It was lunch time on a cold December Saturday, and Linda Yates stood in line at the mall, nervously biting her fingernails. The holiday season was here again and Linda was familiar with the drill. After all, her parents started taking Linda to the Riverchase Galleria Mall when she was only a toddler. Every December Linda would impatiently await her turn to sit on Santa's lap and tell him what she wanted for Christmas.

This year things were a bit different. Linda was 14 years old and a bit tall for her age - definitely too big to be sitting on Santa's lap, a custom she had willingly given up 5 years earlier. Linda's presence in this line was decidedly NOT her idea.

A high school freshman who excelled in social studies, Linda knew precisely the course of events that led to her current predicament. Nearly 18 months ago Pat Buchanan and his followers had vanquished Senator Bob Dole of Kansas at the Republican National Convention in San Diego. In the November 1996 election Buchanan and his running mate, Senator Strom Thurmond of South Carolina, had soundly thrashed incumbents Bill Clinton and Al Gore. This really didn't surprise anyone since, as Linda's father always said, Clinton was such a lousy president that the GOP could have run a ticket consisting of Mickey Mouse and Goofy (in either order) against him and won easily.

The following year had brought many changes to the laws of the United States. Chief among these changes was the Corrections Reform and Social Decency Act of 1997, championed by Vice President Thurmond, which had been signed into law in August. The object of much derision by the few bleeding heart liberals remaining in congress, the Corrections Reform and Social Decency Act (CRSDA) finally rode to passage on catchy slogans such as "Spare the rod and spoil the country!", "Sore tails mean fewer jails!", and "Make Fay while the buns shine!"

Taking effect on October 1, 1997, the CRSDA focused on reforming the criminal justice and corrections systems, especially the way in which said systems handled juveniles. The main thrust of the CRSDA was to make Publicly Administered Corporal Punishment (PACP) the preferred correctional method for minor and even moderate offenses committed by juveniles. The CRSDA did not spare adults from the "indignities" of PACP, however.

The punishment for most violent crimes, no matter who committed them, now included at least an element of PACP. The most extreme example of this was that executions (now mandatory nationwide for heinous crimes such as murder, rape, drug dealing, kidnapping, and/or torture) were always conducted publicly, not to mention expeditiously. The basic correctional theory behind the CRSDA could be simply stated as follows: "Any person who illegally causes another person pain shall experience public pain and humiliation as part of his punishment."

Many Americans refused to believe that the CRSDA would ever be enforced. Indeed, the few states still saddled with liberal governments were dragging their heels. Oddly enough it was California, once the main bastion of liberal lunacy in America, that first enforced the CRSDA, at least at the capitol level. Henrique Gomez, a drug user and dealer who killed a Los Angeles cop, ironically enough while being filmed by a group of activists trying to capture more evidence of LAPD brutality on film, was the first to die under the new law. Gomez committed murder on October 3, 1997, and was publicly hanged at the nearest "town square," a mall in Reseda, on Saturday, November 1, 1997.

California, like many states, had reverted to hanging as their standard method of execution. The gas chamber, California's former method of private execution, and the firing squad were considered too dangerous to be carried out in crowded public areas. On the other hand lethal injection was considered too boring to retain the crowd's interest. At least California retained part of its reputation for being kind to prisoners, using scaffolds from which the condemned were dropped through a trap door, a method designed to break the criminal's neck instantly. This was quite humane compared to what Texas and a few other states were doing - lifting the condemned off the ground to strangle slowly while "dancing the hanged-man's jig" for an appreciative crowd.

The idea of a convicted felon kicking her life away at the end of a rope while the crowd jeered her on to eternity brought Linda's thoughts back to reality as she gazed at the gallows erected on the stage in front of her. A fresh noose hung from the wooden framework, a noose that would stretch a human neck before the day was out. Linda shivered, thankful at least that her date today was not with that noose.

Several officials mounted the steps to the stage, signifying that the ceremonies were about to begin. Two uniformed officers from the Birmingham Sheriff's Department remained on the lower stage level. This level was occupied by a whipping post, a straight- backed wooden chair, and a vaulting horse of the kind used in gymnastics. A tall, somber man in a black suit carrying a folder full of paperwork climbed the second set of steps that led to the gallows level. The man moved to the microphone located front and center, a few feet in front of the trap door that would later spring open, plunging a convicted rapist to an early appointment with his Maker. As the somber man tested the microphone and began thumbing through the execution orders in his folder, the two officers (one male, one female) began removing punishment implements from the golf bags they had carried to the stage.

