Author's Note: CAUTION! If you are expecting a story with explicit sexual contact, this is not for you. The Whipping Post, like its sister stories, The Pillory and The Box is about control. It focuses on the total degradation of a young woman as she awaits, and later receives judicial corporal punishment. Does it have a place in the world of erotic literature? I believe it does. Humiliation and control are serious sexual triggers for some of us.
If you are one of those individuals, read on. I hope you enjoy Tamara's tale.
PRELUDE
Tamara Warren and her friend, Jillie were over-served that night. Or maybe you could say they over-bought or even over-drank. No matter how you spin it they were drunk. But the good news was that they were thinking straight enough to choose to leave their car behind and walk home.
Unfortunately while stumbling down the sidewalk the two girls, both dressed in short, revealing party dresses, were spotted by a couple of officers of the law who had strict directives to deal with public disorder. The officers stopped the pair of pedestrians and charged them with public intoxication. They explained to the girls that they were to be brought to the station where they could call someone to pick them up.
They made the mistake of not cuffing the two young girls. Had they done so Tamara wouldn't have found herself in her current position.
Both girls were visibly upset over their handling but it was Tamara who went so far as to slap one of the officers in the face. That immediately earned her a pair of handcuffs and an overnight stay at the station with an invitation to stand before a judge in the morning.
The next morning, still in her now wrinkled party dress, the young girl met with her court appointed lawyer and chose to plead guilty and beg for forgiveness. The lawyer explained that she would get one of three sentences: a fine, a short prison sentence or...
Tamara stopped her before she could finish. She knew the third option but couldn't stand to even hear the words.
Tamara shares her account of the following days below.
THE SENTENCING
I stood awaiting word from the judge as to my sentence. I had begged for forgiveness and apologized profusely to the officer I had assaulted. I mean, is a slap in the face really an assault? It's not like I punched the guy. Of course I didn't say any of that. I knew better
I prayed for a fine. I would find a way to pay any amount. A prison sentence would be much worse. I'd probably lose my job and be tarnished for life. But either of those options would be better than the third option which I refused to even think about.
When the judge asked me to stand, I knew my sentence was about to be read. In just a moment, my fate would be sealed.
I stood, unable to breathe, listening intensely to every word from the judge's mouth.
"Miss Tamara Warren, you have been found guilty of assaulting an officer. This is a serious offense as it undermines the basic principles of our society. You are hereby sentenced to be tied to the town post and whipped across the back, he paused seemingly thinking for a moment before he continued, "Twenty lashes"
My stomach dropped as my knees threatened to buckle beneath me. When I finally caught my breath I opened my mouth to beg for anything else. My attorney's hand on my shoulder told me to stay quiet. She was right. There was nothing I could do or say at this point. The room was filled with contempt and indifference toward me. It had been determined that I was in need of punishment and that punishment had been handed down.
There were apologies from my lawyer but no talk about what else she could do. The judge's voice buzzed in my head; Whipped. Twenty lashes. Tied to the post. I knew only that this was the last thing I wanted, the worst of the worst.
Two guards appeared beside me. I didn't know it at the time but I would be seeing a lot of these two men over the next three days as I awaited my punishment. In fact they were the only people, other than some boring administrator that I would talk to.
Both were about my age. I recall thinking that in a different world we might have been friends. (After getting to know them I felt differently.) I never learned their real names but I called the tall one, Tall Tim and the shorter, fatter one, Sizable Sam. Tall Tim was nice enough but Sizable Sam turned out to be more of a perv. You could tell he was taking great joy manhandling me. I sensed his perv vibes when he started rubbing my arms as he was putting me in cuffs so I renamed him Pervy Pete.
They locked my hands behind my back and delivered me to a cell in the bottom of the courthouse. It was a small room with grey cement brick walls and a heavy metal door. Inside sat a cot, a sink and a toilet. No window to tell me if it was sunny or rainy, night or day. On the cot lay a two piece orange prison uniform and a pair of heavily worn sandals.
"I know it's not luxury living," said Tall Tim, "but it comes with three meals a day."
Pointing to my new uniform, Pervy Pete added. "and free clothes too."
"Now the first thing you need to do," Pete continued, "is get out of that cute little slut dress of yours and into your uniform."
I stood staring at the two guards, choosing not to be bothered by the slut remark. I already knew that I was dressed totally inappropriately for a day in court or a visit to prison and a dress like mine being worn the next day screamed slut.
I stared at the two men trying to figure out if they were expecting me to start undressing in front of them. I prayed that this wasn't going to happen. I could see Pete imagining me naked when Tim broke the awkward silence. "We will be right outside the door," he said, dragging Pete with him.
I started to undress but then suddenly stopped. Was there a camera in the room? I scanned the area. While I didn't see one, I knew that tiny cameras could be easily hidden in various places. I then looked at the big metal door and knew that not only would I be unable to open it, I would also not be able to lock it leaving me vulnerable for someone to enter with no warning. I knew at that point that I had absolutely no privacy in this cell.
As I pulled my dress off, I remembered that I wasn't wearing a bra. How stupid was that! My mother always told me to wear appropriate underwear just in case something unexpected happened. I never understood what that meant until now. I would have to get along without a bra for the rest of my stay. Ugh.
The orange top was thick and fairly loose so I wouldn't be showing much to Tall Tim and Pervy Pete. The rough fabric brushing against my nips was uncomfortable but I knew I could deal with it. I was barely dressed when the door flew open and the two men reappeared.
Pete asked me to hand him my dress which I did hesitantly, wondering if I would ever see it again and, if I did, what condition it would be in. I imagined it being returned stained with Pete's dried cum. Yuck!
Pete took a long look at me before following Tim out the door. Could he tell that I was not wearing a bra?
THE WAIT
