BDSM Library - Story: Rubekestan Justice, Chapter: Part 1

Rubekestan Justice

Synopsis

Arrested for shoplifting while on holiday in Rubekestan, Nancy is sentenced to the harsh punishment meted out in that country. Her abusive, authoritarian nature only makes her situation worse.

Rubekestan Justice

by obohobo

Warnings

Please take note!

The text in this story contains erotic material and is expressly written for adults only.

MF MMM+F NC. Whipping/caning

If you are underage or offended by such material, or if viewing this file is illegal in your locality, then leave, close or delete this file-story now.

This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely coincidental. The ideas and thoughts that follow are pure fantasies. In real life, at the very least they would be unpleasant and probably illegal. Fantasies are like that; daydreams where we can contemplate and imagine the sensations without suffering or inflicting the pain, despair or humiliation.

Chapter one. Caught shoplifting

“Twenty lashes with the number four whip and thirty days hard labour work on the correction farm.” The interpreter’s voice showed no emotion as he relayed the judge’s sentence.

My blood boiled. They were going to whip me like a common criminal. “NO!” I screamed, “You can’t do that! I have my rights! I’m a British citizen and we do not treat our people in that inhuman way. Your President and despotic government need to adhere to the human rights convention and not follow barbaric, medieval rules. I demand…”

My outburst was curtailed by the judge’s vigorous hammering of his gavel. I suspected he understood English but he spoke in his own tongue and I had to wait for the interpreter. “For that outburst the sentence will be repeated at weekly intervals with an instrument of the governor’s choice.” I was about to speak out again when Ivan, the man who was supposed to represent me, hissed, “Be quiet or your sentence will be increased further.”

Crying pitifully and still handcuffed, I was roughly removed from the courtroom and taken down a flight of stone steps to an austere room in the basement. A woman and two men were already seated on a long wooden bench. The woman, a young girl really, cried softly and I guessed they’d been sentenced at the court too. The guards pushed me to a space alongside one of the men and clipped my cuffs to a hook on the wall. Again I tried to protest at my treatment but the guard said something, which I suppose was ‘silence’ and which I ignored, until he roughly tied a cloth gag around my face. Of course I resisted, but one of them squeezed both my breasts and forced me against the wall while the other gagged me. The pair stood back and the younger one pulled out the white cane they all carried like swords at their hip, “You like feel this?” He used the cane to heft my breasts a few times until I shook my head; I’d already experienced the pain the cane caused to them and under my prison gown, the marks still showed clearly. “You then make no trouble. You get much pain in quick while.” I was left to contemplate my future and the punishments I would have to endure. Over the next hour other prisoners, mainly men, were brought into the room and chained to the wall. Like me they wore the ubiquitous orange smock that was my only item of clothing, apart from my Nike trainers; all my other belongings were taken from me at the first interview. Shortly after gagging me, they took the girl away and when the door opened I could hear laughter and cheering but then the heavy door slammed shut and silence was restored. No one spoke and I had time to reflect on the events that led to my being there.

“Do you fancy going to Rubekestan for your holiday Nancy? They’re offering half price tours but you have to leave in ten days. Fourteen days/thirteen nights for only £649.”

“Where the hell is Rubekestan?”

“Seems like it is one of those new countries in what was southern Russia.”

I walked over to where Jan was surfing the net during her lunch break and looked at the screen. “Well that’s a place few others will have visited and the scenery looks pretty spectacular and there’s some interesting old towns. Let me make a note of the web page and I’ll check it out when I get home. I’m due for my annual two week holiday.” The upshot was, I booked the tour on-line, arranged to have the time off and, in a whirlwind of activity, did all the other necessary things before leaving the house for two weeks.

Everything went to plan and I had a great time and fitted in with most of the others on the minibus tour but perhaps not as well with Tanya our tour guide. Twice I’d complained about some laxity in our arrangements but she only remarked that it was the first tour here and she would try and improve it for next time but I could see I’d offended her especially when I told her bluntly that she should have foreseen the problems and I would inform the tour operators in London. Our last day was spent in Nazarin, the main town, and in the morning I wandered through the market and arcade of shops accompanied by others from the tour. At this point I have to admit that I am an inveterate shoplifter. I don’t do it too often but several times a year, I’ll sneak something expensive out of a shop without paying for it. Often it is something I have no need of and will never use, but the thrill and excitement of having stolen something without the owner knowing, gives me a buzz I cannot resist, although each time I tell myself it will be the last. Only once have I been caught and then I managed to talk my way out of it. I wasn’t going to be able to do that this time.

In one of the shops, I noticed an exquisite figurine that I fancied. It wasn’t overly expensive and I could easily have paid for it but it looked an easy thing to slip into my bag. There were no cctv cameras in the town and the shop was fairly busy mainly with others from my group. It was one of them, Jack Blackman, that saw me steal it and unfortunately, he was a shopkeeper at home and had an abhorrence of thieves and we hadn’t seen eye-to-eye on several occasions during the tour. He quietly informed the owner who waited until I left with the others and summoned a nearby policeman. I was arrested and, embarrassingly in front of my friends, handcuffed and then searched. The stolen figurine was revealed and shown to the owner of the store. A brief conversation followed that I didn’t understand but I gathered from their gesticulations, I would be arrested. Jack Blackman, smirked but I’m sure he didn’t realise the seriousness of my misdeed. Nevertheless, my quick temper rose and I railed at him and called him all the names I could think of but the police quickly dragged me away. For a while I resisted but one of the policemen drew his sword cane and struck me hard across the shoulders and then pointed with it for me to move. Still I resisted. The policeman shouted what sounded like orders to two nearby men who immediately grabbed me and forced me to my hands and knees and held me there. I couldn’t believe what they did. In the middle of the street I was made to kneel with my bottom in the air and I fully expected I’d feel the cane again in front of my friends and the crowds that were gathering. Worse was to come. The policeman pulled down my trousers and knickers so my bare bottom was shown to everyone. Some whooped and cheered and I continued shouting and pleading but either they didn’t understand or they ignored my words. Then I felt the first stroke across my bum and yelled at the top on my voice but that only brought applause from the crowd. Never having even been spanked before, I had no idea the cane would cause such a terrible amount of pain, and he didn’t spare me either but laid it on good and hard so I would bear the welts for most of my stay. I did hear someone from our group speak up for the police to stop but she was ignored too. Five more times that cane struck me and by then I was sobbing and utterly humiliated. There was no doubt in my mind that I was in serious trouble and when my trousers were pulled up and he indicated I was to move in the direction he pointed, I knew he’d use it again if I didn’t. With my hands cuffed, I couldn’t even rub my bottom and had to limp along just in front of the two men, Above the other noise I heard Mabel, one of the elderly ladies on the tour, shout, “I’ll tell Tanya and she’ll help sort it out for you dear.”

