Lucy Armstrong slowly descended the stairs and went into the kitchen. The clock on the wall showed it was just after 6.30 am.

“Morning, love,” her mother greeted her. “Do you want any breakfast?”

Lucy shook her head.

“At least drink some coffee, and I’ve made some toast, if you change your mind about breakfast.”

Lucy sat at the kitchen table and sipped at her cup of hot coffee. Meanwhile, her mother buttered some toast and placed it on a plate. She noted her daughter was wearing white tracksuit trousers and matching top, both with a thin blue stripe running down both sides. It seemed a good choice; smart enough but eminently practical.

“Are you sure they’ll be coming so early in the morning?”

“It’s what the solicitor reckoned, mum. He warned me so they wouldn’t have to drag me out of bed in my pyjamas.”

“Have you thought any more about what you want to do?”

“Well, I can’t afford a £1,500 fine, and I certainly don’t want to spend thirty days detained in a Young Offenders Prison.”

“I’m sure we could scrape together the fine, you know. Even if we had to scrimp and save.”

“Thanks, mum, but that would hurt you just as much as me, and it was me who threw a drinks can at the policeman.”

“You weren’t the only one throwing things, love.”

“No, there were lots of us. Unfortunately, I was one of those who got caught on camera doing it.”

“It’s not going to be pleasant, you know.”

“Yes mum, I realise that!”

“Can’t your solicitor help at all? Maybe get your sentence reduced or something?”

“Apparently, because there’s so many of us, they’re standardizing the punishments. He reckons my case will only take two or three minutes to be heard.”

“Really? But that doesn’t give you a chance to put your side of it to the magistrates.”

“To do that, I’d have to plead not guilty, and then I could offer some kind of defence if I had one. But, they’ve got photos and video evidence showing me throwing the can at the policeman. They’d end up finding me guilty anyway, and probably give me a harsher sentence. I dd it, so I have to take my punishment.”

“Yes, but ten strokes of the cane?”

Lucy shrugged. “That’s what they’re awarding if you don’t want the fine or custody.”

“I’ll be in court with you, love.”

“Thanks, mum.”

Mary Armstrong was about to offer her daughter another cup of coffee when they both heard a vehicle stop outside their house.

“Oh god, is that them?” Lucy asked in a panic.

“I’ll go and see,” her mother said.

Moments later, Lucy heard the doorbell ring and her mother opening the front door. Then a male voice spoke, although she couldn’t detect exactly what was being said. The visitors were clearly being ushered into the front room lounge. Then Mrs Armstrong came back into the kitchen.

“It’s them, love. Can you come into the front room, please?”

Lucy, her heart pounding, followed her mother into their front room and found a large policeman and a female officer waiting for her.

“Are you Lucy Jane Armstrong?” the policeman asked.

“I am.”

“Please confirm your age, Lucy.”

“I’m twenty.”

“A student at the local university?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll need photographic ID. Your passport, driving licence, maybe?”

“I’ll fetch your driving licence,” Mary Armstrong offered. She left the room and went upstairs. She soon returned with Lucy’s driving licence which she offered to the officer.

“That’s fine, thank you,” he said after comparing the photo on the licence to Lucy’s face. He handed the licence back to Lucy’s mother.

“Right, Lucy,” the female officer spoke. “You’re now under arrest for assault on a police officer. We’ll be taking you to the police station where you will be formally charged. From there, we’ll take you into the magistrates’ court.”

“I understand,” Lucy responded coyly. “My solicitor explained everything.”

“Please hold your arms out to either side.”

Lucy complied and felt the female officer searching her quite thoroughly. Even though she was half-expecting it, Lucy still felt some awkwardness with her mother watching, especially when her more intimate areas were checked.

“Hands behind your back.”

Again, Lucy obeyed. She felt cold metal handcuffs being fastened around her wrists, and glanced at her mother who was watching the proceedings with a worried expression on her face. Lucy smiled, hoping to reassure her mother. The gesture wasn’t successful.