Linda had watched these preparatory events twice before, as an observer standing on the main concourse of the mall, and she had found them interesting. Linda now discovered that watching the officers set out the implements they would use to inflict pain on the day's convicts is far more compelling when you know that one of those implements would soon be applied sharply to your own bare flesh. Even more alarming, at least to certain convicts, was the large bucket carried up on stage by another deputy. Several canes and switches protruded from the bucket, which was filled with salt water. These particular implements had been steeped in the brine for at least 24 hours. The queue of wretched, fidgeting offenders was waiting under guard in a cordoned off area near the side of the stage.

Some spectators who could see into the holding area were taunting the waiting miscreants. Linda noticed in particular a boy in the crowd who looked familiar to her. The lad was harassing his 15-year-old sister, who stood directly behind Linda in line. The girl did her level best to ignore her younger sibling's jibes while Linda finally remembered where she had seen the boy before.

The little 12-year-old brat had been up on stage just two weeks ago, his own bare bottom squirming across the vaulting horse. Linda smiled as she remembered the little rat howling mightily as the strap repeatedly found its twin targets. Linda heard the girl mutter under her breath that "she would one day turn the tables, taunting Fred from the sidelines the next time the little devil got a well-deserved public thrashing." Linda winked at the girl and they shared a sly smile.

Their smiles were soon erased as the sappy mall Christmas carols faded in the background and the main public address system crackled to life. The same disembodied voice that had made the announcements every 15 minutes leading up to the 1 PM starting time now stated loudly (and barely understandably, of course) that "Birmingham City Public Corrections are now starting in the main square at the center of the mall. The special grand finale today will feature the execution of rapist Gordon Malley, now tentatively scheduled for 3:30 PM. Choice vantage points may be found on both the main and upper concourses. Extremely sensitive shoppers, and those accompanied by very young children, may wish to avoid this area of the mall for the next three hours."

As the main PA system fell silent all attention in the square was firmly fixed on the black-suited man standing at the micro- phone on the gallows. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys," the man began, with only the barest hint of a smile breaking his somber mood. "My name is Clifton Armadge. I have the honor of being the warden of the Birmingham City Jail, the former residence of such notable Americans as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and numerous members of the Kennedy family."

Hundreds of people around the square burst into gales of laughter at the warden's little jest. Armadge actually allowed a real smile to cross his face. "That was some little party they had here last St. Paddy's day, wasn't it?" More laughter rolled across the crowd and splashed off the walls of the square. "In fact, the fines paid by the Kennedys alone should more than cover the construction cost of this modern public corrections facility, not to mention the four others planned for the greater Birmingham area." More laughter was heard, as well as a few cheers, but now that the crowd's initial tension was gone, Armadge could sense they were impatient for the festivities to begin.

"In any case, I am here today to preside over a most solemn event. Our wise leaders in Washington have finally seen fit to 'empower' those Americans most deserving of such benefits - the decent, hard working middle class taxpayers who form the back- bone of this nation. Not only is true justice being served in this country for the first time in decades, but average citizens are allowed to verify this fact with their own eyes and ears." Armadge paused while the crowd voiced its support for these sentiments with great enthusiasm.

The warden straightened himself at the microphone and began to read a prepared statement from the first sheet of paper inside his folder. "Hear ye! Hear ye! All citizens of Birmingham and the surrounding counties are hereby invited to witness the formal punishment of certain criminals convicted this week of violating the laws of the State of Alabama, and the ordinances and codes of local governing authorities. The attached list of convicts, their crimes, and their sentences has been duly verified and approved by the Hon. Sharon Henderson, Alabama District Court Judge in and for the city of Birmingham. Faithfully submitted this 13th day of December in the year of our Lord 1997 by William Edward Baines, Sheriff."

Armadge paused a moment to allow the formality of the official statement to sink in, then flipped to the next page in his folder and called for the first convict. "Amanda Kelly!" A female deputy sheriff at the head of the line of convicts took the arm of a nervous young brunette girl and ushered her up the stairs to the first stage level. Little Amanda looked close to fainting, but the deputy gently turned the child until she was facing the front of the stage so the crowd could see her. The deputy took two steps back from the small convict to give the crowd a good look at Amanda while the warden read the particulars of the case.

