A Jailhouse Whipping

This is an excerpt from my novel “Secret Spanking Cult,” [https://kdp.amazon.com/amazon-dp-action/us/bookshelf.marketplacelink/B00NPNN6Q4],  formerly titled “Atonement.” ( I had to change it because of the famous novel of the same name.) The high concept here is that judicial corporal punishment has been voted in and is now the law of the land. This scene takes place in a small West Virginia town in which friends of a central character have been unwittingly framed for a crime they did not commit and are due to be punished ….


The jail was a brand new concrete and glass building along the river south of town. In fact everything in the town looked brand new, like all of a sudden there had been an infusion of money. I opted for a small diner to have breakfast in, like one the locals might use. A friendly waitress with plastic rimmed glasses and big hair was not shy about telling me all about changes in the town.

“Those church folk came in here and things really took off. Built a new high school, civic hall, and that park on the river. Real nice people. Keep to themselves, though. That compound of theirs is up on Panther Ridge, up where those DC people used to have summer cabins. Tore ’em all down, built that center. They’ve been good for the town though, so I guess the powers that be leave ’em alone to do their thing–whatever it is.”

“You been up there?”

“Lord, no. You just can’t go up there. It’s guarded and everything.”

I considered this as I headed for the county lockup. The town seemed clean, bright and prosperous. Had building that retreat center pumped that much money into the economy? One thing was sure, if the attitude of my waitress that morning was any indication. The town liked the money that came from the Revelation Church of the Atonement and were content not to ask too many questions.

At reception at the Pendleton County Correctional Center, I encountered a portly desk sergeant who seemed to be in charge.

“I represent Libby Mason. I understand she is here in custody and has been charged with a crime. I’d like to see my client.”

“Well, I’d let you see her, young feller,” he drawled, ” but truth is, she ain’t here.”

“I was told she was in custody.”

“She ain’t here now. She was released from our custody.”

What the hell? “Released to whom?”

“Them church people arranged it–took her out last night. Plea bargain deal. Her friends weren’t so lucky. They were tried. Found guilty. Sentenced to 90 lashes each, the little pullets,” he chuckled. “In fact, they get the first 30 this mornin’. It’s quiet around here today, so I tell you what–you act as civilian witness–regs say we got to have one–and you can talk to ’em afterwards. If they feel like talkin’ that is. I imagine all they gonna be doin’ for awhile is cryin’ their pretty eyes out. They’re gonna get a right smart whippin’ this morning.” He shoved a form at me. “Fill this out, and we’ll take you to the Corner–that’s what we call it. They’re going to carry out the sentence directly.”

I hastily filled out the form. “How are they to be punished? And when was this trial?” I said impatiently. This didn’t sound like due process–though it was well known that in the wake of various states’ corporal punishment initiatives–many out of the way places dispensed rough justice, without much regard for constitutional niceties.

“Whoa there..er…Mr Hand,” he said noting my name. “First off, the trial was held in special session two days ago. They had the public defender. They were found guilty. Second, what they get is the 5 tail cat–it’s a whip with 5 thongs–we call it the “pussy cat”, right across their bare little tails. Now here’s Bobby Sue,” he said, nodding to a hefty uniformed middle aged matron approaching the desk. “Take Mr Hand here to the witness viewing area in the Corner.”


“Come with me, Mr Hand.” I walked with her down a corridor then out across an interior yard over toward a block-like structure in the corner of the yard. She chatted as we walked.

“Yeah, can you believe it? These little madams comin’ down here for the weekend and trying to pick up our men and lure them to sin. Well we have a cure for that–a red hot bottom, that’s what. They’ll think twice now before they ply their tricks in this county.”

“Ah, can I ask…if you know…what exactly was the evidence that they were, um, soliciting?”

