Next, the executioner came in with his tools--three canes dripping wet, a cat of nine tails and a leather strap. He was wearing shorts and no shirt--his body not at all restricted in clothing that would reduce the force with which he would inflict pain on my body. He swung the canes--each one a couple of times allowing me to hear the hissing through the air--it was enough to send chills up my spine. Then he got into position behind me and to the left and told me exactly how the punishment would be done.
"First, I am going to cane you for the first offence. I will allow you about thirty seconds between strokes." All I could do was nod. "The guards will keep count." I nodded again, testing the strength of my restraints.
He then softly positioned the cold, wet four foot long cane on my bottom, setting it so that it was completely across the left cheek and a little over half of the right cheek, the tip falling just right of center. My breathing picked up as I knew that it was about time to pay for my crimes--I then felt him lift the cane, and then with a hiss it came back down hard--feeling like it was splitting into my stretched hide.
"AAAAAGGGHHHH! Please, No More! I've learned my lesson! WAAAHHHHHHH!" I couldn't help but to cry like a fourteen year old getting a bare bottom belting.
I twitched my bottom back and forth to try to fan the flames left by my first stroke with a cane--and then the second fell and I tried to buck--unable to scream because it knocked the breath out of me. I kept silently pleading to God that it stop--but the beating continued.
Finally, after about the first twenty five strokes, the nerves in my bottom were shutting down, allowing me to take my punishment without the great pain that had come at the beginning, though the strokes were still doing what had to be done to my hide. The bottom was throbbing and I was doing some hard crying as we reached fifty.
The executioner then allowed the guards to cover my cheeks with a cool wet towel as I lay there continuing to cry for five minutes. Then, the executioner was back with a new cane--also soaked and the damp and now bloody towel was removed--again presenting my buttocks for punishment. This time, the executioner stood behind me and to the right.
"OK, Now, I am going to concentrate on laying the tip on your left cheek," he informed me as he positioned the cane, then drawing it back, and striking the already destroyed criminal bottom, I began to pay for the second count of forgery. I screamed in pain and pleaded and pledged perfect behavior--all to no avail. I had to get the full dose of my medicine.
Finally, He was finished with my bottom, and again, I was allowed to rest for five minutes, my bottom again being soothed with the wet towel.
Next, the cat was brought out and striped my back--and it was now an hour and a half since my body had been positioned for punishment, and the guards were then told to release my wrists and neck and back--allowing me to slowly and painfully stand up straight. My wrists were then secured to the cross bar of the horse and the leather strap came out and was laid across my bare thighs twenty times.
I was then released from the horse and taken back to the cell in the basement where I would spend the night--sleeping naked and face down on a cot--reaching back and feeling the heat of my now scabbed bottom--having to touch it gingerly to avoid yelping out in pain. I didn't sleep well that night, but I did have a certain satisfaction at having been quite severely punished for my crimes.
The next morning, I was released by the commitee, but before leaving, I was permitted to look in a bathroom mirror at what had been done to my bottom. It was a horrible but deserved sight. The cheeks were swollen and covered with welts as well as deep bruises--not to mention scabbed over areas where the skin had split and blood blisters ready to open if encouraged. My back and thighs also had red stripes from the whippings that they had received.
I ended up spending three days lying on my stomach as my punishment healed--dreading the trips that I would have to take to the bathroom and sit on the hard wooden toilet seat--trying to just squat instead of actually sitting. It was miserable--but given the choice of five to ten years in prison and another horrible beating, I would probably take the beating again. I just hope that I never have to make that choice again.