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 Certificate Of Correction Ch 7

   We went to Harriet's favorite spot for lunch.  I thought about the
"lunch" that the girls were probably getting.  I had called Linnea and
given her the bad news.  She was disappointed but later philosophical about
the punishment the girls were to receive in the morning.

   "A good whipping never did anybody any harm," she mused." It hurts like
hell, though.  Believe me, I know.  My father, your great uncle, was a firm
believer in the corrective power of a good strapping for disobedience and I
found myself being marched out to the barn on more than several occasions
growing up.  He raised some welts on my behind with a harness strap, I can
tell you.  I guess Erin could be bruised a bit but that's to be expected.
Don't get me wrong.  I feel sorry for Erin and her friends, and it must be
scary, being in jail, but Lord, those girls brought it on themselves. 
Drugs!  And they knew better!" Softening, she added, "You'll look out for
her, I know, Rollin.  Just...just...make sure it's legal--I mean how they
do it, you know?"

   I told Linnea that my collegue had assured me that they followed a
strict procedure, before , during and after.  I even put Harriet on the
line to tell her that the punishment is designed to be painful but not
cause permanent injury.  That's scant consolation when you know that at
10pm the next morning you're going to be whipped as hard as a sturdy matron
can manage, I thought.

   Harriet told me to meet her on the street outside the compound at 5pm.
That would be when the punishment detail would bring Susan out to prepare
the switches for the birch rod to be used on her the next day.

   When I arrived outside the grounds to the Justice Center there were
about 20 people standing around.  Most looked like islanders although there
were a few tourists.  A grove of willow trees took up one corner of the
greenspace inside the iron fence shutting the grounds off from the rest of
the world.  I sidled up to Harriet who regarded the crowd with a dour
expression.

   "Voyeurs," said Harriet disgustedly, waving her hand at the onlookers.
"They've got nothing better to do than watch some poor girl be humiliated.
They must get this vicarious thrill knowing that the girl they see out here
cutting and skinning switches is going to get her bottom whipped in the
morning."

   Just like Madame LaFarge at the foot of the guillotine, I thought-- a
few "courthouse rats" with too much time on their hands.  They were talking
excitedly and avidly reading the notice displayed at the entrace gate
announcing the fact that one Susan Pemberton, having been convicted of drug
possession, would receive 36 lashes with the island birch on the morrow in
the courtyard.

   "Serves 'em right, I say," proclaimed a stolid matron loudly.  "These
little madames parading around in their little thong bikinis should all
have their behinds whipped.  Yes indeed.  Whipped real hard!" she added,
eyes aglow.

   I surmised that it would do no good to point out to her that the
punishment had nothing to do with thong bikinis.  She was obviously
rapturous over the prospect of a good flogging for any attractive young
woman who could display herself in a thong bikini.

   At about five we could see a small procession emerging from the side of
the building.  It was Susan with two matrons and a guard.  Susan wore the
tight regulation denims and a halter top.  I decided that she was a tiny
bit bottom heavy--still very attractive--the slender waist maybe offset her
swelling bottomcheeks, making them look all the more prominent, perhaps. 
They stopped at the grove of willow and I could see the matron pointing to
several choice switches.  She the handed Susan a small scissor-like pruning
tool.  Susan stood up on tiptoe throwing her bounteous bottom into stark
relief as she reached to cut the indicated withes.  Even from where I stood
I could see her blushing with shame at having to perform such an
ignominious task.  The catcalls and comments from the watchers added to her
humiliation.

   "Look at the ass on that one--she'll get it good."

   "Yeah, they've got a lot to work with--that's a butt that's going to get
a right smart whippin'."

   "She'll be standing up on the plane for sure.  I heard they're deporting
her right aftewrwards."

   "Ralph--stop ogling.  She'll be getting that fanny whipped good and
proper--a taste of our island justice.  Ralph, you disgusting oaf, you're
practically drooling.  Well, that's enough of this.  I should cut a switch
for you at home.  Come along." Ralph reluctantly trotted after the
formidable housewife like a puppy.

   "It says it's to be 36 strokes.  Ouch!  She'll feel that for a long
time."

   "Hey, sweetie, just remember", called out some jerk in the throng,
"--this hurts us more than it'll hurt you." General laughter followed.

   "Grin and bare it, honey, grin and bare it." More chuckles.

   Susan must have been mortified.  I know she was trying to ignore the
remarks, but I could not imagine the shame inflicted by a bunch of
strangers looking on and discussing your imminent whipping like it was a
circus sideshow.

