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Archive name: Jailbird.txt (mf, tort, asian)
Authors name: Tammy Brewer (masterman5@lazerus.org)
Story title : Honkong jail

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This work is copyrighted to the author (c) 1996.
Please do not remove the author information or make
any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-
commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of
commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration.
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  The young Chinese girl was already strapped down when
Bill Duck entered with Stan Bedleyman, the British
Commonwealth's Chief Prosecutor in Singapore. The matron
grinned at them and gave the girl a further vindictive
tug at the crotch of her drawers. "For goodness
sake," Bill said to the matron, "how many
times do I have to ask for the bench to be set up for
me and the fans to be on? Well?" Deflated, the
matron went out to find the bench for him to stand on.

  The ceiling fan gave a complaining noise and started
to rotate erratically. Bill drew in his breath between
his teeth and glanced meaningfully at the ceiling. He
tapped the heavy leather case containing his canes
against his shoe.

  "All right, Bill, all right." Stan was abashed, but
not to be diverted from their previous topic of conver-
sation. "You know, Bill, it seems like every time I see
you, it's always these young girls that are getting a
good doing-over, but it seems to me they're not really
dangerous at all, you know, they're just stealing things
and being whores and so forth. What we need to deal with
and really deal with, in my opinion, it's the young
Malays."

  "Um," said Bill, eyeing the Chinese girl's spread bum-
cheeks with a professional air.

  "Yes, the Chinese, they're all Communists, every
last one of them, there's no hope there, so what we
ought to do, I mean, what the Crown ought to do, is
show them a jolly good lesson when there's some hope
for them, for reforming them, aren't I right, well?"

  "Bloody Malays, thrash 'em all you like, doesn't make
any difference. Your Chinky now," said Bill, waving to
the straining legs and buttocks that were all that was
visible of the girl strapped to the old vaulting-horse
in the middle of the room, "they really appreciate
a good talking-to."

  "Mm, but I've been wanting to see a young Malay boy
really getting a good hard one, that's what they need,
you know? It's too bad, all I ever see when you're at
work is these silly little girls."

  "What about that Joyce whatsername, then, one that
killed the copper?"

  "Yes, well, I suppose you've got to hang a few now
and then as well as just the canings, but you know it's
not going to make any difference. In the historical
analysis."

  "You want to watch this one?"

  Stan peered at his carbon of the caning execution
order. "Can't quite... Oh, you go ahead Bill, I've no
time for all this." With a flourish and his new American
ball-point pen Stan signed the sheet on the leather of
the vaulting horse, next to the spread buttocks of the
Chinese girl, handed it to Bill, wiped his forehead one
last time and left, waving one hand vaguely.

  Bill and the girl were alone for a moment. He checked
the execution sheet for a moment, and then went around
to the other side of the vaulting horse, bent down and
addressed the red-faced girl. Her long black hair hung
down below her head. Her skirt had been pulled to her
shoulders. "You... you're Betty, right?"

  "Yes, yes sir."

  "Now, we had our little arrangement, didn't we, Betty?"

  "Yes sir, you tell me, I will be OK an' you won't make
me have all bruises..."

  "Yes, Betty, I'm a fair man and you can trust me."

  He held up the form behind her head and read from it.
"...Shall be taken to a place of execution where the
prisoner shall be given 48 blows of the specified
cane..." He had made a slip of the tongue; the form
actually required just eight cuts of the cane.

  Her noisy breathing stopped for a moment.

  "Sir, sir, please, my father never hitting me like
that, be kind, sir, please!"

  Bill put his hand on the back of her head, feeling
the warmth and youth of her, smoothing the long tendrils
of straight black hair. "Don't worry, Betty, I know that
you're a truly sorry little girl, and I'm going to be
very lenient, just like I said." Glancing around himself
in a parody of conspiracy, he insinuated the palm of his
right hand under the crotch of the coarse green prison
drawers and rubbed her pussy, still tender from the
treatment he had dealt out to her the previous evening.

  She yelped. "Oh sir, it still hurting for me!"

  "I know, Betty, that's why I know you're truly very
sorry. And that's why I'm going to be very, very lenient
on these forty-eight strokes. It's going to look very
terrible, but believe me, you'll know that it was all
worth it."

  The clatter of her shoes betrayed the approach of the
warden; hurriedly Bill rearranged Betty's drawers in the
achingly-tight state the matron had left them, the cheap
material drawn into Betty's helpless slit.

  "Here you are sir," said the matron, as the two Malay-
an bearers struggled to locate the heavy wooden stand in
front of the victim. One of the Malays seemed very
interested in the proceedings, but the other glared at
him, and tugged him away; they left hand-in-hand. "Well,
how many is it today, sir?"

