Prison Punishments 2024

By Terence

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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Prison Punishments 2024

I had never expected to find myself in this situation. I had always been a good girl: top marks in school, a place at a top English university. Within weeks of arriving there I now found myself under threat of expulsion before I had even attended my first tutorial. I was sitting in the dock of Oxford Crown Court, along with five other freshers, two women and three men. The members of the jury were just filing back into the jury box. I threw an anxious glance at my parents and sister in the public gallery. My mum had been crying, clearly.

The judge, in his full wig and red gown, looked sternly at us and then turned to the jury:

“Ms Foreperson, has the jury reached a verdict?”

“We have, my Lord.”

“What say you?”

“We find all defendants guilty of joint enterprise robbery.”

“And this is the verdict of all of you?”

“It is, my Lord.”

“Thank you all for your service. You are discharged. The defendants are remanded for sentencing this afternoon. The costs of these proceedings will be borne by the defendants.”

My mum was now openly weeping as our barrister gave us an encouraging nod as we were led back to the court’s cells. I could not believe it. Why had I gone along with the others after the freshers’ bop? True, we had been having a great time and I was hopeful that David would ask me to come to his room with him later that night. But I had not realised that Kevin, when we all stopped by Oddbins in search of more booze, was planning not to pay for it and instead injured the shopkeeper with a knife as we made our getaway. And think of the Tories what you will - their flagship policy of privatising the criminal justice system had certainly produced results! The private police arrested us all the next morning - CCTV does not lie - and charged us all under the newly enacted joint enterprise statute. We got exactly one week to prepare our defence. The jury trial lasted just one morning and we would be sentenced later that day. Our solicitor had been less than optimistic about our chances of acquittal, and been proved right. His warnings about the possible sentences had been gloomy:

“It is a shame the crime was committed now and not three weeks ago - it was then that the Criminal Justice Act 2023 was passed. The punishments the courts can now mete out are much more serious than only a month ago …”

He would not be drawn on details, and so we were very apprehensive as we filed back into the dock to attend the sentencing hearing. The judge turned to our barrister:

“Mr Snooks, I have read the pre-sentence report and your written plea in mitigation. Is there anything you would like to add at this stage?”

Our barrister got to his feet.

“My Lord, as your Lordship knows, all six offenders are barely eighteen. They were all about to start their studies at the University - their conviction will mean automatic expulsion. The three women in particular did not know about the knife and had no way to prevent the crime. While I appreciate that they can, under the new law, be found guilty merely by reason of their participation in the base crime, the theft of alcohol, I very much hope that, particularly in light of the new sentencing guidelines, they be spared a custodial sentence.”

“Thank you, Mr Snooks. I shall now pass sentence. All six defendants have been found guilty of robbery. This is a serious crime. They are jointly sentenced to three years imprisonment without the possibility of early release. They are to compensate the shopkeeper for his injuries in the amount of £50,000. They will be responsible for the costs of their incarceration as well - the state will no longer subsidise the criminal justice system. They will report to ‘Intrepid Corrections Ltd’ in Milton Keynes at 11am in three days’ time, that is, on this coming Saturday, to commence their punishment.”

We could not believe we would spend the three years we had planned to spend at college in a jail! And we would also have to pay for the privilege! We had expected to be released, for now, but first we were led into a sort of conference room where a man in a fairly loud blue suit awaited us.

“Hello, my name is Charles De La Tour, I am the of Intrepid Corrections. I just want to explain a few things about our institution. We obviously only just opened, as prisons only passed into private ownership when the 2023 Act was passed, and we are still working out a few kinks. But the basic principles are clear. The most important thing first: our rates. We charge £150 per night for a single room and £200 per night for a double room. Your release in three years’ time will be contingent on no sums to the company being owing.”

We looked at one another, stunned. How were we going to find that sort of cash? But Mr De La Tour was continuing:

“Just like your crime was a joint crime, so your debt in respect of compensating your victim, the costs of your trial and your imprisonment are also borne jointly and severally, in other words, you all owe the full sum, which will come to just shy of £1m, assuming you opt for single accommodation, and just under £750 000 if you decide to share. In addition, you will also have to pay our discipline staff, that is, those prison officers whose job it is to carry out your corporal punishments.’

“CORPORAL PUNISHMENTS?”, Serena screamed out. “What do you mean?!?”

“Oh, don’t you follow the news?” (We hadn’t.) “Under the 2023 Act all prison sentences in excess of six months are accompanied by an automatic weekly dose of corporal punishment - the kind of punishment is at the CDO’s discretion. How can you not have heard about this? It’s been on the news all day every day, with Shami Chakrabarti and Helena Kennedy ranting against it on all channels … And your lawyers didn’t tell you, either? Weird … Anyway, you won’t be in suspense for long - your first punishment is on your first day. The good news is that we are selling tickets for punishments - both to be present physically in the audience, and for streaming online. Half of the ‘take’ will go towards discharging your debt.”

We looked at each other in horror.

“Ok, unless there are any questions I will see you all in two days’ time for your medical and photoshoot.”

Julie had a question: “Will the money from the sale of tickets be enough to pay off our debts?”

He smirked. “That rather depends on how popular your sessions prove to be. The first sessions are always very sought after, but whether you will get much of an audience in future weeks depends on how you perform. So better put on a good show! But there are other ways of making money during your stay with us, don’t you worry. All will be explained …”

And he left.

Kevin now faced a greater shit-storm than ever before. He apologised, again, and got into his father’s car. My parents’ car was behind it and I got in, waving to my four friends as we were pulling away.

