Emma's Sentence

Emma had just gotten out of the shower. Excited for her date tonight, she was wrapped in a plush, green robe standing at the bathroom mirror. The hair dryer roared as she ran her brush through her thick mane of curly, red hair.

She thought about Sam, who was meeting her for pizza and beer at one of the restaurants near campus. She had met him in Biology I last semester and they had spent months laughing at each other's jokes. When they returned from winter break, he asked her out the first time he saw her. "He got so brave over break," she laughed to herself. "He definitely has potential."

Her hair dry, she moved on to her makeup for the night. Her face was pale but covered in freckles. Really, her face, neck, shoulders and arms were all covered with orange and brown spots that almost matched her hair. Her makeup lightened them some, but she never bothered to cover them completely. They were what made her unique. After evening out her complexion she completed her look with light, pink lipstick.

She moved into her bedroom to get dressed for the night. She decided not to wear anything too sexy tonight, she didn't want to look too desperate. She put on a pair of black panties and a matching, lacy push-up bra. There wasn't much to push up. Her breasts never got much bigger than AA, so she liked push-up bras on the first date. She slipped into a blue and white striped dress. It was high necked but fell well above her knee, showing off her long legs. She pulled on nude-colored tights and picked out a pair of navy flats. She was nearly six feet tall, so she almost never wore heels. She'd learned that men's egos are easily bruised.

As Emma turned her attention to her jewelry, there was a loud knock at the apartment door. When she answered, there was a middle-aged man in a khaki uniform.

"Hello, are you Miss Emma Walcott?"

Confused, Emma responded, "Um, yes."

"You've been served," he stated, pressing a thick manila envelope into her hands.

"What does that mean?"

Already on his way out, he turned over his shoulder to say, "I don't know what's in the envelope, miss."

Closing the door behind her she looked at the envelope, it was addressed to her with a red stamp that read NOTICE IMPORTANT. She opened the clasp, inside there was a large stack of papers stapled together. The first sheet had a color picture of her driving through an intersection with the number 57 in blocky red script in one corner.

"Damn one of those stupid traffic cameras caught me."

She rolled her eyes. "That was stupid, Em." Angry at herself she decided to worry about this later and threw the papers onto her kitchen table. It was just going to be a waste of money, and she had a date to get to.

***

An hour later, Emma had trekked from her apartment to the restaurant to meet Sam. He was already there sitting at one of the high tables near the bar. When she approached, he got up and they exchanged an awkward hug.

Sam was just a bit taller than her with light brown hair and a cute face. Emma had always found him charming in class. Now she took him in more closely, he cleaned up nicely in a subdued green sweater and nice jeans. His warm smile and broad shoulders made him her type.

They sat down and made the normal, awkward small talk wandering through topics from class to hobbies. Emma's excitement for the evening had been ruined by receiving her ticket but she really liked Sam, so she tried to act like she was in a good mood.

Now on their second beer, conversation was becoming looser. Sam has obviously noticed her mood, "I'm having a really good time with you tonight, are you?"

Emma could have lied. She wanted tonight to go well, and it probably would be safer just to say she was having a good time, but she liked Sam enough to be honest. "Yeah, I'm fine, but I got a traffic ticket delivered to my house before I came out tonight and it kind of ruined my mood."

"Oh, that sucks."

"Yeah, it's just such a waste of money, I bet it's going to be a couple hundred dollars,"

"That's good that it is just a fine. It could be worse with the new laws from last year."

The suggestion made her nervous. She hadn't thought of that. The beer made her keep talking, "You know, I actually didn't read the whole letter. I think it will just be a fine."

Sensing this wasn't great date conversation, Sam tried to end the subject, "Yeah that's probably all it is."

Emma was transfixed on the subject now, "I don't really know much about the new laws. I mean," she hesitated, "what would they do anyway. The point is to save money. Why wouldn't they just take mine?"

