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A Girl Is Punished by Mark Andrews

EXTRACT FOR
A Girl Is Punished 
(Mark Andrews)


A Girl Is Punished

Chapter 1

 

The Prime Minister had modelled himself on Tony Blair, the popular Labour leader and, although they were on the opposite sides of the political fence, he looked a lot like the former PM.  He was youthful and good-looking.  At thirty-six he would normally have been considered too young to have assumed the mantle of leader of the Tories, but his political skills were extraordinary; he could read the public like the proverbial book and his instincts seemed always to be right on the knocker.

He was equally as handsome as the former Labour PM.  He was fanatical about his body and exercised hard every day.  The results showed.  He was lean and hard and his bright blue eyes always alert.  His skin was smooth and clear and he always held himself very erect.

Before the general election he had persuaded the party mandarins that law and order was the key issue in the United Kingdom at this time – and he had been right.  It was certainly of paramount concern.  Over the years, under successive governments of both persuasions, the civil libertarians had taken virtually all the sting out of the nation’s police services.  Crime was rampant and neither the police nor the courts seemed able to counter the terrible crime wave that now threatened to engulf the whole nation.

Geoffrey’s solutions had been simple: combine all the kingdom’s police forces into one; give them the powers and the resources they needed to combat crime; and, make the punishments more meaningful.  He did not mince his words.  “If we are elected,” he said, “we will make the consequences of the pursuit of crime, even petty crime, something to be feared …”

There was more; a lot more …  He spelled out his party’s manifesto on this issue very clearly.  There could be no later claims that he had overstepped his mandate.  The powers of arrest would be widened, the rules of interrogation relaxed, and the penalties … well, here was where the public really took on board his credo.

“We will abolish jails as they are presently constituted,” he cried to an avid audience.  “They are merely places where new crimes are fomented and nurtured so that when the criminals are released, yet another round of crime is perpetrated on us all …

“And yet, while they are useless for the purpose for which they were set up, they cost you, the taxpayer, an enormous share of our annual budget.

“Let us instead turn them into places of punishment … Real punishment, where an appropriate penalty – a physical penalty is imposed on the prisoner, after which he may be sold – yes, sold, for a specified period and may be applied to long and hard labour by his buyer.

“Let there be no mistake, ladies and gentlemen, once we are elected and these measures enacted, the criminal will go in very real fear of being caught – and we will give the police the means to catch him, be assured of that …”

He was elected on a landslide.  The Labour Party was in real disarray with the Tories holding a very comfortable hundred and twenty seat majority in the Commons and with a very amenable upper house, the measures went through on the nod.

And it was eminently successful.  Criminals who thought they could continue to evade detection and punishment, as they had done under the old regime, now found the police were a very different kettle of fish from former times.  Prisoners could now be held longer and, although some safeguards against excess had been retained, they were not the utterly restrictive series of measures that had built up over a long period.  Indeed, the third degree could be authorised in certain cases.

The courts took on board the new measures with great gusto.  Magistrates and judges willingly sentenced malefactors to the cane and other methods of corporal punishment and, with very wide powers of punishment to make the penalty fit the crime, made sure the criminals dearly regretted their actions.

Thieves lost their own property – twice over; traffic offenders lost their licences for long periods and, if the crime was a repeat, their vehicles; physical crimes against the person merited severe physical punishment in return; rape lost the perpetrator his genitals – in their entirety!

And then, the punishment aspect of their sentence done, they were sold on the block to serve an owner for an appropriate period.  In a sense, slavery was thus reborn, especially when the sentence was for life!

The public, especially the press and TV, were invited to observe the punishment stage – and to report it in full, even showing a naked prisoner being caned or his testicles and penis surgically removed.  Geoffrey and his government wanted every citizen to know, down to the last detail, what awaited him if he erred.