“Come with us.” The female officer took Lucy by the arm and led her towards the front door.

“I’ll be in court with you, love,” were Mary Armstrong’s last words to her daughter. She looked through the front room curtains and saw Lucy being taken to the back of a police van and put inside.

Now alone in the house, Mary quickly gathered together a light jacket, her shoulder bag, some cash and her car keys. The drive into the centre of town was slow because the morning rush hour was getting underway. Eventually, she was able to park in a multi-story car park near to the police station and adjoining magistrates’ courts.

There was a small queue when she went to the ‘Enquiries’ counter inside the court building. Those ahead of her were also enquiring about the time their sons and daughters were due to be in court. Mary smiled at the clerk, gave her daughter’s name and was told she would be appearing between eleven o’clock and eleven-fifteen. It was now a quarter to nine. Mary decided to get a coffee in a nearby café.

As she sat drinking her coffee, Mary wondered what was happening to Lucy.

****

Sitting on a hard metal seat inside a cage in the back of the police van, Lucy felt every bump the van went over. It didn’t help that her wrists were still handcuffed behind her back, making it very difficult to brace herself every time the van went round a corner. The numerous times the van had to stop in traffic became something of a relief. Eventually, they arrived in a yard at the back of the police station.

“Out you come,” the female police officer ordered, once the back doors of the van were opened and the door to the cage was unlocked. The male police officer helped Lucy step down from the van.

Once inside the police station, Lucy was taken to the front counter to be booked in. From there, she was led by the female officer down some stairs to the basement and into a small cell containing a small bed, a blanket and not much else. The handcuffs were removed.

“Strip off!”

“Sorry?”

“I need to check you have nothing concealed in your clothes. Take everything off.”

“Oh, right.”

The explanation sounding plausible, Lucy started by removing her tracksuit top and handing it to the officer. She kicked her trainer shoes off, picked them up and handed them over. Her tracksuit trousers followed, and then she was standing in just her pale blue panties and white bra.

“Knickers and bra too,” demanded the officer, throwing Lucy’s clothes onto the bunk bed.

With a glance towards the still half-open door, Lucy unfastened her bra and passed it to the officer. Pushing her brief panties down, Lucy stepped out of them and handed them over.

“How long will I be here?” Lucy asked, now standing completely naked.

The officer checked her watch. “About three hours roughly,” she said tersely. “I’ll bring you a cup of tea shortly.”

The cell door slammed shut and Lucy suddenly felt very alone. She slowly got dressed and then laid down on the bunk bed. As promised, a cup of tea arrived half an hour later, delivered by a young male officer. The time passed very slowly, giving Lucy time to think about, and worry about, what the immediate future held.

The sound of her cell door being unlocked brought Lucy out of her thoughts and into a sudden panic. The female officer who had ordered her to strip off was back. She unhooked handcuffs from a pouch on her belt.

“Stand up, turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

Lucy got up off the bunk bed, looked briefly at the sturdily-built woman and turned. She held her arms outstretched behind her, and felt handcuffs being locked around her wrists. She was then led along a corridor, through two doors, and into a small room where three other girls in their late teens or early twenties sat on a bench seat looking anxious. The officer pushed Lucy down onto the hard wooden bench.

“Where are we?” Lucy asked the dark-haired girl to her left.

“Underneath the magistrates’ courts. About every ten minutes, an officer comes and takes one of us out through the door and up some steps. They soon come back down, but they’re taken along another corridor and we don’t see them again.”

“Were you at the demonstration too? I’m Lucy, by the way.”

“Karen. Yes. I only shouted some nasty things at the police, but it was enough for them to find me and haul me into court. What did you do?”

“I threw a tin can at a policeman,” Lucy explained. “My solicitor told me I can choose between a large fine, thirty days in a detention centre or have my backside caned.”

