("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text Archive name: Jailbird.txt (mf, tort, asian) Authors name: Tammy Brewer (masterman5@lazerus.org) Story title : Honkong jail ------------------------------------------------------ This work is copyrighted to the author (c) 1996. Please do not remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non- commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration. ------------------------------------------------------ The young Chinese girl was already strapped down when Bill Duck entered with Stan Bedleyman, the British Commonwealth's Chief Prosecutor in Singapore. The matron grinned at them and gave the girl a further vindictive tug at the crotch of her drawers. "For goodness sake," Bill said to the matron, "how many times do I have to ask for the bench to be set up for me and the fans to be on? Well?" Deflated, the matron went out to find the bench for him to stand on. The ceiling fan gave a complaining noise and started to rotate erratically. Bill drew in his breath between his teeth and glanced meaningfully at the ceiling. He tapped the heavy leather case containing his canes against his shoe. "All right, Bill, all right." Stan was abashed, but not to be diverted from their previous topic of conver- sation. "You know, Bill, it seems like every time I see you, it's always these young girls that are getting a good doing-over, but it seems to me they're not really dangerous at all, you know, they're just stealing things and being whores and so forth. What we need to deal with and really deal with, in my opinion, it's the young Malays." "Um," said Bill, eyeing the Chinese girl's spread bum- cheeks with a professional air. "Yes, the Chinese, they're all Communists, every last one of them, there's no hope there, so what we ought to do, I mean, what the Crown ought to do, is show them a jolly good lesson when there's some hope for them, for reforming them, aren't I right, well?" "Bloody Malays, thrash 'em all you like, doesn't make any difference. Your Chinky now," said Bill, waving to the straining legs and buttocks that were all that was visible of the girl strapped to the old vaulting-horse in the middle of the room, "they really appreciate a good talking-to." "Mm, but I've been wanting to see a young Malay boy really getting a good hard one, that's what they need, you know? It's too bad, all I ever see when you're at work is these silly little girls." "What about that Joyce whatsername, then, one that killed the copper?" "Yes, well, I suppose you've got to hang a few now and then as well as just the canings, but you know it's not going to make any difference. In the historical analysis." "You want to watch this one?" Stan peered at his carbon of the caning execution order. "Can't quite... Oh, you go ahead Bill, I've no time for all this." With a flourish and his new American ball-point pen Stan signed the sheet on the leather of the vaulting horse, next to the spread buttocks of the Chinese girl, handed it to Bill, wiped his forehead one last time and left, waving one hand vaguely. Bill and the girl were alone for a moment. He checked the execution sheet for a moment, and then went around to the other side of the vaulting horse, bent down and addressed the red-faced girl. Her long black hair hung down below her head. Her skirt had been pulled to her shoulders. "You... you're Betty, right?" "Yes, yes sir." "Now, we had our little arrangement, didn't we, Betty?" "Yes sir, you tell me, I will be OK an' you won't make me have all bruises..." "Yes, Betty, I'm a fair man and you can trust me." He held up the form behind her head and read from it. "...Shall be taken to a place of execution where the prisoner shall be given 48 blows of the specified cane..." He had made a slip of the tongue; the form actually required just eight cuts of the cane. Her noisy breathing stopped for a moment. "Sir, sir, please, my father never hitting me like that, be kind, sir, please!" Bill put his hand on the back of her head, feeling the warmth and youth of her, smoothing the long tendrils of straight black hair. "Don't worry, Betty, I know that you're a truly sorry little girl, and I'm going to be very lenient, just like I said." Glancing around himself in a parody of conspiracy, he insinuated the palm of his right hand under the crotch of the coarse green prison drawers and rubbed her pussy, still tender from the treatment he had dealt out to her the previous evening. She yelped. "Oh sir, it still hurting for me!" "I know, Betty, that's why I know you're truly very sorry. And that's why I'm going to be very, very lenient on these forty-eight strokes. It's going to look very terrible, but believe me, you'll know that it was all worth it." The clatter of her shoes betrayed the approach of the warden; hurriedly Bill rearranged Betty's drawers in the achingly-tight state the matron had left them, the cheap material drawn into Betty's helpless slit. "Here you are sir," said the matron, as the two Malay- an bearers struggled to locate the heavy wooden stand in front of the victim. One of the Malays seemed very interested in the proceedings, but the other glared at him, and tugged