The Unjustly Punished Lady Lawyer

It had no windows, and it had two sets of doors leading to it from the corridor, perhaps to reduce noises coming from the room. Chains and manacles were hanging from bolts in the ceiling. There was a thing that looked like a large backboard easel and what I thought was a vaulting horse from a gymnasium.

I noticed that the easel and the vaulting horse had restraining straps secured to them. There were a variety of implements hanging from hooks on the wall. These included whips, single canes, multiple canes, what looked like a cat of nine tails, and three of four things that looked like a birch rod.

There was also a bench that looked like you knelt on, again with restraining straps to hold the victim. I shuddered. There was a cell very like mine in the room with a loo and a bidet this time.

The North African creature said, "Look at that flogging horse. We will secure you over it with your buttocks and sensitive inner areas fully exposed and then we will beat you to our heart's content until you faint or possibly even die."

"Now you will go back to your cell for a few hours and take food. Eat it and get some rest because you will need all your strength soon if you do not cooperate with us."

I was shaking a little and thought I might lose control of my bladder if I was not careful.

They meant it. I wondered what to do since I just couldn't think of much to tell them. Back in the cell, they gave me a chicken and rice meal with an orange through the hatch in the door. I ate quickly, as I was hungry.

I took stock of my situation again and decided to talk about David's sexual practices, as that might buy me some more time to think. David didn't give a damn who knew about him or knew about what he got up to. It was one of the great things about him.

David told me that the Duke of Wellington always said, "Publish and be damned" and he was so right! I also thought I would tell them about his visits to Israel. It didn't matter because he never said a lot about what went on beyond talking about visiting friends and relatives, the usual sort of thing.

I suspected he had an Israeli girl or girls he saw when he was there because it would be a little while before the sex urge built up in him after a visit. He also had a powerful PC at his flat and a high-speed phone line.

He had shown me some of the exotic porn that he had downloaded -- he was seriously kinky and it had been a little too much for me, although I liked his sex drive. I thought this would do for a start, as it was pretty mundane and meaningless. I lay on the bed and dozed a little.

It's hard to judge time, but it was still daylight, so I thought three to four hours had passed when the guards came for me again and gestured for me to go with them. They took me back to the interrogation room to be met by another lady in an Asian-style official ladies' uniform, but again with no badges or rank markings.

This lady looked and sounded as if she came from the Indian subcontinent. She offered me a cigarette, but I don't smoke. It was the "good guy / bad guy" routine. The guards stayed in the room at the back, but they did not handcuff me.

The lady began, "Those North Africans can be a little rough, but then they enjoy little in their lives, do they?" and smiled. I knew what she was getting at. "Please, can you tell us a little about your friend David XXXX, then you can go?"

"Certainly," I replied. "Will anything I say embarrass the ladies at the back?"

The lady laughed and said, "No, I doubt if they will understand you." So I went into detail about David's sexuality and that I might still be with him if not for the watersports matter.

I saw the lady shudder with distaste, but the spanking thing didn't seem to bother her when I mentioned it. The lady said, "Can you give me any more specific details about his Israel connections?"

I told her I knew about his visits and that afterwards, sex was not at the top of his agenda for a few days. On his return, he only ever talked about visiting distant family and friends and not much else.

She said, "Do you think he goes to Israel at short notice or does he plan the trips?" I said that I was sure that he must plan them because he was very busy at work and would have to organise to be away from the office.

She asked, "Do you know how he communicates with the outside world?" I knew he had a telephone and a mobile phone. When I thought about it, his telephone seemed to be connected to the line via what I thought was a combined fax and answering machine.

I mentioned this. "Have you ever seen anything else unusual about his phone?" I was sure he dialled a security code into it before use. That is not uncommon these days with alternative telephone providers available in the big cities. It wasn't unusual, so I told her about that.

She said, "Do you know the security code?" and I did not. He had a high-speed line as his computer flew when connected to the internet, compared with mine. I mentioned the porn thing, and the lady laughed again.