The next few hours were the start of the most humiliating period of my life. No one spoke English and none of my friends were allowed to follow me as I hobbled along sobbing abjectly. My two escorts took me to an office in the police station and stood me in front of an officer with stripes on his uniform. There followed a long conversation, which again I didn’t understand, and examination of the contents of my bag and particularly my passport. Several times he directed a question at me but I shrugged and loudly told him to speak English. I supposed I conformed to the old saying, ‘If you can’t make the natives understand, shout at them,’ and this I did and accused him of incompetence and gave him a piece of my mind concerning the way the country was run and what I thought of a president that allowed things like this to go on. Eventually I suppose the message got through and a young girl in uniform arrived. “Hello, I am Natalia and I speak a little English. I try and help captain.”

“Then tell him to release me immediately so I can get my flight back to England. I will pay for the figurine and any fine.” I went on for a bit complaining of my treatment until the captain shouted something that sounded like, “Shut up!” More calmly but with anger in his voice he spoke to Natalia who translated.

“You not go home until you been in court on Monday.” I realised then the captain understood at least some English because Natalia hadn’t had chance to translate my words to him. “Maybe it be long while after you go home. You thief. You steal from people who have less than you. Now you answer questions to fill in form. You not ask question. You not make demands. We punish people who steal. Punish hard.” He said something to the man alongside me and he drew his sword cane and raised my chin with it so I looked directly at the captain. The meaning was clear but I had to have one last word. The implication that it would be some time before I returned home filtered through to my brain and that I was going to be tried by a court and sentenced.

“I demand to see an official from the embassy and a lawyer who speaks English! And… Aaaaah!!” The cane struck hard across my bottom. Stupidly, I shouted at the man but that only resulted in two more strokes of the cane, this time I was held in the bent over position so my thin trousers were tight against my bottom and I received the full force of the strokes. I screamed and yelled in pain but they only waited with smiles on their faces until I calmed down a little. Inside my anger rose but wisely I held my tongue. My bottom now burned so badly with the pain I could hardly stand.

“Just answer questions,” Natalie said quietly.

“Name?”

“It’s on my passport… Nancy Bushnell,” I quickly added when the cane touched my bottom again.

“Age?” “Thirty-six.”

“Married?” “Not now. Divorced.”

“Address?”

So the questions went on until he had all my personal details then he shocked me with, “Now remove all your clothes, I wish to search you.”

I looked around and there was nowhere private to go, the door to the office was open and various men looked in. Surely they didn’t expect me to undress in front of everyone? My cuffs were removed and the men stepped back a little. “Undress or the men will do it for you,” Natalie informed me.

Hesitatingly I stammered, “No! You can’t…” Hardly had the words left my lips than my arms were held and Natalie knelt, removed my shoes and socks and then unzipped my trousers and yanked them and my knickers down. They grated over my welts and I cried out with the pain but again that only brought smiles to their faces. Each item she handed to the captain who examined them carefully and I blushed when he fingered the damp crotch of my knickers, but worse was to come.

“Open legs wide. I must check you not hiding stuff in cunt.” I noted a little excitement in Natalie’s voice as she forcibly pushed my ankles apart and then started to feel my opening. The guards held me firmly so I was unable to prevent her although I wriggled and tried to keep myself closed up. On a command from the captain, she went to the back of me and again felt me and forced her fingers well into my vagina. The captain now had an unrestricted view. They exchanged words I couldn’t understand but it made the men around me grin. Finally she stopped and placed her wet fingers under my nose for me to smell my juices. Obviously this had nothing to do with searching me but had everything to do with their sexual pleasure and my humiliation. Only the sight of the man with the cane stopped me protesting.

“I take top off now.” The bitch undid my blouse and with the cooperation of the men holding me, removed it. My bra soon followed and my wrists were again cuffed behind my back. Naked, crying and feeling utterly lost, I stood and tried to endure their gazes. I knew it would do no good to complain and would likely result in more pain.

At that moment, Tanya and another policeman entered carrying my suitcase. For a short while I hoped she’d come to take me to the airport with the others but my hopes were quickly dashed. She spoke to the captain and then turned to me. “We searched your room but didn’t find any other items that might have been stolen and we packed all your belongings. I have to leave shortly to take the rest of the tour party to the airport hotel and will pass the information that you are being held to our London office. Do you wish me to contact anyone in England?” I gave her Jan’s email address and pleaded with her for help but all she could do, or said she could do, was to inform the office. She would be away with the next tours for two months and would only return to the city every two weeks. “Contact the tour office when you finish your sentence and they will try and sort out your return flight home.”

Up until then I hadn’t really had time to think about what sentence the court would give me. “Do you know what they’ll do?” Feverishly I hoped my meagre knowledge of their justice system was wrong.

