Justice, Post-Apocalypse

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Justice, Post-Apocalypse

The apocalypse wasn't all that bad. At least, not once folks got used to that terrible smell that drifted 100 miles downwind from the dead ruins of our cities. In fact, life returned to almost-normal once our men formed up into militias, which then worked to either eliminate or recruit the desperate bandits that infested Justice county. Eventually my family even moved out of the impromptu fort that local farm families had banded together to build, in favor of our old farm house. Of course, I was only five when the apocalypse happened, so my memories might lack accuracy.

You all know the history, so I won't repeat it. You know about the virulent virus that spread from city to city in a matter of days. The doctors and nurses died off first, followed by millions of city-dwellers. Only isolated communities like ours survived. Immediately, all money-based wealth disappeared. Food became the new currency. Fortunately, we are a farming community.

So now, thirty years post-apocalypse, that “impromptu fort” is now the town of Fort Justice, which has swelled to slightly over 5000 citizens. Although our militia is still responsible for defense, law and order inside the town is now enforced by the Sheriff's office.

Did I mention that I'm the Sheriff of Fort Justice? Tom Brampton at your service!

Part armed camp, part mini-metropolis, and part frontier town, Fort Justice can be a rough place. We have several rich families, and many poor ones. It's tough to be poor here because there is no “social safety net”. No pun intended, but I'm in charge of dealing out justice here. We have a judge of sorts, but he seldom bothers holding court. He visits petty criminals at my jail and declares them guilty on the spot.

Most petty crimes are punished with public whippings in the town square; ladies on Thursdays, men on Fridays. For more serious crimes, we have more serious punishments: Don't ask!

For repeat offenders of minor crimes we have a “three strikes” policy. Three strikes gets you banished from town. It's still a rough world outside, so banishment can mean death.

We get few repeat offenders.

Still, Fort Justice is a lively place so it's seldom that we have a “punishment day” without someone to punish. There's little entertainment here, so punishments in the town square are well attended.

This week is typical. We have two prisoners in each side of the jail. The two guys in the male side are so typical that they bear little discussion. They were involved in a saloon fight that wrecked the place. Now, apparently friends, they are sober and incarcerated together. They will be punished in the town square at noon Friday.

The residents of the female side of the jail are more interesting.

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Carol Simmons was arrested last Friday morning. She is actually a sad case. Like I said, Fort Justice can be a rough place. For one thing, we only have one doctor who even remotely deserves the title, and no hospital. A few years ago, a fever epidemic wiped out nearly fifty residents, including Carol's parents. Carol was at a delicate age at the time, too old for adoption, yet not ready to survive alone. So the poor girl has existed on the edges of society, working in the fields when possible, and half starving when not.

Late last Thursday night, Carol was caught breaking into a warehouse to steal food. I suspect that she only did it out of desperation, and that she chose Thursday night because if she got caught she would eat and sleep in the jail all week before she was punished and turned out again.

I feel sorry for Carol, and will see that she eats well and is properly cared for until punishment day. But I'm not so sorry for her that I will shrink from whipping her bare ass in the town square next Thursday!

Friday morning, right after she had her ten seconds in front of our bleary old judge to be declared guilty, I put my wife on the job. With a guard, she took Carol out behind the jail for a proper bath. Carol shucked her nasty clothes and washed herself from a bucket of hot water. Then, after dumping several more buckets of water over Carol, my wife trimmed and deloused her hair. Her lower patch of hair was made hygienic by simply shaving it off, which will please her audience on Punishment Day.

Finally, we issued Carol a prison shift and locked her up. We boiled her dress to simultaneously wash it and kill any vermin, and then returned it to her cell along with sewing materials so she could patch it. Now she has something decent to wear after her punishment.

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Our second female prisoner arrived late Tuesday, and she was like no prisoner before her. Madame Forester is married to one of the richest men in town. This shows you how quickly things are changing here in Fort Justice. Our new set of laws applies to everyone... or at least, almost everyone. We also have taxes and a tax collector. Most of the taxes go towards feeding the militia, but some also supports me and my deputies, and finances the basic trappings of government.

