A women has been convicted of a crime. Facing a long prison sentence. She is given an option. She can opt to be whipped. She imagines a brutal whipping of her back, or perhaps her buttocks. The reality is far more grim. The whipping is to be upon her enormous breast and her widely spread open vaginal region. Immediately she declines. After a few months in prison, she realizes that idea of a devastating, debilitating whipping, that will likely leave her with permanent damage to her breasts and vagina, may be preferable to being beaten by other inmates, and other ghastly realities of prison life… 続きを読む

A women was caught drinking and driving, again. Her attorney got the case dropped, but she knew she had a problem. Her entire family felt she needed some extreme consequence for her actions. Her husband told her she needed to be punished. She agreed, but did not know what should happen. The husband made the decision. His friend had a barn in the country. that he could use. He bound her, naked, to the post in the center of the barn, her hands tied high above her head, causing her colossal veiny breasts to be thrust out in humiliating display, the blue veins mapping across the masses of pale sk… 続きを読む

The gravel of the county road crunched under the tires, a sound like grinding bones. I kept my eyes on the passenger window, watching the skeletal branches of winter trees scratch at a bruised evening sky. The silence in the car was a physical thing, a heavy, woolen blanket smothering any hope of speech. Mark’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. In the backseat, my daughters, Chloe and Ella, did not look at me. They hadn’t since we’d left the courthouse. The attorney’s words still echoed in the hollowed-out space where my pride used to be. Case dismissed. Lack of procedural evidence.… 続きを読む

The gravel of the driveway was the last sound of the outside world. It crunched beneath the tires of my husband’s truck, a grim applause for my final arrival. The air in the cab was thick with a silence that had grown over the last week, ever since the phone call from my attorney. Case dismissed. Again. Mark’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. He hadn’t looked at me since we left the city. “They’re already here,” he said, his voice a low, flat stone. He didn’t need to say who. Sarah and Emily. Our daughters. I’d asked for this. We all had. The arrest, the flashing lights, the cold m… 続きを読む

The sun beat down on the cobblestones of the village square, but its heat was nothing compared to the cold dread that had taken root in my bones. The air shimmered with dust and the low, eager murmur of the gathered crowd. I stood near the whipping post, my bare feet gritty on the warm stone, my body exposed for all to see. I was not the one to be punished. Not yet. That was my mother’s fate. I was the lesson. My name is Elara, and I am sevent*en. My mother, Isolde, was one of the three. Her crime? Speaking against the Village Elder’s decree that all surplus grain be given to the garrison, le… 続きを読む

Three naked women, all with enormous breasts, were hung with their backs to a whipping post. Each were convicted of criminal offense, all were to be brutally breast whipped in this village square. The village Elders had decided that, based on previous such whippings, these women would be whipped with 30 lashes to each breasts, ensuring that their breasts would be disassembled by the whipping. If the village Elders did not feel she had her breasts sufficiently destroyed, her eldest daughter, in this case aged 17-22 for this group of women, would be summoned for a similar whipping. If the moth… 続きを読む

Three naked women, all with enormous breasts, were hung with their backs to a whipping post. Each were convicted of criminal offense, all were to be brutally breast whipped in this village square. The village Elders had decided that, based on previous such whippings, these women would be whipped with 30 lashes to each breasts, ensuring that their breasts would be disassembled by the whipping. If the village Elders did not feel she had her breasts sufficiently destroyed, her eldest daughter, in this case aged 17-22 for this group of women, would be summoned for a similar whipping. If the moth… 続きを読む

Three naked women, all with enormous breasts, were hung with their backs to a whipping post. Each were convicted of criminal offense, all were to be brutally breast whipped in this village square. The village Elders had decided that, based on previous such whippings, these women would be whipped with 30 lashes to each breasts, ensuring that their breasts would be disassembled by the whipping. If the village Elders did not feel she had suffered enough, her eldest daughter, in this case aged 17-22 for this group of women, would be summoned for a similar whipping. Some of the women did not unde… 続きを読む

The gavel of my own conscience hit harder than any judge’s ever could. The scent of stale bourbon and polished mahogany lingered in my nose, a sickening cocktail of my failure and my attorney’s success. He’d done it again. Case dismissed. A technicality, a procedural error. A get-out-of-jail-free card I didn't want and didn't deserve. My family’s silence in the car was a heavier sentence than any court could impose. My husband, Mark, gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. In the backseat, our daughters, Chloe and Ella, stared out their respective windows, their postures rigid with a… 続きを読む

The gavel cracked like a dry branch snapping, a sound that should have meant ruin. Instead, it was a dismissal. The case was dropped. My attorney, a man with a reptile’s smile and a grip that left my hand feeling unclean, leaned in. “Lucky break, Eleanor. Again. Don’t press that luck.” Lucky. The word curdled in my stomach, a sour mix of the previous night’s gin and a shame so profound it felt like a physical weight. This was the second time. The second time I’d been swerving down County Line Road, the world a pleasant, blurry hum. The second time the blue lights had shattered that peace. The… 続きを読む