Offhandedly she replied, her face showing a slight smirk, “You saw the way they treated criminals on the news last week. I doubt if you will get special treatment.” Natalie nodded her agreement and I wondered if I would get home alive. The excerpts we saw on Monday’s TV showed brutal whippings of both men and women and at the time, I and others thought it was a good way to treat criminal scum, now I was hastily revising my ideas. Again and again I beseeched her to stay and help me and to try and obtain my release but after a few words with the captain, she told me there was nothing that she could do. “They will charge you with theft and the court will decide your punishment and when you can go home.” After a pause she added with a knowing smile, “Probably you’ll need to ask for extra cushions for the journey.”

After she left, the captain via Natalie, questioned me again but it was a tedious process and in the end he picked up the phone and spoke at some length. “The captain asked his superior to come in and question you. He not pleased to come in today. Also another man, a lawyer is coming. Maybe one, maybe two hours,” she informed me. “You wait here.”

“My clothes?”

“Only shoes. You get prison dress later.” She handed me my shoes but because of my cuffs, I could only hold them behind my back, and two guards escorted me from the office to a small almost bare room. Only bench seats along two walls. “You sit, not talk,” Natalie said, “I go now, have other work.”

The throbbing of the welts across my bottom escalated when I tried to sit on the hard seat but the guards openly laughed at my discomfort. One had a little sympathy for me and refastened the cuffs in front of my body and actually put my shoes on but I think that was more so he could get a good look at my cunt. He pushed my knees wide apart and made me sit like that although I gradually inched them together again.

A non-uniformed man brought some black bread and goats cheese and cold tea and although I didn’t find it palatable, I ate it and drank the tea. By now my bladder told me I needed to relieve myself but I didn’t dare ask. However, the friendlier guard came to me and pointed at my cunt and I thought he wanted to feel me and was about to protest when he made a charade of water flowing from it. With a guard either side of me, I was led to the toilet; the men’s toilet! My protests were ignored and much to their amusement, they half lifted me to a urinal and made me pee like a man. The smell in the lavatory was unpleasant, in fact it was disgusting, but they didn’t seem to notice; they stood and used the urinals either side of me and deliberately showed me their pricks and even rubbed them to semi hardness, which made me fearful of being raped. Another man entered as I voiced my revulsion at the behaviour of my guards. “Get used to it,” the man said, “You get to see and feel many men while in prison. You get jabs first.” I tried to get him to say more but as soon as my flow finished, my guards took me away without drying me or allowing me to wash my hands. I did catch sight of my welts in the cracked mirror, the one across my shoulders still showed although I didn’t notice it too much but those on my bottom were deep, red and fiery and throbbed badly. I wanted to rub them but cuffed I couldn’t get my hands near and had to be content with weeping and bemoaning my treatment.

Chapter two. On remand

For another hour or more, I sat and waited and tried to imagine what fate awaited me. Would I be allowed to leave with just a reprimand or a fine? What did the man in the toilet mean about me seeing and feeling more pricks? Was I to be raped? By the staff? Other prisoners? Would they really whip a foreign woman? Wouldn’t that provoke and international incident? No, I wasn’t that important and many would think that I deserved it. Would they send me home afterwards? There was no one I could even ask. Despondently I sat, crying bitterly and every few moments lifting my bottom to ease the pain of sitting but it did little good.

Eventually I was taken to another office and introduced to Ivan, my lawyer / representative (I was given his surname but couldn’t remember or pronounce it) and Superintendent Nemorsky. After yet more time going through my case and ignoring all my requests to have some clothing and earning myself another two strokes of the cane across my shoulders for abusing them, I finally agreed to sign a confession or at least, that’s what they said it was.

Darkness had descended by the time all the paperwork and formalities were completed and by then I was sore, tired and hungry but no food was forthcoming and they only gave me a cup of water when I asked for a drink. A young policeman led me to a van and after shackling my wrist cuffs to a hook above my head, sat beside me. We’d hardly started moving when his hands began squeezing my breasts and pinching my nipples. I yelled but he quickly produced his cane and laid it gently across my breasts. “This hurt much more than hands,” he muttered and then smartly flicked it across both nipples.

“Pervert!” I spat at him. Another mistake. The thin white cane slashed down across the tops of both tits (I’ll stop calling them breasts now after all that I’ve been through) and up again to welt the undersides. I screamed again and wept and tried to ignore his hands massaging the sore flesh. It wasn’t long before one hand went between my thighs and he played with my cunt. His behaviour appalled me but I could do nothing about it. I was old enough to be his mother and yet he treated me with the familiarity of a husband, in fact more familiarly than I allowed my ex husband.

Fortunately the prison wasn’t far and he escorted me inside to the hospital clinic where I was greeted by a doctor and a nurse. While the doctor read my notes, the nurse did the usual checks on my body; blood pressure, pulse and took a sample of blood. “You seem to have got yourself into trouble already,” she commented on examining my welts. “You must learn to obey those in charge of you.” Her command of English surprised me but she said she’d trained in England and I took the opportunity to ask my fate. “What the court will decide I can only speculate, but I doubt you will get less than a week in prison and probably a whipping. You’ll have to be nice to the judges to get away with as little as that.” My mind reeled at the thought of a week inside a gruesome prison and to be whipped as well but before I voiced my feelings she went on, “What is more certain, Doctor Stavinov will give you a contraceptive injection and another which is a vaccination against the common sexual diseases. They’re powerful Russian made drugs that have an immediate effect but you may experience some side effects, nausea, feverishness and maybe a rash. They will go in a day or two.”

“You mean I will be forced to have sex while I’m here?”

“Of course and no doubt the doctor will be the first unless he finds something wrong with you.”

“That’s rape!”