"Amanda Kelly, age eleven years," Armadge intoned without emotion. "Convicted of shoplifting candy from the 7-11 store on 8th street. First offense. Sentenced to 8 strokes with a light leather strap on the bare skin." As the deputy maneuvered Amanda into position for her strapping Linda reflected that the phrase "on the bare skin" was really unnecessary. Every official whipping Linda had witnessed to date had been applied to the culprit's bare skin.

Soon Amanda had been guided into position: bent over, her palms resting flat on the seat of the straight-backed chair so as to present her bottom nicely for the strap, and for the view of the assembled crowd. The escort deputy then moved to the side of the stage to allow the female "operator" deputy to work. The operator picked up a light strap, a strip of tan leather about 1.5 inches wide and 16 inches long. Moving over to the waiting penitent the operator flipped Amanda's blue skirt up on her back, revealing a pair of plain white panties enclosing a pert young fanny. The operator slipped her fingers into the waist- band of the white briefs and lowered the thin cloth to a point just below the girl's knees. The operator could hear Amanda's soft gasp of alarm as the cool, conditioned air of the mall hit her bare bottom, the twin cheeks now on display to the whole world.

Everything prepared, the operator looked up to the warden, still standing by his microphone. "Carry out the sentence," Armadge said firmly. Within two seconds the deputy had planted her feet in the proper position for maximum leverage and delivered the first hard stroke of the sentence to buttocks that were twitching with anticipation. Amanda squealed, although not too loudly, as the harsh "whack" of leather on flesh reverberated around the square. "One," said Armadge, a word that was echoed not only by the loudspeakers located underneath the corners of the gallows, but by many members of the crowd.

Linda felt her stomach doing somersaults as the cruel strap plied the air another seven times, the mouth attached to the other end of its target uttering desperate screams by the time the eighth stroke hit home. The operator calmly replaced the strap on a low table that held the collection of implements.

Finally Armadge said, "very well, Amanda, you may go." The girl, who had remained bending over the chair, fairly leapt into the air, her hands clutching and rubbing her injured cheeks. Amanda hopped and danced around the stage, modesty completely forgotten, trying frantically to massage away the horrible flames imparted by the fiery leather. The escort deputy managed to get the girl settled down long enough to get her panties pulled back up and get her started limping down the stairs to be turned back over to the custody of her parents.

Meanwhile Armadge flipped a page and called out the name of the next convict. "Keisha Welles!" Another female deputy escorted the girl, a 12-year-old imp with beautiful ebony skin, up on to the stage. The warden read the crime and sentence. Keisha was another shoplifter, although this time it was her second offense. The sentence showed it, too. "Twelve strokes with a medium strap." As the brown leather strap did its evil work, the small holes in the surface of the leather raising blisters on Keisha's bottom and wrenching urgent pleas for mercy from her lips, Linda did her best to ignore the spectacle and quell her growing apprehension and resultant turmoil in her stomach.

Linda's gastric distress increased as she realized she was now third from the front of the line. The two girls in front of her looked to be 12 or 13 years old. Behind Linda stood the 15-year-old girl with the obnoxious little brother. Behind Fred's sister stood older teenage girls. Chivalry was not yet entirely dead in Alabama, Linda thought wryly, since there was a definite "ladies first" policy in effect.

The order of the punishment line placed girls under 18 years of age first, ranked in ascending age order. Then came the boys aged 10 through 17. After the boys in line came the women aged 18 and over, then the men. Alabama law stated that children under age 10 could not be punished in public. Very young lawbreakers could be punished privately in a judge's chambers immediately after sentencing. Such whippings were dealt out by a deputy sheriff of the same gender as the convict or (more commonly) by the child's same-gender parent or other relative.

One steadfast rule handed down by Congress through the CRSDA was that all convicts must be punished by an operator of the same gender as the offender. Seeing the muscle-bound female deputy tearing up Keisha Welles' butt with the medium leather strap did little to boost Linda's morale based on that fact.

The two girls in front of Linda were called up on stage one at a time, although they were guilty of the same crime. It seemed that Stacey Hanson, a petite 12-year-old blonde nymph, and Charlotte Grey, a 13-year-old black haired vixen, had been caught up on the furnace towers at the Sloss Furnaces, a National Historic Site near downtown Birmingham which encompasses the grounds of a former steel mill. Not only had they climbed up on the furnace towers, which are off limits except when on a guided tour, but they had pelted other children in the park with small stones. One of them actually managed to hit a 10-year-old girl in the head with a stone, gashing open her forehead. The wound had required five stitches to close.