On the drive back to my home town of Herne Bay in Kent my Dad was full of reproaches (first time leaving home, straight away with the wrong crowd, never reading the news, blah, blah, blah). My Mum just cried. My little brother Jack (16) seemed to know all about the new regime - at home, he showed me web pages intended for the paying audiences. Our initial punishment session was featured on the home page - marked ‘photos to follow’. Apparently our punishments were going to be determined by spinning a wheel … or rather ‘wheels’. Our names appeared, that we had just started as students at the university, and where we were from. Our crime was also set out in detail. To attend in person cost £100, the live stream went for £10. There were various subscriptions available, too. At the bottom of the page there was a link to ‘cell cams’, but they did not seem to be live yet. As I was still looking at the site over my brother’s shoulder, there came a loud scream from the kitchen. My mum, reading the local afternoon paper, had found my picture at the bottom of page 5, reporting my conviction and punishment:

HERNE BAY OXFORD STUDENT IN ROBBERY OUTRAGE
18 year old Hannah Wilkins to be one of the first ‘private’ prisoners in the country

Readers of this paper will remember that Hannah Wilkins was listed on these pages in January as one of only six pupils from Herne Bay state schools to win a place at Oxbridge. We now unfortunately have to report her fall from grace. This morning, she was convicted by Oxford Crown Court of joint enterprise robbery and sentenced to three years in a private penitentiary in Milton Keynes. As readers of this paper will know, such custodial sentences now come with a weekly dose of corporal punishment. The execution of these punishments can be viewed by concerned citizens, both in person and online. We have secured twenty in-person tickets for Hannah’s first punishment which will be held this Saturday, 19 October, at 5pm. We have also organised a coach to take readers to Milton Keynes. Tickets, including transport, are available from this paper’s online shop at the special price (reserved for local residents of the prisoner’s home towns) of £60.

So there was going to be a large posse of Herne Bay people, many of whom would have known me all my life, to watch me being punished? But things were about to get even worse …

Jack was looking at his phone … mesmerised. “Err, I think you need to see this, sis”, he stammered and showed me the phone. It was his class’s WhatApp group chat …

Gordo: Who’s coming along to Milton Keynes on the school bus? 20 tckts going 4 free, have min already.

Elissa: What’s in MK?

Gordo: That swot Hannah that got into Oxford is punished IN PUBLIC!

Elissa: Your joking?

Mark: No its in school newsletter. She was involved in robbery apparantly.

Gordo: She’s a swot but kinda hot. Here’s the link: www.kingsschool.org.kent/MK

Elissa: what will they do to her?

Gordo: No idea, but I think she will have to STRIP!!!

Alicia: NO WAY!

Mark: I think that is incorrect. I understand it’s the cane on her trousers. I think I’ll go. Should be fun to see.

I was flabbergasted. How could this be happening to me? Not only had I lost my place at Oxford, and my freedom for three years, I was also going to be paraded in front of everyone that I knew or had known.

My father had locked himself in his study; my mother was just constantly crying. My brother was frantically googling what I could expect by way of punishment. All he got was that ‘the manner in which corporal punishments are administered is at the discretion of the prison authorities’. Helpful.

The next shock wasn’t far off. My own phone vibrated - an email from my old school, informing me, as an alumna, of the opportunity to join an organised trip to Milton Keynes to witness my own punishment. Clearly somebody messed up there, in not excluding my name from the mailing list for this purpose, but I got rather weak at the knees. All my school contemporaries were, at this moment, contemplating clicking the link that would enable them to witness my shame. There was even a picture of me, wearing my netball uniform, in case people did not know me by name but by sight, along with a quick CV - when I had joined the school, that I had come top of my year in GCSEs and A-levels, that I had represented the school both at swimming and netball. And then the words that would cost me more sleep over the next few nights:

“We understand from the prison authorities that it is currently contemplated that public punishments will involve some prisoners being required to shed some or all of their clothing. We were not able to ascertain anything more definite, but would like to take this opportunity to warn our alumni of the risk that they will have to witness partial or total nudity.’

How thoughtful of them! I did not share this new information with either my brother or parents and spent the next few days until the dreaded Saturday morning arrived. Having to report at 11am I was hoping that my father would drive me, but he had basically been spending the time drinking beer and harder stuff, while my mother had refused to get out of bed altogether. So I had to take the train, meaning an early start, a transfer in London using the tube, from Victoria to Euston Station, all in all a journey of three hours if I made all the right connections. The private prison was, fortunately, located very close to Milton Keynes Central, in a sort of shopping mall in a former Travelodge that had closed down during the Covid pandemic and then repurposed as a private prison. There was a supermarket, large posh department store and even an indoor sky-diving centre in the same complex! My train arrived at 10:15, and it did not take me long to find the prison. The Travelodge reception area of happier, pre-pandemic, pre-autocratic times was virtually unchanged, as far as I could tell: a number of sofas and chairs with magazines on the tables, a coffee-vending machine, the reception desk. A number of flat screen TVs on mute. There was a queue at the desk, so I joined it. I overheard bits and bobs of the conversations that were being had, as the receptionist, behind a glass screen, also from Covid times, was speaking through a loudspeaker:

‘Sorry, Madam, there are no visiting slots today, it’s an intake day. Please come back tomorrow.’

‘Yes, sir, how many tickets? I am afraid I don’t have any availability for this afternoon right now - it’s the initial session and we usually sell contingents to the prisoners’ home regions. Returns will become available at 2pm. … Of course, there is a standard session this morning, in fact it will start in twenty-five minutes, at 11am. …. Yes, you can see them on the second screen on the right. Do you want to take five minutes while I am serving the next customer and have a look?’

The man stepped out of the queue and started watching one of the TV screens, which showed videos and still of a number of different people. I accidentally looked at the TV screen immediately to its right and gasped when I saw a picture of Kevin, the guy who was to blame for my predicament and who had been the one actually carrying out the robbery that I was now being punished for. The picture changed and now showed Serena, one of my friends who had been convicted with me. I took a step closer to the screen. There was a sign underneath it saying ‘3pm Initial Session’. And sure enough, the next picture showed - me!