   They cut quite a few switches.  Harriet told me that their regulations
called for one rod per dozen strokes.  As Susan cut where they told her, a
matron took and trimmed the switches to length using a yardstick to
measure. We understood that 30" was the uniform length specified.  It took
all of 15 minutes to complete this mortifying chore, but I'm sure that for
Susan they were long minutes, though probably not as long as the 15-20
minutes that it would take tommmorrow for them to give her the actual
punishment.  The trimmed and peeled switches were tied in a bundle and the
punishment detail escorted Susan back to the compound.  I have to confess,
I was watching the gentle sway of her sexy rear in those tight denims as
she walked away.

   Harriet and I retired to her house that evening.  There was nothing more
to be done.  Harriet changed into a very fetching sundress made of some
thin cotton.  She made us some fruit concoction with rum in it, and brought
the pitcher over to the table in front of the sofa.  "If we tried to mount
some sort of appeal or PR campaign we would only prolong this thing, and in
the end the girls would be whipped anyway, right?" I just wanted to confirm
this.  I sort of felt that maybe we hadn't done everything we could have.

   "Right," said Harriet.  "This island is rough for law 'n order. 
Especially drugs.  I know how they think.  If they let these girls off with
a scolding it sends the wrong message.  As I told you, they use the birch
for petty thievery too.  I had a client a few months back--court appointed,
you know, we all get them.  Pretty girl.  Single mom.  Two young children.
She says she didn't lift anything from the store, that it was a mistake.  I
believed her, and I told her she'd sound and look good to a jury.  Well,
they offered her 24 strokes for a guilty plea.  She couldn't raise the
money for bail and she had those two kids to take care of--so she opted for
the birch."

   "She did a lively dance, Rollin.  When they commenced to whipping her
little seat she was stoic at first, then she started yelping and squirming.
At the end she shrieked and cried like a baby.  They took their time, too--
24 slow deliberate strokes in the noonday sun.  She said later that at
first it stung like bees and then like a slow fire building up.  Not so bad
at first but then as the pain builds on top of itself it takes your breath
away.  By about number six she was yelping and dancing.  But you know, by
20 she was doing sort of a slow grind against the bar...." Her voice
trailed off and her eyes had a distant look.

   "Is this how you learned all this?  the procedure, I mean?  Through this
client?"

   " What?" She'd been distracted.  "Oh, yeah, she was my first.  This was
all new.  I had done a little bit of everything, you know, divorce, wills,
real estate--even some juvenile and criminal stuff.  The corporal
punishment law had been in effect for about 3 years before I got here.  At
first I was appalled, but I don't know--it's probably better in a lot of
cases than jail.  And for women it's not really brutal in the sense of
injury or scars, but it stings like hell.  Also, it's more shameful.  You
know, to get your ass whipped like that.  Frankly, I think there's a sexual
element too.  In fact," her voice dropped to a conspiratorial level, "I've
heard that some women even become ah...aroused by a birching." She blushed
as she said it.  It brought something back to me that she'd said the
previous night.  I couldn't pin it down--it was hanging on the edge of my
memory--out of focus.

   I acknowleged that I knew something about this, and under the influence
of Harriet's island punch or whatever, started to tell her about Karen and
her experiment with the "sandal".  Her eyes grew wide as the tale unfolded.
I guess we'd both had a few drinks.  Harriet flushed as the details poured
out.  I could swear her nipples hardened, from what I could see through the
thin top of her dress.  Something was going on with her.

   "You spanked her?" she said breathlessly.  I nodded.  "Over her skirt?"
I shook my head.  "Nooo...on her ...panties?" Another head shake.  "Bare...
er, bottomed?" A yes nod.  "I can't believe this!  This was a...an
experiment?  And then what?  Tell me!" She was visibly excited.  She licked
her lips, eyes shining.

   "Well...the sex was pretty..  ah..intense."

   "Oh, my!  Rollin!  And I always thought you were so very proper with us
ladies.  Now I know how naughty you are," she teased, "and a brute as
well." She was trying to compose herself.  She paused, then asked, "Did you
put her across your knee like some bratty little girl?" I nodded.  "So you
put her over your knee, pulled down her pants and gave her a spanking just
so she could feel what a correctional paddling felt like.  And then
you...then you..."

   "That's about the size of it."

   "I wonder about the size of it," she giggled.

   "Now who's being naughty?"