"Yeah, you're probably right," He hesitated but now it was Sam's turn to succumb to reduced inhibitions, "But I've heard they're like spanking people now or tying them up naked outside."

Emma's face dropped. "No way they'll do that for speeding, right?"

"I don't know."

Now she wanted to change the subject, "Anyway, what were you saying about applying for grad school?"

Happy to change topics, Sam transitioned to his plans for next year. The rest of the night was fine but the conversation further sunk Emma's mood.

At the end of dinner, they strolled halfway home together before they had to split to go their separate ways. They shared a peck of a kiss on the lips as they said their goodbyes.

Emma walked home disappointed in how the date turned out. She had never been able to resurrect her mood after the talk about her ticket. This morning she thought there was a chance of staying over at his place tonight. "Hopefully I get another chance."

***
Emma woke up the next morning still embarrassed. "Damn, I was so weird last night."

She knew she had to read the packet she had gotten yesterday but she was scared after last night's brief conversation. She tried to convince herself that it was just a fine anyway. "Nothing to worry about."

She finally rolled out of bed in a long white t-shirt with her tangled mess of hair hanging over her shoulder. Kicking her bra from the night before into the corner, she made her way into the kitchen.

The stack of papers was staring at her from the kitchen table. Ignoring it for now, she grabbed a yogurt from the fridge and turned on her tea kettle.

Waiting on the water to boil, she eyed the notice anxiously. Finally, she built up enough courage and grabbed the terrifying packet. She flipped past the picture to the second page. It was titled Penal Summons.

She scanned the summons down to a paragraph with unique information handwritten into the blanks. It read:

Emma Walcott, you have been adjudged guilty of operating a vehicle above the speed limit and disobeying a traffic control device. You have been sentenced to private, short-term, physical punishment. Please refer to the punishment codes located in the Judicial Punishment Codebook that is included in your document packet. The code(s) that refer to you is/are J31. Please follow the directions located in the Codebook. Schedule a session of the appropriate length on the Judicial Punishment website.

"Oh, god," she gasped aloud. "What does that mean?" She hurriedly flipped through the dozens of sheets that made up a larger document labeled Judicial Punishment Codebook.

"J31, J31," she muttered to herself searching the lists of codes.

At last, she found it. Her stomach dropped as she read the statute, "The offender will be subject to painful punishment to his or her chest, including nipples, areolas, and female breasts."

"Oh, god, my boobs?" She thought to herself, completely shocked. She dropped the packet on to the table. Unconsciously, she had clutched one hand over her chest. She read the Summons and the code over and over hoping that she had misread something.

There was some hope when she found the section on appeal, but there was a warning that appeals without merit could result in new charges of wasting the courts time. They had a picture of her car, which was registered to her, with a clear picture of her at the wheel so Emma dismissed that course of action.

She turned to the internet for information. Plugging in dozens of words into the search engine didn't help her find any official explanation of what was to happen to her. The whole Codebook was astonishingly vague. "What does subject to painful punishment even mean?" It seemed so simple but nowhere could tell her exactly how anything happened, it was all behind a wall of secrecy.

However, there were some websites that were only recently founded that talked about the new laws. There were some protest websites arguing that the punishments had gone too far and had become state sponsored abuse. Those didn't help her now. More disgusting were the websites arguing that the reforms hadn't gone far enough. Those men, Emma imagined they must all be men, were medieval in their zeal to bring back public punishment.

Emma managed to find one interesting website that was focused on bringing people who had suffered the new punishments together to talk about their experience. "That's exactly what I need," she thought excitedly.

She browsed the website, which solicited people's stories and had formed a community of people who needed to anonymously vent about their experiences. Some were angry, others were trying to be optimistic or find some meaning in their experience. One user said she felt proud of herself for surviving her punishment.

Emma found many of the stories absolutely horrifying. She searched for women's stories that matched her own sentence. They were all so varied. Obviously, all their breasts were exposed but some were hit with paddles and others had their breasts painfully groped and squeezed. It seemed each of the many dozens of Justice Centers in the country had developed their own policies, so it was impossible to predict.