In the meantime, the receptionist had finished serving the woman in front of me and the man, having finished his inspection of the screen, apologetically pushed in front of me. I was now close enough to hear both sides of the conversation:

‘Ok, I’ll buy a ticket for the 11am session. I assume it’ll be finished in time for me to queue for returns at 2pm?’

‘That depends. Initial sessions can be very popular. A queue usually starts to form at around half past eleven. But you could be lucky. Where would you like to sit in the 11am session? There is good availability apart from the first row, and the private cabins are also sold out.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame, I was hoping for a private cabin. How much for a centre seat in the second row?’

‘It’s £250 for rows 1-5, £200 for rows 6-10, £100 for rows 10 to 14. There are also a number of obstructed view seats that are just £60. All tickets come with a complimentary 30 day online pass.’

‘Ok, I’ll have a centre seat in row 10 then, please.’ He handed over £100 and received a ticket and a programme in return.

‘Thank you, sir. Would you like a mask?’

‘No, I’ve had my eighth shot so I should be ok.’

‘No, I meant a full balaclava for privacy. Some of our patrons prefer to remain anonymous.’

‘Not for me, thank you. I’d better hurry now …’

‘Yes, sir, just follow the signs to the auditorium, just through here on my right. And don’t forget to download the Intrepid app before the session starts - you’ll need it. Details are on page 3 of the programme. … Ok, madam, what can I do for you?’, she asked, turning to me, next in the queue.

‘I am here to start serving my sentence’, I whispered, about five people having joined the queue behind me in the meantime.

‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that. You will have to speak up!’

I repeated what I had said, so loudly that everyone in the room knew why I was there.

‘I’m afraid you have come to the wrong entrance. The prisoners’ gate is outside the mall, at the back of the building. I am afraid you will have to hurry, it’s quite a long way. Better not to be late!’

She pointed the way, very roughly, and I raced through the mall, out one of the main doors, and then followed the outside of the building around until I got to a dead end. I should have gone the other way round! So I raced back the way I’d come, all the way round the mall, past the indoor skydiving dome, further round, until I finally arrived in an unkempt back alley where there was a door with bars on the windows - that looked right. My watch showed a time of 11:03. There seemed to be no doorbell, so I knocked on the door. Nothing happened. I knocked again. Still no response. After what seemed an eternity, the door opened. A grey-haired, spindly woman dressed in what looked like a nurse’s uniform appeared in the door frame.

“Are you Ms Hannah Wilkins?”

I nodded.

“You are fifteen minutes late.”

“I got here more than ten minutes ago.”

“That is irrelevant. You weren’t here when you were supposed to be here. Your friends are already being processed. I am afraid I will have to report your tardiness.”

She ushered me along a corridor and through a door. The room had the look and feel of a doctor’s surgery. Another nurse was sitting behind a desk.

“Ms Wilkins?”

“Yes, mam.”

“Here’s your gown, please get changed next door. Your medical exam is scheduled for five minutes from now, so please hurry.”
The gown was the sort of garment that was open at the back, like they make you wear in hospital. I took it, and walked through the door, where I found Serena and Julie, my Oxford friends and fellow convicts, both in just panties.

“What took you so long?”, asked Julie. “You didn’t have far to come, I’ve come all the way from Glasgow!”

“Went to the wrong entrance, was here with plenty of time. Damn.”, I said.

“Better get changed quick. I get the feeling they don’t have a sense of humour here.”, said Serena.

So I got out of my jeans and t-shirt and peeled off my bra. Just in socks and panties I put on the gown, just in time for the door to open.

“Ms Wilkins, please.” I was taken into a doctor’s office, although the doctor didn’t seem to have arrived yet. There was a chair there, so I sat on it. There was also a gynaecological chair in the room, which I looked at with some foreboding and misgiving.

The door opened and a grumpy looking, bald, overweight doctor entered the room.

“I’m Dr Gropes, and I’ll be doing your medical. Welcome to our prison.” I’m not kidding, that was really his name.

“Please put your gown on this chair and get on the gyno chair. I need to examine you.”

I hesitatingly untied my gown at the back and slipped it off, facing him just in panties and socks.

“I don’t understand - why are you still wearing panties and socks? Were you not instructed to change into the gown?” He looked genuinely shocked. “I’m afraid that’ll be three demerits, one for each item of clothing.”

I quickly got out of my panties and socks and got onto the gyno chair. He checked my breasts for lumps, unpleasant enough, and then inspected the inside of my vagina with a speculum. Yuk! He then told me to get off the chair, listened to my heart and lungs with a stethoscope.

“All good. Now all we need is a stress ECG. Please follow me next door.”

In the next room, there was a treadmill. A nurse fitted me with a few sensors and then I had to get on it and start jogging. My breasts are on the large side and they were jiggling around quite embarrassingly. The doctor watched me with a wry smile, but then left - no doubt Serena was awaiting him in the exam room.

“This looks quite good”, said the nurse. “Here’s your uniform, please put it on next door and then please wait in the waiting room.”

The uniform looked a bit like a school uniform: white socks, white panties, white bra, white blouse, navy skirt and navy blazer. There were signs to the waiting room - Kevin was already there.

“Hi”.

“Hello”.

Then embarrassed silence. I hated his guts, obviously. He got me into this.

Marc joined us next. He smiled at me and frowned at Kevin. Still, there was little conversation. None, in fact. Then Serena joined us. We had got on well, had shared a staircase in our mutual college, and we looked at one another sympathetically. She had clearly been crying. George, known as ‘Friar Tuck’, joined us next. His huge bulk was hardly contained by a very tight-fitting uniform. He was a jovial character.

“Hey, guys, I wonder what they’ll do to us? This is really weird …”

“It is”, said Marc. “I’m beginning to regret that I voted Conservative in my first election. This law and order stuff looks a lot less good if you are on the wrong side of it …”

“I can’t believe you voted Tory”, said Serena. I hadn’t turned 18 in the election last year, so I didn’t get to vote … I blame you wholeheartedly for this mess!”