Far from such measures outraging the public, they applauded the government’s measures and watched their TVs avidly for views of malefactors being stripped for punishment.  So much so that soon a new TV show came into being.  It was devoted solely to the punishment of prisoners in the various jails around the country.  And the nakedness was not hidden from the cameras either.  Indeed, this aspect: the shame it created in the prisoner was played up as he was slowly stripped and his nakedness exposed to all.  Then, as the cane or other instrument of punishment was applied to his flesh, the cameras zoomed in to show his buttocks or back or thighs being punished.  Neither were his screams of pain suppressed.  It was all in aid of the end result: the prevention of crime …

Or so everyone thought.  What they didn’t know was that the blue-eyed, paragon that was Geoffrey Kincaid was in fact a latent sadist.  He had secretly delighted in stories of the Spanish Inquisition, of the atrocities of the Gestapo and the Kempei-Tai in World War II and although he was sincere in his wish to rid Britain of the crime wave, his methods were, to say the least, more than a little heavy-handed.

Nevertheless, the public took to it like the proverbial ducks to water and the extraordinary success of the TV show devoted to the punishment of villains and later, to the second one presenting their sale as slaves, his success was confirmed.

But after five years, the novelty of his measures had largely worn off and with another general election in the offing, he needed another winner.  Not that he was any the less popular.  Indeed, the pundits suggested he might even get a bigger majority than last time but he said he wanted to be sure.  In fact, he had other things in mind …

The criminal classes were largely male and it was therefore male criminals who were subject to his new laws.  That was fine, as far as it went.  He had delighted in pictures of male prisoners being tortured although of course, it would have been better if they were female.  But there just weren’t that many female criminals around.  Those that had been convicted were, naturally, subject to the same laws as the males and their denuding and punishment, and their later sale, always got the highest ratings on TV but they were rare events in the scale of things.  And so he had racked his brains to find something that would serve two purposes: get him re-elected with an even better majority and satisfy his secret inner craving to draw more females, preferably young and nubile ones, into his clutches.

And then he had it …  Prostitutes!  He was a very practical man and a superbly attuned politician.  He knew very well that while the oldest profession would never ever be eradicated as it catered to the unquenchable demand of man for sexual gratification and that demand was paramount in all mammals, nevertheless he was also aware that its public suppression, or at least the appearance of such, was a perennial vote-winner.

Once more it was indeed a winner, despite his party’s misgivings.  His majority was increased and now the party bowed to him in all things.  His political clout was higher than any Prime Minister in recent times and he could easily persuade the party room to go along with his ideas.

The new legislation made prostitution, in any form, highly illegal and it carried very severe penalties.  Geoffrey came across as a high-minded moralist and although some of the men who had patronised the brothels were none too pleased, the vast majority of the public thought it all very proper.

Of course, he was well aware that he now had a never-ending source of girls and young women to process.  Men would always demand sex and although the price would no doubt go up steeply as a result of the new risks associated with practising the profession, there would always be girls who would take that risk.

 

Fay Mantle was one such girl.  She was no poor waif, desperate for her next meal.  She had been, prior to the new laws, a highly successful call-girl and had put away a tidy nest-egg for her retirement.  She could have easily given up the game and lived off her investments if she had so desired – as many of her colleagues had.  Alas, she enjoyed it too much and she thought she could easily keep one step ahead of the police.

Sadly, she hadn’t bargained with the new methods of detection.  The network of spies, funded by increased allocations to the police budget, kept the vice squad well abreast (no pun intended) of each girl’s activities and the Inspector in charge, well briefed by his superiors, instigated a system that kept a constant supply of girls to the courts.  Not so much that it would cause a drying up of supply, but certainly enough to keep the TV show well catered for.

Fay had been immune so far but her time was coming…

She was a quite beautiful girl – or young woman.  She was just twenty-one and her figure showed the dedication she put into keeping her body slim and supple and highly athletic.  She catered for the most eminent of personages … those whose tastes verged on the bizarre and certainly the kinky.  She had, amongst her tools of trade, the very best whips and canes, bits and bridles, leather harnesses, dildos of all shapes and sizes and of course an electric branding iron which she heated and actually applied to the flesh of those of her clients who were really into pain – but not for long enough so that the ‘brand’ remained.  She burned their skin, but that was all.  In a few days the marks disappeared.

