourselves.”
“Thank you, sir.” They sipped obediently. “Your hands and forearms against the tent pole, love.” The cane patted Trudy’s bottom gently. “Ah, that’s champion!”
The handcuffs did not have to be removed. In front of her face Trudy watched her wrists and forearms bound to the upright. As the ropes bit they told her how effective they would be. She would have to stand, there was nothing else she could do, while her bottom was thrashed with the officer’s cane. Fear returned. It was going to hurt.
“And you, m’dear, up on the cot.”
Nikola had become stoic. She lay on her back and brought her legs up and back. The W.O. looped her ankles and pulled to each side until she rested on her shoulders, her bottom reared and her thighs spread to expose the well-thatched labia presumed to be the source of her delinquency. In this obscene posture she was privileged to have a close-up view of her own punishment.
The W.O. tossed a coin. “Tails!” He nodded at Nikola. “That’s you.” He produced a short whip of many delicate thongs. “This will warm you up nicely, love.”
To watch was awful. It was also fascinating. The young loins took the striations of the whip with shuddering jerks at implacable bonds, the pale dusky skin scoring and welting across the puffed vulva, the flat belly, the creases of the groins, and the tender junction of thighs. Trudy watched, wincingly, in the knowledge her own skin would soon be similarly responding. She was wedded to the post by cords. She could not move away. Her nakedness waited in enforced patience.
“That’s right, m’dear, scream all you want,” Ringbolt magnanimously conceded. “I could gag you if you want. But, actually, we’d prefer you to make a noise so the other little fillies can hear. We want ’em to understand it doesn’t pay to be silly.” He took a deep breath. “Now, let’s see if I can’t get in the crease a bit harder.”
Nikola screamed lustily, her Venus mound aflame. Trudy cringed with every blow, longing for it to end. She could picture the girls outside, exchanging nervous glances, shrugging diffidently, wondering . . . ! Nikola’s vocals would be a stern deterrent to any maiden nonsense in any maiden mind.
“I think we’ll call that enough.” Ringbolt made it sound as though he had bestowed great riches. “Twenty’s a good number. A girl remembers twenty, and you’re a nice colour down there. Never seen a cunt swell any better or take the marks.” He turned his attention to Trudy. “Ready for yours, love?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s the spirit. I’ll use a cane, of course, and I’ll make it whistle.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“How’s this for a start?” Trudy thrust her forehead hard against her bound arms as though seeking refuge. The blow drove it harder still, a fierce blow enveloping all of her in pain, a sickening frightful pain against which a girl had no defense.
“You can scream, y’know. It’s supposed to help.”
“Thank you, sir. But I want to try not to.”
“Understand perfectly! You’re a good girl. Guts!”
Trudy did not scream. She hoped the sounds she did make would not penetrate the canvas. They came to her own ears shamefully: whinings, moans and gasps . . . ! And sounds that had no name, the small animal cries of a naked girl in agony, a feminine admission not for other ears. She thrust her nudity against the post, holding it tight with cuffed hands, absorbing blow after blow, fearing they would never end.
“Seven, eight, nine . . . !” There were still more to come. And she had to stand! Meekly stand. The ropes mocked before her eyes, the handcuffs glinted. There was no escape.
“Ten, eleven, A-N-D. T-W-E-L-V-E—!”
It was a shocking stripe, a slash of pure horror slicing into her innocent loins with a punitive intent she should not forget. But it was the last! Flooding with thankfulness, Trudy hugged her stanchion of wood while the waves of pain swept back and forth, reducing her to a tied package of quivering flesh.