I had voted Tory, too, but thought it best not to mention the fact.

Tuck also joined in: “The Tories have always been bad for this country. But this current, post-Johnson, pro-autocracy lot are the worst ever. It’s not like we weren’t warned!”

“What do you think are they going to do to us this afternoon?”

“I think it’s going to be a couple of cane strokes”, Tuck guessed. “They may be Tories, but they are not total barbarians.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure”, Kevin chimed in, rather bashfully for him. “Some of my friends back home thought it might be quite brutal and humiliating. And it’s going to happen every single week, too.”

“Well, it’s all thanks to you, isn’t it?”, Serena cried. Kevin averted his eyes.

“I know. I don’t know why I did what I did. And I sure as hell didn’t think it would affect you. I’m really, really sorry! I know you cannot forgive me right now, but I hope you will eventually.”

“Don’t hold your breath”, I muttered under mine, and the embarrassed silence that had previously prevailed returned. After about five minutes it was interrupted by Julie joining us from the female changing room.

“Gawd, what a perv!”, she breathed in her Scottish brogue as she sat down. “Me would have hoped to have a female doctor for the medical … outrageous!”

“Your doctor was male?”, gasped Tuck. “We had a woman!”

“I’m sure that was just a coincidence and not at all deliberate policy”, Serena grunted with disgust. “After all, they are Tories and not barbarians. As if there was a difference.”

The door on the other side of the room now opened and we were asked to proceed into the CDO’s office. He was sitting at a large desk with a sign saying “Chief Discipline Officer”.

“Welcome to the first of what we hope will be many Intrepid Prisons! My name is Mr Robert Young CBE and I am in charge of our inmates’ weekly corporal punishments. I am told that our Chief Operating Officer has already explained that all the money you make from the ‘gate’ of your punishments will go into a common fund to discharge your joint debts, hopefully before the end of your sentence.”

“What happens if we don’t manage that?”, asked Serena.

“Well you are all - almost all - attractive young people, and we are selling the ‘Oxford students in trouble’ angle quite heavily, so that I have no doubt it will not come to that. But to be frank we have not worked out the answer to that question yet, everything is still quite new. The government are considering a number of options, but none is pleasant from the prisoners’ point of view. So let’s just say it is in our common interest for you to be successful in selling tickets.

Now, we always try to make the initial session something special. What is going to happen is this. You will all be brought onto the stage where you will introduce yourselves individually to our audience, telling them a little bit about yourselves and your backgrounds, the reason you are here and how you feel about what you have done. You will then bend over and receive five whacks with the paddle on your buttocks. After you have all received your paddling, the second round of punishments will commence.

In that round, one hundred cane strokes in total are to be administered to you as a group. The fifty members of the audience with the most expensive tickets get to allocate 2 strokes each to one or two of you, entirely at their discretion, based on your introduction and on how you conducted yourselves during your paddling. This will be done via a newly developed app that all members of the audience will have downloaded to their phones. For these strokes, men will be expected to drop their trousers, women to lift their skirts.”

“You mean we will be beaten on our naked buttocks?”, Julie asked apprehensively.

“No, you will keep your underpants and panties on”, Mr Young reassured her. “However, this will change, to some extent, in the next round.”

“The next round?”, Serena asked. “How many rounds are you planning on?”

“Well, the audience members have paid a lot of money for the privilege. We want to make it worth their while…”, Mr Young smirked. “Anyway, the idea is that you each vote, in secret, on who among yourselves should take off one item of clothing, socks not counting. So, given that the maximum number of votes, there being six of you, is five, one of you might end up completely naked. A wheel of fortune will then determine how many cane strokes on the bottom will be received.”

I just could not believe to what diabolical lengths they had gone to in devising these pernicious rules. Serena was just livid, Julie very sombre, the boys seemed very scared.

“The final round …” “ANOTHER ROUND?”, Serena interrupted him, but he continued unabashed: “Yes, the final round will involve a vote taken by everyone in the audience. The prisoner with the most votes will get completely undressed and will then receive an over-the-knee spanking from an audience member. We will conduct a sort of auction, with the right to spank him or her going to the highest bidder.

All understood? So what I need you to do now is to report to our photo studio where photos for our programmes, screens and website will be taken. Oh, and I forgot, Ms Wilkins, I hear that you have already earned eighteen demerits in your very short time here. That’s quite impressive. I think it calls for a sharp lesson. In the second round, all strokes will be on the bare for you. So off to have your photos taken with you!”

I was shocked. I did not have any idea how the three demerits ‘awarded’ to me by the good Doc could suddenly have become 18, nor did I relish the certain prospect of having to show my naked behind to a what sounded like quite a large audience containing many people I knew, from my school and from my town.

I was a bit apprehensive that they might be after nude photos - but I needn’t have worried. All it was was one group photo, then one with just the boys, one with just the girls, and then individual face and body shots. ‘Great’, said the photographer. ‘Thank you, all. These can go straight on our screens in the reception area … like … so!’ And he pressed a button with his mouse. It was now 1:30, and, as I knew, returned tickets would go on sale at 2pm.

We were ushered into the next room. A matronly (i.e. enormously fat) woman greeted us jovially. “I am supposed to allocate your ‘rooms’ - that’s what we call cells in this joint!”, she joked. “Have you decided if you want to go single or shared?”

We hadn’t, of course.

“Can we discuss this among ourselves?”, asked Julie.

“It’s a free country”, said the Matron. “Well, not for you it isn’t, I suppose …”. Clearly she had only just missed out on a career in standup comedy!

She did not seem at all inclined to leave us to give us some privacy, so I tentatively suggested we go shared both so as to have some company and to save a significant amount of money and hence, pain.

“Yes,” all but whispered Julie, “let’s go for shared.” We all agreed. But we hadn’t thought this through at all, as it turned out.

“Ok”, Matron announced. “Mr Garbutt will share with Mr Lennox.” Marc and George were roomies!

