They drank again. Dorinda gave up caring about the pain of the cords. Whatever the general might be, he was a charming host.
"You return now to our excellent Rabin. I would send you back with gifts, but he would take them from you. You are a slave and may own nothing. A pity."
Placing a hand on her shoulder he bent and kissed her forehead. "I am sorry that we part," he said sombrely. "But you will now be in the hands of my loyal corporal. Kahdin is a good man. On your journey home, be kind to him."
"A quick routine assignment," said Mr. Rabin. I could have killed him. Nothing’s routine in this nut house.
"You will go to prison, have a nice trial, be sentenced to bad things and then we bring you home again."
"You’ve gone around the bend," I told him. Then bit my lip. It’s remarks like this that get me striped.
"It’s quite practical, darling," Thalia broke in placantingly. Thalia’s really quite sweet and does not whip me anymore than she has to. I expect I looked as doubtful as I felt. With Dorinda gone I felt sort of extra vulnerable.
"See, darling. These people are rich. But daughter’s in a jam. A bad one. They are willing to pay a lot of money for you to go through all the ugly bits and then they pay a lot more to bribe whoever is going to let you escape afterwards. We will always have you in sight."
"For about twenty years?" I asked dependently.
"The magistrate may not order you whipped," Old Rabin came out with that real corker as though it was a birthday present.
"It will all be rushed through in a very short time." Poor Thalia was trying hard to show me any bright spots there might be.
"Only the very senior officers of the prison will fuck you." If the previous consolation had been for my birthday, this latest Rabin special was for Christmas.
"Do I have to thank them?" I asked. That one got me two strokes. I wish sometimes I could keep quiet.
They got me ready. That meant clothes. Old Rabin blandly explained that in his country girls were rarely arrested in the nude. But, he said they would be very cheap. They were. He said I wouldn’t have them for very long. I could believe that too.
He was quite a nice policeman. They gave him some money, so I realised he was in on the deal. "Sergeant Fazhari: meet miss Terry Esmond." It was too absurd. I had to try hard not to giggle while he was handcuffing me. I think he was surprised. He told me later that most girls cry a lot when he puts the handcuffs on. He was a bit premature actually: Mr. Rabin insisted on gravely shaking hands – probably to enjoy one last clutch at his investment. But Thalia threw her arms around my neck and kissed me warmly. I kissed her back and made believe she was Dorinda. Amazing. A few minutes before she’d been whipping. Us girls really are something
I got a nice look at the mouldy town while I sat in the back of the car with sergeant Fazahri. He said he would like to play with my three thingummyes while I took in the scenery. I put my handcuffed wrists behind my neck so as to give him plenty of scope and let him get himself all excited. I could tell he was a bit miffed when we drove into the police station or whatever they call it there. I suppose a sergeant has to show a bit of decorum with the female suspects even in this place.
I was booked. I didn’t understand a word. But I could have cared less. They searched me and stole my pants, then bunged me into a rotten little cell. I wasn’t sure whether they had left my handcuffs on because they’d forgotten or on purpose. I could have cared less about that too.
They actually sported a wardress. She showed up almost immediately with a couple of civilian friends. Know what she did? I couldn’t believe it myself at first. But when they began to undress me it was real enough. The old vultures held an auction. My clothes were bid on by the sister vultures she’d brought along. When I saw them looking at my teeth and my hair I got a really funny feeling. When the bidding was over I was tossed a bit of sacking to go to court in and the three witches departed with my clothes. I could understand why that chap at the desk had been anxious to get first grab at my pants.
They got me into court within the hour. There was a sort of ceremonial dress for this. My bit of sack, my handcuffs and chains on my feet that made an awful lot of noise. There was a rope loop around my neck, a tether by which I was led to my just desserts. I was very impressive. No one paid any attention to me at all.
I stood in the bow with the wardress beside me while everyone had a free for all. I may have had a lawyer in there somewhere but I never met him. The noise was intense, the clothes were everything you have ever seen. Hands waved. At the end of it I got ten years and twenty lashes.
Imagine my feelings. If all went well I might miss the ten years. But there was no way I was going to miss those twenty lashes. I was to get them right there on the premise before being sent to the prison where I hoped and prayed I really would escape.
They made quite a thing about me being whipped. I gathered it was not every girl that had the honour, which was probably too bad in the eyes of the male staff since they all got a first class erection of the notion of dear little Terry getting her bottom swished. First I was taken to the chief whatever he was that ran the place. I had to stand to attention in front of his desk and listen to a long harangue in about three languages. The moral was that I should take off my bit of sacking and lay across his desk.
When the amusing excersize was over I was taken back to my cell by a lesser being who told me quite frankly that he’d like to fuck me but that he didn’t have the rank. To demonstrate his injured feelings he put my handcuffs back extra tight and fell all over me with his rough hands.
But it wasn’t long before he was back. This time it was the chief assistant something or other. We went through the whole bit again. I tried to look interested and grateful for his concern about my morals. But I was afraid I might go to sleep on my feet if he went on too long. Those early missionaries must have been an awful bore.
When it was time for ‘off with the sack’ he got quite a shock. I could see it hit him. I really had been whipped a lot. There was darling Mark that time he was so angry with us both. There was that bastard Mike and all his crew. Good old Cuth had come back no less than nine times during my day tied on the deck. Then there were the appearances. All in all I must have been a very stimulating sight for any male who enjoyed what most males seem to enjoy. All right. All right! So I like it a little too. But just a little…
He explained in his broken English that he wanted me to relief his tensions with my lips and tongue. But not yet. My stripes had given him ideas. A girl who entered their fine jail with a clear skin could hardly be whipped without the fresh marks being noted and commented upon. But if she was a well striped girl as I was, what did a few more matter? He explained, with great charm, that he would like to give me those few more.
I could hardly refuse, could I? No use acting coy. My marks betrayed me. That’s the trouble with a girl being whipped. Everyone else feels that since the ice had been broken they might as well have a go too. A simple case of one stripe leading to another. So, off came my Dior creation and little Terry was once again asking how she should stand. The bit of sack went on and off so easily that the handcuffs were no impediment. I could see he liked those too. The different ways in which a girl can get a man an erection are just out of this world. I had to kneel with elbows and cheek on the floor and knees well in. I didn’t like it. My bottom stuck up like a beacon.
It hurt like hell. I’d always known it would if it was not Mark. Only Mark could make me crinkle. Dorinda maybe… Fortunately he had to be a bit careful, so he limited it to ten. I was crying by then. I didn’t try to be heroic. I was tired and wanted to go home.