“Not here. You can resist if you want more welts added to those you already have.” I eyed the doctor warily when he came to examine me but it was all very clinical and he spoke English too. “All appears clean Nancy but both your vagina and rectum are a little tight so your first few days may be a little painful.”

“Rectum? You don’t mean they will do it in my… bottom?”

“I’m afraid so. Now roll over so I can do the injections.” I didn’t feel the needle going in but one injection started burning soon afterwards and the heat slowly spread over my body. “They’ll take about fifteen minutes to become effective so maybe the nurse might be persuaded to put some cream on the welts while we wait.” She did and barely leaving enough time for the injections to work, the nurse guided the doctor’s prick into my cunt and I experienced the first of many rapes while in Rubekestan. I suspect the burning injection was also an aphrodisiac because for the first time in many years, I climaxed while a man fucked me. I hardly ever did with my husband even during the first months of our marriage.

My second rape followed swiftly on the heels of the first. The young policeman who’d escorted me, had waited in the corner of the room ready to take me to the prison itself, came forward and thrust into me a few times and then said something to the nurse. Assisted by the doctor, she strapped me to the exam table and then pulled open by bottom cheeks, painfully stretching my welts and giving the boy access to my bottom hole. Despite my cries of pain, he thrust in and forced his way into my nether passage, a passage no man had entered before and fucked me hard for longer than I expected. Finally he came in my bowels and withdrew. Sobbing with disgust and pain I was relieved when they released me, and the nurse suggested I have a quick shower before seeing the governor. Not the easiest thing to do with cuffed hands even if they are in front of you.

The governor, a wiry little man who wore three stars on his epaulettes and who kept his cane in full view on his desk, ordered the removal of my handcuffs and made me stand in the centre of the floor for his inspection. My anger rose again at being treated like a whore, but the sight of that cane forced me to control myself. If only I could put the clock back twenty-four hours. He fingered the welts on my tits making me howl and then again when he rolled the ones on my arse between his finger and thumb, all the while he kept a joking conversation with the others in the room and I knew it was at my expense. Finally he spoke to me. “Seems you British don’t like obeying our rules. You will feel the cane many more times if you don’t obey here. Your body will show plenty of welts when they take you for flogging on Monday.” I couldn’t contain myself any longer and cried and wailed and then pleaded with him to send me home but he just grinned and made more jokes to the others. “You will be treated like any other criminal we have to deal with. I don’t want an old hag like you but I guess your cell mates will.”

He must have repeated the instruction to the guards because they led me out of the office and along gloomy corridors. Several times doors were unlocked before we came to the cells. These had bare concrete walls with a simple toilet and washbasin at the far end and a low sleeping platform against each side wall. The front was open bars so we could see in. To my horror, some cells contained two men and a woman, all naked and you can imagine what the men were doing.

We stopped in front of one occupied by two men and after a little discussion they unlocked the door. I tried to resist being pushed in which again was a stupid thing to do. One of the prisoners was ordered to kneel on all fours and the other held me over the man’s back so the guard could crack four more strokes across my already badly tormented arse. I screamed and nearly fainted. Surprisingly the prisoners were quite gentle with me but their pricks were hard and I was a naked female and available for fucking. First one held me with my legs pulled back while the other had his turn but they didn’t really do it hard and when both had their fill, they put cold water on my welts. An hour later they fucked me again, or at least one did while the other made me suck him. I started to protest but a hand over my mouth silenced me and then when the prick filled it, there was little chance of me making much noise. They were just as afraid of the cane as I was and I noticed one had at least half-a-dozen stripes across his bum. Eventually, cuddled close to one of the men, I drifted off into fitful catnaps. They didn’t sleep well either; probably they too were worried about their sentence but I never found out what crimes they’d committed.

Towards morning, I’d no idea of the time but I knew my partner of the night was awake and he must have known I was too because his mouth found my breasts and his fingers gently played with my cunt. It brought back memories of the early days of my marriage and, despite the soreness in my bottom, I couldn’t help but become aroused. Probably there were still some after effects from the injections, which I guessed must have included a powerful aphrodisiac, but I opened my legs and regardless of the pain from the earlier canings, and once again let a man fuck me without much complaint. Complaining wouldn’t have made any difference and would have resulted in further pain. In less than a day, I’d been fucked more times than in the last five years. He took his time and I climaxed long before he did and I have to admit, I enjoyed it. We must have wakened the other prisoner because he wanted his turn but his was what I would now call an ‘ordinary fuck’.

I dozed again only to be abruptly awoken by the loud clamber of the rising bell. Using sign and charade language, the men made me hastily use the toilet and wash my face. There was no paper or any means of wiping my arse but, again in mime, they indicated we would be taken to the showers before breakfast. Having hardly any food since breakfast the previous morning, my stomach made itself known, much to the amusement of the men but I doubted if would be like the one in the hotel. I wasn’t wrong.

The showers were communal, the water tepid and the soap of the carbolic variety no longer allowed in the UK but I used it and it felt good to be clean and the water seemed to ease the pain in my welts a little. One odd thing I had to wear my shoes around my neck, as did everyone. “If you shoe get stolen, you not get more. You go barefoot,” a man told me, “On farm, that very bad.” His English wasn’t good enough to say more. Stiff, harsh towels were supplied and the men took delight in drying the women especially their tits. I noticed some women were almost free of welts but most had several, mainly across their backsides. None were as badly beaten as me. Some men were badly welted and I prayed that I wouldn’t be treated to even one more stroke of the dreaded cane. A supply of combs stood in jugs of disinfectant in front of what was originally a long mirror but now was cracked and had pieces missing. At least I was able to get the tangles out of my hair. No razors were supplied so the men either had beards of at least stubble on their chins and all the time the guards, men and women, kept us moving and stopped us talking with little flicks of their canes that stung but didn’t leave a welt.