“Yes, that seems to be standard for all of us. What are you going to do?” “I’m taking the cane. I can’t afford the fine and I don’t like the idea of being locked up for thirty days.

“Really? Wow! That’s very brave of you.”

“Is it? I just feel it’s the best of three bad options. What are you going to do?”

“I still haven’t decided. I mean, like you I can’t really afford the fine and I also don’t like the idea of going to this prison or whatever it is. But I’ve heard they really cane you hard.”

The girls were interrupted by the door opening and a male officer calling out a name. One of the remaining two girls stood up and was escorted out of the room.

“Any idea how they do it, Karen?”

“Not really. I know it’s on your bare bottom, but that’s about all.”

“It’s done, like, in private, is it?”

Karen shrugged. “I imagine so. I think there would be an uproar if there was anyone other than officials there.”

Lucy nodded. They remained silent until the door opened again and another male officer called a name out. Lucy and Karen breathed out as the other girl in the room stood up. Barely two minutes later, a female officer pushed another girl, also with her arms handcuffed behind her back, into the room. Karen and Lucy both smiled at the new arrival.

“They’re really working fast,” Karen observed.

“They made a lot of arrests,” Lucy added.

Minutes later, a female officer entered and called, “Karen Melissa Ridgebank.”

Karen stood up and was taken from the room.

It wasn’t long before a male officer opened the door and called, “Lucy Jane Armstrong?”

Lucy stood up and was taken by the arm along a corridor and up some wooden stairs. She found herself in a court dock facing a panel of three magistrates.

“Lucy Jane Armstrong,” the centre magistrate, a bald-headed man in his fifties, addressed her. “You are charged with assault on a police officer. We have photos of you throwing a can. Do you plead guilty or not guilty?”

“Guilty, sir.”

“Very well, you are sentenced to a fine of £1,500, thirty days detention, or ten strokes of a cane. Your choice.”

“I-I’ll t-take the c-cane, sir,” Lucy stammered, her nerves almost failing her at the last moment. She then added, “Please, sir.”

“Very well. Take her away, officer.”

As Lucy turned to be escorted back down the stairs, she caught sight of her mother up in the public gallery. She smiled weakly, and her mother waved back, an extremely worried expression on her face.

Lucy was then taken back down into the basement, along a different corridor, and then pushed into another small waiting room where the only occupant was Karen. Lucy sat on the small bench next to Karen.

“How did it go?” Lucy asked.

“I pleaded guilty like I had to because they had the evidence. Then the chief magistrate asked me which of the three penalties I wanted. I still couldn’t decide, so he had to ask me three times. In the end, I took a deep breath and chose the cane. I almost didn’t, but I couldn’t afford the fine and at the last minute getting locked up seemed too awful. You?”

“The same. So, we’re both getting thrashed. What happens now?”

“I think this is the waiting area before they actually do it,” Karen explained. “Just as I was brought here, another girl was being led out and she was bawling her eyes out and really pulling against the two officers who came to collect her, despite the handcuffs.”

“Oh god! I hope I don’t make a fuss like that.”

“Me too, although it doesn’t seem to make any difference to the officers. Once you’re, you know, on the list to be caned, that’s it. You’re for it, one way or another. I can feel my heart pounding faster and faster as each minute passes. It can’t be long now.”

The two girls sat and fretted, and then the door opened and two female officers entered.

“Karen Melissa Ridgebank?” The older of the two officers, a sturdily-built woman with short ginger hair asked brusquely.

“H-here,” Karen responded, struggling to stand up.

“Come along.” The officer took Karen by the arm and led her out of the room, Karen offering no resistance.

Lucy sat on her own for maybe ten minutes, and then a blond-haired girl was brought in. Lucy smiled as she sat down next to her. They didn’t speak. Minutes later, the door swung open and Lucy froze in fear as the two female officers stood in the doorway.

“Lucy Jane Armstrong?”

“Y-yes.”