“Miss Barnes will share with Miss Dickson”. As were Serena and Julie! I gulped. Shit, I thought! That just leaves …

“And Miss Wilkins will share with Mr Lovett!”. I was going to share with a man, and with Friar Tuck of all people! He was three times my size!

I looked at him under my eyelids. He seemed unsure whether to be pleased or upset. He was blushing profusely, however.

The matron was now taking us to our rooms. They were all on the same, rather uninspiring but, this being a former Travelodge, more budget hotel-like than prison-like, corridor. Marc and George took the first room on the left, Serena and Julie the second one of the left, Tuck and I the first one on on the right. In we went, the door closed behind us and was locked. The first thing I noticed was the double bed. I had a slight hope that it might be two beds that could be moved apart so as to make two singles, but no such luck. It was a standard sized double bed, bolted to the floor in the same way that all the other furniture in the room was. I had stayed at Travelodges before and knew that this was usual for them, and not something the prison authorities had added. In fact, the only obvious addition were cameras in all four corners of the room, plus one at the foot of the bed. Thank god the bathroom was lockable and private.

We looked at each other. I liked Tuck. He was your typical, jovial fatty (hope I’m not being weightist now, if there is such a thing). He was funny, kind, and always up for a laugh. But to share a bed with him had not been high on my list of priorities, if I’m brutally honest.

“Sorry about this,” he said with a wry smile, “I guess we really didn’t think this through or do the maths …”

“No”, I admitted. “And I was the one who suggested it, too. But I guess as long as we give each other space and respect boundaries we’ll be ok.”

“Oh, of course. No worries”, he said, with a smile.

There were two smartphones on the only desk in the room and he was inspecting them.

“They are not actually phones - they just have one app on them and do not seem to be connected to the Internet - just the Intranet in the jail.” He handed me one. He was right. There was just one app, the Intrepid App. I clicked on it. It asked me to select a password, I did, and then it took me to a homepage of sorts. At the top, there was a picture of Julie, a full body shot, overlaid with that day’s date and ‘Initial Session - 3pm’. There were a number of links - ‘voting booth’, ‘menu’, ‘timetable’ and a few others. I clicked on timetable and only found one entry - for 3pm the same day - ‘Initial Session’.

I didn’t have time to check the app out any more, as the door was being unlocked and the Matron asked us to follow her to the auditorium. It was quite a long way - through a long corridor that seemed to take us out of the former hotel and to the back entrance of the old mall cinema - another mall business that had not survived the pandemic. The screen had been removed, and a stage put in its place, and this is where we found ourselves now, all six of us. It was quite dark, as the curtain was drawn, but I could make out a number of wheels of fortune, various pieces of furniture clearly designed for tying people up and to them, and a lot of cameras. Robert Young was waiting for us, flanked by two muscular, tattooed men in guard uniforms.

“Ok, guys, hopefully all went well and you found your rooms etc. So now it gets serious for you for the first time. You’ll be pleased to know that you have all be rated healthy or very healthy, meaning that you can safely endure everything planned for this afternoon and most of you any punishments, even the more serious ones, that we administer at our prison. We have a full house today, in fact, there is still a long queue hoping to get their hands on some return tickets - rather than disappoint them altogether we are just in the process of selling them tickets to witness the session from the second screen of this old cinema next door. So there will be some delay while they take their seats. In the meantime, can I just check that you are all wearing underpants/panties, bra/vest, blouse/shirt, trousers/skirt and jacket? We all had a quick think and then nodded.

“Fine, that’s good. Well, just bear with us, then. Serena will be up first - we are proceeding alphabetically.”

I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Of course, it gave me, with a surname beginning with a ‘W’, some respite, but I would have to watch all the others before it was my turn, too, rather than getting it over with quickly.

“I’ll ask you to come onto the stage and face the audience for a few seconds. You then go off again. Serena will then go on on her own, give her introduction. When she is done, she will turn her back to the audience, bend over, grab her ankles and wait for the first stroke. After five, she will stand backstage, facing the audience. It will then be Julie’s turn, then Marc’s, then Kevin’s, then George’s and finally Hannah’s.” He listened to his radio. “Ok, we are almost ready. Let’s get off the stage.”

He led us into the wings and then grabbed a microphone. “Ladies and Gentleman, welcome to the Intrepid Theatre, and welcome to those watching us live from the Intrepid Cinema next door. My apologies to you that there weren’t enough tickets for the live event. Welcome also to those watching us online, both live and recorded! Today is only the tenth initial session. Today’s newcomers are ‘The Oxford Students’, Serena, Julie, Marc, Kevin, George and Hannah!’

Music came on - the Ride of the Valkyries - and we were ushered onto the stage while the curtain rose. It was clear that the auditorium was full - but difficult to make out individual faces. Unsurprising, really, as the auditorium was dark while we were bathed in light.

As the music was blended out, we returned to the wings with Serena returning almost immediately, with Young introducing her: ‘Our first prisoner is 18 year old Serena Barnes. Let’s hear what she has to say for herself.’

Serena found it hard to begin and was clearly uncomfortable (well, who wouldn’t be?). She stammered, quietly: “Hello, I’m Serena, and I have just started university, to read Oriental Studies. I’m afraid I have now lost my place at university, because any criminal conviction automatically gets you expelled. I was convicted of joint enterprise robbery, which basically means that if you are part of a group, and one in the group commits a serious crime, you are convicted of that crime as long as it was foreseeable that the crime would be committed. I do not really understand the details. However, I agree that such laws are necessary to deter serious crime. I will certainly steer well clear of people who might commit crimes in the future. And I am grateful that I am about to receive the just punishment for my crime.”

There was a splattering of applause as Serena turned around, bent down and grabbed her ankles. Her plaid skirt showed the contours of her shapely behind very well - she was slim, well-toned and athletically built. The audience clearly appreciated this, judging by the number of approving grunts and shouts. One of the uniformed guards now stepped forward, holding a scary-looking paddle.