Eventually she found her way onto the site's forum. It had the air of a self-help forum or a survivor's group. She found that a lot of people found the website in the same situation as Emma's. There were lots of posts asking for advice. Just like the stories, the nuggets were disparate and contradictory. Some advised being polite or even helpful to the people at the Justice Centers, others said there was no need to be extra polite. Why make it easier on them for making you suffer? Others recounted threats of making the punishment worse if they were uncooperative.

There were some universal suggestions. Wear comfortable and warm clothes. Some of the Centers had long waits and apparently the buildings were all cold. Also, the clothes should be very covering. They argued the whole process was embarrassing so no reason to show more skin than you must. Emma couldn't determine if she would have to be completely naked for the punishment. There seemed to be some debate in the community. "Why would they need me to take my pants off?" she reasoned optimistically.

Continuing to search the forum she found warnings about showing up on time and making sure you attend. One man said he had forgotten about his scheduled appointment because of the long wait and got scooped up by police the next day with new punishments added to his sentence.

After spending many hours down the rabbit hole of this website, Emma finally wrenched herself away. She went to the Judicial Punishment website. There wasn't a Center in her little college town. She would have to drive to the next town over where the county courthouse was located. Emma was relieved at that. She didn't want word of this to get around school. She was already mortified to think that Sam might have some inkling of what was happening to her.

***

Two weeks later, it was the morning of Emma's impending punishment. She had gone through her classes in a fog, unable to focus on any of her studies. She was happy it was still the beginning of the semester and assignments hadn't started to pile up. Surely, those were bad grades waiting to happen.

The few times she had seen Sam around campus they smiled toward each other, but he hadn't talked to her. She imagined it must be because of how terrible the date had gone. "Why did I bring up that ticket?"

She hadn't dared to bring up her situation to anybody else. It was just too weird. The topic of corporal punishment was just too taboo to raise with anybody in her real life. Instead she stalked the website that she had found. She couldn't help but read the horror stories, even though they were just going to psyche her out. Still, the advice posts and the sense of support from the community was irresistible. They made her feel less alone as she waited for her appointment at the Punishment Center.

Looking out the window, she saw the weather was cold, wet and gray, fitting her gloomy mood. Emma got ready that morning following the advice from the forum: comfortable, warm, and covering. She wore boring underwear, blue jeans, a long sleeved, athletic shirt, and a gray sweatshirt sporting her college logo. Looking in the mirror, she decided not to wear makeup, her freckles were good enough for the Punishment Center. She put her long red hair in a braid that laid down in front of her shoulder. She slipped on warm, wool socks and laced up her rain boots before grabbing her small, leather purse and trudging out of her apartment to the car.

Careful to follow the speed limit, she made her way through campus and onto the rural highway to the next town. Thirty minutes later, she parked in the public parking lot on the main street of town. The directions on the Judicial Punishment website told her to come to a back door of the courthouse.

The "new" Justice Center had been grafted on to the back of the older building. It was obvious that the façade was recently added to give an air of power and authority to the back door, but the bulk of the center was in the basements of the courthouse.

Entering the door, she saw an x-ray machine and a large gray arch. It was a full body scanner like she had seen in airports. There was a sleepy looking woman in a khaki guard uniform looking at a screen. The guard nodded her head near a standalone sign that listed the directions for what went through the machine and how to stand in the scanner.

Emma placed her purse and her car keys on the conveyer belt which ran through the x-ray machine. She entered the arch and turned to the side. Lifting her arms like the stick figure on the sign had modelled, she heard two clunks as the machinery did its work. Another guard, a young blonde-haired man, was on the other side of scanner, he motioned her to the other side.

"Arms out," he commanded. She followed his instructions and felt him tapping up and down her sides, arms, and legs. After a few moments, he seemed satisfied and allowed her to collect her belongings which had decanted from the x-ray machine.