Neither girl would admit to throwing the damaging stone, so the judge had rightly decided to "throw the book" at the two little monsters. They were each to be strapped to the vaulting horse, skirt up and panties down, to receive 12 strokes from a heavy, brine-steeped switch laid on with maximum severity. Stacey took her thrashing reasonably stoically, only screaming twice near the end, although sobbing throughout the operation. But Charlotte, who had just seen the switch raise horrible multicolored welts on her friend's snowy white posterior, was having none of this. She fought the deputy tooth and nail, but was eventually strapped securely in position over the vaulting horse.

Judge Henderson, looking quite judicial with her grey hair and flowing black robes, stood up from her small desk near the queue of waiting prisoners and handed a piece of paper she had just written on to a waiting bailiff. The bailiff carried the paper up to the gallows level and handed it to the warden.

Warden Armadge took the paper from the bailiff, carefully opened it, and read the statement to the anxiously waiting crowd. "Judge Henderson condemns the disgraceful spectacle you have just witnessed, and summarily finds Charlotte Grey guilty of assaulting a police officer. The sentence is 6 strokes with the heavy judicial cane, to be administered immediately after the original sentence is complete."

As the announcement sunk in, an appreciative murmur was heard from the crowd. Charlotte Grey was somewhat less impressed with the fairness of this development, however. She began screaming at the top of her lungs, "You BITCH! You can't do this to me! I have rights! This is still America! I don't care what your fucking law says! It's unconstitutional! Bitch! All of yrghf." Charlotte's outburst was cut off as a gag was placed in her mouth, an action called for by Judge Henderson with a simple hand signal.

The judge calmly returned to her seat as the incensed teenager struggled furiously against her bonds. Once the judge was seated, the warden gave the order to "carry out the first sentence." Three minutes later Charlotte lay exhausted over the horse, her bottom burning from the hated switch. After the order to "carry out the second sentence" was given the girl began to scream in earnest, her cries audible even through the gag, as the heavy rattan cane connected again and again with her already blistered seat.

After the caning was over Charlotte's gag was removed. Her anguished, broken sobs could be heard for quite some distance, even above the noise of the mall and the crowd. Responding to another note sent up by the judge between the two thrashings, Warden Armadge ordered Charlotte to "look up at me." When she failed to respond, the male deputy walked over and pulled on the hair at the back of Charlotte's neck, forcing the girl, still strapped-down over the horse, to look up at the warden, her face a mask of rage mixed with agony.

"Charlotte, you will apologize to the audience for the obscene language you used just now," Armadge instructed.

"No way, bozo!" Charlotte fairly spat back at the man standing 15 feet above her. "Just wait until the ACLU gets their hands on you redneck idiots! They'll... YOWWWL!!" Charlotte's tirade was interrupted by a firm swat of a narrow school paddle on her thoroughly welted seat. A mild instrument, at least as far as judicial punishments go, the light school paddle made quite an impression when applied to a freshly thrashed bottom.

The female operator had exchanged the heavy cane for the light paddle as soon as the last stroke of the second punishment had been delivered. This was the standard procedure when dealing with uncooperative convicts. Twice more the narrow board smashed into Charlotte's swollen buttocks. The intense pain left the impudent girl speechless and panting.

Linda was afraid she might vomit right there on line. "Why the hell is this little bitch being so stubborn?" Linda thought. "The ACLU, that's a laugh! Those twerps could only meddle in decent people's affairs as long as the majority of Americans allowed them to. The true revolution of the conservative right these past four years took the wind out of the ACLU's sails." Linda had learned politics well at the knee of her father.

Linda took the opportunity to look at the people in line behind her. Everyone was looking a little green around the gills, trying to deal with this unforeseen mess. The really sad part was that it was all so unnecessary. "It is the duty of all true patriots to accept punishment for their wrongdoings," her father always said. "They don't have to like it, but they must accept their fate as gracefully as possible."

Of course Linda wasn't sure at this point if she was thinking over Dad's old sayings to try and understand Charlotte's ludicrous behavior, or to try and boost her own courage in the face of her approaching doom. At least Charlotte would be an easy act to follow. Linda could hardly do any worse.