“Why, the complaint was made by Earl Judson, a fine upstanding man, a deacon at my church. They were out on the road thumbin’ a ride and Earl picked ’em up. Next thing you know they want to do all kinds of things to Earl–for money. Well, Earl didn’t take ’em where they was goin’. Brought them back here and told the sheriff. He locked them up so fast their heads was spinnin’. Now I think a good old fashioned whippin’ will teach them a thing or two. Here we are. We call this the Corner. It’s our disciplinary block.”

over barrel

The Corner was a high ceiling building, very utilitarian. There was a glass partition for spectators and some chairs. Inside the glass was a large chamber, maybe thirty by forty feet. There were two fixtures that looked like a type of exercise apparatus. One was an inclined frame that was narrow, like an easel affixed to a vertical post. It had a pair of rails joined at the apex and flaring out toward the ground to about a foot apart. There was an adjustable padded crosspiece between the rails and what were buckling straps for wrists and ankles at appropriate heights. The other device was a low bench with a cylindrical bolster in the middle and a series of straps for securing a person face down. There were leather straps and multi-thonged whips of various lengths hanging from pegs on the wall. The room was obviously used as a storeroom, too. There were boxes and cartons of stuff all around along with building materials and rolls of carpeting stacked along one end. The lighting was incandescent which gave the interior the look of a gloomy shed, refitted for the grim purpose of punishment.

I could hear voices approaching from a corridor at an opposite wall. They were frantic high-pitched voices and they were pleading and protesting.

“Please no, we didn’t do anything. This is a big mistake. WE didn’t solicit anything…please believe me…that man…he is lying.”

“Yes, look, we were just on a camping trip…no please…”

Two attractive girls, each about twenty years old, were hustled into the room on the arms of a matron in the garb of a sheriff’s deputy. Their hands were cuffed behind their backs. They wore nothing but underwear, full cut white panties and white tank tops. Apparently they’d been prepared for the whipping back at their cells. One was tall with long light brown hair, the other was a short busty blonde with big blue eyes. Both were pretty. The brunette had long legs and was slim-waisted with narrow hips. The blonde was more voluptuous but had a pinched waist, wide flaring hips and athletic, almost stocky, legs.


The girls quailed visibly and sagged at the knees when they saw the dull black padded whipping frame, now bathed in light from overhead spotlights, and the rack of implements on the wall.

“Oh, no,” wailed the blonde, “Oh my God…please don’t do this to us.”

The guards paid no attention. This was routine. Another day at the office.

A man in a rumpled uniform entered, along with another female deputy and a tall athletic-looking younger woman dressed in a workout suit like a gym teacher’s. She looked big and well-muscled, like she lifted weights. She had on shorts and a sleeveless blouse; sturdy Reeboks with good traction. She’s the whipper, I thought. Yep, she walked over to the wall and studied the rack of flagellation devices, finally selecting a whip with several thin thongs about two feet long. She swished it around, testing its weight and flex.

“Lori, you got the right whip?” said the uniformed man. “Sentence calls for the adult female correctional martinet.”

“Yes I do, sheriff. It’s this one here,” said the young woman in the gym garb.

“Well then let’s get started.” Turning to the girls he said, “Mary Beth Quinlan and Celeste Jensen. You two have been convicted of soliciting for prostitution. The judge pronounced sentence, which in this county is ninety lashes and an order to stay out of the county for two years. We cannot give you all ninety lashes today. They will be given to you in intervals of forty-eight hrs. You will get the first thirty here and now.”


“But we didn’t do anything…we were just walking–our ride left us,” the brunette was pleading, the blonde nearly in tears.

“Too late for that. The judge has spoken. Let’s get on with it.” Nodding to the brunette’s matron he said, “Start with her, that’s ah…Miss Quinlan.” He looked at his Order to make sure.

The matron said, “Come on honey. It’ll be best if you cooperate–you could get your sentence increased. You don’t want that, now.”