  "Forty-eight, and good hard ones too, I'm afraid; I
rather had some bother with this arm in the rugger match
the other day."

  "Dear dear. You know, you always seem to get the big
numbers, Mr.Duck; old Mr.McMountcy never seems to have
more than a sixer."

  "Poor old Mac, they probably think they have to go
easy on him."

  Bill stepped up onto the bench, which was arranged to
let him stand at the perfect height for the caning, and
checked the straps were tight. Finishing with a good
feel of Betty's inner thighs, he grinned at the matron.

  She twinkled back at him. "I think she'll remember
today the next time she wants to get in trouble, eh Mr.
Duck!" Bill took one of his canes out of the case and
handed the case to the matron.

  "Don't mind do you, old girl?"

  "Oh no, Mr. Duck, my pleasure."

  Taking a good aim, Bill laid the cane as hard as he
could across the backs of Betty's thighs, just below
the buttocks. As usual, there was only a slight
strangled noise from the victim for a second, and then
a long-drawn-out groan of amazement and pain. Bill
smiled at the matron again, who went around to talk to
Betty.

  "Betty, Betty, my darling girl, you want to be more
careful, you do. You're s'posed to be blooming counting,
aren't you? Din't they tell you then?"

  "Um, um, no, lady, sorry, sorry!"

  "And you're going to say thank you, aren't you, like a
good littlegirl?"

  "Yes, Mrs. Bailey, yes please!"

  Taking his cue, Bill gave her another cut, just as
close to the first as he could manage. This time, Betty
managed to catch her breath quickly and yelped "Two,
sir, thank you, sir!"

  "Oh dear oh dear," said the matron, "oh dear oh dear."

  She bent down again and addressed Betty very quietly
and close to her ear. "You're not very clever, are you?
Clever girl like you should know that it doesn't count
when you don't say thank you properly, does it? So
you're not thinking like a good little girl, are you?
What are you?"

  "Ah, ahhh, I'm a good little girl, Mrs. Bailey, please!"

  "So you know what to do now, eh?"

  "Yes, please, Mrs. Bailey." Betty's buttocks writhed
for a moment, and then seemed to become resigned to
their fate. Bill's cane descended again, cutting into
the livid red mark that was rising from the first two
blows.

  "One, sir, thank you, sir..." It was clear that she
needed a lot of effort to say it. Her thighs squeaked a
little against the leather of the vaulting horse; they
were suddenly damp with sweat. Her white socks were
still tight and high on her calves. Bill held the cane
high, savoring the moment, much as he had enjoyed him-
self with Betty the previous evening.

  Mrs. Bailey had taken her in to see the punishment
room, as the judiciary took the view that the punishment
they imposed would be all the more effective with more
detailed anticipation. As usual, Bill was waiting to
take over her lesson. Mrs. Bailey, already a little
unsteady at four p.m., had returned to her office.

  "So you understand, um, Betty, that there will be
considerable marks afterwards." She stood facing him,
her head hung low, her shoulders hunched, her features
taut with sobbing. "Some people find these marks quite
unattractive, and they're really rather distinctive,
too; any man would recognize them and know what a common
little jailbird you are. I hope you aren't thinking of
getting married at all..." Betty burst into a further
flood of tears. "I believe most honest men, if they got
married and found out on their wedding night that their
lovely bride was a rotten little crook, well they would
just run and get divorced, wouldn't they? I suppose you
might be able to find some sort of pimp who'd take you
on, but then you'd have bruises every day till the day
you died."

  "Sir, sir," Betty begged, and tentatively held out a
hand towards him, not daring to look in his eyes. "This
is very terrible for me. I am really a good girl, sir!
I only was working at the hotel where the communists
were, I didn't know about them!"

  "You know very well it was your duty to let the
police know right away. You are a very wicked girl and I
shall take great pleasure in punishing you", he said
honestly. "However..." He let the pause lengthen, and
put a hand on her shoulder.

  "Perhaps I should let you have another chance. After
all, if you can't find a good man, you'll be lost to a
life of crime."

  She peeked up at him. "Please, sir, do you say that
you will not do the caning?"

  "No, no, I have to do the caning, of course. People
have to observe the caning and make sure that it's
carried out. But what I can do is I can cane you much
more gently, so that the marks will be gone in a week,
instead of lasting forever."

  Betty fell to her knees in front of him, clasping his
hand and kissing it. "Thank you sir, thank you!"

  "Now wait a minute, Betty. I didn't say you don't
deserve a full punishment, did I?&" Bill looked down his
prosperous belly at the tear-stained face of the pretty
Chinese girl. "What I can do, though, is, I can punish
you hard, in a lot of ways that don't leave any marks,
before tomorrow. And you have to be truly very sorry,
and you have to be a very good girl."