Finally Charlotte gave in and apologized for her behavior. Warden Armadge wasn't satisfied until the girl had screamed her apology with the same volume and enthusiasm as she had screamed the abuse. The crowd was hushed as Charlotte was led from the stage, limping miserably. Warden Armadge couldn't decide if the people were more sickened by the extensive punishment they had just seen, or by the fact that such an insolent little bitch actually lived in their community. He decided it was probably a little of both. Armadge noticed that even Reverend Santee, the Baptist minister who hovered near the bottom of the stage stairs to offer consolation to the freshly punished convicts, snubbed the little girl with the dark hair and even darker soul.

"Linda Yates!" announced Warden Armadge, calling for the next convict on the list. Hearing her own name called over the loudspeakers startled Linda, even though she had been perfectly aware that she was next in line. The walk up the flight of stairs seemed to happen in slow motion, and yet all too quickly she was on the stage.

Linda couldn't help glancing up at the gallows and waiting noose as the escort deputy gently but firmly turned her to face the crowd. Linda couldn't imagine feeling any more frightened or embarrassed than she did at this moment, but the very thought of having to climb that second set of steps up to the gallows and eternity made her knees weak.

"Linda Yates, age fourteen years," the warden said in his annoyingly emotionless voice. "Convicted of indecent behavior in public. Miss Yates was caught in Founder's Park, engaged in most unseemly behavior for a girl her age. Craig Rourke, the 15-year-old boy who was her 'accomplice' in this behavior, will be dealt with a little later."

"Unseemly behavior, indeed!" thought Linda. "All we were doing was kissing and hugging. Not only were all our clothes still on, they weren't even rumpled, for Pete's sake!" Linda looked for Craig, his unruly shock of straw-colored hair drawing her eyes directly to him, standing near the middle of the line of crestfallen boys waiting for their whippings, the usual mischievous smirk on his face.

Craig often managed to get Linda into trouble, but she adored him all the same. He was the only person who ever listened, *really listened* to what she had to say. Even now his deep blue eyes imparted a certain strength to her in the face of her imminent pain. A pain she knew Craig would be sharing all too soon.

Linda was so wrapped up Craig's eyes that she barely heard the warden drone on with his announcement, "First Offense. Sentenced to 10 strokes with a dry switch on the bare skin."

As the deputy maneuvered Linda to the vaulting horse, she focused on the only good news about this whole mess - at least the courts had not yet approved the broadcast of these public corrections on local television. Still, there were plenty of people with still and video cameras out there in the audience recording every detail of her shame.

"Yes," Linda admitted silently to herself. "I am ashamed." Though she knew that what she and Craig had done was not really wrong, since neither of them intended for it to go any further than it had when the cop showed up, it was still not something that proper young ladies and gentlemen were supposed to do. And if they did, they sure as Hell better see to it that they didn't get caught!

A firm believer in the old maxim, "What her parents didn't know wouldn't hurt them," Linda knew that she HAD hurt her family because she had been caught. Not that her parents didn't hurt her back. The most galling fact of this day was that Linda's own father was video taping her punishment, "to show her children some day," as he put it. Upon hearing this news Linda had solemnly, and loudly, vowed to never speak to "that perverted old goat" again. That vow had evoked laughter from both parents, along with a few half- hearted slaps from her mother "for insulting her father."

Before she knew it, Linda was strapped firmly over the vaulting horse. She tried her bonds, a reflex action she knew would be futile. Girls were always strapped down for any whipping more serious than a light strapping. Boys, except for the youngest ones, were expected to lay over the horse and take their medicine without a fuss, although a few tears and/or yelps would be excused by everyone (except the unfortunate lad's friends).

Then Linda felt her skirt being flipped up on her back. The waistband of her panties was grasped and the thin garment was briskly lowered past her knees. She could feel the material stretch against her legs, which were strapped into position spread widely apart. The humiliating degree to which the most private portions of Linda's body were exposed to the jeering crowd was made painfully clear by the cool air slowly swirling across her naked buttocks and between her legs. The wretched girl's apprehension was not helped by the sound of the operator testing the switch by swishing it loudly through the air just behind her, a noise which made Linda's bottom cheeks cringe involuntarily with fear.

"Carry out the sentence," Linda heard the firm words of the warden issue forth from the loudspeakers, one of which was located just a few feet above her current position. The formulaic order sounded unusually loud and harsh this time, probably due to the relative proximity of that speaker.