Protesting and shaking in fear, Mary Beth let herself be led over to the frame. Quickly and efficiently, as if this move had been practiced or performed many times, two matrons unlocked her cuffs, bent her forward and cuffed her wrists and ankles to the frame. Her body was extended along the frame at a forty-five degree angle. One of the matrons reached underneath her and slid the crossbar along the frame until it rested right at her pelvic bone. This made her buttocks stick out from the frame. After the frame had been adjusted, the girl with the whip, Lori, nodded to Mary Beth’s matron. She came up behind Mary Beth and hooked her fingers in the waistband of the panties the girl wore. Mary Beth shrieked in protest but the matron slid the flimsy garment down to Mary Beth’s knees. Her bare bottom and the backs of her thighs were now framed between the short tank top and the bunched up panties.

Mary Beth was tall but had nicely rounded bottom cheeks. She shivered in fear and looked anxiously back over her shoulder at Lori with wide frightened eyes. Lori was positioning herself, measuring the distance so as to be able to strike properly with the multi-thonged whip. There were five thongs, thin, like bootlaces, and very supple. She pulled the strands through her fingers, drew back her arm, and with a smooth practiced motion brought the whip down square across the crowns of Mary Beth’s buttocks. The nude bottom cheeks rippled at the impact. Mary Beth let out a screech.

Whisssh….thwack! Another stroke raised livid red weals. Mary Beth yelled in anguish.

Whooosh…swick! “Yeowww!….please, no! It hurts!”

Whissh…swick! More red lines appeared across the pale bottom cheeks. Another shriek from Mary Beth.


It took five minutes to administer Mary Beth’s whipping. The lashes were administered ten seconds apart, and each one was given with the full strength of Officer Lori’s arm. Mary Beth tried to dance to avoid the whip but only ended up making her bottom jiggle lewdly. Thin red lines merged into a crimson, then nearly purple band of welts that ran from the top of her ass to the tops of her thighs. She wept with pain and embarrassment. The lashing continued until all thirty strokes had been duly meted out.

The matron released the straps. Mary Beth was crying profusely. She had to be held up by her guards who yanked her panties back up over her swollen rear. It hurt so much she could only touch herself gingerly.

Now it was Celeste’s turn. She appeared to almost swoon as the sheriff motioned for them to secure her to the frame. Celeste was a short blonde with her hair in a ponytail and bangs in front. She had muscular thighs which almost made her look stocky, but she had a narrow waist and a prominent bubble-shaped rear. Strapped to the frame, and bending slightly, her behind jutted back inviting the whip.

Celeste yelped as her panties were jerked down around her knees baring her full white bottom. Lori assumed a businesslike stance to her left and, dipping her body for a windup drew the whip back and swooshed it down. It struck with the same dry thwack! The strands rebounded from Celeste’s bouncing bottom. The ripe globes of her fanny rippled with impact and Celeste shrieked in pain.

NW w inst2

The young fit officer whipped Celeste with a will, determined to punish the pretty coed as severely as the law allowed. Lash after lash decorated Celeste’s bounding fanny with thin red weals. Celeste squealed and wriggled as much as Mary Beth had, but Lori was unmoved. When the thirtieth lash had fallen, Celeste was taken down. Both girls continued to sob as they were led away.

The female deputy that brought me in escorted me back to the desk. For the first time I noticed that she had different insignia on her uniform from that of the sheriff. I asked her about it.

“Oh that’s because this is a contract facility. I’m not part of the sheriff’s office proper.”

“Who runs this facility?”

“Well this here is the county lockup, work farm and correctional unit. I work for the outfit that runs it for the county–Corpun is the company name. Run a tight ship–like that Lori. She’s not a deputy either. Works for Corpun. They trained her. Whew! And I can tell you I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of one her whippin’s. That gal is strong. I seen some tough women come through here sentenced to a whippin’ or just a good strappin’ for breaking rules and such…and she always leaves ’em blubbering and crying for mercy, their mommas or just about anything.”

