Chapter 10B: The Punishment

Matumbo found himself unable to shake the relentless notion that he wanted to seize control. This captivating woman belonged to him, and he felt like a mere spectator, watching as if someone else played with his possession. As the realization dawned that the judge was fully aligned with supporting their innocence, Matumbo summoned the courage to make his desire known. He approached the judge, injecting a semblance of humor into his words, just in case the judge needed convincing. “I assure you, it’s going to be one of the most entertaining punishments. Simply hanging the criminals by their arms and whipping them—how mundane! You’ve witnessed that a million times, haven’t you?”

In the interim, he observed his naked teacher rise from her previously kneeling and pleading stance. Now, she stood, a posture of defeat evident in her slouching form. One arm draped protectively across her ample breasts, the other cradling her pubic mounds, head lowered, shoulders heaving with the rhythm of her sobs. Despite the exposed vulnerability, there was an undeniable allure to her beauty, amplified by the stark contrast of her modesty, shyness, and profound submissiveness.

The judge reflected, developing an unsettling admiration for this audacious boy. “Alright, I’ll entertain your suggestion. But ensure she doesn’t escape lightly; she must be held accountable for her crime.” A thick irony permeated the air, exposing the judge’s supposed commitment to justice as a facade for a darker truth. Despite being acutely aware of the injustice, the judge was willing and eager to be an accomplice in the degradation of a naked white woman whom he knew was unjustly labeled as a criminal.

Deep within himself, he acknowledged that he had exacerbated this egregious situation. Motivated by a sinister agenda, having accepted a bribe from the accused, he aimed to manipulate the narrative, transforming the victim into the accused. Exploiting his knowledge of Aprico Island’s archaic laws and loopholes, he subjected the defenseless innocent woman, a survivor of sexual assault, to an even more degrading violation. He commanded the policemen under his control to sodomize her with a soda bottle, and when that seemed insufficient, he instructed them to find a way to induce climax, pushing the boundaries of her already traumatic experience.

The solitary indecent act committed by this unfortunate white woman was an involuntary ejaculation, a physiological response beyond her control. On contemplation, he acknowledged it wasn’t her fault, recognizing it as a natural function of her body. Informed by his understanding that all men, and even some women, are inherently prone to ejaculating upon reaching climax, he grasped the involuntary nature of the bodily reaction. Just as men cannot conclude their orgasm without ejaculation, women born with this characteristic inevitably ejaculate when reaching climax. Crucially, the act of ejaculation itself remained within the bounds of legality.

The judge shamelessly exploited a sinister aspect of the antiquated laws of Aprico Island, honing in on a particularly devious provision: While ejaculation itself bore no legal consequences, the archaic legal framework wielded a punitive edge against the recipient of sodomy, especially if they experienced climax. Crafted with the initial intent of punishing homosexual men, these outdated laws extended their suffocating grip to encompass even consensual acts. In a macabre and humiliating twist for those accused of homosexuality, an unsettling practice unfolded during police interrogations — the abhorrent act of sodomizing individuals with foreign objects.

In the twisted logic of this archaic legal system, the accused faced a grim ultimatum. Should they reach orgasm and ejaculate during the vile intrusion, it was cynically deemed proof of their alleged homosexuality. On the contrary, if they managed to endure the torment without climax, the punishment was still mercilessly implemented, subjecting them to a horrendous ordeal. While such barbaric practices had dwindled in modern times, the lingering echoes of this dark chapter cast a long, haunting shadow over the legal history of Aprico Island. The judge’s calculated manipulation of these laws added another layer of malevolence to an already disturbing tale of abuse of power and degradation.

Compelled by the bribe he accepted from the accused’s uncle, who happened to be the chief of police, the judge found himself entangled in a web of corruption. Despite any sense of decency, a man with principles would have shown leniency to the true victim. However, the judge, adopting a false posture of righteousness, appeared genuinely convinced that the assailants were the victims, distorting the narrative to cast Sylvia as the supposed sexual criminal, accused of abusing her own students. The courtroom, a venue for the pursuit of justice, now served as a stage for a warped interpretation of the law, witnessing the insidious manipulation of legalities to perpetrate further injustice against the helpless white woman stranded in Aprico Island.