Madame Forester was caught trying to cheat the tax collector. This was our first real test of our new laws. Never before had any member of Fort Justice's upper crust entered my jail. I expected a fight, but actually her husband, the richest merchant in town, gave her up easily. I suspect that Bill Forester was actually relieved that he hadn't been implicated himself. Also, perhaps there was something else… Dare I say that perhaps part of him actually lusted to see his wife spanked and birched naked in front of a crowd?

With the Madame, bathing and delousing wasn't necessary, so she kept her hair. Although she had exchanged her expensive clothes for a prison shift, we allowed the great lady a few luxuries in jail. As long as she paid for them herself! For one, she ate no prison food. Instead, her cook brought her meals from her own kitchen. After the first day, at Madame Forester's suggestion, the cook even brought extra for Carol. Carol had been satisfied with prison food because it came regularly and was edible, but was ecstatic with the rich fare from the Forester kitchen.

Wednesday, the day before their punishment, we put leg irons on the ladies and escorted them to a certain hedge in the town commons. There they each cut twigs to my specifications. That afternoon my wife held sort of a craft class in the cell, where she showed the ladies how to make the rods that will bruise their own bare bottoms tomorrow.

On punishment day, their breakfasts came as usual. Knowing the routine, the ladies tried to linger over their repast, but I would have none of it.

There is no privacy in my jail. The cell bars are strong, but windows ring the building so that you can easily peer into the cells from the street. The sole concession to privacy is a central wall that veils the male and female prisoners from each others sight. This openness actually protects the prisoners because nothing can happen secretly in those cells. Even at night, they remain lit. So even though I can't always be present, no prisoner has made an assault allegation against my deputies.

The prisoners regret their lack of privacy, especially during sponge bath time and when using the slop bucket. But today is worse because the moment they finished their breakfast, I required them to doff their clothing and pass everything through the bars. (Tomorrow, the same would be required of the male prisoners)

I had seen Carol nude during her initial bath, but this is the first time I had seen the two nude together. Several days of good eating had made Carol's ribs less prominent, but she was still lean. Still, with the resilience of youth, she looked surprisingly appealing now that she had been cleaned up and fed.

Madame Forester's body also surprised me. As befits her social position, she had always dressed in a matronly fashion, but now I saw how well preserved her middle-aged body had remained. Oh yes, she had a wider bottom than Carol, but her breasts still defied gravity and she still had a figure that would make any man sit up and take notice. And today, many would!

Both ladies had seen Punishment Day countless times in the past, so they knew the punishment procedure. But still, I reviewed the basics with them, especially what happens should they not cooperate.

I actually wasn't concerned about their cooperation. Carol would cooperate because she was frightened to do anything different. Madame Forester would cooperate from stubborn pride. Either way works for me.

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At twenty minutes until noon, I handed Carol an old pot and a wooden spoon. Madame Forester would carry the four birches. With two deputies in attendance, I opened the cell doors and gravely instructed the two naked ladies to follow me. Once outside, I ordered Carol to “beat her drum”.

We made a strange and loud procession, but one familiar to every town resident. As usual, I led, with the two naked ladies behind me. Two deputies took up the rear. Looking behind me, I saw a nervous and tearful Carol, who was dutifully banging the wooden spoon on the pot, and Madame Forester, who somehow managed to look regal even as a naked prisoner walking towards her public whipping.

As usual, we didn't troop directly to the village square. Instead, we circled randomly through the streets, the spectacle and noise of our procession attracting townsfolk like a Pied Piper. I timed it well, arriving at the village square at the stroke of noon. The five of us climbed a short staircase to a raised platform in the village square. The townsfolk gathered around the platform, their mood festive and expectant.

On the platform were a sturdy old chair and a padded horse. I directed the prisoners to the front of the platform. Obedient to my earlier instructions, they struck the “parade rest” pose; legs apart, hands behind backs.