They had always flocked to her.  She was tall and fair and looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.  She combined the innocence of youth with the authority of the born domina.  Clothed, she could have been a top model but she scorned such a ‘tame’ profession.  Naked, she was the epitome of everything that was perfect in the human female.

She was tall, but not so much as to take away from her femininity.  Her skin was pure peaches and cream: as smooth as velvet and a delightful shade of ivory tinged with apricot.  Her features were classical: high cheekbones, big eyes, snow-white, perfect teeth and a nose any patrician would have been proud of.  Her muscles were well-developed and toned to a tee but they were not those of a dedicated female body-builder.  Her breasts were full and firm but not so big as to be grotesque.  They wobbled alluringly but they didn’t sag – not even slightly.  They protruded from her chest proudly, perfect half-grapefruits in size and shape but with the same satin-smooth skin and delightful hue as the rest of her flesh.

She was naked in another way, too.  She had long recognised that hair on the human body is a turn-off for a lot of people and she had had herself treated – permanently.  Her pubes and her vulva were quite smooth and there were no marks from the razor to mar the perfection of her sex.

She thought she was inviolate.  Her list of clients (kept in her head) included a general, a prelate, business magnates of the first order and even a cabinet minister.  The minister, she thought, would keep her free from arrest – and he might have, too if she hadn’t become just a little too familiar and too demanding in her fees.  “But darling, I know you can afford it – and you wouldn’t want word of your, er, indiscretions with me to get out, now would you …?”

He had smiled and paid her what she asked but he had then telephoned a friend …  Her phone was tapped and when an appropriate appointment was made, the inspector and a sergeant visited her.  The sergeant, like all his colleagues, was an expert lock-picker and it was a simple matter to open her door.  The minister had provided his contact with a layout of the apartment, including directions into the ‘playroom’ from whence thuds, followed by cries of pain, could be heard.

Inspector Wilkes opened the door softly and stood in its frame staring in at the high-flying magnate naked and suspended in a wooden frame while the leather-clad call-girl stood behind him, taunting him as she lashed the cane down on his defenceless buttocks.

The police officer smiled.  “You’re busted,” he said softly, nodding to his colleague to release the client and take his details.  He too could be charged but his was a minor crime and, if he played his cards right, might even get off with a fine or even nothing at all.  Indeed it was rare to prosecute the clients of the prostitutes.  Only if their conduct or previous history suggested it was such a course followed.

The magnate was allowed to dress and go about his business; Fay was taken, just as she was, dressed in no more than an arrangement of leather straps over her torso that left her breasts bare but hid, just, her vulva.  The sergeant handcuffed her with her hands behind her back and she was then led out of the penthouse apartment to the elevator, thence down to the car park where other residents stared at her in awe – and some gratification at her situation.

She had protested, of course.  But she wasn’t prepared, yet, to name her clients although she said she had some in high places.

“You wouldn’t be referring to Minister Jones-Smythe, would you, slut?” the inspector asked softly. 

She stared at him in dismay, suddenly realising she had been foolish; very foolish indeed.  She now understood she could expect no help from that quarter.  She asked if she could at least clothe herself.  “Why?  This is the way you dress for work, let everybody see you as you really are …”

Once at the station, she was taken to the investigation unit, a new area that had been added to each police station.  In some cases, the former interview rooms had been converted but where this was not possible, additions had been made.

Interviews now comprised three stages.  First came the polite, friendly invitation to tell all.  These days, now that the new police methods were fairly common knowledge, at least among the criminal classes, this often had positive results.  But if it didn’t, Stage Two was invoked.  Gone now were the friendly faces.  Now the victim, oops, suspect, was dragged to his or her feet and stripped – forcibly.  The clothes were torn from their bodies with scant regard for their future use and they were spreadeagled in the tubular steel frame installed in each such room for this purpose.  Once properly secured, the investigators used a method applied very successfully by the Spanish Inquisition to instil fear into the victim and make him cough-up without the necessity to actually use torture – show him what lay ahead and shame and then frighten him into revealing all ...