The judge’s authoritative voice reverberated through the courtroom, marking the initiation of a harrowing spectacle. “All those present, please take your seats. The verdict has been rendered, and now, we shall commence the court punishment for this criminal, this sexual predator.” A heavy silence descended upon the room as the judge pressed on, his words casting a foreboding shadow. “The conventional punishment for the crime of sexual assault, in this case, as the victims were not penetrated, the law stipulates a maximum of 10 lashes. However, in this particularly immoral case, I rule 30 lashes, 10 lashes per victim, as this grown woman exploited her authority as the victim’s teacher to force these innocent boys into aiding her deviant pursuit of perversion. As a standard procedure, the court punishment will be administered while the guilty party hangs from the ceiling right here,” he gestured toward the ominous hook designated for courtroom whippings.

“However, on this occasion, I am inclined to offer Matumbo the opportunity to execute the punishment,” the Judge added. “I do so under the belief that these three victims, these innocent boys, require the healing of their minds. I hope this modification of the execution, my thoughtful decision, allowing one of the victims to execute the punishment, that usually done by the policemen, will mend the wounds in their innocent and sensitive souls, and help to forget the terrible things this grown woman made them do.”

Sylvia stood there, devoid of options, exposed and vainly attempting to shield her nakedness, tears streaming down her face as she listened to the absurdity of the judge’s justification. The courtroom atmosphere thickened with a cruel anticipation; the air pregnant with the impending descent into brutality.

Matumbo’s thoughts raced as he felt compelled to present a proposition, as he had pledged to make Sylvia’s upcoming punishment “entertaining,” without a fully developed plan. However, when it came to tormenting and humiliating those, he had previously subjected to his bullying, he harbored a wealth of experience – although his mistreatment of boys, classmates, and even townsmen throughout his life was incomparable, particularly in its sexual nature, to the way he had bullied this beautiful foreigner, his teacher.

As he pondered his customary methods, envisioning the three of them encircling her, each taking turns striking her most intimate areas while he compelled her to keep her hands raised above her head, forcing her into a dance of pain, he realized he had already subjected her to such torment during her initial public punishment for sodomy. It was in that moment of contemplation that his eyes fell upon the two weighty tables positioned in front, where the judge and his uncle presided. An idea began to form in the twisted recesses of Matumbo’s mind.

He signaled for Sylvia to approach him, directing her to ascend onto the table. Matumbo then assisted her in repositioning one of the legs onto the adjacent table. The two tables stood about three shoulder widths apart, compelling Sylvia to spread her legs widely to maintain her footing on both surfaces. Instructing her to bend her knees, Matumbo coerced her into a wide horse-riding stance. Sylvia, now facing the families of her tormentors seated at the room’s center, succumbed to her exposed vulnerability. The realization of her nakedness, coupled with the myriad eyes fixed upon her, prompted her to adopt her instinctive covering posture—slouching, one arm shielding her ample breasts, the other cupping her hairy pubic mounds. This stance made more obscene by the forced spreading of her legs, underscored the humiliation that would soon unfold on this makeshift stage of degradation.

The judge and the chief of police, acknowledging that the families sitting in the gallery possessed the optimal view, strolled over to join them. It was then that Sylvia became aware of the presence of at least a dozen other individuals who had surreptitiously infiltrated the room. A family member, leaving the door ajar upon a brief visit to the restroom, unwittingly facilitated the entry of City Hall workers and other visitors, who, drawn by the unfolding spectacle, had entered one by one.

The courtroom gallery, initially occupied only by the families, quickly became a densely packed space. The influx of newcomers, drawn by the twisted allure of witnessing a naked white woman standing elevated on a table, transformed the room into a theater of degradation. Many in the audience brandished phones or cameras, capturing the unfolding scene. The atmosphere was charged with palpable anticipation as Sylvia, high on the table, became the focal point of this perverse gathering.

Blushes of shame swept across Sylvia’s face as the realization of being scrutinized by a multitude of eyes sunk in. The invading gazes, fueled by a morbid curiosity, intensified the engulfing sense of humiliation that enveloped her. In this crowded courtroom, with onlookers capturing the debasement with electronic devices, Sylvia’s nakedness became a spectacle for the masses, her shame laid bare in the relentless gaze of those who had become eager spectators to her dehumanization.