Swish...thwack! Linda was shocked by the force of the first stroke. She didn't scream since she was too busy drawing in a hasty breath.

Swish...thwack!! "Owww!" Linda groaned. The pain was unbelievable. This was much worse than the spankings she got at home. Mom's hairbrush stung like the Dickens, but nothing like this!

Swish...thwack!! "Noo!" Linda shouted. This was quickly getting unbearable. Even Dad's paddle, a more formidable weapon than Mom's hairbrush, wasn't this bad. Of course Dad always paddled Linda over her jeans, while her 11-year- old brother, George, Jr., got Dad's paddle bare. Not that the little scamp didn't deserve every lick he got, and then some.

Swish...thwack!! Linda managed to keep silent this time, and gradually became aware that the operator was spreading the strokes around so that they didn't overlap. At least the woman was good at her job.

Swish...thwack!! "Ooooop!" Linda yelped. At least Georgie wasn't here to see and hear this. Mom took him to another mall across town so they could buy presents for Dad and Linda without having to be too discrete. Discrete was not in Georgie's vocabulary, in any case.

Swish...thwack!! A short scream escaped Linda's lips, but she hadn't started to cry yet. Of course, there were still four strokes to come.

Swish...thwack!! "Ooooow!" Linda cried. It was starting to feel like new strokes were coming down on the welts left by old strokes.

Swish...thwack!! "NOOOoow!" Linda keened. Linda was too overcome by pain to think coherently at this point and was starting to sob. She wasn't too far gone to hear the crowd chant "Eight!" in unison with the warden and the loud- speakers, however.

Swish...thwack!! "Ah!! Ow!" Linda panted loudly. She heard the thwack of the switch echo through the square, answered by the call of "Nine!" from the crowd. Only one more to go!

Swish...thwack!! "Oo." Linda groaned softly. She felt too tired to cry out anymore. The chant of "Ten!" from the crowd was, just for a moment, the most beautiful sound Linda had heard in her life.

Presently Linda felt her legs, then her arms being released from their bindings. She dropped off the horse and on to her feet, her hands immediately flying down and behind to massage her aching hindquarters. The escort deputy helped pull up her panties and Linda did her best to maintain her composure as she limped down the stairs.

As the deputy released Linda, Judge Henderson said, "Well taken, Miss Yates. You put a little decorum back in these proceedings. Just try to act a bit more lady-like in the future. I don't want to see you back on that stage again."

"Yes, your honor," Linda managed to stammer. "Thank you, your honor." Her attempt at a curtsey was marred by the pain in her derriere. The judge nodded pleasantly, then turned back towards the stage to monitor the punishment of Fred's big sister.

Giving the Reverend Santee a quick, but polite, brushoff, Linda was quickly reunited with her father. George Yates, Sr. hugged his only daughter and escorted her in the direction of the Ladies restroom so she could recover from her ordeal and clean up her face.

Craig's Turn

Linda had recomposed herself and had a bite to eat with her father at the Food Court. They still got back to the square in plenty of time to see Craig's punishment. Linda had wanted to skip this, but her father insisted.

Craig had trouble wiping the silly smirk off his face while the warden read out his crime and sentence. Since Craig was older than Linda he had been held more responsible for the situation in which they were found. The boy's smirk almost seemed to get broader as the sentence was announced, "12 strokes with the heavy cane on his bare skin." Craig lowered his trousers and underpants, then calmly bent over the vaulting horse to await his fate.

Half way through the count, Linda was sure that Craig wasn't smirking any longer. A vivid collection of bright red stripes had already been printed on his backside, with a single stripe just in the crease where his buttocks met his thighs. Craig's struggles to maintain his composure while the powerful male deputy added to the existing artwork were becoming apparent, even from the back. The seventh and eighth strokes somehow fit between existing weals, but starting with the ninth stroke the deputy began to deliberately strike across the previous stripes.

Craig kicked out slightly with his left foot after the ninth stroke. From the tenth stroke on, he grunted out a painful "Oh" as blood was raised from a few spots where two or more stripes crossed. Craig rose and cleaned the blood off his bottom with a clean, white disposable cloth provided by the deputy.

As Craig limped painfully of the stage, escorted by a male deputy, the smirk quite definitely missing from his face, Linda finally noticed that her father had taped the whole thing. "Dad!" she protested.