Although both of the prisoners were comely females, the contrast between them was interesting. Carol was thin, flat bellied and with small but firm breasts, yet had the curves and perfect skin that went with her age. Her final bit of modesty was stolen by her shaved sex.

Madame Forester's thatch obscured that personal place that belonged only to her husband, but everything else was open for the crowd to see. And it was certainly worth looking at! She held her head high, accentuating her long neck and her largish but perky breasts. Her belly bulged only slightly, and her hips swelled perfectly, making her waist seem smaller that it really was. Her thighs were meaty, yet well formed.

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Knowing that this crowd hated speeches, I quickly detailed the prisoner's offenses. Normally I would have left it there, but I had a little political duty to perform. I added that Madame Forester had expressed regret for her crime, had been a model prisoner, and was willingly and bravely facing her punishment. “Therefore” I concluded, “Once her punishment is over, she will again be worthy of your respect, just as before.” The lady gave me a grateful look.

I wondered how much she would thank me after I was done whipping her bare ass.

I had decided to grant Carol a tiny compassion, she would go first. So I ordered her to approach the chair.

To my right, near the platform stairs, was a gaggle of young men. They looked up at me hopefully, each trying to catch my eye.

This is a sort of rite-of-passage for Fort Justice boys. I always choose one of them for each woman. So I would select two today. Their job would be to deliver a rousing warmup spanking! So this could be a boy's first chance to actually touch and spank a naked adult female. Although spankings always continue until the prisoner is bawling and squalling, there are few hard feelings towards the spanker. Nobody wants to endure a whipping with an unprepared bottom!

As I looked at the boys, I saw one who was watching Carol with a worshipful expression. I also noticed that Carol was looking straight back at him, making eye contact. It was the town blacksmith's son, a sturdy young fellow whom I hadn't chosen before. Deciding to play Cupid, I summoned him. His friends cheered him as he climbed the stairs.

Since this was his first time, I had a few quiet words with him. I explained that he would do the girl no favors by going easy on her. After explaining that he should spank her briskly until her bottom and thighs were bright red, and that the spanking must continue until I gave the word, I led the nervous boy to the chair. Surely the crowd could see the tent in his pants!

He sat. Like a bug drawn to light, (a very sad bug) Carol went to him. The boy gaped at the close-up view of her shaved groin. At a quiet word from me, the tearful girl laid across his lap.

This was obviously the first spanking the boy had ever given, but the process was no mystery to him. First, he had watched countless Punishment Days over his life. Also, if his parents were typical for our town, he would have received many spankings at home.

The spanking started unevenly, but the boy quickly picked up the rhythm. Soon enough, Carol's sobs and squirms offered the boy positive reinforcement. So he spanked with increased confidence.

I watched, expecting a certain reaction from the unsophisticated boy. Carol's urgent horizontal lap-dance would have stimulated any male, but it over-stimulated this pimply hormone-filled boy. Seeing his eyes turn glassy, hearing his grunt, and noticing the pause in the spanking, I didn't wish to picture the happenings in his pants.

At a firm word from me, the boy blushed, but again picked up the pace. Poor Carol didn't seem to even notice the pause. Naturally, the chair had been strategically positioned so that Carol's fast-reddening bottom faced the audience. Her legs were quite mobile now, but because of her lean bottom and “thigh gap”, her intimate bits had been exposed from the moment she had bent over.

The males in the crowd watched open-mouthed.

In my supervisory role, I pointed out spots on Carol's roiling bottom that needed more attention, and signaled the boy to pick up the pace. Soon Carol was screeching and bucking through the final moments of her “warm-up” spanking.

I helped Carol up, and then handed her off to a Deputy. As I dismissed the boy, I noticed that his former tent had been replaced by a wet spot, confirming my suspicions. As he left the platform, he held his arms high like a prizefighter. His friends cheered.

Now it was time to choose Madame Forester's spanker. Suddenly the boys weren't so eager. I guessed that it wasn't her age holding them back, but likely fear. Mr. Forester helped. From the audience he spoke loudly, “It's OK boys. Somebody must prepare my wife for her whipping. No harm will come to you. Just do a good job.” Even the Madame herself nodded her agreement.

