by Mark Andrews
Each stroke thereafter was delivered with the same panache, skill and power and each one elicited a scream of pure agony from the upside-down Joe Connors and his body, free apart from the manacles on his ankles, twisted and contorted as he tried to cope with the mounting accumulated pain of twenty very meaty stokes of the rattan cane to his bottom.
But then it, or at least this part, of his punishment was over and he was lowered to the ground.
I left my place next to Dave and went down to the stage as he climbed painfully to his feet. “You already know you are to receive a further twenty strokes of the whip to your genitals and that you are to remain perfectly free while they are administered... However you have a choice now. You can elect to take the twenty unrestrained, which means you are not permitted to run away from the punishment. Or you may be restrained - in which case there will be forty strokes. Which do you choose?”
“I’ll stand free, sir,” he replied firmly and I marvelled yet again that these scum, whom I had treated so harshly since their arrival here, now seemed to be very different men (and women) indeed.
“Very well, so be it - but remember, if you do attempt to run, we will start the count again...”
“Yes, sir.”
Carl left then, with a last grin and wave to his audience, who cheered him out of the theatre - but then cheered again as Pete entered, holding aloft his signal whip.
He moved straight up to his victim and first ordering him to ‘assume the position’ (which meant Joe had to clasp his hands up behind his head and spread his feet as wide as he could get them and hold it until the end of the punishment) then laid out his whip (with which he was now as expert as Carl) on the floor in front of him, judged his distance, drew it back over his head and then, almost lazily lashed it forward, its tail following in an oily flight through the air to wrap itself around his lower belly, the knot at its very end lashing both his testicles with a quite loud report.
He had been ordered to hold the position come what may or have that stroke deleted from the count, and he did, but he screamed blue murder. I knew the pain would have been agonising but he did hold his ground and now Pete strolled around him, cracking the whip in the air, its report now really loud and, to Joe, probably terrifying as he imagined the next stroke to his genitals.
Pete spaced the strokes about five minutes apart, just as Carl had, giving Joe time for the pain of each to properly sink in.
This was definitely the harshest punishment we had dished out to him as I hoped it would be a salutary reminder of what awaited him if he somehow evaded the GPS zapper’s constraints or allowed his penis to even begin to erect.
But to his credit, despite the accumulated pain from the twenty strokes of the cane to his buttocks and now added to by those from Pete’s whip, he stood his ground right through them all, although he did collapse after the twentieth stroke.
The audience clapped him though as they got up from their seats and made their way back out to the car park. Some had paid for a tour of the facility and would be treated to morning tea first; the rest now made their way home.
The factory, as it has become known all over the world, has been going for two years now. And it has proved a total success. Not only for major sex offenders but also for prisoners who have committed other major crimes. Only the sex offenders have the penile zapper permanently glued to the roots of their penises but all who pass through our doors get the testicular (or clitoral) model inserted.
It has been decided by legislative amendment that all major criminals are now to be monitored for the rest of their lives and this unit does that perfectly. As a result the rate of recidivism (criminals re-offending) has dropped to near zero and the government has now decided that I am to be moved from my position as manager of the facility to replace Dave Peters, who is to be moved to head up the Department of Premier and Cabinet.
I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, I will be pleased to oversee the re-vamping of the whole of Queensland’s correctional facilities to bring them into line with the factory, more or less; but on the other, I loved my work at the factory. We achieved wonderful results and it was a delight to see criminals actually ‘cured’ of their tendencies. Admittedly, it was by draconian methods, but they worked, as nothing before them had.
I had been pleased to recommend Carl as my replacement at the factory although he wouldn’t be living there. We now shared a very nice house in one of Brisbane’s nicer suburbs and would be making our lives together.
Jan is going to marry Sandy. She is now convinced he truly loves her and that they will make a good couple. I happen to agree.
Oh and just so you know, Lola Bertram, the so muscly black kink prostitute and her friend Jenny Arkright, have secured jobs with the department - as guards. I recommended them, believing they would make fine officers and so far at least, I have been proved right. The female prisoners go in real fear of that pair.
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