by Susan Thomas
The young girl near to tears looked at her as if she was mad and even glanced back with an expression of disbelief as she was called and made her way to the booths. Not Amelie though, she was entranced.
"I never thought of it like that," she breathed.
"Good that you have now become aware. Rejoice in whatever the card dictates for you and tomorrow you can strive again to fulfil your aims."
The calm woman was called and left, clearly happy at her opportunity to do penance for her errors, whatever they were. Amelie gave her a wave and glanced around. No new penitents had come in but now there were only three in front of her. She no longer felt scared but strangely calm as her companion had been. Another woman came out and she looked positively ecstatic. Amelie had heard of this ecstasy following penance in the booth, but had been so worried by her fear of pain that she had never noticed anyone else. She would have to pay a private visit to do penance for her poor attitude but now, as yet another woman left (neither ecstatic nor weeping), there was only one more before her.
Amelie sat marvelling at the change in her and, as she became the next to go, she felt a deep inner sense of peace that she could now do penance and start afresh in the morning.
"Amelie Holt." The voice of the computer always sounded so calm and pleasant. She got up and went through the door and, looking down the corridor, saw the flashing lights above an open door that indicated it was her booth. She walked into the outer lobby of the booth and the door hissed shut behind her. The procedure was slightly different if you were a black card holder. She swiped the card and the booth asked in its kindly voice, "You are Amelie Holt?"
"Yes, I am."
"Please say your memorable sentence."
"My mother's maiden name was Bartholomew."
"Please place your thumbprint against the glass square."
After Amelie had done so the voice continued. "Welcome Amelie, I have taken the instructions on the card so you may now proceed to remove all your clothing from the waist down. Don't forget to remove your shoes."
She was wearing a smart suit for work as befitted her job, so she first removed her jacket and then her shoes before going further. She was it was ridiculous but she always felt slightly embarrassed undressing, as if the booth could see her and would be interested. She undid her skirt and stepped gracefully out of it, leaving it on the hanger provided. She was wearing hold up stockings and knew there was no need to remove those, so she simply slipped off her knickers and placed them on a hook. Undressed as much as was necessary and feeling extremely calm, she stepped into the inner chamber of the booth and the door to that hissed shut. Now she would be unable to leave until her penance was done.
"I want to do penance." She spoke the words out loud unintentionally. The new advanced computer controlling the booth replied.
"So you shall, Amelie, if you will take your position. The PSP has chosen Level Red for you."
In her new state of mind she was almost disappointed it wasn't Black but obediently she put her feet in the spot indicated and her hands grasped the marked bar that was in front. Several things happened simultaneously - first her feet became encased in something soft and gentle but which made movement impossible; the same thing happened with her wrists leaving her hands free to grip the bar but not move anywhere. A large padded bar moved in front of her tummy and then everything in the booth shifted so that slowly and gently she was bent firmly over the bar until her bottom was ideally placed for a penance punishment.
She heard, more than saw, the paddle come out and then her punishment began. The paddle smacked down hard on her bottom and she knew instantly that it was much harder than anything she had had before. She also knew that at Red it wouldn't be the only instrument. The paddle smacked down harder and faster than she had ever experienced; her new found calmness began to evaporate with the increasing heat of her bottom and she began to panic. Then those words from the calm woman (presumably in a booth right now) came back to her, "Rejoice in whatever the card dictates for you and tomorrow you can strive again to fulfil your aims."
"I do, I rejoice," she cried and relaxed as the paddle smacked down again and again on her bare bottom, turning it into an inferno.
She couldn't help the tears, they were simply her body's reaction to her spanking, but when the paddling ended she was not frightened of what more there was to come. Instead, she savoured the blistering heat from her bottom and wished that she had chosen higher levels before. No more the fear of pain, in future her focus would be on the penance - the greater the fault the higher the level.
She heard the paddle go back into its slot and then a new sound. She didn't know what to expect but the booth's computer kindly explained.
"Amelie, my record shows you have never been at Red before so you will now be receiving the Penitence PLC nine-tailed whip."
"Thank you."
"You are welcome, Amelie Holt, it is my purpose to assist you to self-forgiveness."
There was an odd sound in the booth which was that of the whip swishing through the air, and then it struck. Even in her new state of mind, nothing prepared Amelie for the sheer enormity of the stinging that erupted everywhere across her bottom. Worse still, the tips of each strand seemed to go into every crack, even around her hip. She couldn't help the screech of anguish that came from her mouth. The whip continued to lash down on her, not with great force, but with great effect. Its vicious tips even seemed to find her vagina, to send her to new levels of anguish. Again and again the whip lashed, each time taking her to new levels of pain never before experienced, and then suddenly she broke through into a wonderful place.
Now the pain was there but she welcomed it, she revelled in it. It was a golden place where not just her mistakes at work were being punished, but also all the things she had done but never really had the courage to deal with before. She was whipped and whipped, but felt as if she was floating on a sea of pain and welcomed each new blow.