My spirits rose a little as things appeared to get better. I told her I made a call once at his flat as using his mobile and said it was cheap for local calls. He had done a deal concerning all his IT gear. David didn't want to tie his phone up in case a work-related fax came in.

I didn't think about that at the time either, but I told her about it. There were a few more quite mundane questions. After what I thought was about an hour, she said brightly, "I will have to go through this with the others, but it looks quite good for you."

Back in my cell, I found it getting dark. I eventually drifted into sleep to be woken up in the middle of the night, told to use the loo, and then taken back to the interrogation room.

It was the old North African lady again. It was a good guy / bad guy routine, and they handcuffed me to the chair again. The light was on, etc. She glared at me and said, "That stupid thing got nothing out of you. It will be up to me as usual, because you are hiding things." So I went along with this, yawned, and said, "If you say so."

"Do you know your friend rapes Arab women?" I knew David pretty well and whatever he was, I don't think he was a rapist. He always asked permission and never forced things. I was still friendly with him, even after he asked if I would let him pee on me. I thought, "I bet you are begging for someone to rape you!" Having smiled at her was a big mistake on my part, because she shouted, "Don't you dare laugh at me!"

I just sat there in silence and I could see her getting ever more annoyed. I decided not to react and avoided her glance. The next time she spoke, I completely ignored her. She was wild. She yelled, "Answer me, you stuck-up English little bitch."

I shouted, "My name is Judy Benjamin, J. U. D. Y. JUDY," just like Goldie Hawn did in the movie. I thought she was going to burst a blood vessel. She yelled for the guards and then yelled some more about taking me to the "truth room."

Oh no, I thought, not that. I didn't resist because it would have been useless. On the way down there, I said in disgust, "I've told you everything I know about him. Take care because this might get you put on trial in the Hague."

Yes, it was the torture room, dungeon, or whatever you want to call it. They made me take off the prison smock, use the loo, and then wash myself on the bidet. I noticed Sourpuss scrutinising my pussy; she was probably jealous that I still had a clit.

They lowered a crossbar sort of thing on the end of a rope from the ceiling and secured my wrists to it. It hoisted me back into the air until it was supporting perhaps a third of my weight. They made me spread my feet and secured my ankles to another similar bar, which was fastened to two metal rings on the floor.

They adjusted the upper rope so that I was not being stretched. Then they blindfolded me thoroughly. I never actually saw who flogged me or carried out the subsequent beating, and I didn't think it was Sourpuss or either of the guards.

There were some footsteps. It could have been the person who did it arriving. My arms were free to swing around just a little, but I couldn't move my ankles at all. The torture room was at least twenty-five feet square.

They took something down from the wall. There was a little rustle in the air, then CRAACKI -- something hit me across the back between the shoulders. It hurt, but not badly. They kept this up for perhaps five minutes and I endured it almost in silence, apart from a few gasps for breath, but I could handle this. I feared worse was to come.

"Golden Girl (I'm a natural blonde and aren't they envious!!), that was just a warning. Now feel this."

There was a somewhat sharper whistle and a thinner, sharper smacking sound, but after an initial numbness, an awful burning pain spread across my back.

It must have been the cat of nine tails. I tried not to yell out and little my lip. Thirty seconds later, another stroke stung even more. This was agony. I still managed not to yell, but I felt hot tears welling up behind the blindfold. They kept on with the cat or whatever it was until, at about stroke number five or six, I started crying out.

I think they gave me about twelve strokes in all until I began to weaken and hang from the upper crossbar. They let me hang there for a few minutes. Someone threw some cold water over my back and I could feel it dripping down. I prayed they had not cut me, but it felt as if they had. My strength slowly returned, but my back was on fire.

There was total silence from the audience. I felt a guard get hold of me while they loosened the upper spreader bar and then undid my ankles. They lifted me over the 'vaulting horse.'