Meanwhile, Matumbo fetched two large law books of identical size, positioning each one approximately 10 centimeters away from Sylvia’s feet on the respective tables. A palpable sense of curiosity and dread permeated the room, gripping everyone in its hold, including the judge and, amidst her own anguish, even Sylvia. The purpose behind Matumbo’s peculiar arrangement remained a perplexing enigma, heightening the tension within the courtroom.

Matumbo, with a self-assured demeanor, began to elucidate the rules of his devised punishment. “As some of you know, I hold the title of the regional stick-fighting and target-whipping champion in my age group. Now, no disrespect to the police officers who usually administer the whipping of the criminals, for sexual criminals, targeting their genital regions, I find their whipping skills to be somewhat hit or miss, with more misses than hits. And even when they hit, it’s often the whip wrapping around the body, with diminished impact to the genitals.”

He continued, emphasizing his own prowess, “Rest assured, I will not only hit my target, but I’ll do so with the precision of the whip’s tip, ensuring it contacts the intended area and nothing else.” Matumbo keenly observed the expressions of the onlookers, detecting a mix of interest and admiration as they absorbed the audacity and skill he claimed to possess.

Matumbo, reveling in his role as the sadistic orchestrator of this depraved spectacle, continued to lay out the details of his twisted plan. “But wait! There’s more. In the spirit of fairness for our criminal, this white woman, a sexual deviant, I will grant her the freedom to move her hips.” Then he looked at the terrified nude white woman standing elevated on the desks, “Come on, Mrs. Sylvia, raise your hands above your head and swing those hips of yours,” he commanded with a sinister grin.

Sylvia, caught in the vise of shame and embarrassment, hesitated for a moment before complying. “Wh ... what?” she stammered. “You know exactly what I mean. Do it now!” Matumbo barked, his tone unwaveringly stern. Overcoming the waves of shame, Sylvia reluctantly raised her hands, remembering Matumbo’s preferred position for her arms, hoisting them as high as she could. With her legs forcibly splayed wide apart, she began to move her hips from side to side.

Growing impatient with Sylvia’s feeble attempts, Matumbo taunted the audience, “This stupid bitch doesn’t know what’s good for her. The more you swing, the harder it is for me to make a direct hit to your vulva, Mrs. Sylvia. I’m giving you a chance. Move faster, more!” His scornful words reverberated through the courtroom as Sylvia, coerced by a perverse force, intensified her hip dance, swaying her hips back and forth, side to side, and in circles as instructed.

The audience filling the courtroom gallery, extending into the spaces behind them, packed the room. They were amused, and many felt a sense of arousal, as they watched the humiliating dance of degradation performed by this stunning naked white woman with such a well-endowed body. They bore witness to the calculated torment inflicted upon a helpless woman—a former humanitarian aid worker that some of them had seen dressed normally, helping to distribute aid materials, delivering food and supplies door to door. Now, she was helplessly naked and humiliated in front of their eyes.

“Alright, good, but there’s more!” Matumbo relished his newfound role as an entertainer, savoring the perverse satisfaction that coursed through him. It was akin to a circus performer coaxing an animal to follow commands, except his ‘animal’ was this beautiful woman, her body blessed with voluptuous curves and alabaster skin.

With a sadistic glee, Matumbo continued to outline the sadistic details of his macabre performance. “Now, with each strike of this whip, you have to jump. I know, it won’t be easy with your legs spread on those tables. You must maintain the separation as you leap and land back on the tables. But I have faith in you,” he taunted. Turning to the audience, he sought to further amplify the spectacle. “Everyone, Mrs. Sylvia here, as she shared on her first day at school, was a former track star, reigning as both the 100-meter and long jump champion in her age group back in her days, when she was in her high school. So, I know she can jump.”

Turning his attention back to the humiliated Sylvia, her hands obediently raised in defiance against the extreme shame and embarrassment clinging to her degrading nude posture, Matumbo initiated the macabre rules of his sadistic game. With a tone dripping with sadistic delight, he declared, “Now, here are the rules. Firstly, you can’t jump before the whip makes contact with your skin; otherwise, the hit won’t count. Jump right after the hit. If you manage to jump high enough, with your foot elevated above the top of these books, the hit will count as one. However, if your foot is below the top of the book, the hit will only count as half. If your foot doesn’t leave the table within one second of the hit, that doesn’t count. 0 points. You need to earn 30 points since the honorable judge’s verdict was 30 lashes of the whip.”