That was interesting news. I now had to wonder if Corpun had something to do with Libby’s arrest. An hour later I got to talk to Celeste and Mary Beth. They were allowed into an interview room. I told them who I was, and why I was there. They were frantic.

“You’ve got to help us. Please. They’re going to whip us again in two days! I couldn’t stand it. God, it hurt like blazes and was so embarrassing,” entreated Mary Beth.

“Where are your parents?” I asked.

“My mom is coming from California, but it took her awhile to get a flight,” said Celeste.

“My folks are in Italy,” said Mary Beth, “and I hope they can get here and stop this thing. Can you do anything?”

“Well tell me what happened.”

“It was Trey,” began Mary Beth, ” he left us–at that rest area. He just took off. I don’t know why. Just drove off while we were in the bathroom. We couldn’t believe it. So we finally decided we’d better hitch a ride back to town before it got dark. This guy picks us up. We thought he was nice, but he drove us straight to the police station and went in. Next thing we know the sheriff come out and arrests us all. Says we propositioned him. We couldn’t believe it–like it was all some joke.”

Celeste broke in. “Yeah they brought us here and locked us up. Wouldn’t let us make a call. We were screaming and hollering to be let out or to just make a phone call. They just told us we better behave or else.”

“We should have shut up, but we didn’t. They took Libby to another cell by herself. We kept demanding to be let go. Then this beefy head guard and two other matrons come into our cell and grab us. They took us down the hall to this room. The head matron tells us she’s gonna teach us a little lesson in obedience in her jail. She tells us to drop our pants. While they’re watching we have to take down our pants and stand there with our bare behinds exposed. And all the time she’s like, lecturing us.”

“Yeah,” continued Celeste, “this head matron drags out a chair and sits down. They drug Mary Beth over to her and she flipped Mary Beth over her knee like she was a little kid.”

“It was horrible,” said Mary Beth. “She pulled me over her lap and started spanking my bare bottom. It hurt! She just spanked and spanked. She must have hit me a hundred times! My butt was blazing. All the while she kept asking me if I was going to behave in her jail. I broke down and swore I would, but she just kept on smacking me. It hurt. I was wriggling, trying to get away. Then I just started crying. She finally let me up and they grabbed Celeste.”


“It was the same for me,” admitted Celeste ruefully. “She put me across her knee like a ten year old and gave me a harder spanking with her hand than I think we got with paddles on initiation night. I was blubbering and crying and promising to be good. I couldn’t help it–it stung so bad. After that we shut up. We didn’t want a repeat of that, I can tell you!”

“So you went to trial…what…on Saturday?”

“Yes, but it was more like kangaroo court. We had this lawyer who did nothing and the judge believed this Earl…something or other…that we propositioned him! It was ludicrous!” exclaimed Mary Beth.

“What about Libby?”

“We didn’t see her. We were told she plea bargained and was sent to some church halfway house.”

“The Church of Atonement?”

“I think so,” mused Celeste. Turning to Mary Beth she said, “Isn’t that the church that Trey got her into? That kind of nutty thing about atonement for past sins?”

“Yes–I think it was. They talked about it in the car, how you had done all these things–in past lives even–that had to be cleansed or something. It sounded like some mumbo jumbo to me. She and Trey were like a couple of enthusiastic kids about it. I didn’t get it.”

“So Mr Hand can you help us? Please? If you don’t we will be…w-whipped…again. God, in two days!” implored Mary Beth.

“I’ll do everything I can, girls. I suspect that I will have to try for Federal Habeas Corpus–I think the local system has been corrupted, but I don’t know how or why yet. And I need to find Libby.”

“Please Mr Hand, whatever you can do,” said Celeste imploringly. “Nothing ever hurt so bad and was so humiliating to boot as having my bare ass whipped like that–you just have no idea.”

She was right, I didn’t. But I was going to find out, and much sooner than I would have liked.


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