Love and Punishment in Arabia (Part 3)

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After arriving back in the tent, I found my wife being attended to by the two servant girls and the village physician. Her feet were wrapped in bandages and the doctor was checking her heart rate with his stethoscope. He told me the rate was still elevated and that the second flogging shouldn’t occur for another four hours. It was now 2 PM.
Around 3 PM my wife finally woke up, and immediately began to moan from the pain in her feet. I placed my hand on her forehead and helped her relax.

Me: “Don’t worry you’ll be fine. The doctor said your second punishment can occur any time after 6 PM.”

She nodded her head in acknowledgment.

Me: “I won’t be the one whipping you this time, however. My arm is too tired. Your father arranged to have a female military officer do it; and I decided that I’m not going to be in the tent here when it happens. I can’t bear the sight of seeing these things happen to you anymore.”

Wife: “I understand. And yes, I know the officer you’re talking about. I saw her in the crowd earlier (she didn’t reveal that they were enemies here). You can rest assured that she can swing a whip as hard as you….”

Me: “Yes, she’s tall and has big arms…..”

6 PM quickly rolled around and I heard a small commotion outside of the tent. My wife was now sitting up in bed, cautiously looking towards the flap where I was peering out. Two men asked me if they could come in. I relented when I saw what they were carrying: a wooden bench. It was about six feet long and three feet high when set on the ground. They quickly placed it in the midst of the tent and strode back out. I turned and walked to the bed and gave my wife a goodbye kiss. She gave me a sweet smile as our lips released.

Wife: “Come back as soon as it’s over…..”

More footsteps could be heard approaching the tent. A deep female voice spoke.

Officer: “May we come in?”

Wife: “Yes,” she responded boldly.

This was my cue to leave, but before I did, seven women carrying wooden stools entered the tent followed by the female officer. The seven women were wearing their full Islamic dresses while the officer wore her military uniform. As a member of the armed services, she was entitled to wear it wherever she went. In her left hand, rolled up in a circle, was the whip to be used. It appeared to be four feet long. This was the last I saw of this scene before I left the tent and closed the flap behind me. What followed is based on my wife’s account.
The seven women set their stools down in a semi-circle around the wooden bench, approximately three feet away from it. Marissa, my bitter enemy now turned military officer, secured the bench’s legs to the ground. Her military efficiency prompted her to try to violently move it, but she failed.

Marissa: “Heh, if I can’t move it, you sure won’t!” She said with a demonic stare. “By the way, your falaka was very entertaining. I considered every pitiful scream of yours to be vengeance for everything you did to me in high school!”

She was referring to an incident where I framed her for flattening the tires of the principal’s tires. Because of the fraudulent testimony given by myself and a friend, Marissa was bastinadoed in front of the entire student body. She received 50 strokes with a belt, and she forever lost her reputation as being the perfect student who never got into trouble. But she finally got her chance to exact her revenge on me, and I have to admit I felt obligated to let her do it.

Wife: “Marissa, here I am at your mercy. I’ve undergone the same humiliation that you have, and now you’re about to inflict a lash for every lash I caused you to get.”

Marissa: “You bet I will. I only wish I could do it to your feet instead.”

Wife: “I wish you could too. It would be fair. I won’t say anything if you do...”

Marissa stared at me for a while, and I could tell that she seriously contemplated having my bandages removed in order to whip my feet. Neither of us blinked. The seven other women remained silent and listened intently. It was a showdown.
After a brief moment, Marissa finally broke the silence.

Marissa: “Remove your shirt and pants,” she said softly.

I did as she said. After removing my clothes, two of the women had to help me to my feet. And with a signal from Marissa, they dragged me and put me face down on the wooden bench. It wasn’t a comfortable bench; my boobs were pressed hard up against it. The two women sat back down a few feet away and Marissa began to secure me. She took both of my arms and crossed them underneath the bench below my torso, tying them, and my thighs and calves were strapped down tightly with rope. I checked the restraints and discovered their effectiveness. The only parts of my body I could move were my head and feet.
I turned my head to the left and made eye contact with each of the seven women seated just feet away, and to my right Marissa was taking practice strokes with the whip on the bed. She had a mighty swing. This probably wasn’t her first time flogging someone. She then walked back over to within four feet of my right and positioned herself.
After gazing at my bare back for a few moments, she drew back as far as she could and unleashed the first stroke. My head was facing the women on the left when the lash fell…..
Unlike the falaka I received earlier in the afternoon, I remained conscious through this last whipping. Marissa executed her revenge on me in the most ruthless manner; and I’m sure my screams ringed like music to her ears. The seven witnesses signed a document attesting to the fulfillment of my punishment, and there I remained in the tent on my own, lying face down on the bed.

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