Pausing to savor the perverse details, he continued, “And when you land, don’t forget to swing those hips. I want a challenge; I don’t want an easy target. If you fail to swing your hips hard enough, we’ll deduct a point. Now, let’s start with the front, 15 points. LET THE GAMES BEGIN!” Matumbo’s sadistic enthusiasm reached a crescendo, leaving even Gambe and Marimbo, who considered themselves close friends, taken aback by the newfound revelry emanating from Matumbo as he plunged deeper into the abyss of this dehumanizing spectacle.

Matumbo strategically positioned himself directly in front of Sylvia, the exact length of the whip displaying his mastery of target whipping. A sinister choreography unfolded as he remembered to enlist his brother as the scorekeeper, whose eager shouts will echoe through the courtroom with each sadistic strike. Sylvia, well aware of the order, compliantly swung her hips as vigorously as possible—back and forth, side to side, round and round, both clockwise and counter-clockwise.

She engaged in this grotesque dance not only in response to Matumbo’s warning that the point would be deducted unless she dances her hips vigorously enough to his satisfaction, but also harboring a desperate hope to elude the impending blows. Anywhere the whip landed would inflict excruciating pain, but the prospect of the stinging shock assaulting her tender vulva mounds was the most dreaded. The courtroom gallery was filled with continuous sounds of laughter and jeers, the absurdity of this white woman’s humiliating hip dance laid bare, her hands raised, obscenely exposing her entirely naked form.

Sylvia, helplessly engulfed in an overwhelming vortex of extreme shame and gripped by the fear of impending pain, strained to continue her degrading dance. She attempted to block out the cacophony of laughter, the relentless gaze of cameras, and the jeers that surrounded her. Meanwhile, Matumbo, relishing the forthcoming cruelty, initiated the ominous motion of pulling the whip back, ready to deliver the initial agonizing blow in this dehumanizing spectacle.

A resounding SWIIIIISH cut through the air, followed by the harsh TWACK that reverberated through the courtroom. The agonized cry of “AEEEEEEEUUUUU” escaped Sylvia’s lips as the cruel reality unfolded. Unfortunately for her, Matumbo’s regional expertise in target whipping proved itself in that moment of torment. The whip’s tip unerringly found its mark, making direct contact with her plump vulva and unleashing a searing shock of sharp pain that shot through her entire vagina.

Despite the agonizing pain, Sylvia, fueled by her survival instincts, mustered the strength to leap as high as she could. Upon landing, she promptly resumed her demeaning hip dance. Strangely, the rhythmic swaying of her hips seemed almost instinctive, as if the lingering pain in her vulva was urging her hips to move in an effort to alleviate the aching pain of her vagina.

“Half!” bellowed Matumbo’s brother, the harsh proclamation cutting through the charged atmosphere. “Jump higher, bitch!” a voice from the crowd, not affiliated with the bullies’ family, heckled Sylvia. The courtroom erupted in laughter, a disturbing symphony of mockery. Instead of halting the unruly behavior, the judge himself joined in the laughter, further fueling the audacity of the spectators.

Emboldened by the lack of intervention, another person shouted, “It’s about time we whip those white pussies! For the crimes of your white ancestors, whore!” Sylvia, trapped in the whirlwind of agonizing pain and ultimate shame, felt the weight of the collective disdain bearing down on her. She wished desperately to plead, “I’m a nice person, I’m not a racist, please love me, please be kind to me...” But the words never left her lips; she could only cry, tears streaming down her face as she obediently continued the vigorous movement of her hips, bracing for the impending torment of the next whip.