Like the others, I put my wet shoes on and squelchingly followed them to a counter where they issued us with orange smocks. Mine was a little on the tight side but they gave out whatever size was next on the pile and it was the same for both sexes, but I noticed several prisoners swapped before we went to breakfast. At the counter each of us took a tray with a bowl of porridge of uncertain origin, a lump of black bread and what looked like solid semolina and a beaker of cold, weak tea. By then I was so hungry I would have eaten anything.

That over, they lined us up and checked names. I almost missed mine when they called out ‘Bushnell’ with an almost unrecognisable pronunciation and I hadn’t any idea what the guard said was my work assignment. Fortunately one of the men took my arm and whispered, “You with me. We sweep corridor.” By his beard and the way his whip marks were healed, I guessed he’d been in some time and knew what to do. It was obviously just work to keep us occupied. With stiff yard brooms we swept the concrete floor from one end to the other and then swept the dirt all the way back again. This we did endlessly until lunch break. By then I was extremely tired but had to keep working or get a swipe with the cane when the guard passed.

By the end of the afternoon, my shoulders ached and my hands were blistered and I was about ready to collapse when a stern, matronly woman in uniform with one star on her shoulder and a badge on her breast came and inspected me. “Remove the dress,” she ordered. After playing with my tits and feeling my cunt, she spoke to the guard and in passable English to me. “You will spend tonight with me. I hope you like woman/woman fuck but it doesn’t matter if not.”

“Do what Katrina says, Namski,” my fellow sweeper whispered when we were working again. I ignored the mispronunciation of my name. “Girl in cell last night says sleep with her much better than in cell. Warm shower. Good food. You just suck cunt and tits.” I wasn’t too keen on that but it would possibly be better than being raped again.

At the end of work time we were herded back into a large room for role call and then the men were put in cells and the women found places with them. They left me standing until a woman guard took me to Katrina’s room and ushered me in. She’d started to remove her uniform. “Close the door girl and help me undress. Take your shoes off ready for a shower. It may help your pain a little.” Her voice seemed less harsh than earlier.

I soon found that I was expected to shower with her and to wash and dry her body, especially her breasts and between her legs. At least that didn’t cause me any pain and the warm water felt very nice on my body. Afterwards she made me massage oil onto her body and when she was fully aroused I had to tongue her cunt, something I hadn’t done since my teenage years and then only a few times, but again it didn’t hurt and after her climax we lay on the bed until an orange uniformed maid brought our dinner. She shared it equally with me and as my colleague of day predicted, it was far better than in the prisoner’s canteen.

We cuddled and I sucked her off again later and while we rested I enquired what might happen to me. “Who knows? Depends on the mood the judge is in and whether or not he feels hospitable to foreigners.” When I pressed her to know if I would get whipped, she was rather hesitant to answer, “Probably.” Seeing the horror on my face, she went on, “Most likely with a soft whip that will not break the skin.” She refused to say more.

Chapter three. Sentenced

The court hearing was a fiasco. Ivan advised, “You must plead guilty as you have signed a confession. I will plead for a light sentence. Unfortunately today’s judge is not inclined to be tolerant but I will do what I can.” He started to give a fairly lengthy speech, which the court translator relayed for my benefit, but the judge stopped him and said he’d heard enough and I was guilty and would be punished like any other criminal. “Twenty lashes with the number four whip and thirty days work on the correction farm.” The interpreter’s voice showed no emotion as he relayed the judge’s sentence.

That’s how I ended up on the bench, gagged and with my hands fastened above my head awaiting the sentence to be carried out. The girl they’d taken first never came back and it seemed an age before they took the next man but probably it was only fifteen minutes. Once more when the door opened I briefly heard the noise from the audience I knew from the TV news, would be watching. Another long wait before the man before me was taken. With my turn next, I sobbed hysterically and my whole body shook violently; I showed none of the stoicism the British are supposed to be renowned for. Waiting stretched to an interminable length of time and yet when the guards came for me I didn’t want to go and tried to cling to any object I could. It made little difference. The door opened and the cheering came through loudly, then with a bang the door closed behind me, and I found myself in a dimly lit corridor; a corridor that reminded of a tunnel leading into the Coliseum. The crowd cheered, hooted and whistled when I entered the punishment room but, firmly held, I could only beg and plead and shake with fear. This, of course, delighted the crowd, more so when my cuffs and smock were removed and I for a short time, slumped to the ground. I had no thought of being brave or heroic.

Soon the guards lifted me on to the low whipping bench and fastened me down with straps at my wrists and ankles and a belt across my back. My breasts hung down on either side of cut-outs in the top of the bench and my handler took more trouble than necessary to see they were well exposed so the sides would be caught by the tips of the whip thongs. For a time I was left to lie there while the commentator told the crowd of my sentence. I only know this because afterwards the crowd quietened and another voice spoke in good English.

“Nancy Bushnell, your punishment is being filmed and the film will be sent to England and placed on our web site so that any other tourists who commit crimes here know what to expect. I’ve been asked to provide an introduction so that you and the viewers in your country know what is happening and why. Nancy Bushnell, you stole an item from a shop and although you confessed to it, your attitude and abusiveness to the police and to the judge and the insults you levelled at our government and our President, has resulted in a more severe punishment than normally meted out. Such a crime would normally result in ten lashes and a week in prison, you have earned twenty lashes and thirty days hard labour on the correction farm with additional twenty lashes with an instrument of the governor’s choice on any part of your body each Monday. This again is in addition to any normal punishment inflicted by the staff for your failure to obey them in the proper manner. Your buttocks, shoulders and breasts already bear witness to your recalcitrance. The number four whip prescribed for use on you has three leather straps about a metre long and two centimetres wide that will fan out in use and cover a wide area of your flesh but will not break the skin or produce bleeding. When used by the punishment officer to the full extent of their swing, they will cause considerable pain, pain that you will feel for a long while and which, we hope, we remind you not to steal or to abuse our staff in future. It is fully intended that this be a punitive punishment and a deterrent to others that may follow you. When, or if, you survive your sentence, you will be immediately deported and never allowed to return.”