They secured my wrists and ankles to the legs and put another strap around my waist, doing it up tight. I couldn't move. I heard the whistle of a cane as someone tested it in the air; there was another ferocious whistling sound, then SNAP, as the cane exploded across my arse.

There was another second or so of numbness before a white-hot searing pain spread across my buttocks and seemed to envelop my whole body. I know I yelled out loud with an animal sound. I wasn't capable of articulating anything and I tugged against the restraints, but of course, to no avail.

About every thirty or forty seconds, I received another blow. The pain built up, and I was conscious of nothing else. I hardly felt the individual cane strokes. I was aware of an all-consuming pain that was beyond description. After about thirty strokes, I must have fainted.

I came to still secured over the horse and they had taken off the blindfold. The guards were still there, but the North African creature was nowhere to be seen.

A lady whom I took to be a doctor was taking my blood pressure and shaking her head.

I heard her say in Arabic, "This is excessive. They should have stopped it much earlier."

They untied me from the horse and tried to help me to my feet, but I couldn't stand. My back was one big dull ache, but my bottom throbbed and burned with a still agonising intensity. I could see drops of blood spattered on the floor below me.

I was told later that they counted at least fifty-five separate strokes and there could have been more. Some strokes overlapped almost exactly, and the mark looked like one heavy stroke. A nurse later said that the rumour was that I had had sixty strokes with the heaviest cane, all given with maximum force. It surprised the medical staff I had survived it.

The guards took me through into the room beyond the torture room and laid me face-down on the bed. I was in such pain that I was drifting in and out of consciousness, only dimly aware of what was happening. A trolley arrived, and they transferred me to it. They wheeled me to the clinic where they had examined me earlier.

In the clinic, they gave me oxygen, and I saw in the mirror that my back had thin little raised welts that were oozing slightly in only a few places. However, they had cut my bottom to ribbons, and it was bleeding a lot.

They laid me on the couch and gently swabbed at my bottom with what was probably cloth soaked in a weak disinfectant and then applied an ice pack. The doctor gave me an injection in my arm and the pain receded as whatever they gave me took effect.

Eventually, they transferred me to a room off the clinic, and lay face-down on a bed, still naked apart from a loose cloth over my bottom. They kept on with the ice pack every quarter hour for quite a while. A girl in a nurse's uniform who was probably a member of the local East African-related society stayed with me. She was friendly and helped me sip a sort of glucose mixture from a thing like a toddler's beaker. I was on oxygen for several hours.

Later, she came and sat beside me, stroking my hair and holding my hand. "Don't worry," she said, "That North African woman has exceeded her authority. A guard called us because she was frightened they would kill you if it carried on like that."

I was a little relieved.

"What will happen now?" I asked.

The girl put her finger to her lips to signify a request for silence, then went to the door and looked out. She came back and sat near the foot of my bed, watching the window in the door.

She said, in a low voice, "I think they realise that they have made a big mistake. I overheard them talking about it. They can't let you go now in your condition, so you will have to stay until you heal up and recover. It will take at least two weeks because the flogging badly damaged your bottom, but your back is not so bad. I think they will visit you soon to make a deal."

"This has happened once before and the previous time it was the fault of the same lady. Somehow, she got away with it. This time she won't be so lucky, I think. You are lucky to still be with us. When they checked your blood pressure, it was so low and your pulse was very weak, you nearly died."

I was to lie on that bed for three days, being helped to the loo and to wash afterwards by the first girl and another very kind Indian nurse. They gave me more injections and kept applying ice packs to reduce the swelling. I couldn't face eating anything for the first two days, only taking fluids. There were no more interrogations.

By the end of the third day, I could stand again and walk about stiffly, trying not to open the cuts on my bottom. My back was healing well and my appetite was slowly returning, about which I was glad because I could see all my ribs. On the fifth day, the partly African nurse called Nabila helped me into the prison gown. This was a good thing to wear after a beating like that, as it was completely loose.

"You will have a visitor shortly. Let's make you look decent." She combed my hair, gave me an elastic to make a ponytail, and I cleaned my teeth.