him away; they left hand-in-hand. "Well, how many is it today, sir?" "Forty-eight, and good hard ones too, I'm afraid; I rather had some bother with this arm in the rugger match the other day." "Dear dear. You know, you always seem to get the big numbers, Mr.Duck; old Mr.McMountcy never seems to have more than a sixer." "Poor old Mac, they probably think they have to go easy on him." Bill stepped up onto the bench, which was arranged to let him stand at the perfect height for the caning, and checked the straps were tight. Finishing with a good feel of Betty's inner thighs, he grinned at the matron. She twinkled back at him. "I think she'll remember today the next time she wants to get in trouble, eh Mr. Duck!" Bill took one of his canes out of the case and handed the case to the matron. "Don't mind do you, old girl?" "Oh no, Mr. Duck, my pleasure." Taking a good aim, Bill laid the cane as hard as he could across the backs of Betty's thighs, just below the buttocks. As usual, there was only a slight strangled noise from the victim for a second, and then a long-drawn-out groan of amazement and pain. Bill smiled at the matron again, who went around to talk to Betty. "Betty, Betty, my darling girl, you want to be more careful, you do. You're s'posed to be blooming counting, aren't you? Din't they tell you then?" "Um, um, no, lady, sorry, sorry!" "And you're going to say thank you, aren't you, like a good littlegirl?" "Yes, Mrs. Bailey, yes please!" Taking his cue, Bill gave her another cut, just as close to the first as he could manage. This time, Betty managed to catch her breath quickly and yelped "Two, sir, thank you, sir!" "Oh dear oh dear," said the matron, "oh dear oh dear." She bent down again and addressed Betty very quietly and close to her ear. "You're not very clever, are you? Clever girl like you should know that it doesn't count when you don't say thank you properly, does it? So you're not thinking like a good little girl, are you? What are you?" "Ah, ahhh, I'm a good little girl, Mrs. Bailey, please!" "So you know what to do now, eh?" "Yes, please, Mrs. Bailey." Betty's buttocks writhed for a moment, and then seemed to become resigned to their fate. Bill's cane descended again, cutting into the livid red mark that was rising from the first two blows. "One, sir, thank you, sir..." It was clear that she needed a lot of effort to say it. Her thighs squeaked a little against the leather of the vaulting horse; they were suddenly damp with sweat. Her white socks were still tight and high on her calves. Bill held the cane high, savoring the moment, much as he had enjoyed him- self with Betty the previous evening. Mrs. Bailey had taken her in to see the punishment room, as the judiciary took the view that the punishment they imposed would be all the more effective with more detailed anticipation. As usual, Bill was waiting to take over her lesson. Mrs. Bailey, already a little unsteady at four p.m., had returned to her office. "So you understand, um, Betty, that there will be considerable marks afterwards." She stood facing him, her head hung low, her shoulders hunched, her features taut with sobbing. "Some people find these marks quite unattractive, and they're really rather distinctive, too; any man would recognize them and know what a common little jailbird you are. I hope you aren't thinking of getting married at all..." Betty burst into a further flood of tears. "I believe most honest men, if they got married and found out on their wedding night that their lovely bride was a rotten little crook, well they would just run and get divorced, wouldn't they? I suppose you might be able to find some sort of pimp who'd take you on, but then you'd have bruises every day till the day you died." "Sir, sir," Betty begged, and tentatively held out a hand towards him, not daring to look in his eyes. "This is very terrible for me. I am really a good girl, sir! I only was working at the hotel where the communists were, I didn't know about them!" "You know very well it was your duty to let the police know right away. You are a very wicked girl and I shall take great pleasure in punishing you", he said honestly. "However..." He let the pause lengthen, and put a hand on her shoulder. "Perhaps I should let you have another chance. After all, if you can't find a good man, you'll be lost to a life of crime." She peeked up at him. "Please, sir, do you say that you will not do the caning?" "No, no, I have to do the caning, of course. People have to observe the caning and make sure that it's carried out. But what I can do is I can cane you much more gently, so that the marks will be gone in a week, instead of lasting forever." Betty fell to her knees in front of him, clasping his hand and kissing it. "Thank you sir, thank you!" "Now wait a minute, Betty. I didn't say you don't deserve a full punishment, did I?