On the wall behind the frame was a green lamp.  The superintendent could activate this from his office and its glow was all the authority required to take the investigation to its ultimate end.  Most times it wasn’t needed, however and if the victim didn’t answer their questions after being stripped and placed in the frame, there were other methods that could be used first.  Usually, however, the little drama played out between the two investigators during stage two was normally enough to so frighten the criminal that he quickly revealed all and admitted to his part in the crimes.

Fay was put through the first stage.  She was brought into the station and everyone stared at her in lust, some even reaching out to cop a feel of her firm breasts.  When this happened, the inspector made her stop and allow the officer to go all over her body with his prying hands.  She protested again but the inspector seemed puzzled.  “But you let your clients feel your flesh, what’s different now?”

She had no answer for that but her red face and shrinking body were evidence of how much she hated them touching and feeling her.

Once in the interview room they seated her in a chair with the interviewers opposite her and she was invited to admit to her role as a prostitute and then reveal her list of clients.  It would have been a wise course of action but she was in no mood for wisdom.  She was frightened, yes, but she thought she could bluff or cajole her way out of this mess.  Alas, she hadn’t bargained for Inspector John Wilkes.  He was a veteran of many years in the vice squad and her beauty and charm had no effect on him at all.

“Well, slut?  Do we do this the easy way – or are you going to be silly and make me take sterner measures?”

“Now Inspector, I am sure we can come to some arrangement, after all, I do have friends in high places … much higher than yours …”

This last was a most foolish ploy on her part.  He knew she did.  He even knew who most of them were since his squad kept tabs on the top pros.  It seemed however that while the PM had wanted to catch the girls, he wasn’t even remotely interested in their clients.  For appearances sake, therefore, when it was considered necessary to charge the clients at all, the fines that were made part of the new laws were deemed to be both an excellent money-raiser for the exchequer and a sufficient punishment for the offender.  Of course, just in case there was a perceived need for something extra in a particular case, the judges had the option of other penalties.

He smiled again.  You are talking of General Sir Henry Walker, Bishop Scott, Sir Steven Sutcliffe, perhaps?”

“Um.”  Again she realised she was cornered.  But she wasn’t going to admit to anything.  She knew if she was convicted of prostitution, she faced a horrible punishment and then slavery – for life.  Depending on who bought her, she could be facing a life of utter and complete misery.

“Well?  Do you admit to your disgusting occupation?”

“No,” she said firmly.  Let them do their worst, she thought.  She was strong.  She could take anything these two could dish up although she glanced around at the vacant frame with some trepidation.

The inspector smiled again.  He was not at all averse to taking investigations such as this one to the next step, or even to the last.  “Very well.  Sergeant, we proceed.”

The man grinned.  He enjoyed his work, particularly when the suspects were as beautiful and athletic as this one.  He particularly delighted in her firm breasts, exposed now to everyone.  He moved around the table and dragged her to her feet, then tore the harness off her body.  Where the straps were too thick to break, he unbuckled them but this was not the preferred action.  Ripping off their clothes was an important part of the strategy but when it wasn’t possible, well, never mind.

She stood there, her body being pulled this way and that as the sergeant undid buckle after buckle, throwing the harness down on the floor when he was finally finished.  Now both men stared at her totally nude body in awe – and not a little lust.  They wouldn’t rape her; that was not part of the plan but they could allow their lust to have full rein and they did this now, fondling her flesh as she stood, now visibly shrinking, between the two of them.

She was the most perfect female either of them had ever seen and the inspector wondered that she had wasted such perfection on prostitution.  What he didn’t yet understand was that she had delighted in it.  Loved using her body to rouse the male of the species to a crazed lust for her flesh.

They allowed themselves a long time to caress her flesh and, in his office, the superintendent, who watched these interviews often, wished it were he who was down there.  He ordered his secretary to cancel his appointments for the near future and sat glued to the screen on his desk.