The ‘when, or if, you survive your sentence,’ remark almost caused me to faint and I began to doubt if I would ever get home again and if I did what sort of physical and mental state I would be in. I had little time to worry because the punishment officer was already in position at my left side and no doubt was impatient at the delay. Without warning the strands wrapped themselves with horrendous force across the back of my thighs and the ends bit into the outside of my right thigh. I screamed and screamed but perhaps half a minute later, the lashes fell a little higher across my lower buttocks. From the intensity and sharpness of the pain, I knew the man was using his full force and had lied about the whip not cutting me but I was proved wrong later. By the time five strokes had been administered, each one gradually higher across my back, I was hoarse and my senses were fading. They realised this and dropped a container with a sponge pad impregnated with a pungent substance into a recess in the bench by my head. Instantly I became alert and fully felt the pain of the next five lashes that inexorably slashed their way along my back and, as they intended, the tips cut into the side of my right breast. My screaming became hoarse cries but they were largely drowned by the noise made by the crowd.

“You have now received half of your punishment. The next ten will be delivered from the other side of your body,” the clipped voice of the translator announced, but I hardly heard him. How could they expect a woman to take such brutal treatment and survive? I remember yelling, “No more!” just before the next lash landed across my thighs. Again the cruel, slow progression of strokes along my body and this time they largely went across flesh already sore and swollen from the previous strokes. Even with the obnoxious fumes, I almost faded and my voice gave out before the end.

“You have now received your full punishment. Your body will be sprayed with disinfectant and later you will be taken to the correction farm to start work.” Work? I couldn’t even stand! Surely we would be taken to a hospital and treated? The spray stung the raw, abraded and bruised skin and a few minutes later my bonds were released and they ordered me to stand. I couldn’t move. Roughly, they gripped my arms and lifted me to my feet and cuffed my wrists in front of me but with my legs shaking violently, there was no way I could stand. As soon as the guards let go I fell to the floor. Once more they dragged me to my feet and this time supported me out to a room with low beds. Callously, I was dropped face down on one and there I remained for several hours, until all the sentences for the day had been carried out and the number of men and woman groaning with the pain of their whipping increased. I didn’t count them but I believe about ten were whipped that day.

Sometime, probably early afternoon, an orderly came and gave me a drink of water but otherwise not much else happened until most of the prisoners were herded out and taken back to the prison. One, the man who spoke to me in the shower, remarked quietly, “You must have upset the judge to be sentenced to the labour camp.” His back and arse were badly welted but he and the others walked out of the room without assistance, albeit stiffly. That left three men and me. The pain was still horrendous but it eased enough for me to look at the back of the man alongside me. I saw how the whip had welted his back but it looked like they’d used a single tail whip on him and he too had twenty lashes.

I guessed they waited for the van to return from the prison because about half an hour later, the guards gave us prison smocks and ordered us to walk but as soon as my feet stood on the floor, I collapsed and once again I was dragged along. With no concession to our tortured bodies, they sat us on slatted benches and fastened our cuffs to hooks above our heads and left us to suffer while they sat on padded seats at one end and watched us. The pain was too intense for my body to cope with and throughout the journey I slipped in and out of consciousness but in my periods of wakefulness I heard the men cry out as we bumped along. I know I cried loudly too.

Eventually we stopped and were walked into a room and stood in front of the governor. Well the others stood but the guards had to support me during the governor’s lengthy speech, none of which was intelligible to me. At one point he addressed me directly and slapped my face when I didn’t reply. Had not the guards held me I would have fallen to the floor. Finally we were taken to the canteen. By that time the guards had tired of holding me and two prisoners were given the job. I drank the cold tea but had no wish to eat although I did force some down when the guard indicated with his cane that I should. “You eat, you need for work,” he stuttered.

Chapter four. The correction camp

The tea did revive me enough to walk, or rather, hobble, to the shower room and the tepid water also helped to ease the pain a little. To my surprise, one of the prisoners, a big great brute of a man that for want of a better name I called Hulk, very gently patted my back dry and when he handed me a towel, I did the same for him. His welts were very deep and he groaned a little when I carefully touched them with the towel. He even combed my hair when I found it difficult to raise my arms.

We shared a cell with two beds for the whole of my time there but he didn’t fuck me that first night. I did see his prick was in proportion to his body and dreaded the thought of it being forced into me although my fears proved groundless. He did, however, crawl into my bed before lights out and cuddled me when I burst into uncontrolled sobbing at the hopelessness of my situation. I didn’t believe I could live through a month of torture at the correction camp, and I knew work would be a real torture. I wasn’t wrong.

At breakfast, I saw the men outnumbered the women at least four to one and wondered what work they gave us to do. I didn’t believe I could do anything because my body was so stiff and sore from the previous day. The least movement sent bolts of pain through my body and I cried out when I sat on a chair but that didn’t faze the others. I noticed most of them sat very gently and all showed various degrees of punishment across their backs and bottoms. In reality, mine was no worse than some of theirs although the women never showed more than ten welts but almost everyone had the distinctive marks of the sword canes.