I was puzzled by what Serena had said. We had previously all agreed that Kevin and only Kevin was to blame for our predicament and that we all took the view that we were unjustly convicted and that the law used to convict us at least unjust. Serena’s display of contrition seemed to run counter to all that. Anyway, I didn’t have time to think about this more as the guard now raised the paddle and brought it down onto Serena’s petite behind. She almost fell forward on her face, such was the force of the impact. She had to take a few steps to recover herself, but then walked back and demurely reassumed the position. Another whack, but this time she was more prepared for it, and pressed back against it, so that she managed to maintain her position. I felt that the guard was not really putting his back into the next three whacks, maybe because he was impressed by her demeanour, maybe because he was tiring, who knows. In any event she walked backstage her head held high and watched as Julie walked onto the stage.

“I do not really have much to add to what Serena said. We should not have allowed ourselves to be in such a position. The store manager was hurt, and we are, at least in part, responsible. I feel sorry that I am losing my place at Oxford, where I was to study law, and will never be able to be a lawyer. But I hope that my loss, and the just punishment I am about to receive, will deter others from being as foolish as I have been.”

Boohoo, I thought. What had happened to my sassy Scottish friend? What a sell-out! Julie did not take the ensuing whacks as well as Serena had - while she was in no danger of falling over (Julie is not a slim girl), she was wailing and crying throughout.

Marc was next. He was just as contrite as the two girls had been: “I feel awful to have squandered all my life chances by not intervening when Kevin pulled out the knife. He would not have hurt me, but I just froze and didn’t do anything. I deserve my punishment and hope you will enjoy witnessing it!”

As he was being whacked (he did well, took it like a man), I was reconsidering my options. I had been planning on defiance, stressing that all I had really done was walk into a liquor store (perfectly legal for an 18 year old in the UK), and that it was utterly unfair that I was being held responsible for the actions of a deranged maniac like Kevin. So maybe that wasn’t the right approach. On the other hand, if we were all going down the contrition road, what would sway the audience to give the majority of the 100 cane strokes to the others rather than to me?

Now it was Kevin’s turn. Again, contrition personified: “I am so sorry that I got all my friends into this trouble. It was really all my fault. I do not know how to make it up to them, but those of you deciding who is to get the 100 cane strokes - it should be me and only me!”

And yet he was screaming and squirming throughout his five whacks - a real wuss! As he limped backstage and Tuck took his place, it dawned on me that I would be next!

Tuck took the stance that I had been meaning to take: “Hi, I’m George, known as Friar Tuck. Well, you can probably guess why. I’m not exactly athletic. I had only known Kevin for a few days. We had sort of ended up in a group of six, and we spent freshers’ week together. All we did was walk into an Oddbins! Seriously! How was I supposed to know Kevin was mental? So I submit to the punishment under protest! It’s not fair!”

Good for Tuck! Finally one of us with a bit of spunk! And I resolved to follow his example, as he was stoically taking his five whacks. And then it was my turn.

The few steps to the centre of the stage felt like a mile. I could now make out some details. There were three booths or boxes at the back, and two on either side. They were surrounded by darkened glass, so that there was no way of telling who was in them. But no time to think about that: “Hi, I’m Hannah Wilkins, I was due to start my law degree at Oxford when Kevin pulled out his knife and ruined my life. I am all for punishing criminals, but I do not see how being in the same room as a criminal makes me one, too! So, like Tuck, I submit under protest! I am innocent!”
I assumed the position. The guard really let me have it! I actually fell over the first whack! And the second! The pain was intense, and all over my bum. I managed to stay upright the last three whacks, but only just! As I walked to join the other downstage, I heard Mr Young’s voice: “Please remember that, despite their protestations, both Mr Lovett and Miss Wilkins were lawfully convicted of the crime of robbery. I also need to point out that Miss Wilkins has already earned eighteen demerits - three from her doctor for wearing too many clothes and fifteen for being fifteen minutes late this morning. As a punishment, she will have to drop her panties should it be decided that she is due some cane strokes in the next round! It is now for the fifty premium ticket holders to cast their votes. You can cast both your votes for the same prisoner or split them up. Please make your decision … now!”

Great! Nothing like a considered, fact-driven decision-making process!

There was a screen behind the stage where the result was to appear. We turned around to learn our fate:

Sixth place: George Lovett (0 votes)
Fifth place: Marc Garbutt (4 votes)
Fourth place: Julie Dickson (5 votes)
Third place: Serena Barnes (12 votes)
Second place: Kevin Lennox (19 votes)
First place: Hannah Wilkins (60 votes)

I cannot say I was surprised. The audience had to be predominantly male and horny, and the promise of my strokes being on the bare must have had a rather oversized influence. So I didn’t blame myself for my defiance, particularly since it clearly hadn’t done Tuck any harm. Clearly, this was just a vote about which bodies the male audience members wanted to see caned.

We were all still at the back of the stage, facing the audience, standing three feet apart. Mr Young now came onto the stage, holding his mic, while the two guards were moving one of the punishment horses that lined the edge of the stage to the centre.

“The five prisoners to receive punishment will now come to the front of the stage one after the other. Men will drop their trousers and raise the hem of their shirts facing the audience, women will raise their skirts - the point is that underpants or panties be fully visible. They will then get onto the punishment horse that our guards have just moved onto the stage. They will be secured there before their punishment will commence.”

The punishment frame basically consisted of a padded horizontal area for the upper body, and two padded slats in the shape of an upside down ‘V’ for the lower body, with the waist raised by a cushioned tube. Marc was now arranging his - rather long and dangly - body over this contraption, having previously dropped his trousers, revealing his regulation white, close-fitting underpants to the audience. The guards secured his legs using velcro straps. His legs were not spread wide, but spread somewhat, I noted uneasily. I would, after all, be strapped down in the same position with my panties off!