SWIIIISH, TWACK ... the second hit landed, squarely on her plump, hairy vulva mounds, right on the crevice, and a guttural scream of agony escaped her, “AAUUUUUUUUUUUUUU...” Then, remembering her duty, she fought through the searing pain in her vagina. She jumped as high as her trembling legs allowed, and her athleticism took over as she pulled her legs further up, keeping them apart, before landing back on the table. The absurdity of her effort elicited raucous laughter from the onlookers, intensifying her sense of shame. Tears streamed down her face, yet amid the torment, she didn’t forget to vigorously shake her hips once more. Each calculated movement was a testament to Matumbo’s sadistic genius, as every action she performed only served to magnify her own humiliation. “One and a half!” Matumbo’s brother yelled callously, the scoring adding another layer to Sylvia’s dehumanizing ordeal.

SWIIIIIIISH, THWAAAAAACK, AUUUUUUUEEEEEEEE scream, the excruciating pain in her vagina piercing through the air. Jump, keep the legs apart, pull them up, land back, a vigorous hip dance while the residual pain of her vulva lingering like a haunting melody, the dreadful wait for the next ... SWIIIISH, THWAAAAK, AUUUUEEEEEE...

Each movement was a symphony of agony, marked by agonized screams, desperate jumps, a struggle to keep the legs apart, an attempt to lift them as high as she could, as if trying to squat in the air, creating a spectacle that bordered on the absurd. She landed back on the table, the weight of humiliation accompanied by an equally degrading hip dance, her assigned performance in this theater of perversion.

The obscene performance continued in a relentless cycle of torment, the star being the beautiful white woman, her voluptuous body elevated on two tables for a better view and easier access of the whip to her most sensitive vulva mounds. Uu and Aas, laughter echoed through the courtroom, the counting by Matumbo’s brother adding a cruel rhythm to the scene, jeers and mockery serving as the dissonant soundtrack. The stage was set for the perverse spectacle where the accused, burdened with a crime she didn’t commit, endured the most humiliating and excruciating experience imaginable.

Despite Sylvia’s athletic prowess, the unrelenting assault on her body exacted a toll. Following several successful jumps, her once-strong legs weakened, preventing her from reaching the necessary height or pulling them up and apart adequately. The count of strikes was forgotten, attention shifting to the overall ‘score’. But the relentless bullwhip struck Sylvia well over 20 times, each lash contributing to the torment on her now swollen and tender vulva, reaching a crescendo by the time Matumbo’s brother yelled out ‘fifteen’.

Exhausted and battered, Sylvia remained perched on top of the two tables, her legs spread wide on each, adhering obediently to the cruelly assigned posture. Her arms, aching and raised, felt the weight of the torment she endured. Fully conscious of her exposed body in an obscene, wide horse riding stance, her voluptuous figure seemed vulnerable, her triple D-size breasts heaving with each heavy breath of exhaustion.

Longing for the reprieve of lowering her arms to shield herself, even if in vain, she recognized the futility of this desire. Her curvaceous form couldn’t be entirely covered by just two arms. The best she could manage was crossing one arm over her ample breasts while the other cupped her hairy crotch. It was a feeble attempt at modesty, a gesture that, even if futile, held immense psychological significance for this extremely shy woman.

Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the residual pain in her vagina, swollen pubic mounds, and overwhelming shame. In this vulnerable state, she had no choice but to present herself to the onlookers in the courtroom gallery. Her nude body, exposed and displayed, took center stage in an obscene posture that left her utterly defenseless.

The respite from the degrading hip dance was a fleeting moment of relief, allowing Sylvia to catch her breath. However, the brief intermission was overshadowed by the looming dread of what awaited her next. The harsh reality set in as Sylvia recalled the judge’s verdict—total 30 lashes, equating to 10 lashes for each victim she purportedly sexually assaulted. The bitter irony cut deep: in Sylvia’s case, the required number of whippings, three times beyond the legal mandate, reflected the number of assailants who had sexually violated her, rather than the victims she supposedly assaulted.

“Mrs. Sylvia,” Matumbo declared, a dawning awareness of the growing number of strangers in the room crossing his mind. Seeking to inject an additional layer of humiliating context, he turned, addressing the room with a sinister smile. “By the way,” he casually added, relishing the discomfort that swept through the audience, “I call her Mrs. Sylvia because she is my school teacher.”