The work superintendent had a particularly sadistic nature and assigned me to the forest detail, carrying logs from the forest to a temporary sawmill. “Judge give you hard labour. You work hard or you get cane,” he told me in English. Had I been fit, I couldn’t have lifted the logs I was supposed to carry to the mill. My only protection was the standard thin prison smock and a leather apron. By mid morning the rest of the group were becoming increasingly irritated at having to help me and were gesticulating for me to work harder. It seemed they had a quota to fill and although the guard foreman chivvied me with his cane, he couldn’t make me do the impossible. Gradually his anger increased and used the cane more frequently but this had the opposite effect. One vicious blow knocked me to the ground and I just curled up and lay there sobbing and screaming almost oblivious to the cane that repeatedly hit my back and bum and to the kicks that bruised my ribs. At that moment I was prepared to die. The brute beating me was totally out of control and the cane rained down on my poor body from almost any angle and to any part that was exposed.

“Enough!” or at least that’s what I assume was said. An officer bent down and lifted the back of my smock and after a few more angry words I found myself being carried by another prisoner to the prison clinic. Two male prisoners in white overalls removed my smock and started to wash me. I saw the water turn red, screamed and fainted again. When I came to, a doctor was at my side preparing to inject my arm with an anaesthetic. My pain eased considerably and I felt almost euphoric and tried to ask him how badly I was cut and would I be scarred.

“Let us get you cleaned up and then we’ll talk,” he replied. At least he could speak my language. They’d hardly started on the task of cleaning me when the governor burst in and angrily spoke to the doctor. Later I was told that the governor wanted me back at work. I was supposed to be doing hard labour not lying abed. He quietened down a little when he saw the extent of my injuries but he was still angry with me as though it was my fault.

“Okay, now we can talk. I don’t often get chance to speak English,” the doctor started when we were alone and my cuts were held together with plastic straps and covered with dressings. “I’ll tell you straight. You have seven open cuts that I have sutured with plastic clips and there will no doubt be some scarring although I have tried to minimise it but on top of your whipping welts and other swellings, it is a difficult task. It would be easier if I could keep you in here for a week but the best I can do is to insist you remain here tomorrow. The governor wanted you back to work today and barely agreed to your having another day off work.”

“Why?” I asked, “I only stole a little ornament worth a few pounds.”

“You are being treated as a terrorist. You openly abused the President, the government, the police and worst of all, the judge. You condemned our system and threatened to have your government usurp ours, or so it seems to those in authority. They are making an example of you. I wanted you to be transferred to work in the clinic but that was refused and you will have to go back to the sawmill but I will ask they give you a more suitable job. I will tell the foreman that you are not to lift logs or your wounds will open again but after he was reprimanded for the way he caned you, I doubt if he will be lenient. Now rest.”

Two days later, I was back at the sawmill. I’d spent the night in my cell with the gentle Hulk. He couldn’t resist fucking me but he did it carefully and tried to get the guards who visited to do the same. I gather he told them I must not lie on my back so they did it doggy fashion with me bent over the side of the bunk and when I tried to protest, Hulk silenced me with a hand over my mouth. I realised he was trying to save me from further punishment and kept my mouth shut.

The job they gave me, clearing sawdust from around the machines, caused more pain. I had to bend down and sweep the dust into sacks and cart it to a pile. Not only did the bending cause extreme pain, but also the sawdust got inside my smock and, combined with the sweat, irritated my wounds. Fortunately the doctor ordered me to present myself to the clinic at midday and after work. There I had a warm shower and the stinging antiseptic spray but he said that was necessary to prevent infection. By nighttime I was exhausted but again had to submit to Hulk and others less gentle. Several even wanted my bottom hole so there was added pain as they forced my bottom cheeks apart and even opened up one of the wounds causing it to seep blood. This didn’t please the doctor.

Chapter five. Stephen

Friday was much the same. I was a walking, pain filled zombie and only wanted to find a hole I could crawl in and die but I wasn’t even allowed that pleasure. By mid afternoon I could hardly lift the sacks of sawdust and was again on the receiving end of the cane when an officer came and took me to a room in the main office block. Dejectedly I hobbled in, head bowed and eyes looking at the floor. The governor and a well-dressed man sat behind a desk. From his suit, I instinctively knew he was British even though he conversed with the governor in the local tongue. My spirit lifted slightly and I raised my head and took in the features of the distinguished looking man. My guess that he was in his early forties, hair starting to recede at the front and speckles of grey on top, small moustache and he’d a military bearing. He rose and greeted me.

“Nancy, I’m Stephen Walls from the Foreign Office and I’m here to try and negotiate your release. The public demanded some action after the film of your whipping was shown on TV. Don’t get your hopes up because these things can take time and I don’t have many cards I can play but at least I can talk with them in their language. Most of my childhood was spent in this region,” I just wept and hardly heard his remark about not getting my hopes up, but at least someone was on my side. He asked that I be allowed to sit but that was almost as painful as standing and I tried to explain that I’d just been caned over open welts. “Will it be too much of an embarrassment for you to show me?” he enquired hesitantly. Hell no! Hundreds had seen me naked in the last few days. He was truly shocked and complained at length to the governor. Turning back to me he said, “I had an interview with President Neureyev last evening and was assured that you were being treated humanely and in accordance with their laws. This does not seem to be the case. I tried to get him to pardon you but he said it was a court matter and I have applied for a hearing but the court doesn’t sit again until Monday and I’m having to cut through much red tape to even get a hearing. I’ve tried to impress on the governor that it is his president’s wish that you be treated as a normal prisoner and not as some anarchist trying to overthrow the state. He has agreed, but, I’m sorry, that still leaves him plenty of scope for punishing you in ways neither of us find acceptable. I will try and get another audience with President Neureyev and ask him again to intervene but, as I’m sure you can guess, at every turn, another obstacle is put in front of me. I will do what I can to get you out of here as quickly as possible.” I thanked him before burying my head in my hands.

He turned and had a long conversation with the governor and when it ended, I was taken to the clinic and remained there overnight.