   "Well, Rollin you come in here looking all fine and fit and start
telling tales of spankings for girls on their bare bottoms...what's a lady
to do?" Her voice was now an octave lower and she leaned toward me.  I
grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to me.  She mashed her lips to
mine and we kissed, deeply, her furtive tongue seeking mine.  My hand found
her breast and I palmed it gently pinching the erect nipple.  She groaned
with pleasure.  I stood up pulling her with me.  She pulled away for a
moment then unzipped the little sundress.  It fell to the floor leaving her
in a wispy bra and thong panties.  Wow!  She was gorgeous.  She was sort of
long waisted with baseball sized perky breasts and wide flaring hips.  Now
as we resumed the kiss my hands roamed her sumptuous seat, caressing and
kneading the resilient mounds.  She responded with a low moan and by
grinding her pelvis against mine.

   We moved back to the couch.  I sat down and cradled her face up in my
lap and continued kissing her while my hand caressed her breasts.  After
awhile I slid my hand between her legs.  Yep, the gusset of the thong was
slippery wet.  She groaned as I slid my fingers up and down her slit.  She
started humping against my hand then stopped.  She propped herself halfway
up.

   "Try it on me," she said in a throaty whisper.  I thought, "Huh?" But I
got her meaning as she turned over and crawled face down across my lap,
stretching her body out along the couch, her hips cocked over my right
thigh.  Her impudently rounded bottomcheeks jutted up, soft, inviting.  She
looked back at me.  "Go ahead, spank me.  I want to see what it feels like.
Smack my bottom."

   "You want me to spank you?"

   "Umm...yes.  The idea of it gets me hot.  I just want to feel what it's
like to get a real fanny warming.  You will won't you?  Don't you think I
have a nice fanny?" And she gave it a little wiggle.  Who could resist?

   "As you wish, my dear." I patted and rubbed the fleshy mounds.  She
purred, and arched her fanny up even higher.  Then I started smacking her
with little half force slaps.  Her rear wobbled deliciously, and she gasped
in pleasure.  I spanked from side to side, slowly to let her absorb each
one.  She writhed and ground her hips in response to each one.  Then I
picked up the pace, briskly spanking now.  She let out a stream of
"Oh...oh...oh" as my palm went smack!  smack!  smack!  Her bottom was
getting pink now, then hot pink as I spanked a little harder.  These spanks
were interspersed with rubbing, kneading and a few trips by my hand to that
wet spot between her legs.  Then I landed about ten good hard smacks, in a
right!  left!  right!  left!  pattern.  She gave a squeal and ground her
hips into my lap.  "Oooh....Rollin..that stung!" she bleated.

   "Well this is a spanking you know.  It's supposed to sting."

   And with that I delivered another 10, this time medium hard.  My hand
struck firmly, flattening each jouncy summit.  The delicious mounds gave a
little quiver and than spang back to their original rounded shape as each
solid smack landed.

   Smack!  A firm crack to her left cheek.  "Owwww....Rollin!" Smack! 
Another one to the other side.  "Oooh....ahhhh...!" Smack!  Smack!  "Ouch!
Ouch!" She gave a little jump and kicked her legs.

   I kept it up, alternately smacking her bouncing derriere soundly and
pausing to rub.  When I did this she humped her hips, ginding her pelvis on
my leg.  Her bottom color changed from pink to hot pink to a tomato red hue
as I continued her sexy chastisement.  She started humping in time now,
pushing her bottom up to meet my descending hand.  I could sense she might
be close to cumming.  After a fast flurry of about a dozen, I stopped and
pulled her up.  Her mouth was a wide "O" and she rubbed her cheeks as she
knelt on the couch, her eyes shining, her chest heaving.

   "Now I know what all the fuss is about," she said.  "Ooo...I'm hot. 
Everywhere.  Mmmm, that was wonderful," she breathed and slid to the floor
kneeling between my legs.  She undid my zipper and pulled out my rock hard
penis.  "Did spanking me do all that?" she said licking her lips.  I could
only groan in assent because she proceeded to slip my member between her
lips and swirl her tongue around the head.  I was lost in a paroxism of
pleasure.  She eventually stopped, shucked down my pants and slipped off
her bra and thong.  My cock was sticking straight up as she lowered herself
on it and started to pump up and down.  The sliding friction was exquisite.
She was moaning now and pumping harder and faster.  She came in a
shuddering climax, shaking like a rag doll.  I came a second or two later,
pushing up with my hips, banging against her pelvic bone.  We collapsed in
each other's arms, breathless and spent.  Until we recovered, that is.  The
next one was longer and more leisurely.  Finally, exhausted, we fell asleep
in each other's arms.