Her father turned off the camera, winked at Linda, and said, "Just getting a little blackmail material ready for a few years down the road."

"Blackmail," Linda asked incredulously. "Who would you blackmail with that tape, and why?"

"You and Craig, of course," Dad answered with that insufferable look he always got when he was about to say something he thought was funny, but would usually infuriate Linda.

"Huh?

"Come on, hon. I see the way you and Craig look at each other, and so have Craig's parents. We've been expecting for a year or two now to someday become in laws." Linda just stared at her father, dumbfounded. She and Craig had no idea that their parents knew how they really felt about each other. Her father continued his explanation.

"And ten or twenty years down the road when the two of you are trying to tell your kids that you never messed up when you were their age, I'll just trot out this tape and play it for them."

"You wouldn't dare!" Linda spluttered.

"Really?" Dad asked, a confident smile on his face.

Linda decided to let the matter drop for now. She could always find the tape later and destroy it. They walked over to meet Craig's family and then actually get some shopping done. There WERE less than two weeks left before Christmas, after all.

The Finger Brigade

Linda and her Dad passed the square again just before 4 PM while on their way back to the car. The crowd had thinned out considerably, and it was easy to see why. The body of George Malley still hung beneath the gallows, gently swaying in the circulated air of the mall. The carcass of the rapist would remain exposed for the rest of the shop- ping day as an example to other potential felons.

The body would be cut down after closing time tonight to be cremated, the ashes scattered in secret at one of the municipal dumps in the area. No sane person would mourn Malley's passing any more than they would the shooting of a mad dog. There were still plenty of lunatics out there, though. Some of those nuts lusted after anything connected to infamous criminals. The very thought made Linda shudder. At least the CRSDA reduced the sensational media coverage of major criminal cases. No more OJ-style travesties of injustice would be inflicted on the American people.

The remaining crowd was mostly ignoring Malley's body in any case. They were focusing on the summary trials and punishments of those petty criminals caught in the mall that day. Several people, a large portion of them teenage girls for some reason, were caught shoplifting in major malls like the Galleria every day. New laws sensibly made it possible to deal with such offenders immediately on punishment Saturdays.

Since the judge, bailiffs and deputies were already on hand, it saved the city a great deal of money to handle minor cases this way rather than clog up the courts with more misdemeanors. The only additional expense was a hour or two of overtime for an assistant district attorney to prosecute the cases and a public defender to defend the suspects. The cases handled in the mall on Saturdays were open and shut situations in any event - the offenders had mostly been caught in the act. Any case that appeared more complicated was automatically remanded over to the regular weekday court system.

Sharon Henderson was quite efficient in clearing the cases. The gray haired lady had a motherly demeanor which she used to good effect, especially on younger defendants. Her most severe expressions of displeasure were reserved for young boys caught with their hands a little too far into their pockets during the whippings of the girls and women. A few plainclothes deputies prowled the crowd during the proceed- ings looking for just such atrocious behavior.

Judge Henderson sternly lectured the shamefaced lads who stood before her on this charge, indecent behavior in public, oddly enough the same charge that had landed Linda and Craig on the stage today. All nine boys charged with this offense were tried simultaneously to save time.

Linda wanted to stay and watch, but her dad wanted to head for home. Dad was about to win the argument when one of the plainclothes deputies announced, for the record, that one of the boys had been caught playing pocket pool during the whipping of one Linda Yates! Dad just shrugged at that point and conceded the argument.

Linda glared holes in the head of Howard Starling, the red haired 13-year-old brat who had the gall to try and bring himself off while SHE was being thrashed. The nerve of the little deviant!

All nine boys had been caught "red handed" as it were, so the verdict was never in doubt. Judge Henderson lectured the boys, who ranged in age from 11 to 16, on the extra hot fires of Hell that are reserved for the wretched souls of sexual deviants. Then she informed them that they would shortly experience a little earthly fire as a preview of what they could expect for all eternity if they failed to mend their ways.

After being found guilty, the dirty little whelps were made to remove their jeans or trousers. The bailiff would keep these garments until after their punishments were complete. The seven boys wearing underpants were sentenced to ten strokes with a dry medium cane. The two filthy lads found to be sans underpants, presumably to allow them easier access to their evil pastime, were also sentenced to twelve strokes, theirs to be administered with a steeped-in-brine heavy cane. Linda was quite delighted to see that Howard Starling, her admirer, was one of the lads without undies.