So I chose a sturdy lad. He came hesitantly, egged on by cheers from his compatriots. Despite earlier assurances, the boy's face betrayed trepidation as he took the chair. The Madame spoke in a low voice, “It's OK son. I need someone to prepare me for my whipping. Ignore my caterwauling, and just do your duty.” Reassured, the boy nodded.

As Madame Forester laid across the boy's lap to accept the first spanks to her bare bottom, my deputies were strapping Carol onto the horse. Carol was sobbing loudly, crying both from her stinging bottom and from fear of what was next.

In the meantime, it was my duty to supervise the Madame's spanking. Although not fat, her posterior presented more spankable area than Carol's had. Fortunately, this boy had been chosen before, so he needed less supervision than his predecessor. Madame Forester lacked Carol's thigh gap, and at first she kept her knees tightly together to hide her most intimate places, but this lad was strong enough to soon make her forget such niceties.

When her legs finally kicked frantically and then splayed open. I was close enough to notice something that the audience probably missed. The Madame was aroused! I wondered if she would still be damp when her turn came to bend over the horse. I would soon know!

I have never seen a prisoner, male or female, take a hard spanking quietly and calmly. Some try, especially the men, but it's simply against human nature to ignore severe pain. The Madame was certainly no exception. Except for being a bit longer, this spanking was a near carbon copy of Carol's. So I won't dwell on descriptions. Suffice to say that I had chosen a good spanker.

Finally I allowed a very red-bottomed Madame Forester up. As she danced and sobbed, the boy retreated, accompanied by the usual ribald cheers. Preceded by a noticeable projection at his groin, he descended the steps. There he was met by Bill Forester, who shook his hand and slipped him a coin.

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Now my turn came to star in the show. The crowd quieted as I picked up a birch and advanced on Carol. Her wrists and ankles had been fastened to the legs of the horse, her ankles far apart, her bottom presented perfectly.

“We don't allow thievery in Fort Justice,” I intoned for the benefit of the entire crowd. Then I raised the birch high and brought it down hard to the center of the target. My first blows are always the hardest. Poor Carol screeched and fought against her bonds as I gave her several more bruisers. And then, remembering that Carol had little padding, I reduced the force of my blows, but continued the whipping.

Soon the birch felt lighter as it lost twigs. Most of the twigs were laying at Carol's feet, but a few decorated her lean bottom. I picked up another birch and grimly continued my work. Having delivered those first few bruisers, I confined myself to blows hard enough to sting, but not to injure. Judging from the volume of her screeches and the violence of her struggles, she hadn't noticed my kindness.

The whole time, a red-bottomed and tearful Madame Forester could only watch the show, knowing that she was next. One deputy stayed near her, ensuring that she didn't touch her bottom or otherwise misbehave.

Finally I finished Carol's whipping. By now her bottom was livid, and would carry bruises for several days. I helped untie her, and helped her off the horse. Hurting and distraught, she sank to her knees. Ignoring her, I summoned Madame Forester to the horse. She came more willingly than I expected.

A deputy fastened the madame's wrists to the horse, whilst I did her ankles. Doing so naturally exposed her most private charms to the crowd. As I worked, I ended up with my face nearly in her bare rump, and couldn't fail to notice that the lady was still aroused. As if to prove it, she hunched herself against the padded rail of the horse.

I was there to mete out punishment, not pleasure, so the whipping that I subsequently gave the lady was considerably worse than what I had given Carol. Her reaction was similar to Carol's, struggling at her bindings, futilely straining to move her ass away from my target zone, and screeching impressively. But there was one big difference. By prior arrangement, I used only one birch, flaying the Madame's bottom with it until it was useless. So one unused birch remained. We had plans for it!

As I had been whipping his wife, Bill Forester climbed to the platform and observed the drama with proprietary interest. When I had finally finished with that first birch, I tossed the nub to the crowd, picked up the last one, and then ceremoniously handed it to Mr. Forester.