Lucy’s legs suddenly started shaking and the two officers had to come into the room and lift her to her feet. Her mind in a blur, she was hauled out of the room and along a corridor. Lucy found it difficult to put one foot in front of the other, but both officers kept a tight hold on her and forced her along. They stopped at an open doorway and, as she was led inside, Lucy caught sight of another female officer holding a long slender cane and a metal-framed chair with a canvas seat and backrest. A fourth female officer stood by the chair.

Now, the two escorting officers changed their grip on Lucy by inserting their arms upwards between her handcuffed arms and her back, and placing their hands at the back of her shoulder blades. They forced her forward until her stomach was almost touching the back rail of the chair and then applied more pressure to her shoulder blades so she was forced down over the back of the chair until her head was in contact with the canvas seat.

As she was held bent over, Lucy felt the fourth officer pulling her tracksuit trousers down and folding her top well up her back. Then her pale blue panties were pulled down to her knees.

“All yours, Edith,” the officer said as she stood back.

Lucy desperately wanted them to pause and allow herself time to prepare for the ordeal she knew she was about to experience, but fear prevented her from actually voicing any kind of request. And then the cane whipped across Lucy’s naked buttocks and she felt pain such as she had never experienced before.

She hardly had a moment to recover before a second stroke lashed across her bottom, and a fresh bout of agony almost took her breath away. She wrestled against the grip of the two women holding her bent over, but they were too strong for her and soon a third stroke cracked across both buttocks.

Lucy kicked one leg back as tears started flowing down the sides of her face, but a boot roughly pushed her foot back to the floor. Another stroke whipped her bottom, and then another. Each stroke was being administered with barely three seconds in between. She felt she would never survive this ordeal, but any effort to resist came to nothing under the grip of the two officers holding her in position over the back of the chair. Her bottom felt very sore now, intensified by each additional stroke. Any attempt to count the strokes was lost after the first two. The strokes continued relentlessly.

“Please, can I have a moment?” Lucy begged.

Her request was simply ignored. The caning continued. Stroke after stroke whipped her naked backside.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the caning stopped and the two officers holding her down released their grip. Her handcuffs were removed and Lucy had to grip each side of the canvas seat to keep herself from falling over.

“That’s it done,” said the officer with the cane. “You can get dressed and one of us will escort you out.”

As Lucy eased herself upright, the pain in her backside was too intense for her to even contemplate touching it. One officer handed her some tissues to dry her face. She stood there without trying to cover herself while she struggled to bring her tears under some kind of control. No one spoke.

With most of her tears now stemmed, and her bottom aching, Lucy finally reached down to pull her pale blue panties up. She felt yet more soreness as the material made contact with her thrashed backside. The agony increased when she bent down to retrieve her tracksuit trousers from around her ankles. Her final act was to pull her tracksuit top down. She looked around.

“Come with me. I’ll show you out,” one of the officers said.

They walked slowly along one corridor, turned a corner, and walked along another corridor, then up some stairs, and then they were at a door. Neither of them spoke. The officer opened the door and Lucy could see the municipal car park just outside. The sun hurt her eyes as she stepped out.

“Over here!”

Lucy glinted with half-closed eyes and saw her mother walking quickly towards her.

“Oh mum! It was awful.”

“I’m sure it was. Still, it’s all over now. Let’s get you home.”

They walked slowly across to her mother’s car, and Lucy was aware of people staring at her like they knew what had just been done to her. Lucy chose to lie face down on the back seat for the entire journey, and each bump in the road seemed to remind her of the punishment she’d experienced.

Once home, Lucy went straight to her room and lay face down on her bed. Her mother pulled her tracksuit trousers and panties down and applied a warm soothing flannel to the weals across her bottom.

“You probably won’t want to go swimming for a few days, darling,” Mrs Armstrong remarked.

“Why?”

“Because your bottom has ten horizontal lines across that look really sore. It’s obvious what has happened to you.”

The End

© Kenny Walters 2025