I heard no more but on Saturday and Sunday, I was given cleaning work in the clinic and with regular attention, my welts began to heal and with medication, my pains eased. Both nights I was returned to my cell and had to submit to being fucked by Hulk and any of the guards that could get to my cell, but at least I wasn’t being caned or physically abused. My hopes rose on Monday that I would soon be freed but those hopes were dashed when I was taken to the governor’s office. For once there was an interpreter with him. “Bushnell, in accordance with our laws, this morning you are to receive the second part of your sentence. You are to receive a further twenty lashes given by governor using an instrument of his choosing and he will use it on any part of your body. This was the sentence imposed by the court and must be carried out.”

“Oh no!” I cried out but the evil smile on the governor’s face told me he would delight in causing me further pain.

“You will be taken to the punishment room and laid face up on the bench and he will use the number four whip on you again to make your front match your back.” Both he and the governor grinned. I tried to plead and beg them to spare me, but still screaming and yelling, I was carried to the punishment room and fastened tightly down but this time my thighs were spread. The governor spoke and the interpreter translated. “We are allowed to fuck prisoners and before we whip you, we are going to make sure you receive a good quota of sperm inside you. After the whipping you won’t be much of a fuck.”

Almost before he’d finished telling me, the governor shoved his prick in and fucked me hard and fast. The interpreter and four guards followed him. All the while I was raped my mind thought of the horror that was to come. I prayed that Stephen would get me a last minute reprieve but it was not to be. Taking the whip and swishing it close to my face to increase my fear, he brought the tails down across both of my breasts. I blacked out immediately but the acrid sponge quickly brought me round and I was forced to suffer the slow agonising punishment as the strokes were laid down my body and even between my legs. My shrieks and cries only served to amuse them and after a short break, the whipping proceeded up my body again but this time from the other side.

Even the pungent smell couldn’t keep me awake at the end and I next awoke in the clinic once more and I gather it was some time in the evening. “I gave you a shot to ease the pain and another to sedate you,” the doctor informed me. “Word has it that the court suspended your sentence and the British guy will be here in the morning to take you away. You may not be fit to travel although I’m sure you’ll want to get away from here. I’ve put in a IV line to keep you hydrated and provide some nourishment and now I’m going to sedate you again.”

“Nancy, I know this is highly irregular but you are going to have to stay with me in this hotel room until the end of your sentence and the authorities give you your passport back.” Stephen tried to explain the agreement he’d reached with the judge, fortunately one more favourable to me than the judge who gave the original sentence. “They have paroled you into my care for the remainder of your sentence and providing you don’t give them any cause to re-arrest you, at the end of that time I will be able to take you back to England. I have a doctor coming to examine you later and the doctor at the camp gave me some painkillers and cream to help control the pain. The doc will also examine you for STD’s even though the camp doctor said you were free of them and had been vaccinated to prevent infection. I gather all staff and prisoners are tested and vaccinated before going to the camp. They’re not going to let you have your clothing and other effects back until the end of your month either, so I will have to go out and buy a dress and stuff for you.”

For most of that day I slept or lay on the bed. The pills and creams controlled the pain to some extent but always there was the background ache and the sharp pains when I tried to move. The colour and extent of my bruising and the ugly welts really shocked me when, for the first time, I saw them clearly in the bathroom mirrors but I hoped now there wouldn’t be any additions to them.

What Stephen saw in me at that time, I’ve not been able to fathom and he says he couldn’t explain it either, but he seemed interested in me as a person and not just a naked woman with a hole available for use. Using the excuse that his body would keep the bedclothes from pressing on my sore flesh, Stephen slept alongside me. With a similar excuse he slept naked ‘so as not to embarrass me’ but that first night I hardly knew what occurred. At one point I think I had a nightmare and woke to find Stephen cuddling me but nothing sexual happened. Nor did it the next night although I was more aware of my surroundings and his presence and he did shower with me and I saw his erect prick several times. It was normal and not like Hulk’s, and I wondered if I would be obliged to let him have me but after all the rapes, it would be no hardship and he really was doing all he could for me. In fact I fancied him. He’d informed Jan and his office knew I was safe.

On our third night together, I had a fit of depression and wept and my body shook. Stephen held me close and I felt his erection against my stomach. Even with the soft bed, the pain was too great for me to fuck in the missionary position so when my crying ceased I curled on my side with my bottom exposed and facing him, “Try it, but be careful,” I warned. Perhaps all the rapes had awakened my sexual spirit because I would never have suggested it had I been fit.

A week later I felt strong enough to go to the hotel dining room with him. In truth I walked like an old crone and almost needed a stick to help me along, but at least I walked. Stephen bought a light flowery dress that fitted loosely and a new pair of shoes so I looked fairly respectable and he promised that he would take me to buy my own clothes when I was fit enough to go out. “How much do I owe you?” I asked but he said we’d sort it out when we got back to England. I had no money in Rubekestan until the police released my stuff.

Having slept naked together for nearly three weeks, I suppose you could say we became lovers almost by default. By the time of my departure, we made love regularly although we still had to be very careful not to open any of the wounds and I couldn’t move my body into certain positions but we managed and I enjoyed his company and he seemed to enjoy mine.

I wondered if I would be able to go back to work when I returned or even if I would have a job now that I was a convicted thief. “You won’t have to worry for a little while,” Stephen told me, “The papers will want your story and will pay well for it. You know I recorded the state of your body each day since you came from the camp and they will pay good money for copies so financially you should be okay in the short term and, although you are a thief, the suffering you went through, and are still going through, for what is a relatively minor indiscretion, will garner some sympathy and may well influence your boss to keep you on.”

I did go back for a while but I soon moved in with Stephen and after a trial period together became Mrs, Nancy Walls. Even now my body still shows the scars of my time in prison and they are mirrored in my mind. Never will I try and steal anything again and I’ve learned to curb my tongue.

Finis