Looking around, she saw a reception window in the lobby that opened in front of her. Emma approached it and introduced herself to the woman sitting on the other side of the clear plastic.

The woman asked for her ID, which she took as she walked to another room on her side of the window. After a minute, she returned Emma's driver's license and directed her to a locked waiting room just a few feet away.

Walking to the door, Emma heard a buzzing as the receptionist unlocked it. She entered to see a plain waiting room with maybe a dozen plastic chairs bolted to the floor in two rows of six facing a door at the back of the room. "It looks like the DMV in here."

She sat in the chair closest to the door she entered from. An employee of the Justice Center approached her with a clipboard of medical forms that she had to fill out. Before starting she looked around the room. There were three other people besides the employee. To her right there was a pale young man in a baseball cap. He sat with his legs crossed and his head bowed to his chest. In the row in front of her there was a middle-aged man with his arm around a similarly aged woman, his wife, Emma imagined. The woman was softly crying, and her husband was whispering into her ear. "I wonder what they're in for," she asked herself, smiling at her own double meaning. She found it surprising that they let partners come together.

Turning her attention to the clipboard, she answered dozens of medical questions and affirmed her identity and cognizance on multiple official forms. It took her ten minutes or so to go through every sheet of paper, when she was done, she started to stand up, but the attendant hustled over to her.

Taking the clipboard, he whispered, "Just wait patiently until you are summoned."

Shortly after, another employee entered the room from the door the seats were facing. He approached the couple in front of Emma. The woman stood up, wiping tears from her cheeks and followed him through the door. When she was gone her husband stood up to converse with the attendant. After a moment's conversation, he left the room. "I wish I had someone to sit with me." She couldn't help but think of Sam. She hoped she would get another chance to go out with him when this was all over.

A few minutes later, the scared man next to her was summoned through the door. It was just her sitting on the hard, plastic seats now. She sat waiting for her turn to be called, a constant hum of fear building within her.

It must have been at least thirty minutes later, but, finally, the fetcher, as she had named him, reentered the room and approached her. "Miss, we are ready for you now."

Emma stood on nervous legs and followed him through the door which opened to a hallway with a few doors on either side. She was motioned toward the second door on the right. Entering it, she saw that it was somebody's personal office. There was a nice-looking wooden desk in the center of the room with picture frames facing away her. A stern looking older man with a short white beard sat behind the desk. Emma sat in the chair that was sitting in front of her facing the man, as the fetcher closed the door behind her.

"Hello, Miss Walcott," he said in a cold tone. He reminded her of a disappointed principal. "Please affirm this oath: Do you affirm that you are Emma Walcott and that, under the threat of perjury, you have not taken any substances that could change your mood or cognitive functions?"

"Yes."

He passed a written version of her statement, which she signed.

The gentleman started his speech, "You have been given a private, short-term, physical punishment. Do you understand what that means?"

It sounded like a question but the way he said it meant there was only one answer. "Yeah." She lowered her head, unable to look him in the eye. She felt lucky she had done research. He didn't seem like he had the patience to talk somebody through any questions.

"You have been sentenced to a J31. At this institution that means that your chest will be whipped ten times with a leather flogger and your breasts will be pinched and twisted by a punishment technician. We give our technicians some latitude in punishments like these given the various anatomies of different guests."

Her constant hum of fear was starting to increase in intensity. "Flogged? That sounds like something they did to sailors a hundred years ago." She wondered what would happen to someone with such a flat chest as hers. She thought latitude sounded like permission to be sadistic.

"Please listen to all commands made by either the guards or the technicians. They can file new charges or increase the severity of the punishment if you make it difficult for them."

"I will," she interrupted him.

Annoyed, the grumpy man muttered, "See that you don't. You'll be stripped and bound in position for your punishment. From this point on, nobody will use any names. They won't know yours and you won't know theirs. After a certain point, you will also be blindfolded to further protect the privacy of the punishment technicians."