&" Bill looked down his prosperous belly at the tear-stained face of the pretty Chinese girl. "What I can do, though, is, I can punish you hard, in a lot of ways that don't leave any marks, before tomorrow. And you have to be truly very sorry, and you have to be a very good girl." She seemed to get his drift. "Sir, I... I can't let you..." He was stern. He grasped her face and pulled it up so that he was looking right in her eyes. "Betty, I hope you realize what a big favor I'm doing you. This won't take long and it'll let you find a good honest husband. Otherwise..." Betty closed her eyes and whispered, "Yes, sir." He took her to his office at the jail, past the amused warders and the catcalling prisoners. Opposite the desk there was a decrepit leather settee. He motioned Betty in and she stood in front of the settee. He locked the door and studied her. Despite the crude and unflattering prison uniform she was perfectly formed. She had taken off her glasses when she started crying, so he could clearly see her downcast eyes. Her pale yellow flesh was young and firm. She held her arms stiffly at her sides. Her little breasts were almost invisible. The cheap white socks had fallen low on her shapely calves. "Take off your skirt, Betty." After a second of delicious hesitation, she complied, opening the metal buckle at her waist and allowing the cotton belt to slide open. The skirt hung at her hips for a moment and then collapsed around her ankles. The stiff cotton shirt did not fully conceal the green prison drawers. Betty held her hands awkwardly a little in front of her hips, apparently caught between trying to impede his view of the parting between her thighs and the certain knowledge that Bill was insisting on exactly that. Bill moved a little to the side to study Betty's bare hip, and then moved to the rear to see how the drawers clung to the rounds of her buttocks. "Now your drawers, Betty." She started to hook her fingers in the elastic at the waist, and then realized, the skirt was still about her ankles, and quickly kicked it away. Hurriedly, she bent over, pushing the drawers to the ground, and then stepping out of them. With pleasure, Bill observed the tensing and stretching of the buttocks; but with some annoyance, Bill observed that Betty had disobeyed the prison rules and worn non-regulation panties under the drawers. "Betty! What's that you're wearing?" "Sir, the drawers, they hurt me when I walk an' when I sit down, an' other girls said they all do it..." "Give them to me right now!" Again the hurried dip to her ankles. She looked away from him as she held the garment out to him. He snatched them from her. He could feel their warmth from her body. "Actually, I sup- pose these'll be good for something... Open your mouth." Doubtfully, she separated her lips, but he easily forced her mouth open wide to take the panties. She was a little unsteady as he pushed her forward onto one arm of the settee. Bent over as she was, the shirttails did not conceal her sweet little cleft at all. For a moment she tried to arch her back to hide her pussy, but he slapped the small of her back hard and she knew that she had to pose with her tummy low. Her legs were awkwardly spread across the arm of the settee. Bill saw his chance to philosophize. "You know, Betty, I think it's rather a pity that you girls are sentenced to get the cane. You see, it's really just a thing for boys and little girls, because for them the bottom's the only thing you can punish hard, very hard, and not do any real harm at all. But women, a good grown-up woman like you, you walk around with the most perfect instrument of correction between your legs." Suiting the action to the word, he reached to her parted slit and expertly grasped an inner pussy-lip between his thumb and forefinger. Betty gave out a very sharp breath through her nose. As he spoke, he kept tugging at it, and occasionally teasing it between his fingernails. For variety he teased her light, close-curled growth of very black pubic hair. "Yes, I've had a great deal of experience with women, and I can assure you that a woman is just as repentant after a little interlude of hard work between her legs, as she ever is after a caning. In fact, more so, some- times." Betty twitched violently, but managed to keep her smooth young buttocks spread and presented for his whimsical probing. "And generally they thank me for it, for the excellent preparation it gives them for how to behave properly. Many's the girl who's found a good job once I've gotten her used to a little hard work; it doesn't matter whether she has to suffer between her legs or between 9 and 5 -- oh, did that catch you rather sharp?" Betty allowed herself no more than a long des- pairing sniffle. Consolingly Bill gave a quick spank between the legs. His large hand curved neatly around the tiny belly, and he felt a sharp sting on the palm of his hand as it contacted the swollen, already-bruised lips of Betty's pussy. Surprisingly enough, neither the sting, nor the groans escaping Betty's panty gag, nor the increasing difficulty of landing an accurate blow as Betty grew more and more frantic dissuaded him from continuing to spank her in this manner for five more minutes of stern rectitude. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life in any way shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of the scenarios in this story; should seriously consider seeking professional help. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 4