One of the guards stepped up behind him - Marc’s rear end was facing the audience, as we were at the back of the stage, we could not see it.

“Marc Garbutt, you will now receive four strokes of the cane, voted for by the audience.”

He raised the cane and brought it down with a SWISH. Marc’s face was contorted with pain, but he did not make a sound. Same for the second stroke. He could not suppress a cry of pain when the cane hit for the third time, and the fourth brought forth a full throated scream. I was hoping against hope that Marc was being a bit of a ninny - if he was screaming after four strokes on his, albeit tight-fitting, underpants how would I respond to sixty on my bare behind?

Marc was now being unstrapped and Julie moved to the edge of the stage to lift her skirt to the audience and then allow herself to be secured to the punishment frame. As I think I have mentioned before, Julie has quite a bit of natural padding and her little panties were hardly able to contain her flesh, if you know what I mean.

“Julie Dickson, you will now receive five strokes of the cane, voted for by the audience.”

She took them well. A faint ‘ouch’ was all that the cane was able to elicit from her. Women are designed for childbirth, and thus, I told myself, we are probably blessed by a higher pain tolerance than men. That’s what I wanted to believe, anyway. Serena was twitching nervously next to me. It was now her turn to move to the front, raise her skirt to the audience, and get ready to receive 12 strokes.

“Serena Barnes, you will now receive 12 strokes of the cane, voted for by the audience.”

I could only imagine the alluring sight that her petite rear end would present to the audience. Her pretty face was looking in our direction, and looked very worried and fearful. She only managed to stay quiet for the first two strokes, then tears began to flow and, by the fifth stroke, she was crying freely. By the tenth stroke, she was screaming loudly. Still sobbing, she was unstrapped and returned to her spot next to me.

Kevin was next. He reluctantly moved to the front of the stage and dropped his trousers. There were some guffaws and sniggers in the audience, then outright laughter as he lifted up his shirt, as Mr Young had previously directed. The reason became clear as he quickly turned his back to the audience and got onto the frame: his tight underpants could not hide his impressive erection. Clearly witnessing Serena’s punishment or his own exposure and imminent punishment had caused him to develop a prominent erection.

“Kevin Lennox, you will now receive nineteen strokes of the cane, voted for by the audience.”

Kevin was surprisingly stoic. The guard was really putting his back into it - as attested by the loud ‘swish’ followed by a loud ‘whack’ at every stroke, but Kevin did not utter a sound. His face was red at the end, but I now had other worries. As he was being unstrapped, I slowly made my way to the edge of the stage.

I knew I would have to take off my panties before my caning. But I wasn’t going to show my panty-less front to all the pervs in the audience. So as I stood at the edge of the stage, I raised the hem of my skirt to by chest, showing everyone my panties. I then turned around and prepared to take my panties off. But I was out of luck - Mr Young’s voice stopped me in my tracks:

“Miss Wilkins is required to take her panties off for her punishment. She will do this before lifting her skirt to the audience. Her attempt to avoid this has earned her one additional demerit.”

Oh, shit, I thought. What additional horrors would that entail? I now had no alternative, however, I quickly dropped my panties, faced the audience, raised my shirt, showing the audience my thick bush, and then turned around to get onto the punishment frame. As my legs were being velcroed to the frame it was clear that my attempt not to show my pussy to the audience had been doomed from the start - while they were not spread very wide, the were spread enough to allow the audience to see it now, anyway.

“Hannah Wilkins, you will now receive 60 strokes of the cane, voted for by the audience. You will receive them on your bare buttocks as a result of 18 demerits received since your arrival here.”

And then the first stroke hit. Searing pain. I was one with the pain, and I’m afraid I screamed out. And kept screaming, as the cane whipped across my unprotected buttocks again … and again … and again. After a while, I did not even notice individual strokes - my bum was on fire permanently.

Then it was over. The audience applauded as I was unstrapped. I was dizzy. Could hardly walk back to the back of the stage, as the punishment frame was moved to the side of the stage. Serena supported me - although we were meant to be six feet apart, I probably would have collapsed without her help.

Someone handed me my panties - but it was too painful to even think about putting them back on, so I just stuffed them in my waistband.

Mr Young was talking into the mic again:

“We now come to the part in which the prisoners themselves determine their own fate. They can each nominate one of their number to lose one item of clothing. Anyone having to take anything off will have to spin two wheels: the first will determine whether they will receive punishment on their front of back. The second will determine the number of strokes. I will determine the implement. As I am telling you this, each prisoner is handed their smart handset which enables them to cast their vote.”

Indeed, I was trying to remember my passcode, and did on the second attempt. I knew what I was going to do, of course: vote for Kevin, the one who got us all into this mess. His contrition was all well and good, but he needed to pay for what he had done to us. So I clicked on him and got the message: ‘Vote registered’. As we were voting, a ‘wheel of fortune’ was being moved onto the stage. The numbers on it ranged from 1 to 100.

Mr Young was now reading out the results:

“Here are the votes of the prisoners themselves: Serena Barnes, 2 votes. Kevin Lennox, 4 votes. We will proceed now with Miss Barnes’s punishment. It is up to her to decide which two items of clothing to take off.”

Serena moved to the middle of the stage and took off her jacket. She was then clearly undecided. I could appreciate her dilemma: she would either be in bra and skirt or in blouse and just panties. She chose poorly, as the knight in Indiana Jones said, opting to leave her skirt on. I didn’t realise this at the time, but it soon became clear. She took off her blouse, presenting the standard issue, cotton bra to the audience.

“Miss Barnes will now spin the wheel, making sure it goes round at least twice before stopping, otherwise she must have another go.”

Serena turned the wheel rather hesitatingly - it went round once, nearly twice and then stopped on ‘4’. Her initial smile was wiped off, however, when Mr Young ordered her to have another go. With a sigh she put her back into it - the wheel spun round furiously, several times, and then slowed down … the numbers were sequential, and as the wheel was slowing down, it passed the ’30’, went onto ’35’, more slowly still, ’36,’ ’37’ and stopped on ’38’.