When it stopped, she was almost disappointed. Although she had been vaguely aware that the computer monitored her vital signs such as blood pressure, she had not actually received any comments before. Then the computer spoke again.
"Amelie, congratulations. My instruments tell me you have entered the true state of penitence. Level Red now requires you to receive the cane."
Amelie found herself crying out with joy at the thought of more, so much so that she did not hear the withdrawal of the whip or the emergence of the cane. Of course, it was not a real cane, but a modern fibreglass type which would deliver a real punishment, although had to be moderated to prevent cutting deeply into the penitent's bottom.
The very first stroke of the cane was agonising. She screamed out with sheer astonishment at how much it hurt and then it struck again and again, but her 'true state of penitence' made her welcome each blow. She had no idea how many she had received, but again she broke through into yet another new place. Now it was not golden but dazzling white.
This time she had no pain or anguish, just rejoicing. She was being punished for everything she had ever done but which had never been found out, everything she had been too timid to be punished for. No matter how many times the cane struck (and she had no idea just how many that was), it was all welcome. She didn't know it but she had entered a state of ecstasy.
She was weeping now, not with pain but joy. She could not recall ever having felt like this in her life, and then it was over. The computer spoke.
"Amelie, your penance is at an end. Do you require assistance to get dressed and leave?"
This was all new to her since she had never gone beyond Mauve before, but she managed to creak out, "No thank you."
She left the booth area - her hair was awry, her face streaked with tears, her clothing disarranged, her walk very odd and her face aglow with her state of sheer joy. Many of those now waiting looked at her in disbelief. She didn't even see them. She remembered nothing of the short walk to her home, but as she went in the front door she muttered out l
oud, "I must thank them tomorrow for my black card."
6. Mistake
I was in the cereals' aisle at the local supermarket, cursing as they had been reorganising yet again and the porridge I usually buy was nowhere to be found, when my mobile warned me of an incoming text. I cursed some more, thinking it was probably my firm who don't seem to think that a day off actually means a day off, but just a day when you might not be in the office. Suddenly, I spotted the porridge, which in 'Alice through the Looking Glass' style seemed high up and out of reach. I clambered on the bottom shelf and reached a pack down and chucked it in my trolley.
One of the downsides of being a young financial advisor is that one is never off duty. At Maitland and Company the partners have a 24/7 attitude. My parents work at the dye works as do my brother and uncle and aunt. My grandparents worked there as did their parents, and when I went to the local primary school, I was the fourth generation of the Pendle family. I think my parents wanted the same for me, to later get married and have kids and send the fifth generation to the school, but my brother is doing all that and after 'A' levels I went straight to Maitland's. Now, at twenty-five, I earn more money than my father and I am not yet at my full earning potential. So although I cursed at the text, I wasn't really complaining, because the busier I was the more I earned.
I opened the text and then everything went still and quiet and there was only me, my mobile and the text message, which my brain simply couldn't process. When I finally got to grips with it, this is what I read:
Ministry of Justice to Pendle, Lucy, Miss, age 25, ID Number 707 843 9137. Charge relating to 00:45 hours 12/04/2027. Drunk & disorderly, insulting behaviour to police officer. Mandatory issue of sentence. Report to Penitence PLC branch 2190 for therapy by 21:00 24/04/2027 latest. Appeals: text to APPEAL 87239
I understood what the message meant right enough but just not why it had been sent. I didn't do drunk and disorderly, much less insulting a cop, and at that time on that Friday, I'd been tucked up in bed sleeping and looking forward to spending the Saturday with my dad and brothers watching Bolton Wanderers play.
The text indicated that they thought I had been halted for being drunk and disorderly, had been rude to a cop, and now I had to go and spend an unpleasant session in one of those penitence booths. The Ministry of Justice hadn't been slow to catch on that with all these Penitence PLC places around, they could close the 'therapy centres' and outsource the various optional, and now mandatory, 'therapies' to the Penitence PLC, who of course were delighted with the business. I had no idea where branch 2190 was, but it would be local. I was worried, of course I was, because those 'therapies' are no joke, and I have never been in trouble. What's more, I was innocent so it was clear a mistake had been made, but how.
In order to get a text-issued sentence, one had to have been stopped by an officer who used his hand held device to scan the barcode on your ID card into the central computer. My ID card has never been scanned by the police, not ever, and I'd been in bed, so it simply wasn't possible. I immediately sent an appeal by text and by the time I got back to my brand new flat (small but mine, or at least mine as long as I paid the mortgage) I had a court appointment.
Later that day I was in the office of Mr Witherspoon, the company solicitor, who made a nasty sucking noise with his teeth when I explained my situation.
"Oh dear, Lucy. Appeal, not a good decision, I do wish you'd come to see me first."
"Why? I'm innocent; I wasn't out but in bed. The hours I work, I don't have any energy over for that kind of behaviour, even if I wanted to."
"Lucy, they simply don't make mistakes."
