There’s a story about an informal judicial caning in colonial Singapore over at A Taste Of The Birch, in which the daughter of a British official is punished for a senseless theft. The bondage as she is prepped for punishment is impressive and fun:
I was grasped by the two constables and dragged to the end of the bench and stood up with my hips touching the edge. One officer held my wrists while the other bent down and grasped my ankles, spreading some sort of bar between them. The spread of my legs further tightened the fabric over my bottom making it pull up into my crotch, quite painfully ‘splitting’ me as I was pulled by the wrists over the bench’s end.
This done, the one who had fastened my ankles moved to my waist. I became really frightened as he reached under me and undid the single button of my chemise and pulled its edges out from under me, pushing it up to my neck, before drawing a broad strap across my back at waist level and tightening it up till my tummy, breasts and pelvis were held tightly to the wooden top.
My cry of “Oh please no!” was ignored as first one arm was released, and then the other allowing my chemise to be once more removed now that I was modestly positioned across the bench. I was conscious that again I was virtually bare. My wrists were then strapped to the front legs.
…
The constables joined the Commander and the European woman, while the doctor approached me with something that looked like a dog-muzzle, then put its straps over my head and two metal, rubber covered bars in my mouth, behind my teeth, wedging my mouth open.
“Don’t be frightened,” he said in a vain attempt at reassurance, “This is just to ensure that you breathe freely and don’t bite your tongue.”
However, the description of a few “warmup” strokes she gets with a strap is impressively melodramatic:
the European woman put down the broad strap she had selected, removed her tailored jacket, and went over to the washing area, returning with the bucket.
My whole body convulsed as it seemed at first that my bottom was being scalded. It took me a few seconds, and the touch of the woman’s hand, to realise it was freezing cold water and not heat that was soaking through the thin cotton covering my bottom.
I saw the sergeant, cane in hand, join the watching group. Thinking this was another hiatus, I closed my eyes and tried to regain some self control.
SPLAT! The noise echoed off the walls and, at the same time, my poor bottom exploded, the pain sensation spreading from the very centre of each cheek, through the layers of skin, down into my loins, thighs and belly, like some gigantic wasp-sting. I gurgled and gasped, dribbling and banging my head on the bench in anguish.
My bottom felt as if it were swelling fit to burst the tight fabric containing it! SPLAT! Again the terrible burning and stinging, now spreading down my thighs. The horrible wait for the next stroke – get on with it! Please get it over! – SPLAT! SPLAT!