Serena had to lean over the punishment frame. She had been screaming uncontrollably when she was given 12, and now she was to receive more than three times that!

The guards tied her arms and legs using the velcro straps provided and then, to my horror, and no doubt to Serena’s greater horror, lifted her skirt so as to expose her panties. She had kept the skirt on for nothing! She had chosen poorly, as I said.

The cane that was now used on her barely protected behind seemed heavier than the one that had been used before - she was screaming wildly almost immediately. I felt deeply sorry for her, and for all of us.

At the end she was untied and hobbled back to the back of the stage. She wasn’t allowed to put her clothes back on.

Whichever one of the boys other than Kevin had voted for her deserved to be spitroasted, I thought. What a wanker! I very much suspected Marc, not Tuck. Serena was casting evil glances at Marc, too, as Kevin, who would, because of Marc, not have to get naked, moved centre-stage. He took off everything but underpants and socks. Quite a fit body, I thought. He did not seem to have developed an erection. He spun the wheel vigorously - and it ended on ‘5’. Of course it did! He nonetheless cried out quite a lot as his behind was being caned. I didn’t really notice much, because I was considering my chances to avoid having to strip completely and getting over a random stranger’s knee. I did not rate them highly. Serena had already been punished semi-clothed, and, without bragging, I was the cuter of the two of us. And I doubted that anyone wanted to see poor Julie naked.

Mr Young had already announced the vote and the audience were voting now. I had been right - I was declared the winner and would have to get entirely naked in front of the audience and my friends. I also guessed that there would be a delegation from my school and maybe even some of the people that had been at school with me in the audience - I could not see them, of course, as the auditorium was dark and the lights were directed at the stage.

I slowly moved onto the centre of the stage, as a chair was put onto the stage behind me. I stood there, unsure what to do. Mr Young cleared his throat.

“Miss Wilkins, do you require a written invitation?”

And so I took off my jacket - unsure where to put it, I laid it on the floor. A guard picked it up and stayed next to me, ready to take the rest of my clothes. I slowly unbuttoned my blouse, took it off and handed it to him. I was going to be naked in a minute, so why was I debating what to take off next? Better get it over with. So I took of my bra, then unhooked my skirt and took it off and finally slid out of my panties. Apparently, while socks had not counted when the question was how many items of clothing we had to take off before, I now had to take them off, too, so that I was well and truly naked. All the lights were on me, and I had to move to the very edge of the stage as the bidding for the right to put me over the knee was going on. This did not take long - it was a silent auction, with everybody who wanted offering their maximum without knowing everybody else’s bid.

“The winner of the auction is: Mr Findlay!”, announced Mr Young. This was bad news. I knew someone named Findlay - a boy in the year below me whom I had tutored for two years. He had come closer and closer in the final months as I was tutoring him and finally he had put his hand on my knee. This had been the end of me tutoring him, and I had, in fact, sent an email to his parents telling them what had happened. I had never heard back from them. So he was not going to spank me! Naked! It turned out it wasn’t him, at all, however, but his father, whom I had occasionally met, of course, and who had paid me for my tutoring. As he came onto the stage, he muttered: “This is for accusing my son of harassment, you slut!” He sat down on the chair and looked at me expectantly.

“Mr Findlay now has the right to put Miss Wilkins over his knee and give her a spanking lasting ten minutes”, announced Mr Young. There was nothing for it. I draped myself over his lap and closed my eyes. As the chair was facing sideways, the audience had a full-on view of my bottom. At first he caressed my bottom. Then he grabbed one cheek and pulled it away from the other one. He whispered: “My son is in the audience - he should enjoy watching this!”

Obviously a family of real perverts. But I had other problems, the spanking started. It was painful, but not nearly as painful as the cane. But more humiliating, obviously. I could feel this man’s erection pressing against my stomach as he was hitting me hard with his hand. My bottom must have been well reddened when it was over. I was then allowed to get up again and stand at the back of the stage with the others. As the audience was leaving (while Mr Young was telling them to come again soon), I got dressed again and then we all made our way to the ‘debriefing’ room where Mr De La Tour, the COO, joined us after a few minutes.

“First things first. We have now calculated your total debt. It comes to £823,134.22, based on you staying in shared rooms. We have had a good ‘gate’ for your initial punishments, the full amount comes to £6,243, including the proceeds from the auction, of which you get to apply half towards your debt, so that it now stands at £820,012.72. We do not have a sense yet of how popular future punishments are going to be, so I will not be able to answer the question you are going to ask: will we be able to pay off our debt in three years? We will get a better idea once we have had a few days of online sales. Your next punishment will be in exactly one week, but in the evening. That’s it for today. It’s now time for your post-punishment medical and then, back to your rooms, please!”

“Sorry,” I said, “but I do have a different question. What happens to us if we are unable to pay off the debt?”

“That will be decided when we get there. Options include that those of you who have proved most popular with audiences will stay, while the others are released on bail. That reduces accommodation costs, enabling you to pay off your debts more quickly. We shall see. What is certain is that, while you owe money, most of you will stay incarcerated and punished on a weekly basis.”

This was just great. I am good at maths and had been able to work out that even if each weekly punishment produced the same amount, which was unlikely, or even very unlikely, we would only have just over £450k by the end of our sentence - just over half what was needed. I could just see where this was leading: the three boys, and probably Julie, would be released after three years, with Serena and I kept back to pay all our bills.

After a rather superficial, but still embarrassing, medical, I found myself in the cell with Tuck. He was very good, put the belt of his dressing gown in the middle of the bed and promised me not to cross that line. Still, the night was uncomfortable and I wasn’t really able to sleep worrying about the future. Tuck’s bulk rolling around next to me, and sometimes threatening to roll onto me, did not help.

(End of File)