Now that is the sort of statement that makes me want to commit violence. I had a strong urge to throttle him. You see the implication of it I hope - Lucy was telling porkies... except that I wasn't. Soon, I was getting used to it. I went to the police station and the officer I spoke to looked at his screen.
"No, Miss Pendle, here it is: D & D & IB which is code for..."
"Yeah, I get what it is for but it wasn't me, there is a mistake."
He smiled in a way that made me want to throttle him too. "No mistake, Miss, it is here on the screen."
I kept calm and smiled sweetly. "Do you not have the tiniest scintilla of doubt that the screen could be wrong?"
"No, Miss Pendle, if it is here on my screen it is correct."
The court appeal was much the same, though Mr Witherspoon did his best for me. The general shaft of it was that mistakes don't happen and I was telling lies or, to be charitable, had been so drunk I didn't remember. The magistrate even questioned the Sergeant that had issued it so that the system could be seen to be fair.
"Sergeant, is this the young lady that you issued the penalty to?"
"To be honest, Sir, I can't be sure. By the standards of today it was a busy night and I issued five of those penalty notices..."
There was a collective gasp from the court. Such behaviour was now becoming very rare due to the many extremely sore bottoms that had been handed out.
"I remember the name and I checked the ID card, but I cannot be certain it is her."
It was a fair answer and I looked at him. He was relatively young for a sergeant I thought... about thirty and quite dishy looking. No way would I have insulted him, but what on earth could have happened.
The magistrate was very stern with me. "Miss Pendle, I take the offence of being drunk and disorderly seriously, but add insulting behaviour to a police officer going about his duty and the offence becomes one thoroughly deserving of the now mandated therapy. However, not content with having committed the offence, you have wasted the court's time, and that of Sergeant Benfield, with the ludicrous claim that a mistake has been made. Therefore, under the powers granted to me I hereby double your sentence. A new deadline will be set for you to report to a branch of Penitence PLC and sent by text."
I felt utterly sick and also angry. This was so unfair. I hadn't done it but now I was in for a seriously sore bottom and it would be my first. The road where I was brought up must be rare in Britain now, but everyone down there worked in one of the local factories, some of which were a hundred years old. Generations of the same families stayed in the road; both sets of my grandparents lived within a short walk away, and I had uncles, aunts and cousins all in local streets. Everyone knew each other, and if you started getting up to mischief, someone would step out of their house and shout, "You pack that in or I'll tell your mum." Like as not they'd come and take you home if you were bad enough. The teaching assistants at school and even two of the teachers lived close by, so one way or another, you grew up knowing not to step over any boundaries. It was the sort of place where people are in and out of each other's houses all the time. You'd come in and there would be a neighbour having a brew and gossiping about something or other. A great place for growing up and consequently my parents had never spanked me in my whole life.
While I was telling my parents and brothers what had happened, the text message came with its new deadline. My brothers and I have always scrapped with one another, but if just one of us got into trouble the others would be there in support.
"I have to go by Thursday 1st May," I announced.
"Bloody load of nonsense," shouted my dad. "I don't know what's the matter with this bloody country. All them bloody women running off to them booths getting their backsides walloped. All this bloody punishment. Country's gone bloody mad, I swear it has."
But, of course, in spite of all the talk of battle there was little anyone could do; it is hard to fight the system, and while our street might back Lucy Pendle, the rest of the world would only say, "Serve her right, a bloody good hiding is what she needs."
I left it to the last possible day because I just hoped the mistake would be discovered and that suddenly I'd get a call saying I needn't go. No such luck, though, and my mum went with me to Penitence PLC's branch 2190 which had turned out to be less than a mile away.
As with many of these places, it
was an old shop now with an ultra-smart plain black glass frontage that hid the inside and gold lettering reading, Penitence PLC. Only those going into booths were allowed in the front door so mum gave me a hug and a kiss and went to the café opposite to wait for me. I walked into the reception which was very attractive, but had the ambience of a dentist's waiting room.
I can tell you now there is a rigid social structure among those waiting to go to a booth. The aristocracy are the penitents, those with a gold card who have gone because, daft fools that they are, they feel guilty about something and want their little botties spanked. There are an awful lot of them, it sometimes seems like every woman and a lot of men too. They have their own class structure too, based on how high a level of penitence they were going for, black level being the elite.
Below the gold lot are the black card holders. They are the middle classes because they have been made to go by the company they work for, but they do get some credit because nobody can be made to sign up for a penitence contract.
When you go to reception and hand in a gold card, the gold aristos make a space near them. If it's a black card, someone already sitting in the black card area will give a little nod and the black card holder will sit with them. The gold and black do not talk to each other. Those sent by the Ministry of Justice for therapy do not get a card. No, they have to give their name and ID number; the receptionist sniffs and looks like she is sucking a lemon and the gold and black card holders sniff and do the same, and make sure there are no spaces near them. Look around and there is the group of nervous looking Ministry of Justice folk who with their eyes signal there is a space with them.