The naked woman is tied with the rope to the ring at the top of the post, her back facing the post, her enormous breasts facing the crowd. She was convicted and sentenced to 30 lashes, to each breast, heavily laid on, with the brutal punishment strap. It was a long heavy and thick length of leather, that would pulverize the breast tissues and glandular structure. The pain would be beyond her ability to imagine. The depth of her agony would test her very survival. The crowd's murmurs swelled into a feverish roar as the naked woman hung from the ring atop the post, her arms stretched high above… 続きを読む

A women was caught drinking and driving, again. Her attorney got the case dropped, but she knew she had a problem. Her entire family felt she needed some extreme consequence for her actions. Her husband told her she needed to be punished. She agreed, but did not know what should happen. The husband made the decision. His friend had a barn in the country. that he could use. He bound her, naked, to the post in the center of the barn, her hands tied high above her head, causing her colossal veiny breasts to be thrust out in humiliating display, the blue veins mapping across the masses of pale sk… 続きを読む

The cold of the metal post seeped into my back, a shocking contrast to the feverish shame burning through me. The rough hemp of the ropes bit into my wrists, suspended high above my head, pulling my shoulders into a strained, unnatural angle. But that was nothing. The true horror was the exposure. The cavernous barn, smelling of old hay and dust, became a courtroom of my own making, and I was the evidence presented against myself. My husband, Richard, stood before me, his face not angry, but grimly resolved. It was that resolve that terrified me more than any flash of temper ever could. Flank… 続きを読む

The taste of cheap gin and the astringent scent of the police station’s industrial cleaner were still a film on my tongue, a ghost in my nostrils. Freedom, of a sort, had been purchased with a retainer large enough to put a daughter through a semester of college. My attorney, a shark in a five-thousand-dollar suit, had slid the paperwork across the polished mahogany of his desk with a smug, reptilian smile. “Dropped,” he’d said, as if it were a magic word. And legally, it was. But in the car ride home, in the crushing silence that emanated from my husband, David, in the rearview mirror, I knew… 続きを読む

The gavel’s crack was the sound of my freedom, but it echoed in the vacuum of my self-respect. My attorney, a shark in a five-thousand-dollar suit, smiled, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “We did it, Claire. Case dismissed. Procedural error.” I didn’t smile back. The weight of the steering wheel in my hands, the blur of streetlights, the sickening lurch of tires on gravel—it was all still there, a film loop playing behind my eyes. This was the second time. The second time I’d put countless lives at risk for the sake of the liquid courage I kept in a crystal decanter. My family had been in the… 続きを読む

The gavel’s crack was a sound that didn’t happen. I heard it in my dreams, a phantom echo of the consequence I’d escaped. In the real, sunlit world of the courthouse, there was only the soft rustle of papers and my attorney’s smooth, satisfied voice. “Case dismissed, Eleanor. Let’s get out of here.” The air outside was too bright, the freedom too light. It felt unearned, a sickening parody of grace. My husband, Mark, stood by the car, his face a mask of granite. He didn’t speak. He simply opened the passenger door and closed it once I was inside, the sound a contained, final thump. Our daught… 続きを読む

The gavel’s crack was a sound that didn’t happen. I heard it in my dreams, a phantom echo of the consequence I’d escaped. In the real, sunlit world of the courthouse, there was only the soft rustle of papers and my attorney’s smooth, satisfied voice. “Case dismissed, Eleanor. Let’s get out of here.” The air outside was too bright, the freedom too light. It felt unearned, a sickening parody of grace. My husband, Mark, stood by the car, his face a mask of granite. He didn’t speak. He simply opened the passenger door and closed it once I was inside, the sound a contained, final thump. Our daught… 続きを読む

.The air in the barn was ancient, thick with the ghosts of dry hay and old manure. It was a smell that belonged to the earth, to things that were simple and honest. There was no honesty in what was about to happen to me. The rough-hewn post against my back was the only real thing, the only anchor in a reality that had dissolved into a nightmare of my own making. This was the consequence. My second DUI hadn’t been a surprise. The first had been a wake-up call I’d slept through, thanks to a good lawyer and a husband who could smooth over anything. But this time, the police report mentioned I’d… 続きを読む

The cold of the steel post seeped into my spine, a stark counterpoint to the fiery shame that roasted me from the inside out. The rough-hewn wood of the rail behind me bit into the backs of my thighs, a constant, grounding misery. My arms were stretched high above my head, wrists bound with coarse rope to an iron ring bolted into the post. The position was a calculated act of architectural cruelty, pulling my entire body taut, every curve and vulnerability presented like a specimen. This was my husband’s design. His solution. A week ago, I’d been in a different cold room, under the sterile f… 続きを読む

The shame was a physical presence in the car, a third passenger between my husband, Mark, and me. It was heavier than the scent of stale gin on my coat, sharper than the memory of the flashing blue lights. The legal system had spit me back out, my attorney’s clever words and expensive smile slicing through the charges like a hot knife through butter. A technicality. A win. But the silence in our BMW was the true verdict. Mark’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. He hadn’t spoken since we left the courthouse. I stared out the window at the passing normality of our suburb—a woman prunin… 続きを読む