  She seemed to get his drift. "Sir, I... I can't let
you..."

  He was stern. He grasped her face and pulled it up
so that he was looking right in her eyes. "Betty, I hope
you realize what a big favor I'm doing you. This won't
take long and it'll let you find a good honest husband.
Otherwise..."

  Betty closed her eyes and whispered, "Yes, sir."

  He took her to his office at the jail, past the amused
warders and the catcalling prisoners. Opposite the desk
there was a decrepit leather settee. He motioned Betty
in and she stood in front of the settee.

  He locked the door and studied her. Despite the crude
and unflattering prison uniform she was perfectly
formed. She had taken off her glasses when she started
crying, so he could clearly see her downcast eyes. Her
pale yellow flesh was young and firm. She held her arms
stiffly at her sides. Her little breasts were almost
invisible. The cheap white socks had fallen low on her
shapely calves.

  "Take off your skirt, Betty." After a second of
delicious hesitation, she complied, opening the metal
buckle at her waist and allowing the cotton belt to
slide open. The skirt hung at her hips for a moment and
then collapsed around her ankles.

  The stiff cotton shirt did not fully conceal the
green prison drawers. Betty held her hands awkwardly a
little in front of her hips, apparently caught between
trying to impede his view of the parting between her
thighs and the certain knowledge that Bill was insisting
on exactly that. Bill moved a little to the side to
study Betty's bare hip, and then moved to the rear to
see how the drawers clung to the rounds of her buttocks.
"Now your drawers, Betty."

  She started to hook her fingers in the elastic at
the waist, and then realized, the skirt was still about
her ankles, and quickly kicked it away. Hurriedly, she
bent over, pushing the drawers to the ground, and then
stepping out of them. With pleasure, Bill observed the
tensing and stretching of the buttocks; but with some
annoyance, Bill observed that Betty had disobeyed the
prison rules and worn non-regulation panties under the
drawers. "Betty! What's that you're wearing?"

  "Sir, the drawers, they hurt me when I walk an' when
I sit down, an' other girls said they all do it..."

  "Give them to me right now!" Again the hurried dip to
her ankles. She looked away from him as she held the
garment out to him. He snatched them from her. He could
feel their warmth from her body. "Actually, I sup-
pose these'll be good for something... Open your mouth."

  Doubtfully, she separated her lips, but he easily
forced her mouth open wide to take the panties.

  She was a little unsteady as he pushed her forward
onto one arm of the settee. Bent over as she was, the
shirttails did not conceal her sweet little cleft at
all. For a moment she tried to arch her back to hide her
pussy, but he slapped the small of her back hard and she
knew that she had to pose with her tummy low. Her legs
were awkwardly spread across the arm of the settee.

  Bill saw his chance to philosophize. "You know,
Betty, I think it's rather a pity that you girls are
sentenced to get the cane. You see, it's really just a
thing for boys and little girls, because for them the
bottom's the only thing you can punish hard, very hard,
and not do any real harm at all. But women, a good
grown-up woman like you, you walk around with the most
perfect instrument of correction between your legs."
Suiting the action to the word, he reached to her parted
slit and expertly grasped an inner pussy-lip between his
thumb and forefinger. Betty gave out a very sharp breath
through her nose. As he spoke, he kept tugging at it,
and occasionally teasing it between his fingernails. For
variety he teased her light, close-curled growth of very
black pubic hair.

  "Yes, I've had a great deal of experience with women,
and I can assure you that a woman is just as repentant
after a little interlude of hard work between her legs,
as she ever is after a caning. In fact, more so, some-
times."  Betty twitched violently, but managed to keep
her smooth young buttocks spread and presented for his
whimsical probing. "And generally they thank me for it,
for the excellent preparation it gives them for how to
behave properly. Many's the girl who's found a good job
once I've gotten her used to a little hard work; it
doesn't matter whether she has to suffer between her
legs or between 9 and 5 -- oh, did that catch you rather
sharp?"  Betty allowed herself no more than a long des-
pairing sniffle. Consolingly Bill gave a quick spank
between the legs. His large hand curved neatly around
the tiny belly, and he felt a sharp sting on the palm of
his hand as it contacted the swollen, already-bruised
lips of Betty's pussy. Surprisingly enough, neither the
sting, nor the groans escaping Betty's panty gag, nor
the increasing difficulty of landing an accurate blow
as Betty grew more and more frantic dissuaded him from
continuing to spank her in this manner for five more
minutes of stern rectitude.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy.  The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
any way shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of
the scenarios in this story;  should seriously consider
seeking professional help.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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