A collective murmur permeated the room, and the revelation met with wide-eyed surprise and intrigue. The spectacle of a naked white woman, standing on the table, was the boy’s school teacher, a beautiful white woman obviously assigned from a foreign country, being punished and humiliated by her very own student, a dark skinned local boy, added an extra degrading factor to the unfolding narrative.

Matumbo, reveling in the attention, persisted with his perverse command, “Now, Mrs. Sylvia, can you jump as high as possible, spin in the air, and land back on those tables facing the front wall?” Sylvia, caught in a moment of hesitation, cast Matumbo a pleading look. “P ... please, Matumbo, I am not sure if I can...” Her voice quivered with uncertainty. “Yes, you can. Lower your hands, use your arms to create momentum, now jump and spin,” Matumbo directed his teacher with an authoritative tone that tolerated no dissent.

Resigned to her lack of choice, Sylvia lowered her arms, swung them upward, and propelled herself into a high jump. She executed a graceful spin in mid-air, skillfully landing back on the two tables with her legs spread wide. The spectacle showcased her voluptuous breasts and generous buttocks, which jiggled enticingly upon landing. Despite the near loss of balance, Sylvia skillfully regained her equilibrium with the support of her hands. The onlookers marveled at this display of athleticism, with even the men in the room privately admitting, “I can’t do that...”

After enduring an unrelenting series of torments by the bullies over the past two months, including at least a dozen public ordeals—although the precise count had become almost inconsequential by now—Sylvia without realizing, was already well-trained and conditioned. The cruel hands of the bullies had become distressingly familiar, molding her responses and actions. Once she landed and regained the balance, Sylvia instinctively raised her hands above her head once more, a subconscious yet deeply ingrained reaction rooted in the habit of remaining in the previously ordered postures. This response had become second nature, a result of the relentless enforcement by her tormentors, ensuring compliance unless given specific reprieve, with an additional and more severe beating when she forgets to do so.

Matumbo found a certain charm in seeing his apprehensive teacher raising her hands almost reflexively. When he told her that she could lower her hands before the jump and spin, it was intended as a reprieve—a release from the physically demanding posture. However, Sylvia, perhaps conditioned by the consistent obedience expected of her, interpreted it differently. Instead of seeing it as an opportunity to keep her hands down, she perceived it as a return to the initial raised position. In his eyes, she resembled a well-trained puppy, and he took pleasure in the submissive nature she exhibited, a quality he liked to see when he bullied, whether it was his friends, or this time, his beautiful teacher.

“Didn’t I already say you could lower your hands?” Matumbo reiterated with a hint of mischief, transforming Sylvia’s innate obedience into another avenue for teasing and torment. Sylvia complied and lowered her hands as instructed. However, her subsequent actions took Matumbo by surprise. Bringing her hands back, she grasped her own buttocks and spread them, revealing her anus with a touch of shyness. Simultaneously, she pushed her hips back, as if to say, “Here it is, my anal opening.” The audible whimper and sobs from Sylvia’s lips indicated that this wasn’t an act she was doing willingly and enjoying. Matumbo was left puzzled, wondering why his extremely shy teacher chose to spread her own buttocks and expose her anus in front of all of these people, especially when he hadn’t given such an order.

Amidst loud exclamations of “wow,” and expressions of disbelief like “what the heck?” and “look at her pushing her ass out,” derogatory comments and jeers resonated through the raucous laughter as people expressed their surprise at the unexpected action.

In that moment, the weight of realization crashed upon Sylvia with an almost physical impact. She realized what she had just done. She had just spread her buttocks with her own hands, exposing her anus so indecently to all those people in the gallery watching her, without any command, entirely of her own accord.

Her face, now ablaze with a crimson hue, sought refuge within the sanctuary of her trembling hands— her hands moved from her buttocks to her face, an instinctive retreat. Embarrassment and shame, those relentless specters, clung to her like an oppressive shroud. Sylvia’s hands, intertwined in a desperate plea for concealment, bore witness to the chaos within, a silent admission of guilt in the face of her unintended exposure.

Matumbo understood the genuine cause behind her action. This woman, now understandably in a confused and distressed state, had misunderstood what she had expected him to say versus what he actually said. In her confused mind, she believed he had instructed her to spread her buttocks, correctly anticipating that the next target of whipping would be her anus. The reason for her confusion lay within the events of the last two hours.