The Madame stopped her squalling long enough to look back at her husband with wide eyes. The look on her face expressed a mixture of emotions; fear, love, surprise, lust, shame. She groaned and then looked away.

Mr. Forester spoke loudly, “The Forester name will not be besmirched. This must never happen again, do you understand dear?”

From the far side of the horse came his answer, given in a choked feminine voice. “Yes sir, I'm sorry sir.”

Then Madame Forester absorbed her second whipping of the day. As he worked, his face was unreadable to me, but I detected no anger. Honestly, I still don't know what emotions passed between the couple as Mr. Forester did his husbandly duty, but the blows he was delivering were unmistakably real. When he finished, the crowd applauded. In the eyes of the Fort Justice populace, justice had been done. Therefore the Forester name had been restored.

That suited me. That's the way things are supposed to work, but seldom do.

I untied one of the lady's legs whilst Mr. Forester tenderly dealt with the other. On the other side of the horse, a deputy quickly released her wrists. By now Carol was somewhat recovered and on her feet. I'm sure that Mr. Forester had intended that job for himself, but Carol stepped forward quickly to help the Madame up. As I and Mr. Forester watched awkwardly, the two naked women embraced for one last cry.

Their embrace wasn't sexual, but they clearly had become friends. Anxious to finish my duties, I cleared my throat. Finally the two women broke their embrace. Then, ignoring me, the Madame embraced her husband. This embrace was unmistakably sexual! For the moment at least, I had lost control. But that's OK, because the crowd obviously enjoyed the drama. So I waited patiently. Finally Mr. Forester remembered me. He gently pushed his naked, red-bottomed wife to arms-length before looking at me questioningly.

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We still had the retreat march to do, so I asked Mr. Forester to pick up his wife at the jail in twenty minutes or so. The tent in his pants testified that he would have preferred to take her straight home (and likely, straight to bed) but he amicably agreed.

So we formed up again. With me in the lead, and the two naked ladies behind me, we walked down the little staircase and towards the jail. The ladies had the mincing stride of the newly spanked. The townsfolk lined both sides of our path to get one last closeup view of the two teary-eyed, still-naked women and their punished bottoms. With no further need to prolong matters, we took a direct path to the jail.

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Behind us, the townsfolk dispersed. Most would return tomorrow at noon to watch me punish the male prisoners. As I said, there isn't much entertainment in Fort Justice. The procedure for whipping the males is identical to that of the females, except for two details. First, I select between the town's washerwomen to deliver the warmup spankings. Those gals are strong, callus-palmed, and totally unafraid. I have never seen any man suffer one of their spankings stoically.

The other difference is that I substitute a stout leather strap for the birches. For the men, it is simpler and more effective. I have few return customers.

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On arrival at the jail, the punishments were officially over. Madame Forester's staff had laid out clothing for her. Unsurprisingly, they had also supplied clothing for Carol.

So what was the outcome? Years later, Carol told me that her Punishment Day was the best day of her life! No, she had hated the punishment itself. The good part happened later. Madame Forester took Carol on as a member of her staff. Carol would never miss another meal! When she was off work, the blacksmith's son, the same boy who had spanked her in the town square, visited Carol regularly. In due time, Carol became a blacksmith's wife and eventually became one of the great ladies of the town.

As for Madame Forester, I heard that she and her husband disappeared into their bedroom and were seldom seen for days after her punishment. I don't know what they did all that time, but I can make an educated guess! A few months later the Madame was obviously pregnant. More than ever before, when I saw Mr. and Mrs. Forester together, they looked happy and in love.

Several times over the following years, I saw the Madame quietly collecting twigs at that same hedge in the town commons. Since she wasn't known to birch her staff, I can only assume that the birches were for her husband to use on her own bottom.

So that’s how justice is dispensed in the small town of Fort Justice. Eventually, we will become more civilized, but perhaps less efficient. Inevitably, our cheap and quick summary justice will be replaced by a system of courts, lawyers and prisons just as it was before the apocalypse. Then the twice-weekly punishment/entertainment sessions in the town square will be history.

But will Fort Justice really be better off?

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