The sergeant, at a nod from his superior, now dragged the lovely young girl over to the frame and began to fasten her into it.  It consisted of two, ten centimetre pipes mounted from floor to ceiling, set three metres apart and equipped with manacles.  There were four sets of these, one each at the top and bottom of the two steel pipes.  The top two were attached to the end of stainless steel wires that went over pulleys set into and near the top of the pipes and then came down inside them to emerge via another pulley and wind around the electric winch mounted near the base of each pipe.  The two at the base of the poles were on the ends of short chains, the ends of which had been welded to the pipes.

First he placed her wrists into the manacles on the ends of the wires then squatted down and, dragging her feet out wide, buckled the manacles around each ankle in turn while the inspector held the controller that operated the two winches.  He pressed two buttons simultaneously and the winches whined, drawing in the wires and raising Fay’s hands and arms up and out.  When her hands were up above her head, he proceeded more carefully as it would be easy to rip her arms right out of their sockets if he was careless.

He kept nudging the buttons, one at a time now, until she was spreadeagled taut, her limbs now in a perfect ‘X’, like the Cross of St Andrew.  He put the controller down and stepped up to her, standing a metre away and drinking in the perfection of her body.  Sergeant Pete Bradley moved up near his boss and the two of them stared at her for a few more seconds before the inspector remarked, as if idly, that it would be a pity to mark this so beautiful and so pristine flesh.

“Yes,” agreed his subordinate, reaching out to stroke her now taut breast yet again, “the pincers make such a mess of soft skin like this.”

“I was actually thinking of the hot iron … get it for me, will you?”

Fay was no stranger to a branding iron.  One of her clients (actually, it was Bishop Scott) liked to be ‘branded’ and she knew how terrifying the glowing tip of the implement could be.

“No!” she screamed as Bradley returned and plugged the instrument into the wall outlet.

“But you won’t answer our questions,” expostulated the inspector.  “If you won’t help us, we must help you to do so.  Pain is now the approved method for encouraging your cooperation …”

She stared down at him from her position hanging up on the frame.  Already her shoulder joints were screaming at her and her widespread thighs were causing her hip joints to ache a little as well.  Sergeant Bradley handed the iron to Wilkes.  Already the tip was beginning to glow a dull red and he brought it up close to her belly – to the smooth flat area between her navel and the top of her vagina.  He feinted with it a few times while the sweat formed in little beads on her forehead, but then, after extending this ploy as long as he thought it appropriate, he handed the instrument back to his colleague who unplugged it and placed it in its holder to cool.

“But no, perhaps needles might be a better means or persuasion in this case,” he said softly.  He turned to a side table and picked up a sealed clear plastic packet that contained a large curved needle.  He broke the seal and took out the needle while Fay looked down at it – and him, in fascinated fear.

“What are you going to do with that?” she demanded.  He noted she was still not cowed.  A lot of spunk, this one, he thought.

“Oh, there are many places on your flesh that would benefit from a piercing …  Your nipples, for example …” He reached up and grasped her right breast then placed the gleaming needle at the base of the nipple, apparently ready to push it through.

“No!” she screamed again.  “You can’t!”

“Oh but I can.  If you won’t assist us with our enquiries, it will become very necessary to make you suffer until you realise the error of your ways.”

“But I don’t want to be a slave,” she said piteously.

“Then you should have thought hard before continuing as a slut prostitute, shouldn’t you?  Now, are you going to talk?”

Her resolve hardened again.  “No,” she said firmly.

Pete Bradley grinned.  It was his turn now and he went over to the table and picked up a nasty-looking electric dildo.  “What about this, Inspector?  With a slut like this, stimulation of her cunt could be just the thing.”

The inspector appeared to speculate while Fay stared at the monstrosity in horror.  It was a dildo all right; one activated by a high-powered motor fed from mains current.  It was quite large – about seven centimetres across - covered in horrible little nubs, like blunt plastic needles.  The business part of it was a good thirty centimetres long.  It was vastly bigger than anything she had ever seen before.  Bradley plugged it in and then moved up close to their victim.

He thumbed the switch on the handle at the base of the horrible thing and immediately it came alive, bucking around in his hand as the powerful motor made it vibrate alarmingly and even worse, to throw it around.  It was obviously hard for the sergeant to hold it still but he managed it and now brought it down so the bucking tip was at her vaginal lips.