Judicial Caning

HLES33A@prodigy.com

Dear Lee,

On the last Saturday of March, 1998, I surrendered myself to be punished for the crimes of forgery and writing bad checks by a group where one of the people was related to the victim of my crime.  I was given the choice of being turned over to this commitee or to the law for punishment, and I chose this commitee.    

Though the sentence was severe--a total of 110 strokes with a cane on my buttocks, twenty lashes with the cat on my back and twenty lashes with a strap on my thighs (I went in expecting to get maybe twenty with the cane), I feel that the severity of the punishment was deserved.

I did not handle it very well, doing a lot of hard crying and pleading while my sentence was being administered.  I wish that I had been braver--(I acted like a fourteen year old getting a whipping for talking back.)

Today, almost two months after presenting my butt, It is still sometimes sore if I sit too hard.

After my first (and hopefully last) experience in receiving severe judicial corporal punishment, I feel that such punishment can definitely serve as a deterrant to fight criminal behavior.

I have sent you the story of the execution--and if you would like to use this letter as an intro, you may.

                         Sincerly , Jonathan Morrow HLES33A@prodigy.com

It was the end of March, late Saturday afternoon as I stood before the court--dressed in a pair of cut off jeans, a t shirt and tennis shoes.  I was guilty--knowing full well that I was there to be sentenced for the crimes of two counts of forgery and two counts of writing bad checks.  I knew that I deserved to go to prison, but in an agreement with the victims of my crimes, I had surrendered myself to the commitee to set and execute an appropriate punishment.
I had prepared a complete confession for the judge to review and had signed a waiver--knowing that the punishment would be corporal in nature--and though frightened, I was resigned to suffer a painful whipping on my bottom--looking at the wet cane soaking in salt water and thinking about what twenty strokes--my idea of a fair sentence--would do to my bare hide.  Boy, I was scared.
The judge asked me if I had anything to say in my defence, and I took a deep breath and replied that there were no facts that could help me escape what needed to be done.  At that point, the judge declared me guilty of all charges and ordered the guards to put me in custody.  My hands were cuffed behind my back and my ankles were put in chains--then the judge began his lecture on the callousness and insensitivity of my crimes--frightening me even more with his anger towards me, I could feel my buttocks squirming in my pants, feeling ready to start crying--then the lecture was over.
"Do you have anything that you want to say prior to me passing sentence on you?"  The judge was stern.
"No, Sir."
"It is the decision of this court that you shall be remanded to a cell to wait while the preparations are made to cane you.  In one hour, you shall be returned to this room and secured to a rack, at which time your punishment shall be carried out.
"On the first charge of forgery, I sentence you to suffer fifty strokes with the cane upon your bare buttocks.
"On the second charge of forgery, I sentence you to suffer sixty strokes with the cane upon your bare buttocks.
"On the first charge of writing bad checks, I sentence you to twenty lashes with the cat across your back.
"On the second charge of writing bad checks, I sentence you to twenty lashes with a leather strap across your thighs.
"May God give you the strength to suffer your punishment with dignity.  Take the prisoner away."
The guards then took my arms and helped my quivering chained body to a holding cell in the basement where I was stripped completely to my tight, Fruit of the Loom briefs and I was given a bucket and roll of toilet paper to void my bowels and bladder prior to being taken up to the rack that was being prepared to hold my body.
I spent an hour quivering and crying and wishing that I had never considered my act of thievery--wondering how the cane would feel.
I had spent a lot of time reading about canings--about the reaction of the criminal to the cane being laid across his rear the first few times as he would buck on the rack and scream.  I had read about the damage done to the bottom--and I would just become more frightened. 
Finally, it was time to go and the guards came down and placed me back in chains, then assisted me back up stairs.  I was covered with sweat, my hair matted down as the marched me to a saw horse in the middle of the room.  As they stood me before the horse, they removed the chains from my ankles, and then took hold of the blue and gold wasteband of my underpants and pulled them down to my ankles.  I was then ordered to step out of them which I did.  My mouth was so dry, and the crying was coming back again. 
The guards then directed my ankles to the legs of the horse and using leather straps, each ankle was secured to the appropriate leg--spreading my feet and of course also spreading my butt cheeks.
Then, one of the guards went around to the other side of the horse while the other guard released the handcuffs from behind my back.  Then he gently pushed my back down so that my chest was laying across the top of the horse and my hands were reaching down to the floor.  One of the guards then secured each wrist to a leg of the horse and the other guard secured a strap across my back to hold me down on the horse's crossbeam.  This made sure that my knees were bent and my bottom was well bent and open to receive justice.  A collar was then put around my neck with chains reaching down to the horse feet that my wrists were secured to.  The only part of my body that I could move slightly were my buttocks which could twitch slightly to the left or right, but because of the acute angle of my legs and torso, my buttocks were unable to do any clenching. 

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