A special humiliation had been devised for the "Finger Brigade" as this weekly parade of oversexed little demons had come to be called. Their trial complete, the nine miserable boys were marched up past the lower stage, all the way to the gallows level. There they were dispersed around the outer edge of the gallows stage, made to stand facing the audience, legs spread apart, hands held behind their heads, fingers interlaced. The deputy then moved around the stage, lowering the undershorts of the seven boys so clad. All nine boys would stand there, displaying the objects of their own self-love for all to see, until the punishments of the day's other offenders were complete.

A deputy armed with a light cane remained on the gallows level to make sure the boys didn't move. Any movement, or attempt to hide their genitalia from the crowd was immediately rewarded with a few swift cuts from the cane. These strokes did not count towards the lad's official sentence, of course.

Linda recalled that this procedure was put in place in order to cut down on the rampant self-abuse which occurred during the first few weekly punishment sessions in October. Between 20 and 40 boys had been caned for such indecency each of those weeks. Linda was happy to see from the limp boyish penises being displayed around the stage that joy was the last thing on the little perverts' minds at this moment.

Howard Starling was at the front of the gallows stage, near the center. This afforded the little creep a good view of the whippings as they proceeded. Linda watched his reactions to the whippings with interest. He flinched occasionally at the sound of the sizzling strokes and the cries of the punished, but mostly kept his gaze averted from the correctional scene below him. His gaze swept the crowd as much as it could without movement of his head, which would risk cane cuts from the deputy prowling somewhere behind him. Linda couldn't tell whether Howard was looking for friends or foes who might get to witness his shame. Once the boy's search swept across the area where Linda and her father were standing. A second later a double-take brought his eyes back to lock with Linda's.

Her glare burned this boy who had received pleasure from her pain, then she mischievously stuck out her tongue at him. Howard's face flamed as red as his hair, and his head dropped on his chest in shame. The lad yelped a few seconds later as the ever vigilant deputy appeared behind him and delivered two stinging lashes of the cane to his bare bottom. Howard raised his head and held it rigidly facing forward, his eyes squeezed firmly shut to ward off further distractions and their potentially painful consequences.

Twenty minutes later the other punishments were complete and the it was the turn of the Finger Brigade to take their medicine. One at a time the luckless masturbators were led to the lower stage, bent over the vaulting horse, and given their strokes. A fresh, well-muscled male deputy administered the cane to these miscreants to ensure a sharp lesson was learned. Afterwards each boy was led back up to the gallows stage to resume his former position, this time facing the gallows itself, his freshly striped nether cheeks presented to the crowd for their approval.

Howard was fifth in order to meet his fate. As he turned to place himself over the horse, Linda could clearly see the two thin weals laying low across his bottom, a direct result of her taunting. She felt just a twinge of guilt at the thought, but managed to choke it down. Her own backside still stung something awful, which helped assuage any guilt she might have had about enjoying what she was about to see. Turnabout was fair play, after all.

After all the waiting, Howard's caning seemed to fly by. The boy started howling after the second stroke, and was crying audibly by the eighth. By the time the twelfth stroke lashed into his hindquarters, the boy's bottom was a mass of flaming red welts, and he limped slowly back up the stairs to the gallows level. As he stood there with his back and ruined buttocks facing the crowd, his whole body throbbed from his sobs as he tried to regain control of his emotions.

Linda lost interest in the proceedings at that point. As she and her father left the square headed for their car they were followed by the sounds of swishing cane strokes and the agonized howls of another teenage boy. A boy who had come to the mall to enjoy the Saturday spectacle of Publicly Administered Corporal Punishment, never imagining that he would become part of the painful show. Or perhaps he had imagined it.

Linda sometimes wondered why certain boys got caught with their hands in their pockets every week or two. She was sure she had seen Howard Starling on display with the Finger Brigade two weeks ago. Surely he had to realize that the deputies were watching everyone. And why didn't he at least wear underpants, especially if he was planning to perform an act almost guaranteed to get him caught? An interesting puzzle. One she would have to ask her father about. He would know the answer if anyone did.

Linda was so very proud of her father, the Honorable George Yates, Sr., U.S. District Court Judge for Alabama. After all, her father was responsible for ensuring the state's compliance with the CRSDA.

malljust