The visitor turned out to be two Arab ladies, one older than the other. They were good-looking and very well-dressed in the smartest local ladies' robes.

They were people of some wealth or importance, possibly both. I was very well aware that behind the scenes in their society, there were a lot of wealthy and powerful local women. They came into my room and told me not to move and that they wanted to talk to me.

The staff brought chairs for them and they sat down where I could look at them without being in an uncomfortable posture. I could only lie on my front without discomfort. I could feel my pulse in the pain from my bottom when the painkillers wore off. They first asked if they could lift my gown to inspect the damage, so I let them and, of course, it horrified them.

Then the older one said, "I'm Hamid's first wife, and this is his second wife. You probably didn't know this until now, but Hamid is a senior member of the security establishment here. He was silly to get caught misbehaving with a foreign girl. Don't worry, we forgive you."

We know Hamid has done this before on overseas visits, but this is the first time he has misbehaved at home. Your company should have known and warned you too, but you were discrete and I believe they did not know.

"Our security service had no option but to see if you were a security risk. They found your diary with one name in it that worried them and they also found two cassette tapes containing music that they could identify as coming from the Hebrew service of Radio Cairo."

"Please, can you tell us how you got those tapes?" Wow, that was an easy one!

I said, "My working for six months at an airline office in Cairo helped me to improve my Arabic whilst I was still at university. We listened to the Hebrew service of Radio Cairo because it had the best pop music for miles around. That was how they tried to get young Israelis to listen to it and, of course, they used it to spread propaganda."

"If you look at my passport, you will see my visa and Egypt work permit and I'm still using that passport now. I used to record some of the music but didn't always stop the cassette recorder when the Hebrew announcements came up and I never edited the tapes."

The women both smiled and I could see they believed me.

They changed the subject. "If this was just a matter of you misbehaving with one of our men, it might have been only a mild beating at the very worst, not the barbarity shown to you."

"We would have been along to see you whipped in the Koranic way. We would not have allowed what you suffered. The main thing is the humiliation, not the pain."

I was suitably embarrassed and I think I had the blood to spare to blush.

"That North African woman was a senior security officer in her own country and very close to several militants and proto-terrorists. Some of our people like those types. That's how she got her job, because of the political faction here that favours that sort of thing. She has been relieved of her duties and is going to be retired and sent home."

"If I had my way, I would have whipped her before she went back, as she has been brutal to some of our women. She did things to them that exceed what she did to you, so it is long overdue for her to go. Now about your case."

"Your embassy is aware as of this morning where you are and about some, but not yet full details regarding what has happened to you. No one will visit you until you are much better."

"You will stay at least another month here, not in this prison but in our military hospital under secure conditions for your own sake. We can't let you go until you have healed and have regained full use of your body and in a condition that doesn't cause you pain." (

I was already feeling a lot better. My bottom only hurt a bit and not much at all if I did not put any pressure on it. But the hospital had to give me laxatives all the time so that I passed material without it being too solid, and causing me to strain, so the cuts might open again. The laxative of choice was castor oil, which, whilst being highly effective, was also unpleasant.

I replied, "Whatever I did with your husband, I'm sorry for in the moral sense, but I have done nothing to deserve this."

The younger lady spoke for the first time.

She said, "Do you know who helped you? It was the Indian lady who said she was sure you had done nothing. She is not one of the political types."

"That North African woman wanted to kill the next 'spy' she could get her hands on, with or without adequate proof or trial and sentence. Thanks to the Indian lady, we alerted the guards that if things were ever getting out of hand, they were to tell the medical staff. They have the power to intervene."

"Our courts had not found you guilty, and your abuse took place for no adequate reason. They had bugged your flat, your work phone, and your mobile. They had listened to everything you said for about 2 months."

"The Indian lady said at worst, they should have arrested and deported you. But our men are weak. I expect Hamid came after you on that visit to Europe and you did almost nothing to lead him on."